#basil stilt

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Lightning Makes The Roots Grow Deep

Basil Stilt x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 19: Voyeurism

Summary: There's something watching in the woods.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry). I don't know how this became what it is.

Warnings: sort of magical realism, Basil becoming a sort of Green Man, plants growing out of people, cut to black sexy times, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1101

It had started when leaves began to grow from the scar tissue along Basil’s face. It wasn’t painful, just odd. But then again most things had been strange in the last few days… months? How long had it actually been? 

He often woke with berries on his eyelashes, the small red fruits falling when he first opened his eyes to the new day. 

He ate less. Began to just sit for hours by the window to soak up the sunshine. On rainy days he opened them, hung out bowls and cups on string to catch the rainwater and drink it down. There was nothing else like it. No other food or liquid, even tap water sustained him in the same way, nothing else quenched the deep ache in his chest. 

After a long time, when the vines from his skin had begun to twist and creep down along his arms and across his chest he had left. Finally. 

He wasn’t sure where the energy had come from, the drive. He just simply walked out of his flat in the dead of night. 

His car, the poor thing had sat dormant for years, started the second he got in and put his hands on the wheel even though his keys were still somewhere upstairs in the reminiscence of his old home. 

He drove for a long time. Out of the city and further still. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but something pulled at his nerves, an urge he could not deny. 

Basil didn’t know the name of the place when he arrived, surely a national forest of some sort. But it was the right place. 

As he walked further into the trees his muscles relaxed, the cobwebs in his lungs cleared. He was home. 

. 

“Are you sure there’s no bears?” Elizabeth asked sincerely, and Barry laughed. 

“No fucking bears, I promise.” He grinned. 

Elizabeth didn’t look so reassured. “Are you 100% on that?” 

Jamie, her boyfriend wrapped his arms around her. “No bears.” 

“Hmm.” She didn’t look so impressed. 

“I wouldn’t be here if there were.” You say, trying to comfort her. 

She gave you a brilliant smile. “Okay, you I trust.” 

You laugh, all four of you saying goodnight as you went to your respective tents. Elizabeth and Jamie shared, Barry to another, and the last was yours. 

Part of you was sure that this whole trip was secretly Jamie’s and Elizabeth’s attempt to set you up with Barry. He was nice but there was something you couldn’t put your finger on. Something just didn’t seem right. 

It’s difficult to sleep. You’d expected the cold and had packed well for it. It was the noise that was getting to you. This forest seemed louder than any you’d ever been to before. Busy. As if it was teaming with life ten times the usual amount. 

Somehow you manage to get to sleep for a while. A little after 2am you wake, needing to pee. 

You sigh and pull yourself out of your sleeping bag and grab your torch. Even though you were just going to duck behind a tree didn’t mean you weren’t going to get lost. People who got lost were people who thought they couldn’t get lost. 

You stepped as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake the others and walked around the back of a large tree and peed quickly. 

You’d just finished disinfecting your hands when there was a snap from the distance. You jolted, looking up in the direction quickly and shining your light. There was something there. Between the nearest outcrop. Like… light? Soft glowing orbs of dark pink and red. They floated like bubbles, a seemingly high pitched soft sound emanating from them. 

You don’t remember following them, one moment you were there by the campsite and the next you were deep in the undergrowth, mud high up on your jogging bottoms from your journey. 

“What?” You frown, blinking hard and trying to shift the wave of dizziness that floats next to your eyes. 

Panic doesn’t grip you, doesn’t sink in despite you not knowing where the hell you are. Instead, you feel sort of… warm. 

There’s a faint light blue glow up ahead filtering through the trees. A ranger’s station or something. You walk further in, closer to the light and…

You stop in your tracks. 

The forest is glowing. All manner of plants, flora you have never even seen in a textbook cover the clearing. Soft moss lines the floor. You lightly touch the bark of the closest tree, it’s warm. Not uncomfortably, not in a way that would make your skin crawl. It’s nice, soothing. 

It’s only then that you notice the figure in the middle of the clearing. You pause, swallowing as he looks at you. 

He says your name softly.

