#and all my cousins on one side are a decade or more older than i am

[inkliinng]

The letters in Valli are making my heart hurt. Like imagine being so close with your uncles, your aunts, and grandparents that you regularly write letters to them, can share your thoughts safely with them, call them valliappachan or ammayi, and they in turn call you kuttan. For the life of me- I cannot. I don't have much of a relationship with my extended family at all.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Jenni's Version): Future II

Grace Clinton x Reader

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Your children meet Alexia

"Mama!" Jaume complains," Leave my hair alone!"

Alexia stifles her laugh as Olga continues to rake her fingers through Jaume's hair. It had been a long fight between them about the length for years now.

Jaume liked it a bit longer while Olga preferred it to be clipped a bit shorter so it would stop falling into his eyes when he walked.

"I'm just making it neat."

"It's fine!"

Alexia sighs. "Can we go in now? The others are waiting."

It's a monthly tradition to meet up at Alexia's Mama's house with the rest of the extended family. This argument happened every time they pulled up.

Olga frowns at Jaume as he forces his hair back to how it was before, shaking her head. "Fine."

Alexia lets them all into the house, already knowing the party had migrated to the garden with the barbeque set up and beers already opened.

"Say hello to your Abuela first, Jaume," Alexia calls after him as her son rushes off to grab food," And tell her you love her!"

Jaume gives no indication that he hears her and he doesn't need to be reminded.

"He better be polite to his cousins," Alexia grumbles as Jaume makes a quick pitstop with Eli before hurrying to load up his plate.

"He will be. You know him."

Jaume's sweet really. A big softie but after playing a big match yesterday and sleeping most of the day away, it was stupid to get between him and food.

Alexia shakes her head fondly at her son before surveying the group. Her aunts and uncles and cousins are all there with their own kids. Alba's holding a baby that Alexia doesn't quite recognise.

There's a little boy running around as well that she doesn't recognise either and that's when Alexia spots you.

It's been years but Alexia would recognise you anywhere.

The last time she'd seen you, you were nearly seventeen, doing your last performance with your ballet company in Spain that Alexia had to secretly buy tickets to see.

You'd gone to England then for a year or two and last Alexia heard you were dancing in France.

You fondly look down at the little boy as he crashes into you, sweeping his messy hair out of his eyes before sending him on his way.

Alba passes the baby to you and you hold her so comfortably that she must be yours.

You have children...and Alexia didn't know at all.

"Ale?"

"I'm fine," She tells Olga, sucking in a deep breath and painting on a smile," I'm fine."

But she's not fine and she's even more not fine when an arm pulls you closer by your waist and you back easily into the body of Grace Clinton.

Grace Clinton who plays for Lyon in France and who Alexia knows there is only one reason for why she would be in Spain now.

She's your wife.

You have matching wedding bands and the boy looks up adoringly at her.

You have children with a woman who is at least a decade older than you...

You look happy though, smiling up at her sweetly as she pulls faces at the baby.

"Alexia!" Eli's voice snaps Alexia out of her daze. "You send your son to see me but can't even greet your old mother?"

"You're not that old, Mama," Alexia says, kissing Eli's cheeks," You look good for your age."

"The comfort of good food and family," Eli replies," Come, sit, eat. There is more than enough to go around. Knowing your uncle, I will be sending everyone home with seconds!"

Alexia sits, talks and laughs but her eyes keep travelling back to you and your little family.

You're on the other side of the garden, with your baby and your wife and one of Alexia's cousins fawning over her.

"Bisabuela!" The little boy appears suddenly and Alexia jolts. He looks like you but he's got Clinton's mannerisms even though there's a big train on his shirt.

"Ah, James!" Eli says," What can I do for you?"

"Mami has lost Livy's bag again!" He tells her," Do you know where it is?"

"I will take it," Eli says," I am overdue Olivia cuddles. Sit, eat some food, James."

The boy - James - climbs up onto Eli's now abandoned seat and tucks into some brisket. He devours it in a way that only a growing boy can.

"Are you related to my Mami?" He asks suddenly and his eyes are on Alexia's.

She winces. "Yes. I am."

"You look like her like how Alba does."

"I'm Alba's sister."

James nods. "My sister Livy's named after Alba. Olivia Alba."

Alexia forces a smile on her face. "That's nice."

"I'm named after Bisabuela, kind of. James Eliot but Mami and Mummy call me James Eli."

"That's nice," Alexia says," It's always important to honour family."

Her eyes drift over to Jaume, who looks torn between approaching you or hanging back. He's always had some kind of hero worship for you, his mysterious older sister who lived with Jenni. He's still got that now as he steels himself and slowly heads over.

"How are you related to my Mami then? I know Alba's Mami's Tia so are you her Tia too?"

"I'm Bambi's-"

"That's not my Mami's name," James interrupts," Not really anyway. Sometimes Abuela calls her that but she says it's a nickname."

Alexia's heart stops. She knows that Abuela must be Jenni and she isn't sure what she expected. Of course Abuela is Jenni. Of course Alexia isn't.

James has no idea who she is.

James has no idea who Alexia is...who Alexia was to you.

"What's your Mami's name then?" Alexia asks instead.

"Beautiful. That's what Mummy calls her. Mummy's name is Amor..." He frowns. "Or Idiot because that's what Mami calls her when she's angry."

"When I knew your Mami, everyone called her Bambi."

James nods. "Like the deer. Abuela made me watch that film when she looked after me and Livy last week."

"It's a good film, isn't it?"

"It is!" His plate is empty and he frowns. Alexia's plate is full and he reaches for some of hers.

"James," Grace Clinton says," What have I said about stealing food?"

James puffs out his cheeks. "But she's family! She's Mami's Tia! You said I'm allowed to if it's family!"

"I said no even if it is family!"

Alexia can feel the weight of Grace's gaze on her even as she banters with her son. Alexia can feel herself being sized up as Grace takes Eli's seat and places James on her lap.

James eats off Grace's plate as the two adults stare at each other.

Alexia played against Grace a few times when Grace was just starting her international career. She's older now, wiser and captain of the team that had beaten Barcelona in the Champion's League final two times in a row just a few years ago.

Grace Clinton is your wife.

She is the other mother of your children. Sweet, sweet James and Olivia, who is now being gently passed into an awestruck Jaume's arms.

Alexia settles on giving her an awkward smile.

"James," Grace says, tickling his tummy," Can you go share our plate with Mami? I'm sure she's hungry."

James goes off quickly and now it's just Alexia and Grace.

"I love my wife," Grace says suddenly," And I love my kids. Coming back here with them is a lot for her, you have to understand."

"I do."

"She wants them to know her family outside of just Jenni. She comes from Spain and she doesn't want them to not know that part of themselves."

"I get it."

"Good." Grace nods. There's silence for a moment before Grace quells Alexia's fears in one sentence. "She's happy."

Grace fades into the background then as more of the family appears around the table, conversations washing over her as Alexia catches up with her cousins.

It takes a while before you approach and Alexia holds her breath. You're holding your breath too as you perch on Grace's lap, desperately clutching your baby tighter to you.

It's stupid, you think. You should be over this. It happened so long ago. You're a different person now but seeing Alexia put you on edge, especially so near your children.

You had nearly burst into tears seeing her talking to James, halfway between running towards them and just collapsing. Grace had gone in your place but you were even more unnerved now, having little Livy so close.

Olivia couldn't care less though, making soft little noises as she sat happily in your arms.

You peck at your food, unease rolling in your stomach as you felt Alexia's gaze on your side profile.

Grace adjusts behind you, a soft kiss being pressed against the back of your ear.

"Half," She implores," Please, beautiful. It's hot today. You didn't eat much at breakfast."

You had always had a strange relationship with food. It ebbed and flowed when you were a teenager. It had changed again when you were pregnant, another little human relying you on to keep them healthy.

But, still, sometimes you struggle when you feel off.

You nod though, unable to deny your wife anything.

Grace's arm around your waist is warm and comforting. The smile you know she is sporting is comforting too, even though you can't see it.

You usually went to these alone, once a year, even after you'd given birth to James. Grace's Spanish wasn't the greatest and her accent made her speaking almost unintelligible sometimes but it was nice she was here to support you, to whisk you and the kids away the moment you wanted.

You turn your head, meeting Alexia's eyes.

She smiled awkwardly at you and you smiled even more awkwardly back.

"His shirt," She says, the first words she's spoken to you all afternoon," He likes trains?"

You look down bashfully. "He took more after me than we expected."

Alexia bites her lip, debating back and forth whether or not to continue. "How long are you staying?"

"Two weeks."

"I...I have some trains at home. Jaume is too old for them now. Would James-?"

You nod, a real smile appearing on your face. "He would like that, thank you."

You tilt towards Alexia, showing her Olivia more obviously.

You don't let her touch your baby. You don't want her touching either of your children. But you can stomach this, for now.

"This is Olivia," You say," She's nearly one."

"She's beautiful."

Grace grins behind you. "Just like my wife."

[buckrecs]

Hi Sera! I’ve been wanting to ask for recs for a while but every time I think of something you’ve already posted it, but I am a bit obsessed with this right now so I thought I’d ask anyways(you are a gem and do so much for the bucky girls on this hellsite and I love you for it!)

Have you got any Brother’s Bestfriend/Best Friend’s Brother Bucky recs?

Brother’s BFF / BFF’s Brother Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

i follow you (pretend you want me to) by @buckys-black-dress

your best friend’s older brother who has never once given you a second glance finally does one day when he seems to be fond of your new tattoo. it throws you for quite the loop, to say the least.

The Number One Rule by @justkending

Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left. But don’t worry, the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized?

Untouched by @buckyalpine

A series of discovering all your firsts with your brothers hot best friend.

Save Me From Myself by @fatecantstopme

You and your boyfriend get into a fight and he beats you. You go to your brother’s house for support only to find his best friend and roommate, Bucky Barnes, instead. Bucky is furious when you tell him what happened and he takes care of you.

This Must Be A Dream by @lunarbuck

You've been best friends with Becca Barnes since third grade and have been pining over her older Bucky just as long.

super rich kids by @traitorjoelite

kids with too much money, parties every night, and an incident with your best friend's brother is just the norm on the upper east side.

The First Birthday by @eviesaurusrex

It’s not his first birthday after Hydra, but the first birthday he thinks he actually wants to celebrate—only because of YN.

it’s really you (that’s on my mind) by @heavysoldat

inseparable since middle school, it was no surprise that you ended up falling for your long-time best friend. what was surprising, was who you actually ended up with at the end of the day.

Miss America and the Heartbreak Prince by @fangirlovestuff

Your brother’s best friend, Bucky Barnes was a serious pain in your ass. Shame, since he used to be so nice when you were younger. Too bad he’s changed now in high school. Or has he? All it takes is some detective work, milkshakes and pranks for you to finally figure it out. 

Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader by @itsapeterthing

You’ve known your brother’s best friend Bucky Barnes since before you can even remember. As the two of you get older, your relationship grows from one of teasing friendship to an everlasting love. Despite all odds and decades apart, you never fail to find each other every time.

Not as Subtle as You Thought by @marvelousmarvelimagines

You and Bucky have been hiding a relationship from your brother successfully for several months now. Bucky’s getting tired of it though and wants to tell Steve. Are you willing to risk that? 

About Time by @vanillanaps

Coming clean about being in a relationship with your brothers best friend is never easy—or is it?

A Secret by @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo

You’re Steve’s younger sister and secretly dating Bucky and Steve finds out.

Brother vs Boyfriend by @marvelous-imagining

I Will Always Pick You Up by @eviesaurusrex

Usually, Bucky would pick her up wherever she is, but today, with a night out with some of her fellow Avengers (and her brother), it wasn’t possible that her secret boyfriend could come and pick her up, would it?

Hands Off by @buckysgoldenheart

You’re Steve’s cousin and he has some rules when it comes to you that Bucky isn’t a fan of. Mainly, that he can’t have you.

i wanna be yours by @noctumbra

you’d support him no matter what. he was yours at the very end. and you were his. 

On My Mind by @targaryenvampireslayer

You haven't seen your Brothers Best Friend in far too long. Neither of you can wait. Sexy challenges ensue.

[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 4. Ruby Matthews

A/N: yes it is I! Back with another Ruby piece because why the hell not? Thanks for all the new love on my previous works surrounding this layered character. She’s been fun to watch and it’s only right that I do something else for this final season. Thoughts about it? There were great moments for sure but I don’t think it’s my favorite season, I’ll probably have to go back and watch to fully determine that. I still wanted more for lots of the characters and this season seemed to miss something and it’s not me fighting for the main ships like some of you are arguing over lol. Otis needs to be by his damn self for awhile! + Ruby deserves better than the way he treated her, I’ll say that and know she’ll find her person in the near future once she experiences more growth for sure. Anyways this show was gold! RIP.

PROMPTS from HERE + I’m using: caught in the rain + crunching leaves + “you’ve got leaves in your hair.”

WARNINGS: Reader has a name + fem pronouns. Ruby being a little bitchy towards reader + hints of a potential romance?

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚. ⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚. ⋆｡‧

Thanks to Milou's god-mother, she was able to clock out early from the book shop for the evening since a storm was brewing according to the older woman. It's funny really how Milou tended not to pay much attention to science or the weather whether-*wink* in conversation or just the mere thought of the subject, giving that she was surrounded by a bunch of people that worked in that field. Her absent mother was a meterologist who got a kick out of chasing storms, her late father was a broadcast meteorologist, her paternal uncle and ex boyfriend of her god-mother; who also happened to be her mother's best friend is a GIS analyst and finally her cousin and god-brother was studying to be a hydrologist.

As for Milou? She has no clue what she wanted to be in life, she was simply taking it one day at a time and going with the flow. Which she of course got shit for but she knew she loved books and tattoos. I mean hey! look at her god-mother, she didn’t have this goal board of being something fancy growing up she just stuck to what she loved. She came from a small family, a professor for a father, a step-father who worked in a boutique for two decades, and a mother as a florist. Milou’s god-mother always knew she loved books and candles so she eventually got into owning a book shop, making and selling candles on the side.

She did quite alright with her life if you asked Milou. Milou felt she was similar to her god-mother more than her own mother and figured with each day that the sun rose it would all work out…at least she hoped.

In the distance she sees someone dressed in red tweed attire, walking alongside their bike as Milou drives down the hill. It doesn’t take her long to realize that it’s Ruby Matthews and a smirk spreads on her lips then as she presses her foot on the gas. She thinks about speeding right pass her, turning the stereo up to make Ruby’s attention focused only on the back of her ride but it was interesting nonetheless to see Ruby on a bike instead in her own car.

“What’s this? Not the Queen of Moorfield doing actual labor? Where’s the Royal Chauffeurs?” Milou jokes from the driver’s side.

Immediately Ruby rolls her eyes, stopping in her tracks as she stretched a sarcastic smile over her pink painted lips, “oh Milou, haven’t you learned that harassment doesn’t look nice on you? That can lead to loads of things like imprisonment or pillory.”

“That’s extreme, yeah?” Milou tilts her head or the side while letting her wrists rest over the top of the steering wheel, “You call it harassment, I call it having a conversation with my neighbor.”

Ruby scoffs, “what makes you think I want to talk to someone like you?”

“I dunno something tells me you could use a friend…but if you prefer lonely strolls around town drinking that let me guess, pistachio latte on your own then don’t mind me.” Milou shrugs, pushing her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose, “good day then, your highness.”

Ruby was more of a decaf tea person since coffee stains your teeth but when stress calls so does caffeine apparently!

And with that Ruby watches as Milou attempts to speed off but the smoke and spluttering coming from her car didn’t sound normal. Part of that gave Ruby satisfaction before she could let the sadness fill in more than anything.

Milou’s been Ruby’s neighbor since she was about nine, moving in from New Zealand, and Ruby always liked how Milou moved to her own drum. There was a time where Ruby considered being Milou’s friend but Ruby was whisked off to camp where she met Sarah— “O” and that changed everything Ruby knew about friendships.

Ruby coughed and fanned the smoke away up ahead…she honestly hoped there wouldn’t be a fire but Milou seemed to take her time kicking the door open and out the way. Cautiously Ruby made some steps forward as Milou whacked at her car a bit after popping the hood open.

“Look at that, your get away wasn’t as stunt like  as you hoped.” Ruby mockingly pouted while Milou side-eyed her.

Milou adjusted the cuffed back denim bucket hat on her head saying, “and what about you? I haven’t seen you ride a bike since we were knee-high.”

‘You still are,’ Ruby thought to herself as she peered at the shorter girl.

“Decided to try something new for college and it’s better for the environment.” Ruby stood up straight as she stated her claim.

Milou snorted at that, “you caring for the environment? Not likely.”

“Excuse me? You don’t know my interests.”

“Course I do. I pay more attention than you think regardless if we attend the same college or not. We lived next door to each other for years, I know enough.” Milou replied as she pushed away from her steaming car.

Milou stood by Ruby who held her analyzing stare, “your chains broken by the way.”

“I’ve noticed, thank you! Why else would I be walking?” Ruby sassed, “It’s not like this street is the best runway with its awful incline.”

Milou clicked her tongue and pointed, “Anything to strengthen the glutes.”

Ruby swallows to refrain from traveling her eyes elsewhere. Milou maybe short as ever but she’s always been athletic as a kid and it didn’t seem to change now into their teens, let’s just say that.

“I am the view, these hills better be proud that I’m even passing through.”

“…This is the only route to our neighborhood.”

“Do you have an answer for everything?!”

Milou laughs with a shrug of her shoulders deciding to switch the minor problem at hand, “I can probably fix that for you.”

“I know how to fix a bike! I just don’t have the tools…”

Milou sighs as she squats down near Ruby who takes a step back and sideways to give the girl some room.

“It’s bent…you’re going to need new chain.” Milou observes.

“That’s just great, as if this day couldn’t get any worse.”

Milou stands up at this, “want to talk about it?”

Ruby sips from her cup and pops her tongue, “Not particularly no.”

“We got a long way home on foot. Are you suuure?” Milou backs up towards her car to retrieve her things.

“Sorry? We?”

“Yes. This thing isn’t going anywhere, my transmission’s been on the brink of blowing at any moment.” Milou says nonchalantly while Ruby widens her eyes, “I’ll have to reach out to a friend to tow this baby up for me.”

“Transmission?! Isn’t that a safety hazard?”

“Oh certainly but there’s not much money in the bank to get a new car so…perhaps I’ll build me one in the near future for cheaper.”

“Wait…you know how to do that?”

“I’m a person of many traits my love.”

“Not your love.”

“Not yet.” Milou winks, popping a lolly into her mouth, “want to leave your bike in my trunk? My guy can fix it up for you and you’ll get it back in a day or two?”

“Thanks for the offer but I don’t know or trust this friend of yours. They could be a thief for all I know.” Ruby sticks her nose up in the air.

Milou snorts as she placed a hand on her chest, “does it really seem like I’d hang out with kleptomaniacs?”

Ruby now side eyes Milou staring at her finger tattoos mainly and shrugs, “who truly knows? You probably hang out at sketchy bars, smoke by dumpsters, and illegally race cars on the outskirts of town.”

“Wooow you really do know me,” Milou exhales, “I don’t smoke because I’d like to keep my teeth and lungs. And I don’t race cars anymore for income after crashing and breaking my collarbone last year driving that sweet corvette. So sorry babes, you’re wrong. Is it my turn to assume why you’re in a sour mood?”

Ruby pursed her lips knowing she was laying on the bitchiness but it just seemed to ooze out whenever she had interactions with Milou. It’s not like the girl’s ever had one main reason why they went at it but Milou was never one to take anyone’s shit, despite having her nose in a book reading or doodling and seeming checked out. She had Ruby figured out and Ruby couldn’t say the same with Milou, which is why she did not enjoy that much.

At least that’s what she portrayed.

“If I had to guess…Otis?”

Ruby scoffs and begins walking off.

“What did he do this time?” Milou spins on her feet, quickly locking her doors before following after the long haired girl and says, “Doesn’t seem like he’s been around much lately.”

Ruby spews over her shoulder, “And how exactly would you know that Hm? Are you proving my assumptions by being a weirdo and stalking me?”

“Never. It’s what you show and I’m not just talking about your socials…thanks for suddenly deciding to unblock me by the way.” Milou chats, “I’m talking about your energy, it’s different. Well except for you insulting me this entire time, you do seem a bit sadder these days. I just want to make sure you’re alright is all.”

Ruby feels her shoulders sink in a bit, a little surprised that anyone’s noticed this. Yes she’s been going through a heartbreak, friends being distant, dealing with seeing a old bully thrive in their new supposed “helpful,” role at this new school where Ruby can’t find her footing…it’s all been a bit much and she didn’t feel like talking about it to anyone.

She won’t ever let anyone see her as weak even if the weight was starting to crush her.

Yet here comes Milou in her cool rina sawayama glory, sensing that something’s been up with Ruby and who knows how long she’s noticed.

Milou wasn’t a friend or really an enemy and Ruby wasn’t sure if she could even consider Milou just her neighbor.

It’s quiet now besides the crunching of leaves that Milou makes a show of stomping on as they walk through town together. Milou doesn’t mind the silence or even press the issue but she always had a habit of being honest, “too honest,” in her mother’s eyes but Milou had no problem letting Ruby know what she sees.

No matter what the wannabe diva thought of her.

Ruby pounds her feet after a wave of leaves fly back into her vision after Milou’s just kicked another set up into the air up ahead. The wind seemed to shift not long after, whipping some of those copper and sun dried leaves right into Ruby’s face.

“Hey! Stop that! You’re gonna ruin my outfit.”

“Aw c’mon, it’s awful already isn’t it?” Milou teased as she scanned over the appearance of the girl who suddenly ripped off her glasses.

“I have you know this outfit was made by my mum.” Ruby proudly said as she shoved her bike to the side and strutted right up to Milou, towering over her, “I picked the fabric, tweaked it afterwards just to my liking and I know I look damn good wearing it because of how long and the care it took to make it so I’d shut my mouth if I were you.”

Milou moved the lollipop around with her tongue, slowly eyeing Ruby up and down that Ruby almost had to hold her breath at how agonizingly slow Milou scanned her frame.

She smirked at Ruby once she met her brown eyes again and playfully raised her hands up in the air, “relax babes, I’m just having a bit of fun, just like with the leaves. And I know Mrs. Matthews’ has quite the craft, she taught me how to fix my old hat when I was twelve.”

“What?” Ruby frowned, “when? How?”

“That old lime green hat that I used to wear a lot as a kid? Ripped it right across the top after it got stuck in a tree branch. Your mum witnessed it on her way to work.”

“I don’t even want to know what you were doing for that to happen but…mum really stopped to help and she didn’t bother to tell me?” Ruby tried to wrack her brain to remember if her mum ever mentioned it but tending to a sick father and a mother always at work, usually means the conversations happened to be pretty brief.

Always has been but that never stopped Ruby from loving her mum. She was always the kind hearted one out of the two which translated well being a nurse but Ruby definitely got her fire from her father.

“People have a lot on their minds and I hear it gets worse as adulthood comes along so we better enjoy the better memories now…plus it happened forever ago but I’m always thankful for your mom’s help since that hat is special to me.” Milou shrugged, moving to walk beside Ruby again.

Ruby hums at this and let’s out a small laugh, “that hat was a terrible color but I must say…you wore it well. Framed your perfectly potato sized head nicely.”

Milou rolls her eyes, “thank you, I think?”

Ruby nods, a small smile playing on her lips before she says, “you mentioned if I was okay earlier, yeah?”

“Mhm.” Milou peeked at Ruby as they continued walking.

“Well…if you don’t mind—

The brown haired girl began just as the rain poured down over their heads. Ruby let’s out a squeal in displeasure, quickly leaving her bike behind and sets off into a jog towards the stone fence and nearest tree.

“I can’t believe this!” Ruby yells over the loud rain after Milou makes her way over.

Milou holds out her hand to let the rain drops hit the back of the skin on her hand, “believe it. My god-mommy did mention a rain storm was on its way.”

Ruby wipes the water from her face, “And you didn’t think to inform me earlier?”

Milou folds her arms, “You don’t check the weather when you pick out your outfits for the day?”

“Do you?” Ruby glares, with a roll of her neck.

Milou smirks doing another famous spin with a pop of the collar to her puffer vest, “Always…i mean look at me, don’t I look on theme?”

It’s Ruby’s turn to glance at Milou’s appearance for the day. A cream puffy vest, a nude zip up sweater underneath exposing a black tourmaline crystal wrapped around her neck, baggy cream jeans, the black sunglasses, damp denim hat and some sort of patterned boots.

“…Debatable.” Ruby calls over the pelt of rain while Milou shrugs her shoulders.

“If I like it then I love it.” Milou says peering at Ruby underneath her sunnies, “just like you’ll learn to love it once we become friends.”

“You keep saying that like you’ve been wishing upon a star.”

“No but you were just about to put your trust in me and tell me what’s been up with you lately, yeah?” Milou rests her elbow against the tree, later followed by resting her head against her hand.

Ruby turned her eyes into slits, “was I really?”

Milou lounges just blinking at the eighteen year old, waiting for her next move.

“Okay fine!” Ruby tightens her hold on the ends of her jacket for warmth, “I’m not the biggest fan of therapists.”

“Good thing for you, I’m nowhere near one.”

Ruby sighs, “thank heavens for that! But I better not hear you gossiping about me online or anywhere else for that matter.”

“Ruby,” Milou stares hard at the girl underneath her eyelashes, “that’s not how I operate and never will. Plus I’ve been told I don’t have much of a social media presence in the first place.”

“Did I say that?” Ruby searched the air in thought.

“No, my god-brother did.”

“Smart guy. Now him, I could be friends with.”

It’s Milou’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Okay! So the only reason I’m saying this is because I won’t be running through the rain and we have nothing else better to do. So yes! I Ruby Matthews have felt like complete shit for awhile now and I’m dealing with it all the best way I know how: On my own. It’s also a number of things that contributed to this icky feeling…that you’re probably right about too.”

Milou gave a quick clap and a thumbs up at Ruby, “well done. See that wasn’t so bad?”

Ruby takes a brief sip from her coffee that’s definitely turned warm opposed to piping hot like she preferred it. She also finds that her hands are shaking a bit as she exhales. “You’re not gonna give me any advice or anything?”

“Well no, unless that’s what you want?” Milou now leans her back against the tree as she peeks up beneath the remaining brown leaves on the tree, “Otherwise I’m just here to listen or be a shoulder to lean on, your choice.”

“That works,” Ruby flicks her hair back, eyes viewing the heavy rain that makes it almost hard to see the other homes in the distance.

Milou wasn’t sure what part exactly but she had a feeling Ruby was still working that out herself.

When she reaches a hand out to Ruby, which she catches from the corner of her eye, the taller of the two quickly latches onto Milou’s wrist, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“You’ve got leaves in your hair,” Milou says making Ruby glance upwards trying to see herself.

Milou innocently raises the fingers on the hand Ruby is currently holding, showing that she doesn’t mean any harm and that Ruby doesn’t have to always be on the defense when it came to her.

However she understood and knew it would take time for Ruby to allow that after being hurt a few times. They probably wouldn’t have forever since time does move faster than you think and there were many missed opportunities as children to be something more but at least they had now.

“Thanks for sharing,” Milou whispers, holding the crumbled leaf to Ruby’s view and flicking it to the ground.

Ruby gazed at Milou for a moment before staring back out at the rain, “C’mon then. The rain looks to have lightened up.”

“You sure?”