“How… how do you know…?”

“I’ve been watching,” he pauses, turning his head so you can see the leaves growing from his face. He moves closer, seeming to float across the moss. “You… and the others.” Lightly he touches your cheek, you can feel the vines that run along his fingertips. 

“What… are you?” You breathe, unable to take your eyes away from his skin, how the ivy twists in his hair and the moon seems to glow in one eye, his other dark like the night itself. 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours and opening your mouth with his own. You moan, shiver as his hand trails down your neck, his hand resting just above your heart. 

You pull him closer when he licks into your mouth. He tastes like fruit, sweet and heady and when you pull back small flowers have budded and bloom along the side of his face. 

He places his hand on your hip and minuscule vines grow and slip under your clothes, pushing them from your body and tearing them away with small thorns that do not touch your skin.

You gasp, heat rising to your skin. 

“It’s alright,” he whispers, kissing your cheek and jaw. “You’re safe. I promise.” 

“I…” You swallow, words escaping you as he sucks a love bite into your skin, pulling you flush against him while he traces his hand down and lightly teases your nipple. 

When your mouth opens in a soft moan he groans, letting his fingers sink further down your body and stroke along your centre. You can feel the vines from his hand run along your skin, start to twist and stroke along your thighs. 

He licks into your mouth the same moment he sinks his fingers inside of you.

Thank you for reading!

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[caesarsaladinn]

I finally got around to reading that Byzantine graphic novel, and unfortunately i'm not too impressed. it's very stilted.

however, it gets full points for even bothering to write it and 1000000 extra points for making Basil Lekapenos a major character

[romanarose]

Favorites of 2023

Hi! I've seen a lot people doing these so I thought I would too!

These are all sorts of Oscar Issac/Pedro Pascal fics that delighted me this year <3

I tried to keep it to one rec per author just because I have soooooo many friends with wonderful fics and blogs who deserve recognition

If yours didn't make it, NO FEAR you are still wonderful to me &lt;3

Everything is labeled properly in the fic so be warned, many of this contains dark!

3 series that I couldn't stop thinking about

Hungry Hearts By @atinylittlepain: The Last of Us, A Bruce Springsteen themed Joel series? SHEEEEEEEESH

Yearling by @justagalwhowrites : The Last of Us, Jackson!Joel and a victim of prolonged sexual assault. If you know me, you know I love a traumatized reader healing with the power of love and friendship

The Fractured Moon by @melodygatesauthor : Moon Knight, NON CON, dark moon boys is always a slay but the way Marc is so tortured and Steven is so needy?!?!?!?! Mels characterization of Steven may or may not have influenced my Ben in ROF

Three fics that rewired my brain

On the Waterfront by @beefrobeefcal : Triple Frontier, Now, I've always loved a tubby man with a belly (who else had a crush on Samwise Gamgee in LOTR?) BUT DARK FRANKIE?!?!?!?! Turned it into a full obsession.

I can be your pretty girl by @walkintotheriveranddisappear : The Last of Us, Wow, I devoured every single chapter!!! I thinka bout it so much, ESPECIALLY that scene with Tommy... I've never looked at a pool ball the same way.

Dancing With Wolves by @hon3yboy : Moon Knight, Now, I'm not the biggest monster fucker out there, but this?!?!?!?! WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR??? Unwell about it.

3 times men jerking off was hot

Caught by @toxicanonymity : The Last of Us, I've mentioned in the authors note for Keep Cry'n that this fic inspired it, it's one I go back to allllll the time

Take Care of me Tonight by @missdictatorme : Moon Knight, Jake is horny and lonely and jerks of..... reader helps, and makes our boy feel special <3

Pent Up by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin : Narcos, Javi is... well... pent up, needs to let loose! and boy does he.

4 times it got gay bc something is wrong with me and I couldn't decide

Behind Enemy Lines by @astroboots : Triple Frontier, Y'all know how much I love this series, seeing as I wrote a fic for it XD but this chapter is something i always hold close <3

Captain of the team by @writefightandflightclub : Triple Frontier, MAAAAAANNNNN this fic is why I will never be the same as a person.