“Not really,” Ruby cautiously steps into the now windy air, “but be a lady and walk me home. Then maybe you’ll help me with my hair while we watch wives of Miami…since who knows what kind of leftovers are stuck in my hair from the leaves you kicked at me.”

Milou takes her sunglasses to place on the brim of her hat, “that’s not what happened, I kicked away from us not towards you.”

“Don’t argue just accept the invitation because I do not ask twice.” Ruby held her cup out for Milou to hold while she shrugged out of her jacket to tie the arms securely around her head.

Milou cackled, “you look ridiculous.”

Ruby can’t help but to fight the laughter lines that appear on her cheeks, “so be it but we both know who’s the true fashionista here.”

“Yeah and her name starts with an ‘m.’” Milou hands the half empty beverage back to Ruby who struts back some to pull her bike back up into her grasp.

“Right: M for Matthews.”

“Sure but it’s actually M for Mrs. Milou.”

Ruby snaps her head back to Milou who’s all smirks and raised brows.

Was Milou flirting with Ruby? Ruby couldn’t deny that she found Milou attractive but she wasn’t in the mood to get under to get over.

“Please, don’t flatter yourself.” Ruby makes her way back over.

Milou teases, “You like it.”

“Noooo! Stop talking, let’s get going.” Ruby rushes out with a clear of her throat, hoping that the apples of her cheeks didn’t change hues.

Milou courtesy’s and holds out a hand, “lead the way then, your highness.”

Ruby looks forward after walking by Milou, the now light rain making it somewhat bareable to get through on foot, “I just want to say…thank you for always being around when I least expect it and probably need it.”

“Aw, what are friends for?” Milou lightly bumps her shoulder with Ruby’s.

“Friends? I thought you were coming up with a proposal for me.”

Milou raises her eyebrows at this, picking up on the humor in Ruby’s tone, “at least take me out first then we’ll discuss the details later.”

“Are we not heading round to mine now?” Ruby peeks out from underneath the arm of her jacket on her head.

Milou laughs, “I see. Good thing I’m dressed for the occasion.”

Ruby smiles to herself, “we’ll see…”

Milou frowns at that, not knowing what she was getting herself into with Ruby Matthews but she was sure being caught in any other rainstorms along the way, could bring flowers in the end.

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚. ⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚. ⋆｡‧

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

cw. pre!release, drabble, black!reader, f!reader (she/her), right before 4, sparkling leaves-adjacent

pairing. tamarack x reader

notes. it's still juneteenth in my timezone and i wanted to squeeze out something a little self-indulgent about tamarack considering my recent brainrots. also i hc miranda and jude as half-black on their mom's side and that their father is a relative of the baumann family. so that's squeezed in here too whoops

Together with their families

Jude Eckert & Scott Adam

invite you to celebrate their wedding!

“This is my cousin,” Tamarack explains as you sit on her bed. You can hear the sound of Granny excitedly calling extended family on the phone about the wedding invitation resting in Tamarack’s small hand.

You observe the dark-haired man in the image nonchalantly. He’s handsome with his light brown skin and eyes a red-tinted brown. His curly hair is a texture closer to your own than the delicate, wavy curls your girlfriend possesses.

Tamarack mentioned having cousins that were half-black before, Jude must be one of them. He looks happy in the picture with his fiancé with their almost matching nose rings.

“I saw him and his sister Miranda at a family reunion a while ago but I don’t think we’re that close. He’s a lot older than me," Tamarack's voice pulls you out of your observations.

You think you remember the family reunion in question. The Baumann-Eckert clan tends to have one every decade or so.

Tamarack’s father was and still is never one for them but once Tamarack came to live with her grandparents, she was brought along for the ride willingly or not. Considering the function she went to was right before freshman year and Tamarack was at her shyest, you know for a fact they aren’t close enough to warrant an invitation.

In fact, Tamarack had spent more time using her grandmother's phone to talk to you to have some sort of company rather than mingle with relatives she didn't truly know.

“We must be the obligatory invites,” when your girlfriend bursts out laughing at the remark, your grin stretches even wider. Making Tamarack smile is the best part of your job. “Ugh, summer,” you groan when you glance at the date of the momentous event ー July 19th. Right in the middle of your mutual least favorite season.

When her giggles subside, Tamarack’s expression twists into one of reluctant amusement. “Summer,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She cut it recently, her hair now just below her chin.

For the two of you, spring and summer were just the interludes before your favorite season took place. Yes fall came with the onset of school but it was leagues better than the heat that came with summer.

Fall is everything, at least for you.

Now that you think about it, your life has truly always been marked by autumns. A season of significance where everything important takes place.

Fall is when you moved to the small mountainous town of Golden Grove.

Fall is when you met the sparkly-haired girl who bursted through the leaves.

It’s the season where you asked that girl to be your girlfriend.

And fall is when you and Tamarack would leave your small hometown in favor of striking out on your own for a year before taking the plunge into college. (Which you’ll also be starting in fall, of course.)

Fall, fall, fall. 

Your life has always been tinted in the hues of reds, golds, and chilly blue skies of autumn.

“So what is the dress code we're being subjugated to,” you ask presumptuously, grinning knowingly all the while.

“What makes you so confident you’re coming as my plus one?” There’s a challenging lilt to her voice, lips twisting into a light smirk.

With an austere accent, you puff out your chest, “I’m sorry is there another [Full Name] that you’re planning on going with?”

One of Tamarack’s lips puff up in her amusement, reminding you of when you were children. Back then you were ten and the world was a grand place you had little control over. Now that you are adults barely out of high school, there’s still plenty out of your control. The confidence that you can both tackle what you can control together still remains, however. That’s a promise that will never fade.

“You can come with me,” Tamarack ‘relents’ at last, expression softening. “I want you to come with me.”

“I want you to go with you too,” you reply with a tender expression of your own.

“We’re the same,” Tamarack’s cheeks turn a rosy pink as she smiles warmly. Her red eyes are looking at the invitation once again, but her thoughts are far from thinking about her cousin Jude and his fiancé Scott as she leans against your frame. You rest your chin atop hers, a pleasant feeling the color of her gold hair settling in your chest.

You wonder, quietly, what it’ll be like when it’s your turn to see your beloved walk down the aisle.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

I Can't Help Myself | Carnal XIV

Simon was born with what his father called 'The Curse'. A wanton craving for taboo meat. Since meeting the similarly cursed Johnny, the two had formed a bond. They didn't just fight together, they ate together, slept together, and shared everything.

When a favor to Price reveals another cursed person, Simon worries she could destroy everything.

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, smut

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Can't Help Myself - Alexandra Savior

She took long baths, frequently. Water hot enough to burn her toes as she stepped in. Johnny had said she smelled like vanilla so soon a box filled with vanilla scent body care had arrived. Gourmand bubbles that threatened to overfill the tub.

She’d let herself slip, feet coming gliding out the one end while her head sank violently into the water. Stories about women bathing in perfume rewound in her mind.

She was afraid that Johnny would leave. He’d told her he would, that he wanted to stay. Then he and Simon would spend hours talking and she felt like a little girl spying on her father’s dinners. 

Simon was something else. She wouldn’t say she was afraid of him, cautious was a safer term. Excited was another word.

He made her want more from the world. That there was something else out there. Johnny and her were content in their little world but she wanted more. She wanted to learn to hunt, to prove she could take care of herself.  

Her hair was still damp when she went downstairs for breakfast. Johnny had made her tea just how she liked it. He and Simon were eating breakfast. They’d left a plate out for her. Eggs, toast and bacon. She sat between them at the table.

“How’re your arms?” Simon asked, holding out a hand to her. She pulled up her sleeve. It had mostly healed, a couple deeper gashes were still bandaged up. Simon’s hands were cold as they examined her. Johnny’s foot rubbed against hers.

Anytime Simon got too close Johnny would do something as a reminder that he was there. Not possessive, just a reminder. 

She wanted a second cup of tea. 

The fridge was running low. No milk, wilted green, green cheese. She hadn’t gone shopping in over a week, more occupied with Johnny’s recovery than anything domestic. 

“I’ll do the shopping today,” she said, scribbling down a list. She liked going early in the mornings, avoiding most of the town's crowd. 

She grabbed a couple reusable bags, her purse and a coat.

“You can’t take Johnny’s car.” Simon said. 

“Wasn’t planning too.”

“You walking?” 

“I have two legs.”

“I’ll drive.”

“No.”

“Not a question. Rained last night, it’s cold and foggy. I already have one body to get rid of. Don’t add to it.” 

She directed him into town even if he didn’t seem to need it. His car was an old Land Rover. Older than her at least. He took good care of it. Clean, detailed, didn’t shake as it took the curves. 

She kept her gaze out the window. His reflection came clear at particularly foggy stretches. He was wearing a black surgical mask and kept his hood up. He huffed when she told him to pull into Waitrose.

“What?” She frowned.

“Nothing.” 

“You coming in?”

“I’m not a dog.”

He followed her around as she shopped. The few eyes in the store still lingered on them. She was the weird girl. The girl who barely left her house, the haunted house. It was a couple weeks prior she was here with Johnny and now there was this other strange man. 

“Oh Nina! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” A shopping cart, piloted by an older woman, had come out in front of hers.

“Miss. Carter.” She said curtly. She had vague memories of her and Mr. Carter attending her father’s dinners a decade and a half ago. 

“How are you? You’ve gained weight!” She reached over and laid a hand on Nina’s stomach. “And who’s this?” Too many questions.

“My cousin… on my mother’s side.” 

“I didn’t know your mother had siblings.” She had a hand on Nina’s arm, a thin fleshed handcuff. 

“I imagine you don’t know lots of things.” Miss. Carter’s face dropped. Nina pushed her cart around her. “Excuse me.” 

“Your father would never approve of how you’re acting, Nina. Having strange men in the house, your father’s house! He would -”

“He blew his brains out in our dining room in front of me. He clearly didn’t care about the house or what I did with it after. Kindly fuck off.” Nina made sure to knock Miss. Carter’s cart to the side harshly. 

“Cousins?” Simon’s eyebrow raised as Nina grabbed flour and yeast off the shelf. She wanted to try baking again. 

“Johnny has a type apparently.” They had matching brown eyes and if his hair was longer than a buzz it could have been a similar shade of blonde to hers. Not a mirror but a variation, something better and stronger. Looking at him like this made her stomach warm. She didn’t know in what way but she wanted him in her mouth. 

He put a lot of salt into the cart. Twine too. Various spices, herbs, cooking oils. She let him add whatever he wanted. 

“Sweet tooth?” He asked when she put a white frosted cake into the cart. 

“I like cake.” She shrugged. He grabbed a pack of biscuits and tossed them in as well. 

Cleaning chemicals and bin bags. 

“Is there a drain in the stable?” 

“I believe so.”

He nodded. 

His grip on the cart was tight as the price on the till went up. Her father had left enough money for her that it wasn’t a questionable sum.

He pushed the cart back to the car. It had started sprinkling again and the air was colder. 

They loaded everything and shut the boot. She stepped out to walk around the car when Simon’s arm looped around her waist and pulled her back. A car whipped past them down the aisle. Simon yelled out a curse. 

“Sorry.” He let go of her. She could feel his arm around her, constricting muscle that lifted her up off her feet. Her body felt hot under her coat and sweater even though her face chilled with the wind. 

He honked the horn and she hurried into the car. 

“You walk all this way?”

“I did. Still do sometimes. When Johnny’s not around.”

“Old boyfriend wouldn’t drive you?”

“Never around much before…” She made a vague gesture to her neck with a grimace. She still thought about him on occasion and not always in a negative way. She did care about him up until the moment. 

“I’ll drive you until we can clean Johnny’s car.” No discussion. 

Nina and Johnny put the groceries away while Simon took the chemicals and bin bags to the stable. He said it would take a couple hours to clean up. Johnny volunteered to make dinner and then quickly asked Nina for help. 

The rain continued through the afternoon. She found Johnny napping in his room. She watched from the doorway for a moment. She was trying to not think about Simon. How his arm felt, how he smelled, how his eyes felt as forceful as his hands. 

“Need something, bon?” Johnny asked, not opening his eyes. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Could smell ya before I heard ya.” He beckoned her over lazily. She climbed onto the bed and tucked herself into his side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I want to fuck.” She rested her chin on his chest. He opened his eyes and smirked at her. 

It was easiest if she was on top, careful of his stitches. Her skirt hiked up to her hips and her sweater bunched up above her breasts. Johnny pinched and tugged on her nipples as she stroked his cock. 

“So pretty.” He smiled up at her. It was so easy with him, so nice. He looked at her like he got off on her pleasure rather than resenting it. His touch was delicate and precise. Quick circles around her clit. His finger slid between her folds, she was wet for him. “There we go, my pretty girl.”

He held her hand as she lowered herself onto his cock. Their moans harmonizing sweetly. 

“Johnny Johnny Johnny.” Rosemary. He smelled like rosemary and sweat. He was holding her hand and he smelt like rosemary. He was rubbing her clit and calling her pretty. They didn’t even bother with a condom this time. She wanted him to finish inside her. She wanted to know what it felt like. She wouldn’t call it love but it was close enough. Pushing her closer to the edge. “Oh fuck. Johnny! Please Please Please!”

Cedar…She held it in her head for a brief moment and then it was gone. Johnny’s hands held firm on her hips, holding her up as she came. He thrusted upwards, groaning loudly as he came. He tucked her in against his side, fingers playing with her hair.

“You okay, Nina?”

She nodded and kissed his chest. They stayed like that till the late afternoon. Simon pushed out of her head and away from her. 

She took a cold shower, alone. Her hand finding itself between her legs again, thinking of Johnny and Simon. Johnny with Simon. Simon with her. Johnny with Simon and her. She came so hard she almost fell over. She rested her forehead against the tile and let the water beat down on her back. Her mouth was dry. 

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

Lmk if you want to be added ❤️

[millylotus]

General Notes

May I introduce to you my headcanons for Duke and Danny

Let’s start with Danny cause he changed the most [kinda]

The Fentons are a mixed Filipino-Cuban family [Maddie-Jack] b/c I wanted to [I am not Filipino or Cuban so if I mess up somewhere please tell me!] Jazz, Danny and Maddie all grew up learning and speaking Tagalog

Maddie and Alicia are Filipino-American & 3rd gen immigrants, their family name is Palad

Alicia’s farm was something their aunt had owned then later left to Alicia since her kids didn’t want it

Jack’s mom Olivia nee Castro was Cuban and his dad Rupert Fenton was white [that’s the Fenton-Nightingale side]

Danny is transmasc and has been presenting as such for awhile now

As like a general assumption, the Fentons aren't Horrible vivisect their child kind of parents in most of my AUs, they just aren't perfect half the time

Now onto Duke!

Duke is Nigerian, with both Elaine and Gnomon being centuries old for the most part [depends on AU but before Europeans started their bullshit]

Duke speaks an old dialect of Hausa that Elaine and Gnomon had grown up with and one he grew speaking it along with English

His adopted Dad Doug Thomas is Black, and he has an Aunt and Uncle Tracy & Alvin Jackson who live and in Bludhaven

Duke’s cousin [who’s cannon] Jay Jackson is a decade or so older than Duke and his legal guardian after his parents couldn’t do so

Duke still lives with the Wayne’s sometimes [they were his foster family until Jay could get custody] just jumping between each

The We Are Robin gang are still together but no longer as a group of vigilantes but as friends

I call them The Flock and they each have their own bird nicknames, Izzy|Fieldfare, Riki|-Galerinda, Dax|Alaemon, Andre|Blackbird, Dracy-Joanna “DJ”|Sparrow

They had another member Troy|Warbler he died during the Robin Wars when he was trying to defuse a bomb, it was rigged to blow anyway

Danny does this thing where he just stares at Duke for prolonged periods of time

Duke thought he’d be bothered by it but he actually likes it alot, for Danny to just look at him like he’s his only light

Danny’s always had dysphoria around his body, especially after he started to become more ghostly

Duke always thought he was beautiful and would tell him as such, he loved to watch Danny blush like a fool at his words

I’ve always thought of Danny as a romantic, he’s the type of person to do anything for his partner

He thrives off of physical affection and word of affirmation

Duke is also kinda romantic but he finds it difficult to do physical things, when he truly loves a person he holds them alot, taking their hand, hugging them, things like that

He loves to get things from people he loves, and acts of service

These two are made for each other I swear

DEADLIGHTS MASTERPOST, AO3

Pt.2 [Claim Sheets]

[draguta]

.a court of ash and smoke | twenty.

pairing: lucien vanseera x fem!reader

summary: five years before feyre archeron ever stepped foot in prythian, another human girl found herself in the spring court. but the trials and tribulations of her time under the mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed high fae emissary, who had once resented her entire presence, to help and guide her.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 3829

🩸 series masterlist 🩸

please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

🩸 tip jar 🩸 🩸 tag list 🩸

Old Magic Of Prythian

“Good, now do it again,” Silas called. You sighed and called for a time-out. Silas simply chuckled but yielded and offered you a canteen of water, which you gratefully took. Your first training session had been more difficult than you had been expecting it to be, even if Silas had refused to let you use a proper weapon, instead offering up the wooden swords that the younger sentinels trained with. “You’ll get a proper sword when I’m satisfied you’re not going to accidentally kill me or you with it,” he had said.

“You’ll see what I can do with a wooden sword,” had been your own, sarcastic reply, not that he had heard you. He taught you the basic stances and blows, and most defensive strikes, and then at the very end had suggested you engage in your first spar, one that he had very easily won and had tried to tell you was a ‘lesson in patience’.

You sighed, flopping onto the grass, wooden sword at your side, and huffed out a sigh as Silas planted himself next to you. “I didn’t realise it would be so difficult,” you admitted, running your hand through the strands of grass, wet with evening dew. “There’s so much to remember, and this is just the first lesson.”

“You’re doing good,” Silas said, nudging you with his elbow. “Better than most of my trainees.”

“And how old are your usual trainees?” You asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, they’re older than you are, Made Fae,” he chuckled. “But I’ll admit they’re young. It just means that if they can get it after a while, then so can you.”

You took another swig from the canteen, letting the cold water refresh your exhausted body. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, the sky a mix of pinks and oranges and yellows, and the soft hues of night already making appearances in their swirls of light purple and blue. It had been a long time since you’d been able to sit out in the ground and watch the sunset; it was just as beautiful and magical as it had been all those years ago, when you had still been mortal, and sat on the top of the hill with Tamlin to watch the sky shift from colour to colour.

“Are you and Tamlin related?” You asked, the thought just occurring to you. He looked at you surprised, but bobbed his head from side-to-side.

“Not every High Fae is related,” he chuckled. “But Lord Tamlin is a very distant cousin on my mother’s side. He’s not got much family left.”

“Just you and me then,” you chuckled. “And Feyre.”

He hummed in response. “And Lord Lucien,” he added. “Lucien is like a brother to him.”

“Have they known each other for long?” You asked, peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“They’ve been friends for many decades, since before Lord Tamlin became High Lord,” Silas shrugged. “But Lucien has only been in the Spring Court for around sixty-years. I can still remember the day that he was exiled - it was absolute chaos here for about a week.”

Your head snapped to him in a second. “Exiled?” You asked, raising both of your eyebrows in shock. That was a piece of information that he had neglected to tell you before now. “Lucien was exiled from the Autumn Court?”

“Oh yes,” Silas confirmed. “I was working patrol duty at the cave mouth for the tunnel between the Autumn and Spring lands that day with Andras. All of a sudden, there’s this ginger fellow in the cave asking for sanctuary.”

“Why was he exiled?” You asked, taking another sip of water to combat your dry throat.

“Don’t know, none of the sentinels do, only those in the manor,” he admitted. “Never thought to ask. That’s not really a part of my job. All I know is that twenty minutes after Lucien arrived, three of his brothers showed up too, but they weren’t looking for sanctuary.”

You twisted your lips in thought. “They came here for a fight?”

Silas sucked his lips through his teeth. “In a way,” he said. “They came here to kill him, not that we let them. Lucien killed one of them, Lord Tamlin the other, and the third one went running back to the Autumn Court with his pants wet.”

You couldn’t even force a laugh at his joke. Lucien’s brothers had tried to kill him. Perhaps his past was as dark as he had made it out to be, as Helion had suggested it might be. Having met the handful of his brothers that still remained, it didn’t surprise you that they might have murderous tendencies, but what Lucien could have done to make them react that way, you couldn’t imagine. You didn’t really want to know.

“But what did-”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions,” he chuckled, pushing himself from the grass and picking up your wooden sword to hand it to you. “Here, why don’t we put that energy to better use.”

You groaned, and took the proffered hand that he stretched to you, letting him pull you from the grass and find your stance as you once again prepared for another spar. You parted your legs and bent your knees, planting them firmly on the ground just as Silas had taught you, and drew your sword in both hands to the side of your head, ready to strike. Silas smirked, and lunged, a stab that you blocked and spun out of the way so that you could jab him yourself. He was faster than you, of course, and blocked it with ease, holding you in place.

“Have you already forgotten your lessons?” He asked with a smirk. You narrowed your eyes, and moved fast, kicking him in the shin hard enough to make him buckle slightly, giving you the perfect opportunity to use the wooden blade of your sword to flick at the cross-guard of his own, and twist it toward you, taking the handle and stepping back, both wooden swords pointing directly at him with a smile.

“Not quite,” you chuckled. For a moment he looked shocked, but then his mouth curled into a sideways smirk.

“Good job,” he smirked. “I didn’t teach you that, I think you’ve had some training before.”

“No,” you shrugged, plopping the two wooden swords into the grass. “I just worked that one out by myself.”

Confidently, you spun on your heel and began to walk back down the meadow toward the manor. “Same time tomorrow?” You called over your shoulder.

“You should keep that arrogance in check,” he laughed. “That won’t do you any good on the battlefield.”

You spun, walking down the meadow backward and shrugging, arms outstretched as you laughed. “Who said I’m going into battle?”

Silas simply smirked, throwing a hand at you dismissively as he chuckled to himself, picked up the wooden swords, and returned to the sentinel’s housing. You beamed as you walked back down the hill toward the manor, breathing in the fresh Spring scents; the florals and freshly cut grass. You actually felt…happy. The first time in so long that you had no worries or fear or negativity eating away at that happiness. Unfortunately, that only lasted a few minutes, as you saw a flash of familiar red hair as Lucien approached on horseback.

“What was that?” He asked as he brought his horse to a slow walk beside you. You rolled your eyes. “What were you doing with Silas?”

“He was just teaching me some fighting moves,” you explained.

“Why?”

“He says a Lady should know how to defend herself,” you shrugged. Lucien sighed, running a hand through his hair, a brilliant copper in the dimming sunlight. He wore only a loose fitting white shirt, the ties at the top undone, and you tried to ignore the flash of his chest that you saw when he moved his arm.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. “If Tam finds out-”

“But Tam won’t find out,” you said, stopping in your tracks and turning to look up at him. “Because I don’t intend on telling him, and you won’t tell him either.” You paused, pursing your lips slightly, and then sighed. “Please let me do this. After that day in the study when Tam…I just want to know how to look after myself, ok? No one else is going to do it, so I have to do it myself.”

There was what you could only assume was a twinge of pain behind his eyes, and he chewed nervously on his bottom lip, glancing down the meadow toward the manor, but eventually offered you a low nod of agreement.

“Thank you, Lucien,” you said, and turned to continue walking back down the hill. You heard the thumps of horse hooves against the grass behind you, but you forced yourself not to turn back.

‘He rejected you,’ you told yourself again for the one-hundredth time. ‘He doesn’t want you. He’s mad at you. He rejected you. He probably hates you again.’

You weren’t sure why, but later that day you found yourself back in the library, but instead of curling up with a novel or even hunching down over your notebook to write again, you found yourself in the ‘old books’ section, running a finger along the leather spines, one by one. Your finger stopped when you noted a book titled, ‘Old Magic of Prythian’. It was a thick book, the type that you would often find Tamlin reading in his study, and not the kind that you would usually have had any interest in reading, but with everything that you had learnt about your powers over the past few days, you couldn’t help but wonder…

You hauled the book off the shelf, almost dropping it from its weight, and lifted it to the nearest table, not having the brute strength to haul it all the way to your usual desk by the window. Flipping it open you found it to be hand-written in long looped letters, carefully drawn illustrations alongside the text. The first page was all about the magic of each court; fire, ice, air, light, shapeshifting, shadows, water, and healing. There was more than you had been expecting, and it would seem that some High Lord was gifted additional powers, such as Helion’s curse-breaking, and even Tamlin could also control air. But none of those powers were anything like the one that you had.

You turned the thick pages, each one fraying at the end, until eventually you found a page titled ‘Dark Magic’. Your heart nearly stopped, but when you began reading the text there, you found that there was no new information for you, only the same information that Helion had told you already.

‘Dark Magic can only be created by someone with a dark heart, but can be wielded by anyone who comes into contact with it. Whilst there are many different forms of Dark Magic, some that act as viruses searching for a host to consume before moving onto the next, and some who completely take over their host and allow no room for control, most Dark Magic can be controlled if accepted.’

The rest of the page sat blank.

You groaned in frustration, and slammed the book closed. You glanced back at the shelf - surely there had to be another book that might have some useful information for you. But after a quick scan through any book you could find that might have anything useful for you, you found that there was nothing else.

Finally, you slammed the last of the books onto the top of the pile, one that had simply grown over the few hours that you had sat there reading. Not a single new piece of information. Perhaps Helion had been right, maybe Rhysand was the only person who could help you.

You hesitated with the quill in your hand. Carla had long-since gone home, her duties now rushed each and every morning and night since your episode, and you didn’t blame her. You had been just as terrified as she had been. Yet, knowing that Rhysand was the only one that could help, you were entirely sure how to even ask. What would his training entail? If Lucien and Tamlin were to be believed, then Rhysand was not a good person, and he did know how to control dark magic, and yet that wasn’t the side of him that you had seen. He had helped you Under the Mountain, and the night that he had spent in your bed he had been sweet and caring. Surely he couldn’t be the villain that your brother and his emissary liked to make him out to be. You hoped not, you had taken him to your bed after all.

You bit your lip hard, wiping your clammy hands on your nightdress, and wrote your note.

‘Rhysand, are you there?’

You leaned back in your chair and waited, picking at the leftover cakes from dinner that Carla had left behind. They were sweet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy them, not until Rhysand’s message came through

‘Feeling lonely again? I’m not sure your brother would appreciate me winnowing into your bedroom in the Spring Court - Rhys’

You didn’t hide your smirk, but wrote your reply. ‘You said you could help me.’

What you wanted to say was that no one else could help you, and he was your very last option. You groaned, and reached forward, picking up your brush to pull it through your hair, anything to keep you distracted while you waited for his reply. It came through moments later. ‘I can.’

You hesitated again, the quill hovering above the paper, ready to write the question that you needed to know the answer to before you did anything else. ‘What would I have to do?’

The next message took a little longer than the others, and you waited with baited breath, your mind reeling with all of the things that he would expect you to do in order to control your power. What if he made you become that monster again so that you could learn to tame it? What if he expected you to use another spell in the spell book? What if it was something even worse than that? You stared at the paper, unmoving, until the words appeared there, scrawled in Rhysand’s messy hand. ‘Well, you’d have to come to the Night Court for starters. I can hardly train you under Tamlin’s watchful eye.’

You stared at the paper wide-eyed, reading and rereading the message over and over again. Go to the Night Court? You would have to leave Tamlin and Feyre, would have to leave Lucien. You weren’t sure you could do it, especially after everything you had learnt and experienced of the Night Court. What if Keir was there? You swallowed hard, and wrote your next message. ‘I’m scared.’

‘What is it you’re scared of? Are you scared of me?’ Rhysand’s note appeared a moment later, and you realised as you reached the quill back to the paper that your hands were trembling at the thought.

‘No. I’m scared of me.’ It was an admission that you had barely been able to admit even to yourself, let alone anyone else. Perhaps partly to Lucien, but never to such a degree as this. Your stomach swirled as you waited for his answer.

‘Let me help you.’

And Cauldron did you want to. That was all you wanted, for the one person who seemed to know what was happening to you to help you, to get rid of that horrible weight on your chest. But you couldn’t write that, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that you had to leave the Spring Court, couldn’t agree to go to the Night Court alone, where the only person you knew was Rhysand. You waited and waited, so close to writing ‘yes’ but never letting yourself actually do it. Ten minutes later another message appeared on the paper.

‘I’ll still be here when you’re ready, but remember, you’re running out of time.’

And he was right, you were running out of time.

You had become so lost in your books, researching anything and everything that you could find that might have related to your powers and how to control them, trying to come to a decision regarding Rhysand’s proposal, that you almost hadn’t noticed Winter Solstice approaching. You had been hunched over those books for weeks, and yet had hardly found anything at all, and the clock was still clicking closer to the time when the Dark Magic would take over and finally kill you. Feyre helped, much to your gratitude, whenever she could, but Tamlin and Ianthe had begun requesting that she attend parties and make Court appearances hosted in the manor in her new position as future Lady of the Spring Court, meaning that she rarely had time to spend with you anymore. You usually skipped those parties, and stayed instead in your room, listening to the muffled music from below as it drifted up the stairs and lulled you to sleep.

Ianthe had asked for your help in planning Feyre’s wedding, but you had politely declined. You simply couldn’t imagine planning a party now, not with everything that was going on in your mind. Your powers and Rhysand’s proposal to help, the night that you had spent with Rhysand, your worry for your brother and the way that he was treating Feyre. And then there was Lucien.

You had not been given a chance to speak to him about what had happened in the time that followed your trip to the Day Court. He had been busy with his duties as an emissary, and you had been busy researching your powers and attending your fighting lessons with Silas, a skill which he told you that you were mastering quicker than his usual trainees. Not that you would know what to say to Lucein if you ever got the chance anyway. You couldn’t decide if you were furious with him for his undeserved jealousy, or if you simply longed for him so much that your tongue would turn into knots if you ever did try to talk to him. One thing you had decided on, however, was that you had lied to yourself and to him; Lucien would never have just been a distraction from your own terrible thoughts, nor would he have just been a bit of fun, not like Rhysand had been. It had all been a lie to mask what you truly wanted, and that was anything and everything he was willing to give you.

“What exactly does Winter Solstice in Prythian entail?” You asked at dinner the night before the party. Tamlin raised an eyebrow and looked up at you from over the corner of his teacup. “Did you forget that they don’t celebrate Fae holidays in the mortal lands?”

“I didn’t forget,” he muttered. There he was, that stone-face, stoic soldier that he had become Under the Mountain. You had known that it would haunt him, that the persona he had created for himself would be too hard to shake, and here you were.

“We throw a party in the fields,” Ianthe chipped in, leaning back in her chair, lips red from the strawberry that she was eating. “And the ceremonies at the temple.”

She smiled, raising an eyebrow at you as if to tell you that you must attend them no matter what. You didn’t care, it was the thought of the party in the fields that had piqued your interest. A relaxed party with the villagers sounded exactly like what you needed, not like those stuffy dinner parties and balls with the High Fae nobility that Tamlin was allied, or was trying to ally with. And to be out in the fields, after Tamlin had kept you locked up in that manor for so long. He had insisted it was for your own protection, but you knew better than that. You knew that it was simply so he wouldn’t have the extra weight on his shoulders of worrying for you. Feyre had it worse than you did, however; at least you were still allowed to visit the border of the west woods and the meadows North of the manor whenever you pleased, not that you had.

“And then there’s the gift giving,” Ianthe beamed. Tamlin almost did a double-take as he looked up at her.

“Gift giving?” He asked, rather stunned. “That’s quite an old-fashioned tradition, isn’t it? We haven’t given gifts on Winter Solstice for years, not since my father was High Lord.”

Ianthe merely shrugged. “After the year that you’ve all had,” she said, sweetening her voice as if she were talking to children - made your stomach churn and your eyes roll of their own accord, especially when you remembered what Lucien had told you about her, how she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I think we all deserve gifts this year, do you not?”

‘We’. You almost snorted into your tea.

Tamlin shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “Well, I suppose so,” he said gruffly.

“What type of gifts do people usually give?” Feyre asked, taking a sip of her wine.

“Oh, all sorts of things,” Ianthe chuckled. “Usually, gifts are given to the person that you love and respect the most, or at least, that’s how things are done in the Spring Court. Other Courts sometimes do things a little differently. Normally, you pick out something that you know represents who they are as a person, or is something that they genuinely need and can use.”

“So it’s not just something you think they would like?” Feyre asked with an eyebrow slightly raised. Ianthe shook her head.

“You have to think of the gifts as a message,” she explained. “You’re using your gift to tell someone something, that’s why you choose something that represents them. It shows that person what you think of them.”

“Something that represents them as a person?” You asked curiously, and Ianthe’s blue-grey eyes flashed to you. “Like what?”

“Well,” she said, sounding rather irritated that you had interrupted her, although you weren’t sure if you were the only one who had noticed her aloof tone. “For example, if you’re gifting someone that you think to be strong, then you would give them a wood carving, or a cutting from an oak tree. Someone you see as a protector, a shield perhaps. Someone cunning, a new cloak, and someone you admire would receive a bouquet of flowers or a mirror.”

“What about someone you love?” You asked, and Ianthe looked at you in surprise. You quickly backtracked. “For Feyre, I mean. It is her first Winter Solstice here after all.”

“Well, I’m sure Feyre can figure it out.”

Your question was left unanswered.

[laurelsofhighever]

1, 4-7, 19 for your Rook! (Sorry for so many, I too want to know everything lol)

Questions here

This isn't too many at all! Considering I started out getting such Cousland vibes from my Rook, my actual Rook has become so much her own character and I love her.

Meet Wren "Thorn" Tabris

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Perhaps obviously from her name, she grew up in the Denerim alienage, and was 11 when the Fifth Blight struck the city. The heroism of the Grey Wardens inspired her to join up, and it seemed like a way to get out of the alienage with more dignity than her older cousin, who had to escape after killing an arl's son. The Wardens in Amaranthine took her on as a recruit and trained her up properly before putting her through the Joining, after which she was transferred to serve with the northern Wardens, and she hasn't seen the South in at least a decade.

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? Wren likes the open sky, even if the one in the Fade doesn't really count. Even without enduring journeys into the Deep Roads, she misses the sunsets in Ferelden, because the light hits differently there, and it lingers. If the Lighthouse had an observatory, she'd be camped there hoping for a breeze to drift in through the open windows, enjoying the feeling of openness above her.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? She's usually stoic and businesslike, so she picks the "red" options, but she's astute enough to go for other things if she's in a situation where her companions need something softer. Strongarm options are usually reserved for Solas.

The only times she chooses to be more open and emotional is when she confides in Lucanis, because no one else can see.

6: What companion are you platonically close with? She gets on with everyone - it's a hard life in the Wardens if you can't find common ground with those around you - but of everyone at the Lighthouse, her camraderie with Davrin is the strongest. They share a lot of experiences and were trained in a way that lets them work together, so she knows he has her back, especially since he's also not one to blindly follow orders. She also meshes well with Taash's no-nonsense approach to problems, and would be a lot closer with Neve if not for the awkward distance caused by the events in Minrathous. Of them all, the one she's least close to is probably Bellara, but that's more from a difference in communication style rather than because Wren doesn't like her.

7: Romantically close with? She fell hard for Lucanis. She admired his skill and confidence when they first met, but getting to know the caring side of him after he bought gifts for everyone in the market, and the fear he had of losing control of Spite and accidentally hurting someone, and seeing all his other quirks, it wasn't long before she was pining after him, and hoping he might also feel the same way even if he held himself aloof. She tried not to get her hopes up, at first, because there seemed to be so much easy flirting between him and Neve, but with so much else going on his company felt too much lik a balm to stay away, even with the threat of Spite looming between them - there was something comforting in knowing he was there because of a contract rather than because he had to like her.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? Clearing out the last of the fading blight will take some years, but after that? She's not naturally ruthless enough to become a Crow herself, but a comfortable retirement seems like it would be a nice change of pace, complete with sunsets and every luxury Lucanis can shower on her. If she doesn't get killed fighting darkspawn, the Calling will likely be cured by the time it would have come for her, and it'll eventually be old age that gets her instead.

[transenbyconfessions]

It hit me earlier today that none of my extended family knows that im trans

Ive seen each of them an average of one time in the past three years ive been out—some more than others and some not at all—let alone in the past decade. I dont have a reliable way to contact any but two or three of them

So like. I barely know most of these people or if they’d be chill. I’ve already made the decision to distance and/or avoid a few of them bc of the comments theyve made about other queer people in my family, or just the people they THOUGHT were queer. And i definitely wont be coming out to them. But theres so many of them that i would like to see at some point in the rest of my lifespan that i just. Dont know about. Dont know if i’d be safe, or if theyd out me to the rest of the family.

I would feel SO much more scared about it than i already do if i wasnt for the other queer people in my family that’ve come out. My dad, my aunt. The former is a first hand account of who i could or definitely cant trust, because if theyre homophobic theres no way in hell they’ll be chill w me being a boy now. The later, unfortunately, gave me a first hand account of my dad’s dad being a transphobic piece of shit, in the early days of being in the closet. That definitely made me realize that i could be jeopardizing my safety if im not careful.

But its not all bad! I know which aunts and uncles supported my dad, which ones have blatantly said they supported trans people because theyre decent fucking people, which ones have clued me in on someone else being shitty to my cousins over the idea of being gay. As i get older its easier to hear the family gossip, to get a sense for these people beyond the smiling veneers they aimed towards a younger me

There’s a few people, maybe six, that i would trust just as well as my immediate family, because they’ve supported my dad or theyve been vocal allies. I want to tell them, if i get the chance.

But my grandma, my cousins, a few of my aunts and uncles? I want to keep them in my life, but i dont know how they’d react.

It’ll be unavoidable eventually. Im going on t soon, it wont take long for me to start changing. Facial hair, a deeper voice. It could be years until i see any of them again, i’d have to tell them ahead of time or risk an argument or confrontation or confusion because ill be so different by then

Its so scary. Im fucking terrified. Especially since my identity will reflect back on my parents, that their accepting of me and my transition could cause rifts between them and their siblings, their parents, more than are already there

My mom is so supportive of me, but even when i talk about being scared of the backlash i dont think she can quite comprehend the terror of it all. It took so much to tell my dad i was starting t, and he already knew i was trans for years. I dont think she knew how scared i was of his rejection, how terrified i am when she suggests i tell one of my aunts, who has threatened to disown one of my cousins if she was gay, that i wasnt straight

I know how stifling it is to hide who i am, and how excited i am to start t is def a reflection of that, but im so hesitant to burn bridges no matter how much bullshit is on the other side. Im trying to cling to normalcy as long as i possibly can, in hopes that it’ll shift alongside me and i dont have to say shit, but gods know it’ll rip itself out of my hands before long

I just hope im resilient enough to weather the aftermath, the next time i see any of them

Submitted July 15, 2023

[bumblewarden]

So!! I've been wanting to do this for a while, but life got in the way, so now I'm here to take that thing up again because!!! Fun!!!! This is about the relationships between OCs, and I don't want to impose anything but. Regarding how Novhen and Astala would get along:

What if they HAD grown up together? Maybe not in the same family (although, it would be fun 👀👀👀👀👀👀 they are very similar and very different from each other in different aspects. For example both are very loyal and community oriented, but also Astala is loud and boisterous while Novhen is quieter and more underhanded), but definitely the same Alienage. They'd know each others' quirks and habits. Maybe Novhen got frustrated with Astala because she'd always hide in these really obvious spots when playing hide and seek and Astala in turn would never be able to find Novhen? Maybe Novhen would at some point have stolen a plum tart for her and maybe Astala would've helped him against another kid who made fun of Novhen? Maybe, if we wanted them to meet up later during the Blight, Astala had to move away from Denerim at some point. I think she's a bit older than Novhen; maybe she got married elsewhere. Or, if not, now we gave more elves storming Vaughan's estate, which is alwats fun. I think Novhen would get to lead that one operation until Nelaros's death, because before that, stealth does seem to be the best option.

I think these two would get along well, differences aside. Astala would make an effort to lower her if needed, and having a familiar face to lean on during the Blight year would probably be a big comfort to them both. I think they'd be comfortable enough with each other to talk about the recruitment and how it didn't exactly happen willingly; they could gripe about nobles and politics; they could just. Sit in silence after Broken Circle and try and digest Sloth's nightmare. They could kill the slavers at the Alienage together!!! I think having a like-minded person from the same cultural background would help enormously.

One thing Astala probably wouldn't be on board with is the Cult of Fen'Harel. She'd let Novhen practice alright and defend him if accusations about this were levelled against him, but I think she would either have fallen out of it if she'd ever been introduced to it (it didn't save Adaia after all, so...), or never warmed up to the idea of this elvhen trickster god

These are my thoughts as far as they go. What do you think? Also I hadn't thought of it, but if you want to move this conversation to DMs, they're open ^^

(And if this doesn't tickle your fancy anymore, feel free to ignore ^^)

👀👀👀👀👀 I am eating this ask up like breakfast. Or, er, ramen. Which is the thing i am actually eating atm. But yes yes yes to all of this, i love it so much

Full response under the readmore for length, but i'm realizing now my response is mostly about them as kids 😅 Oops

[Ask Game]

The way i play with companion!Novhen, i'd assume he and Astala are probably either siblings or cousins (i waffle), except this time on their mothers' sides. I don't know Astala's exact age, but Novhen was born in *pulls out notes* Wintermarch of 9:7 Dragon. If we try to stagger them based on Adaia's death, that's probably close to a decade between them which seems a tad bit higher than it should be. We'll just have to dance around that matter

Even if Astala isn't significantly older, there's probably never a single moment where he's taller than her XD Add onto that that girls tend to hit puberty first, there's gonna be quite the height difference around age 10

But yes, their personalities go in very different directions but are probably pretty compatible, especially if given the benefit of a shared childhood! They're both very sociable, but i suspect most people like Astala more, especially authority figures. She's much less of a troublemaker, and Novhen definitely took a while to come into his own as a social mastermind. (This also would make her the ideal candidate for a distraction whenever Novhen’s a-scheming. That’s gonna do her a lot of favors when trying to get him to steal plum tarts for her XD These two are the real blight as far as anyone in the alienage is concerned XDD)

Oh, actually! If they knew each other, i can imagine pretty well him practicing with or studying Astala to get better at social situation! And clearly it worked! (A: "Ok now make an angry face... You just look like you can't find a chamberpot. You have to scrunch your eyebrows like this." *jams her thumb down his forhead*)

Astala seems to prefer her hair shorter during the Blight, but how was it as a child? Because if it were in some sort of puff, i can imagine her child-level object permanence resulting in her hiding in an empty barrel with the puff still peeking over the top! (Artist's Rendition Below)

I don’t think he’d be too frustrated with her poor stealth outside of team games at least! (If they’re partnered is another story…) He does sometimes tease her that she’s not going to be a very good criminal when she gets bigger. Idk, how would she respond to that? Because how does she feels about the fact that she's not going to follow in her mother's footsteps (or how aware of that she'd be as a child) or maybe she would retort about how she’s already bigger or something else? Definitely a lot of ways to take that one lol

But also the idea of Novhen as alienage king of hide and seek is kinda cute. He's usually the last one left (all that damn thief training), so it’s not unheard of to see a parade of Astala, Shianni, Soris, and whoever else they've wrapped into their game (which with Astala could be quite a number) turning the alienage upsidedown to find him. There's probably at least one time he gets found in the first minute, and he thinks he's going to die of embarrassment. Because of that, they almost never let him be a hider in the first round. Sometimes when he’s hiding, they'll accidentally pick up seekers who weren't even playing along the way because they want to see him knocked down a peg XD That's what happens when you win too much!

Astala probably has him beat at wrestling tho! And the game where i imagine they’re most evenly matched would be arm wrestling. As an archer, Novhen has insane upper body and especially shoulder strength, but Astala has insane everywhere strength

On the less competitive side, imagine them as dance partners as little kids ☺️ Astala’s probably the more enthusiastic one about it, but i’d imagine she could drag him into it Easy whether through blackmail or Ole Reliable (puppy dog eyes). There have to be lots of events in the alienage that call for dancing, so it’s good to have a go-to dance partner! And if they ever get a Silly Urge while dancing, the one thing that i’ve found little kids most reliable to do is spin so fast they nearly make themselves sick, and when there’s two of them spinning each other, there’s no stopping them until the centrifugal force throws them both to the ground. At least they’re having fun lol

The Cult of Fen'Harel thing makes sense. I wouldn't expect Astala to be into that. I imagine in this case that Cyrion and Adaia agreed to expose the children to both sets of beliefs, so they could choose once they got older

It's a good thing Novhen's good at keeping matters hush because otherwise Astala would likely get stuck constantly mediating between Novhen and Ilanlas on matters of religion 🤭

Tbh Novhen would slightly begrudge her for choosing the Chantry, but i don't think he'd ever let her know if he could help it. It's just not worth it, and you can't talk about that without talking about Adaia's death which nobody is excited to talk about. Still, it's a potential source of drama, esp as the politics of DA:D are winding up

Back in the present day, if the endgame configuration is one where they live in the same location (which i think could only be the case if they were both companions), Novhen would offer her once for him to educate her child/ren in the way of the Cult of Fen'Harel and/or the Vir Banal'ras fighting style, probably get denied at least on the first one, and never bring it back up. He knows she's Andrastian and also wouldn't expect her to teach them that fighting style herself (too rogue-based), but if he had permission, he'd want to at least try to expose them to their family's traditions, so they could make a choice themselves like Novhen and Astala did

And honestly, if he's present for the origin, once Nelaros dies, Novhen would more than happily hand leadership of the mission over to Astala. Stealth only goes so far, and she has first dibs on revenge #SupportWomen

And with Unrest in the Alienage! As soon as Caladrius is dead, Novhen is scampering over his corpse to pick the lock on Cyrion's cage. Doesn't even wait for someone else to pilfer the key. Astala is free to react to that little scene however she wishes, and we get the whole Tabris family reunion after

Whoever’s Warden, i imagine those two leaning on each other a lot for emotional support during the Blight because not only are they the only alienage elves in the party, they’re family (or at the least childhood friends). Once we personalize the Broken Circle dreams, they get upsetting fast. If either of them get sent into that mission (or Maker forbid both of them), they’re definitely going to need to share a blanket by the fire for a minute

EDIT: the paragraph looks like it's been eaten but also! Novhen would be very cautious about Astala's Zevran romance at first. ("Yes, Stala, he's very dreamy, but let's not forget he's only here because he was hired to kill you.") We know he's very protective, and they're both so eldest sibling-coded

[julietasgf]

Ma's family not liking Strabo from the start is so valid, they must have had foresight or something! But it's sad that her family wouldn't take her back if she chose to leave Strabo :( Like yeah maybe she realized too late he was too bad of a person to stay with, but hey better late than never? I see that you have plans to write something from Strabo's pov and I am so so excited for that! But oof with Ma not having a good relationship with her parents, when I first read her character study, I did notice the line about her father not taking her dreams seriously, but ouch her dad just seems plain rude and mean. Like who makes fun of their kid unprompted in front of a stranger? But an even bigger ouch to her mom and sisters being too afraid of the father to say anything against him, it seems like Ma has just been surrounded by bad/iffy men all her life :( Do you hc Ma to have any brothers? Would having a brother have mellowed out Ma's father? also how many sisters do you hc Ma to have? But if Ma had a strained relationship with her father, why did she name her son after him? Unless by naming Sejanus after his grandfather, you meant he was named after his paternal grandfather? The hcs about Strabo and his half-siblings are a super big ouch, especially for his poor siblings. Him resenting his half-siblings while they loved him and looked up to him...my heart.... I get Strabo being angered by his stepmother wanting to inherit the factory especially since he was the one to do all the hard work of maintaining it, but taking it out on his younger siblings....that is not it especially since I'm assuming Strabo is way older than them? If his dad remarried when he was 5 or 6, there's probably like a 7+ year age gap between Strabo and his half-siblings? I totally get saying hurtful, cruel things in the heat of moment (i'm sure we've all been there before...) but then Strabo was in his late teens when the fallout happened, so that means his younger half-siblings were like 12 or younger when that explosive rift happened? If there's like a decade age gap between Strabo and his younger siblings, I'm just imagining an 18/19 year old Strabo yelling at and saying cruel things to like an 8/9 year old....yeah that's not a good look for him but has he ever been a good person?? So after taking over the factory, that's it with his family? Did he ever bother to keep up with them from afar? Like maybe he didn't keep in touch with them, but did he hear about them in passing, like them getting married or having kids? Does he even know what his niece(s) or nephew(s) on his side of the family look like? I saw in another one of your answers that maybe D2 would vote in one of Sejanus's paternal cousins for the First Quarter Quell and I'm just... *insert so many crying emojis* Like WHY, it's not their fault their uncle was a total scumbag and betrayed their district. They may have his blood and surname, but they're basically estranged from Strabo and his family! Strabo doesn't even like them and they probably don't like him either! But also wouldn't Strabo's nieces and nephews be too old for the Reaping by the time of the 25th hunger games? But also omg Sejanus never knowing his paternal cousins, something to think about because he never once met them even in passing? Or were those cousins born after he moved to the Capitol since there likely would be a pretty large age gap between Strabo and his half-siblings? If I were Strabo's half-siblings, I would change my surname so fast after the news of Strabo betraying D2 spread. Plinth who? Never met that man in my life!

hello anon!! again, I'm going to answer both asks in one post, I hope that's okay by you :))

I just know that strabo went to meet her parents and they sensed something very, very off with him, they just couldn't put their finger on it. I feel so bad for her, that her family completely rejected her :( ma made mistakes, but I do think she's more of a victim to everything, and she got caught up in strabo's schemings and horrible decisions.

I'M SO EXCITED TO POST IT ACTUALLY, I already started writing and hopefully, it'll get ready by the weekend; the name is carcará, which I searched up and translates to crested caracara in english, and the one shot is very much inspired by an old song in br pt with the same name. specifically, there's a part in the chorus that goes like "carcará, it hunts, it kills, it eats, carcará won't starve" and I think it sums up most of what I intend to share hehe

ma's dad is... very much not the best. maybe this is something to write about later (specifically because I'm a sucker for generational bad stuff that just keeps happening again and again). she left her parents' home thinking strabo is better because he is gentle to her, but it's mostly a golden cage. I think ma didn't have any brother, just sisters!!! 3 of them (I promise when I thought of this was not bc of little women help). it's a bit hard to say, it could go either way: a big brother protecting the sisters from the rude comments and overall rude behavior or either he would team up with their dad, and I really think there's no inbetween ☠️ she named sejanus after his paternal grandfather, I'm so sorry, I left it too vague and just noticed now lmao 😭

when thinking about strabo's family, what only played in my head is that part of the plagues from the prince of the egypt that goes like "you who I called brother", and I JUST COULDN'T STOP THINKING ABT IT. I imagine the half-siblings to be twins and the age gap to be around 11 years; so when the fall out happens, both of them are 8. now, I understand perfectly him being pissed of about the factory. but he says fucked up shit to these kids, he's genuinely just pouring out pure hate and fury and pented up anger to two children who pretty much adored him. and then he left home, too bitter and too angry and leaving behind two children who not only were heartbroken, but were feeling betrayed, because they were supposed to be a team, they were supposed to stick together.

strabo is too proud, after saying the stuff he did I hardly think he would even try to come back, but from time to time I think he would pass around his old house to look from afar, would see them living their lives far away from him, but talking directly? nah. I doubt it. it would be a blow on his ego. he'd rather get shot.

UGHHHHH I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABT THIS QUARTER QUELL 😭😭😭😭😭 IT'S LIVING IN MY LIFE RENT FREE. I would feel SO bad for these kids, having to pay for the sins of a man they never met, they don't even know. about the age, I made some math to be sure; I imagine sejanus to be born when his parents were around 33, 34. let's say 34 to have a more precise number. that would make strabo's half-siblings 23. let's say, then, that they had more than one kid, and the last one when they were around idk 38. by the first quarter quell, that kid (that poor, poor kid) would be 18.

(it was their last year, it was almost enough to escape, they were so lucky until now.)

((you know what, I'm going insane with this possibilty, I would do anything for a suzanne collins' book about this specific quarter quell just to know about each district's tribute and why they got voted on))

some of his cousins were born before, I think, and he really never met them (maybe he saw them on the streets, but his ma grabbed his hand and started walking faster, and he didn't even know that these were his cousins, his blood). LMAOOOO I would do the same tbh 😭 not only change my last name, I would change my name and dye my hair and buy contacts just to make sure no one would recognize we're related

I can totally see it and it's pretty much what I would've done tbf 😭 here we usually have two surnames, our mom's last name and our dad's, and it's pretty much to you whose last name are you going to use (I literally only use my mom's last name at least). I think they would keep the surname after the whole fight, bc at that point, plinth was not only strabo's surname, it was their father's surname too. but then the rebellion comes, and they are being associated with HIM, and it's just... terrible. people see the name plinth and automatically think about the guns killing brothers, sisters, daughters, sons. it's ruining their lives and they children's. but even if they change their surname, and try to move on.... it's almost impossible to not see the resemblance between them and the guy on the capitol propaganda regarding district loyalty. and plus, this is more of a hc of mine, but D2 is proud. they remember things and they keep them with them. it's not really fault of strabo's siblings or their children, but I could easily see the D2 population taking out their pain and grief on them, specially after the plinths move out and are deemed complete traitors. but you're right, it's all extremely sad and tragic. in the end, blood is thicker than water... specially in the worst situations like this :(

(also, I almost forgot to say, I think he had two little brothers!!)

AND OMG I LOVE YOUR HC 😭 AAAAAA I'M HEARTBROKEN RIGHT NOW. imagine if his sibling who's a doctor started doing it bc he thinks what strabo is doing, selling guns (before the rebellion, he solt it to the capitol, but only for the peacekeepers), made him feel guilty with his surname on these bullets, and then he starts to help ppl to make up for it. and you know what? it works! plinth is not a surname associated totally with pain and blood anymore. but then the rebellion comes, and this sibling wants to help to take care of the wounded, but they won't even let him enter the hospital bc he's a plinth nonethless. and after the war, he tries, tries his best to help people and make up for this horrible guilt on his chest, but it's not enough bc it's not like before anymore. now, excuse me for a while, I'm going to cry in a corner. hopefully, at least one of the half-siblings is happy and fine with their kids, that's what they deserve.

aaaaaaa tysm!!! 🥹 if suzanne collins ever wrote a book like fire & blood (grrm, the game of thrones' author, wrote it about the whole history of the country westeros) but about the districts and their culture and their habits, I would buy it without thinking twice, and I'm so serious about it. but for now I'll have to be happy with writing hcs abt D2 and the plinth family, I love my beloved dysfunctional guys, they're very much seventeen/family jewels by marina coded <33 LMAOO I also came to the fandom bc of snowjanus, but then got too invested on the worldbuilding and the plinths bc they're too interesting 😭 it really is a pipeline

thank you again anon for the asks and for letting me talk non-stop about these stuff!!! <3

[bookshelf-in-progress]

💬 🖊 for Rilya

In my Arateph stories, Rilya is the best friend and prime supporter of the woman who would one day become Queen Marastel. Rilya's the youngest daughter of the lord of House Kepha, with a bold, outgoing, flamboyant personality, and a strong trickster side that delights in upending social norms. She considers herself a scholar--with a special interest in astronomy--and delights in social events. She's known for her shockingly egalitarian views and rebellious nature.

Marastel is Rilya's extremely distant cousin from the lowest ranks of House Kepha, about two years younger than her, became Rilya's serving-companion when Rilya was about twenty. Rilya became a friend and sponsor to young Marastel--still rather superior and condescending, but in a friendly, flamboyant Rilya way. (I always say she's like a combination of Emma Wodehouse and Psmith).

When Crown Prince Jemrauth was visiting Kepha, he spent a lot of time at Rilya's social events, which sparked rumors that he was romantically interested in her--which was a little bit of a scandal, since the other Great Houses have historically distrusted Kepha (which remained independent of the planetary monarchy almost a century longer than any other region). Rilya encouraged these rumors to hide the much more scandalous truth that Jemrauth was actually interested in Marastel. Being from House Kepha was bad enough, but being from the lowest ranks of Kepha made Marastel a complete impossibility as a marriage option. The truth eventually leaked, scandal arose, and Jemrauth's father forbid the marriage, keeping the couple apart for years, but Rilya was always the greatest supporter of the two. When they finally married, Rilya remained the closest confidant of the new queen.

Rilya would have been happy to remain a single spinster socialite, but she eventually married a quiet, practical younger son of another House. He's a little bit of an inventor, so they share an interest in scientific things, and his much more even-keeled, sensible personality is a necessary contrast to Rilya's wilder nature. She had a bunch of kids and was a doting mother (though she gladly would have let the childless Marastel adopt one if a legal condition of Marastel's marriage hadn't prevented her from doing so.) Despite doing all she could to further the cause of the common people among the nobility, Rilya was executed by the revolution not long before Marastel was, and she faced it with dignity.

As for quotes, l feel like sharing the two most prominent Rilya fragments from the story pieces where she shows up.

First is a conversation from very early in Jemrauth's courtship of Marastel.

Marastel said desperately, “Rilya, the crown prince is downstairs!”  “I know.”   So much for the theory that the visitor had slipped her mind. “You...you have to come! Now!” Rilya made some notes on her astronomical charts. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”  Marastel had been. Immensely. And it was so far beside the point that she didn’t waste her time telling Rilya so. “He’s been here for most of an hour. This is rude, even for you.”  Rilya’s thin eyebrows rose. “Rude? I’m being considerate.” She folded her charts. “I’m staying out of your way.”  “You're making me do all the work of entertaining your guest. Your royal guest. And making him waste half his morning waiting when he made a special trip to visit you--” Rilya laughed.  “Marastel, charitsia.” Her voice added extra nuances to the undertones of the naming-tongue endearment, somehow full of genuine concern and fondness yet remaining maddenly superior. Though Rilya was barely a year older than Marastel, she often acted as if five decades separated them. “He doesn't care if I'm there or not. He's not here to see me. He's here to see you.”

Next is Rilya's response to Jemrauth using his act of taking a regnal virtue name at his coronation to declare to the entire world that he plans to marry Marastel despite his father's objections.

Rilya smiled that smile that made her seem more like Marastel’s elderly maiden aunt than a girl barely three years her elder. “Marastel, charitsia, I’m flattered that you think I’m responsible for every scheme in your courtship, but I had nothing to do with this. It was all Jemrauth’s idea.” Her smile became a delighted grin. “And it was brilliant. He has to marry you now. The whole world saw him pledge loyalty to you. Hilath can’t refuse to let his son live up to his chosen virtue name. Not without exposing all his promises of promoting virtue as empty talk.” She settled back into her chair with a look of satisfaction. “Maybe I should have married him. He’s sharper than I gave him credit for. He’d be a very amusing husband--” She glanced at Marastel. “That is, if he hadn’t just made it clear that he’ll marry no one but you.”

[nausikaaa]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for tagging me @forabeatofadrum! i’m a little late posting, but finally found some inspiration to write again, so here’s some of a new perspective from my post-troy novel- Hermione. context below the cut as always!

All in all, I was thoroughly unimpressed with my husband, and his awkward mannerisms were beginning to grate on my already exposed nerves. And then he did something that did more than just irritate me. He stood up, walked away from me, and joined the dance.

I didn’t move a muscle, but I could feel eyes on me. This is ridiculous, I thought. Dancing was for young girls, not men such as him, small and lithe as he may have been. I wondered if he intended to humiliate me, or was he truly oblivious to the ways of the world? I knew he grew up on an island, isolated from the rest of Greece, but this was unorthodox by any standards.

He leapt and whirled with seven women from Skyros, ranging from barely his elder to just over a decade older. They all shared his ginger hair and blue eyes- his aunts, and there in the centre, his mother, Deidamia. I thought she ought to be ashamed of herself, a widow, dancing! Her skirts flew around her, her feet barely touched the ground, and she laughed and laughed as she took her son by the hand and spun him round.

I took a small sip of wine and hoped my veil would hide the red of my face. My grandfather made furious eye contact with me from across the hall, as though this shameless display was somehow my fault, while my mother had the audacity to clap along with the beat. My father didn’t even seem to notice anything amiss, deep in conversation with one of Neoptolemus’s advisors.

I cast my eyes skyward and silently prayed he would get whatever this was out of his system by the end of the song and return to my side, where I would pretend to be amused by his antics to save face and return to the silence we had been comfortable in before, but the song came to an end, a new one started, and he didn’t stop.

I downed the rest of my wine and waved a slave over for a refill.

i love writing Hermione so much, i think anyone who reads my carry on Agatha fics can tell i just really enjoy writing from the perspective of a total bitch (affectionate)

Hermione is the daughter of Helen of Sparta/Troy and her first husband, Menelaus. after the war she was married to Neoptolemus, also known as Pyrrhus, the son of the hero Achilles and a hero (or war criminal, depending on your persuasion) in his own right.

Hermione had been engaged her entire childhood to her cousin, Orestes, but sources vary on which man she loved. whatever the case, Orestes eventually killed Pyrrhus and took Hermione by force.

the interpretation i chose to go with is that Hermione and Pyrrhus’s relationship begins very strained, Hermione has very rigid ideas about what is proper while Pyrrhus, having grown up surrounded by young women and then losing any remaining childhood wonder he may have had when he was drafted for the war at 15, likes to cut loose and buck tradition.

eventually, they manage to find common ground- the expectations they have grown up under due to their parents. Pyrrhus is the son of the greatest warrior the world had ever known, but he hates violence and can’t stand the sight of blood, for all he was forced to endure it at Troy. Hermione is the daughter of the most beautiful woman in history, but she resembles her father and has a very strained relationship with her. after this, they grow close and have a loving relationship, but Hermione struggles to conceive.

after only 4 years together, Hermione suffers a miscarriage, prompting Pyrrhus goes to Delphi to pray to Apollo, who has cursed him. Hermione also carries a family curse, but there’s nothing she can do to end it, it’s built upon generations of infanticide and cannibalism (the House Of Atreus is wack), and there he is killed by Orestes, who then goes as kidnaps Hermione.

Hermione’s POV ends there, but we see from Astyanax, the main character, that she eventually escaped Orestes and went back to Skyros, Pyrrhus’s home country, the place she was happiest, where she was accepted as the Queen by his aunts and the people. so a bittersweet ending.

and here’s what Hermione and Pyrrhus look like, in this scene and 4 years later:

fun fact: Hermione’s hair is short in the first picrew because Spartan girls would cut it short for their weddings. Spartan men and women lived very segregated lives as men were raised in military barracks since childhood, and both young men and women often had gay relationships with others their age because there just wasn’t the option to be with someone of the opposite sex. so the short hair was both a symbolisation of rebirth for women but also to ease men into heterosexuality 😂

for a late wip wednesday or next six sentence sunday, i tag @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @ileadacharmedlife @ionlydrinkhotwater @martsonmars @confused-bi-queer @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @bazzybelle @castawaypitch @ivelovedhimthroughworse @gekkoinapeartree @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @moodandmist @tea-brigade @whatevertheweather @stillgeekingout @wetheformidables @onepintobean @basiltonbutliketheherb @theearlgreymage and @whogaveyoupermission

[rebelsandrogues]

On Mourning and Radical Music

I was doing my usual morning routine of drinking iced coffee, smoking a cigarette, and checking Twitter on Wednesday when I received a real gut-punch: Shuhada' Sadaqat (better known by her stage name of Sinéad O’Connor) was dead at 56. A beautiful soul, long-time outspoken artist and activist, and an Irish treasure. It hit harder than I’d even realized it would.

Now, to be fair, I do not have an easy time dealing with death, of anything. I sometimes get choked up seeing a cat or dog on the side of the road that has, unfortunately, been hit by a vehicle. 

A good number of my personal heroes have, sadly, passed in the last 20+ years of adulthood. The first I was really affected by was Johnny Cash in 2003, but I immediately wondered why this one felt so personal. For the majority of that day I sat alone, revisiting her catalog and thinking about the reasons why. Then it dawned on me: she was one of the first musicians that truly made an impact on me from the very moment of exposure. 

I must’ve been 8 or 9, in the early 90s, long before the very small town of my upbringing got MTV or Much Music. Our local TV station aired popular new wave, alt-rock, etc videos from the 80s and very early 90s. I’d stay up on Fridays, at my maternal grandparents’ house, being exposed to the likes of Devo, the Lightning Seeds, the Pet Shop Boys, and Sinéad. 

I don’t exactly remember which video it was that I saw first, perhaps “Mandinka” or, most likely, “Nothing Compares 2 U”, but I distinctly remember being enthralled by something that was completely out of the ordinary and emotive, an experience I wouldn’t begin to even understand until I was much older. I was experiencing a *very* radical artist for the first time. 

Now, I’m very fortunate that, for the majority of my nearly 40 years on this spinning rock, I’ve constantly been surrounded by good music. My parents are two sides of the same coin. My dad was a 70s rocker. He loves Skynyrd, Zeppelin, Bob Seger (who he’s always reminded me of), the Who, etc. Hell, he followed ZZ Top around for a while in his late teens. My mom, she was more into singer-songwriters like Neil Young, Dan Fogelberg, and, her absolute teenage favorite, John Denver (whom she invited to her high school graduation, but that’s a story for another time). 

Needless to say, I had very early exposure to fantastic bands and musicians. 

Now, an older cousin and her then-boyfriend enter the conversation. They loved R.E.M. (who had filmed a video in my hometown, and had album art created by a local folk artist), 10,000 Maniacs, L7, and loads of 80s “College Rock”. Her boyfriend first played me the Ramones, Minor Threat, and Black Flag around age 10. None of which I really unpacked the impact of until I was in my late mid-late teens. Thinking back on it, this early exposure set me on a course of fierce independence and learning all I could about both the musicians I loved, but also the underpinnings of what made their art special.

I remember the infamous SNL episode where O’Connor ripped up a picture of Pope John Paul II. I was nearly 10 at the time, but didn’t understand what it meant until a couple of decades later. Yet, that influence percolated, subconsciously, for so long. 

Shortly after, I was exposed to the Cranberries, led by Dolores O’Riordan (another Irish treasure). I bought the cassette singles of “Linger” and “Dreams”. Then, “No Need to Argue” followed. I was immediately taken aback by it. “Zombie” is, of course, the best known song, but “Dreaming My Dreams”, “I Can’t Be With You”, “Ridiculous Thoughts”.  Honestly, every track resonated with 11 year old me. I spent much of 4th grade drawing what I saw in my head as scenes from the song “Zombie”. These days I would probably have faced VERY bad consequences for that, but this was 1994. When I got my first guitar at age 12, that was the first song I learned. 

In 5th grade a friend loaned me a cassette copy of the Crow soundtrack. Amidst making mix tapes of alt-rock songs off the radio, this was a turning point. Stone Temple Pilots’ “Big Empty” all but knocked me over the first time I heard it. And, as one does, I rewound and played it over and over and over. 

I distinctly remember sitting outside, waiting for my grandmother to pick me up from school, with my Walkman and headphones on. I listened to that tape and my mixes (which included Gin Blossoms, R.E.M., Hootie and the Blowfish, along with many others), thinking “I’m so much cooler than all of you”. 

This music was an escape. It was something that gave me life. It was something that made me feel different from everyone else stuck listening to the pop music of the era. It was special, it was my secret.

Middle school brought more discovery of punk rock (Green Day’s “Dookie”, Rancid’s “…And Out Come the Wolves”, and other typical mid-90s shit) along with ska. I was “technically” only allowed to listen to Christian music (goth bless my grandma, who didn’t give a shit one way or another, I was the favorite grandchild). This, in turn,  led me to discovering Five Iron Frenzy. 

They were a loosely “Christian” band that wrote songs about the removal of indigenous peoples because of manifest destiny, songs critiquing capitalism, songs about accepting people for who they were (there’s a song on a late 90s EP about the singer finding out Freddie Mercury was gay and working through it). I credit them, in retrospect, for a lot of my political and religious evolution (the band was full of communists, anarchists, and atheists). 

At this point in time, the underground music scenes were pretty mixed. Very vocal bands that held varying beliefs, all played together, supported each other, exposed small-town kids, like myself, to many points of view. I read liner notes like novels, taking in every word, researching (as best I could, this was before we had the internet at home) and trying to find the bands mentioned in the “thank you” section. I was seeking out more of this feeling that had captivated me at such an early age.

I’d spend the next, nearly, 20 years playing in bands, always chasing the same feeling that felt as special as those early days of my musical journey.

I am a consummate student of music, it was (and still is) my first, and biggest love. As time has rolled on, I’ve discovered so many artists that have made me feel like I’m engaged in a secret many do not know. 

In reality, that’s not at all the case. Many of these bands and musicians are widely revered, but none-the-less radical in context. From the blues of Sonhouse, to Sister Rosetta Tharpe, to Little Richard, to Link Wray, to the New York Dolls and the proto-punk of the 70s, to more modern bands like Pissed Jeans or Uniform or Soul Glo, it’s still my main love and fully has my heart. 

All of this to say, I’m so happy that Ms. O’Connor, in some way, played a part in this. That, at almost 40 years of age, these artists still keep me on my toes. They continue to bring me joy and comfort. I’m eternally grateful that the ones named (and the thousands I didn’t name) existed/continue to exist, in some way. I hope they continue to inspire and change the lives of other kids like me that find out about them and feel like they hold the secret to life. 

Rest in power to her and the other real heroes we’ve lost. Their impact will continue to be felt because of the art they created, and those who continue to be inspired by it.

[alpinefury]

Grace and Ted

So this is a shamelessly self-indulgent post, one about family history involving nobody anyone has ever heard of. I'm not posting about it assuming anyone else finds it interesting or important, though I certainly won't be upset if anyone does. It's just something I've been spending a lot of time doing, and I feel a need to talk about it a bit. I'll probably post at least a few more of these at some stage.

I met my great-aunt Grace twice when I was very little, but it was so long ago that I don't remember her face. I never met her husband, my great-uncle Ted, as he passed away almost twenty years before I was born. I can remember their farm, sat near the Norfolk/Suffolk border. Both the farm's domestic and working buildings were arranged around a central open courtyard, creating what what I'd want to call a range. That courtyard was taken up by a large garden in the period when I was visiting, a garden occupied by at least one dog at all times as far as I could tell. The farmhouse proper was one of the first houses I'd spent any time in that felt old. Most of that house's wooden floors were at what you'd call a noticeable angle, the result of many decades' subsidence. It felt like you could have rolled out of bed and kept going! I have patchy memories of china plates set out on display at the side of a dining room, which I've since confirmed with my parents. I wish I could remember other things more definite about that house, and indeed Grace, than what I mostly have, which is fleeting impressions.

Much of what I actually know about Grace and Ted, both their personalities and the story of their lives, I only learned much later, much of it within the past couple of years.

Grace, Florence Grace Stella Emmerton, was born on the 10th of November 1909 in Tottenham, Middlesex (Middlesex no longer exists in any real capacity in England, but even by that stage Tottenham was very much part of London's sprawl). Her parents, my great-grandparents, were James Emmerton and Minnie Grace Emmerton (nee Goddard), both born in the mid 1880s, and both from large working class London families based around St Pancras and Islington. Many members of both families (including Jim) were attached to the railways in some professional capacity. Grace was the eldest of Jim and Minnie Grace's three children. This was a much smaller family than either of her parents had grown up with. Minnie Grace was the youngest of eight Goddard children, and Jim the middle child of another eight Emmertons. I can only imagine the logistics required to keep track of Grace's multitudes of uncles and cousins.

Ted, Arthur Edward George Andrews, was born on the 29th of April 1911 in Blo Norton, Norfolk. Blo Norton was, and remains, a very small village near the county's southern border with Suffolk, near the small town of Diss. His parents were Edward Charles Andrews and Mary Ann Andrews (nee Crowe), who, like the Emmertons, were both born in the mid-1880s. The Andrews, by contrast, were both from the ever-shrinking agricultural labouring class rather than working in the industrial cities. However, Ted's grandfather had struck lucky, and had managed the relatively rare transition from working as hired agricultural labour into holding farmland of his own. Mary was part of a long line of strict Baptist families belonging to that part of Norfolk, and indeed as late as 1901 there was still a Baptist meeting house in Blo Norton, as shown on that year's census, though I don't think that Ted was brought up Baptist in the end.

Ted was the eldest of five siblings, and I believe he may still have a living sibling in the Diss area (who at this point would be well into his late 90s). For all that theirs was a family that owned land in the area, there wasn't a lot of room for all five of them to lead independent lives in that small a village, and whilst Ted's two brothers each had stints as the right hand man on the farm to their older brother each seems to have eventually had enough and moved on. Likewise, both of his sister's seem to have established lives outside Blo Norton, albeit not tremendously far as the crow flies.

Grace and Ted's marriage was perhaps a little unlikely. Whilst personal mobility had increased across the late Victorian era, and would continue to increase in the early 20th century, for the working class in England this still tended to conform to certain patterns. Those from agricultural labouring families were often pushed towards work in great manufacturing cities or trying their hand overseas, and many of Ted's extended family had done exactly that by the time he was born. But, spoilers, I mentioned a farm close to the Norfolk/Suffolk border early on, so it's probably clear by now that Ted did not end up following suit. Instead it Grace who ended up leaving city life behind for the countryside. It was rare indeed that instead someone born and raised in the life of the urban working class ended up 'returning' to a life of agriculture.

Their marriage might have been unexpected, but their first meeting was almost outrageous coincidence. Grace and Ted essentially met by total chance. Grace had become the leader of a troop of Girl Guides based in London, and had taken that troop out into the countryside on a camping trip. The only reason that particular trip went to a village as obscure as Blo Norton is that Grace happened to have a friend from that village, a former boarder in the Emmerton household. It was Ted's land that Grace was able to borrow for that camping trip. His father had died the year before Grace and Ted were married, in 1935, and so Ted had only recently inherited the farm. This would be the very farm that Grace and Ted would eventually live on, the one that I visited as a young child. I wonder how Grace felt after she realised that this chance meeting had permanently altered the course of her life.

Marriage in the 1930s remained a decision with a great deal of practical weight behind it, though this was not mutually exclusive with genuine attraction or affection. But Ted was a handsome man, and I'd like to think that Grace was genuinely attracted to him, especially because from a cold point of view the marriage would have been a mixed bag in the practical senses. She most certainly wasn't choosing poverty; whilst she and Ted were never well off he did own a farm, after all. That had notable cache in the urban working class of that time, as it meant Ted actually owned his own property, rather than paying rent, and indeed had employees of his own.

However, Grace was essentially abdicating any possibility of partaking in the same economic mobility that would later allow her sister Olive, my grandmother, to become a teacher and enjoy a lower middle class lifestyle for much of her life. Grace had embarked on her own career as a seamstress by this point, hardly a comfortable office job but nonetheless a 'skilled' working class job in comparison to working in a factory. Likewise, she wasn't taking on a marital home that would allow her to avoid practical work, if anything becoming a farmer's wife would guarantee a great deal of daily work. Not least, she was also leaving behind her relatively large extended family back home (think of all the many aunts, uncles, and cousins she must have had from both sides of the family), along with any and all friends that she had. With all that taken into account, it feels hard to evaluate the decision to marry Ted as one primarily born out of convenience.

When you imagine this farm, with its farmhouse and working buildings, it's best not to imagine endless rolling acres of crops. Ted's farm, in its working days, was primarily a dairy farm, with only relatively small areas being spared for cash crops and market gardening. Likewise, don't imagine some precursor of a modern intensive dairy farm with a huge herd- my dad doesn't remember there being any more than thirty or so purebred Jersey cows in the herd that Grace and Ted kept, of whom around sixteen would be providing milk at any one time (the others would be suckling calves, last year's calves, or the solitary bull). This was a Small Farm.

But with that in mind, it was still a pretty heavy working life that they led, and the farm still needed multiple workers beyond Ted and Grace. At bare minimum animals would need to be fed every day, not only the dairy cows but also the pigs, chickens, and at least one horse. But the cows were milked by hand, all bottles used needed to be sterilised, crops would need to be sewn and later harvested, buildings would have to be repaired, animals might become sick. The list is almost endless, as anyone who has spent time on a farm will know even better than I do.

Grace and Ted very much kept to the traditional agricultural daily pattern that's now far removed from most folk's lives, rising with dawn and eating a large breakfast, only having a small lunch or just a tea and something to eat partway through the working day, and having a late dinner. That caught them out when my dad was staying with them a few times, as they kept forgetting that a small boy raised outside of that lifestyle wouldn't used to it and would need feeding! But it also meant that, once Ted's health started to decline towards the end of his life, the vast majority of the farm's working dimensions had to shut down.

Despite their lives being focused on what was a very small farm, the pair were still well known in their local community. In small areas, any farmstead that employed multiple members of the community would form a major pillar of that community, almost by default. Additionally, Ted was part of a large family. Whilst many of his extended family had moved elsewhere, or even overseas, others had remained, some of whom also owned farms in the village or the surrounding area. Ted also acted as milkman in the Diss area, to add yet something more to the seemingly endless set of jobs he and Grace gave themselves. This was not just within the village of Blo Norton, but also to several other nearby villages, such as South Lopham and Garboldisham (pronounced as Garbol'sham locally). I can't imagine that Ted actually made a lot of money from this, but it would have made him a very familiar figure to many families across the area, and would have kept him in touch with goings-on, in what was already a very close, almost claustrophobic, set of communities.

Grace and Ted never had children. This was a choice rather than an accident. What prompted this choice was a fear of hereditary 'madness' within Ted's family. I'm not able to discover exactly when his mother, Mary Ann, was institutionalised, but she's listed as a patient in St Thomas' hospital as early as 1939, a hospital that dealt with both short term and 'chronic' suffers of psychological ill health, and remained in such care until her death in 1973. She was listed as 'deceased' on at least one of her children's weddings while she was still very much alive. I can only imagine the trauma that must have led up to that for her, not to mention the pain of being essentially exiled from your surviving children and talked about as though you'd died.

As traumatic as all of this would have been, particularly for Mary but also for her children, it was not the only brush Mary Ann's family, the Crowes, had had with mental health crises. As much as I personally find myself bucking at the assumptions involved, the perception of the Crowes as having a tinge of madness in the blood was very real within that family at that time, and in the case of Ted led to his very definitive mutual decision on the matter with Grace. Indeed as far as we're aware it very much was a mutual decision. I regret to say that my grandmother was rather dismissive, and I don't think actually believed Grace when she claimed this was the reason that she and Ted had chosen not to have children. But with what I know from this vantage point, I see no reason to doubt it.

So what were Ted and Grace actually like, as people? As well as handed down memories from family members now passed, my father has many memories of the two of them along with their immediate circle in Blo Norton, so unlike with a number of my other older relatives I can actually build up a fairly rounded picture.

My father remembers Grace fondly.

She was a kind and entertaining woman, albeit one with a slight tendency to exaggerate, a tendency that caused much eye rolling from Olive, my grandmother. My grandmother was the sister that had scholastic achievements to her name, being the first of her entire extended family to ever successfully get into grammar school (for those unfamiliar with how UK grammar schools work, you need to pass an exam to get into them), and later becoming a teacher. However, it's clear that Grace was actually pretty intelligent in her own right; along with the co-ordination and organisation needed to run a working farmhouse, she was also the farm's book-keeper after marrying Ted, a task at which she seemed to have excelled.

Indeed, despite her embracing the role of a farmer's wife Grace didn't give up on her aspirations of modern conveniences, and frequently earmarked funds to improve the farmhouse. Such projects included replacing the dirt floors on the ground storey with proper floors, installing a proper plumbed toilet, and acquiring a bath, among many others. In other words, she clearly didn't feel that being Ted's wife was in any way counterproductive to the growth in material comforts accessible to ordinary Britons across the 20th century.

My father's memories of Ted are a little more mixed.

He was never an outwardly unpleasant person, as far as I can tell, nor one actually disposed to violence. He wasn't a bully or a poisonous person. However, Ted was not an outwardly cheerful person, nor someone who seems to have excelled at making others comfortable around him. I had wondered, in the past, if that impression was partially created through the mismatch of his lifestyle and culture with that of my father's, but even taken within that context I suspect my father's read of him runs true, given the hints of difficulty in his relationship with his siblings.

He was, it should be said, immensely fond of, and caring towards, all of his animals. He had always wanted to become a full time market gardener, but my father suspects that it would have been too hard for Ted to have given up his animals. My impression is likewise that he was also a caring husband towards Grace. I do also feel it's worth allowing Ted the generosity of remembering that his father died when he was still relatively young, and the unknowable traumas experienced surrounding his mother's institutionalisation. One thing I'm certain of is that Ted was proud of his work and his achievements. My father remembers being in one of the farm's greenhouses with Ted, when Ted said, unprompted, 'They say that God makes them grow, but he doesn't. I make them grow'. Since learning that, it's really made me wonder about the relationship Ted had with the strict Baptism of his mother's family, although I suspect I'll never be able to answer that.

I mentioned that Ted's health declined before his death, and that this had led to the working farm essentially having to cease operations. However, he was only in his 50s when this health decline began, and he was only 60 when he died in 1971. Grace survived him by 32 years, almost as long as their 35-year long marriage. By the time I ever visited the farm, I was unknowingly visiting a place long shorn of its working life, and as a small child you would never have known that, compared to its heyday, the farm was practically a ghost town.

It's a strange flavour of melancholy that I feel looking back on those memories with all of this context I've learned since. Not in the sense that I think of Grace as not having lived a full life, but just in the sense of not having seen the farm as it was built to be, and in realising the enormous hole at the centre of life there past 1971. I don't know that I would have necessarily liked Ted if I'd met him, but I don't know that I wouldn't have, either.

That all of this involves people I'm related to obviously gives me a reason to know and care about this. But Grace and Ted's story was also, when taken across the standard narrative of what English life was like at that time, rather unlikely. That it's an unlikely story that still only really has personal stakes, for them and their families, is something that I think I care about more at this point in my life.