Trine by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction : Sucker Punch. Anyone who reader blue jones should be reading this. Incredible.

What if he never had to go? by @velocibeewords : Triple Frontier, The infamous series I read on my friend bachelorette weekend! So good I couldn't put it down, going so far as to read it at a casino XD Benny and Santi, my babies

3 times underused characters shined

Oxford Comma by @whatthefishh : The Two Faces of January, Tell me, how does someone take a character with almost no following and make a series so damn beloved by many??? Only Mona could.

My Ex's Tapes by @runa-falls : Lighteningface, Basil Stilt AND Jake Lockley??!?! God bless this mess hnnggggg

I'm Getting What's Mine by @winniethewife : The Card Counter, dub con, I think we as a society need more William Tell, and sensory deprivation to break down reader? Amazing.

3 times they talked dirty to me *trumpet noises*

Not a Survivalist Girl by @tightjeansjavi and @chaotic-mystery : The Last of Us, when they finally fuck??? HELLO?!?!! unreal

Only Daddy That'll Walk the Line by @millerscoffee : The Last of Us, Joel is so degrading and condescending in this I think about it so much it's fucking unreal.

Making Trouble by @juneknight : Moon Knight, The fic that completly fried the brains of the moon knight fandom. "You cried like I was killing you—except you were begging me not to stop" yeah. Yeah...

3 times there were three or more

The story of us by @pimosworld : Triple Frontier, This series has a special place in heart bc Priscilla said I influenced a lo of it with the characterizations and thats such a big honor. Priscilla Is so talented and I adore how she writes these guys... and the FishBen wins my heart

Eyes on Me by @cavillscurls : The Last of Us, Soft Joel? Tommy watches? AFTERCARE?!?!?! Y'all know how much I love aftercare.... I should read this again shouldn't I?

Run the Table by @katiexpunk : The Last of Us, MORE TOMMY JOEL THREESOME! MORE!!!! This one came out recently so its still fresh in my mind

3 Times I should NOT have been into that

No Soul to Sell @atticrissfinch : The Last of Us, NON CON V DARK, this is the fic that made me like... yeah I'm into piss. No doubt. It was so dark and hot ;-;

Plushies Series by @pedge-page The Last of Us, Haru knows how much I love this, and it was a toss up between this and their piss kink but seeing as I got that above.... plushes needs more love bc its so soft and domestic and horny <3

Plaything by @missannwinchester : The Last of Us, wow, I adored this fic… then I lost it!!!! Thank you to everyone who helped find it bc it’s one of my favs. I wanna be Joel’s lil doll he dresses up 🥺

3 times I said “this is underrated af”

No One But Me by @koshkamartell : The Last of Us, Are y'all tired of me talking about this fic yet? Koshka told me my series The Wrong Way inspired this so it's special to my heart <3

Safe by @criticallyacclaimedstranger and @apascalrascal : Triple Frontier, Cal has so many good Frankie one shots it was hard to pick, but this one is sooooo soft. We love Frankie being willing to listen and learn.

Through the Scope by @ssuperficialspacecadett : Triple Frontier, Y'all know I love a traumatized reader learning to heal, but his fic is fantastic bc it's a traumatized reader who has done a lot of the work already and is strong and brave as it is <3 Also, all 4 of the guys are her friends now which is the best way to have a fic

Thank you all soooooo much for all these amazing fics and for a great 2023! Well. Not so great, I had terrible time lol but y'all were my solace <3

If you feel so inclined, check out my best of year wrapped for both RomanaRose and Romana-after-dark

I'm not gonna say 2024 is my year, I leanred my lesson XD I am approaching 2024 with RESPECT. It will be the year it is.

[melodygatesauthor]

This man needs a college au. Young basil stilt.

I’m not trying to give you any ideas *wink*

Miss you friend I hope you’re doing well 🤍.

OMFG YES YOU'RE RIGHT

[nerdy-arty]

Hey can you give any advice on starting to make essay videos? I want to eventually start making them but I just want tips, I love the videos you did on Kel, Basil and Sunny :)

It's hard to lay out any tips because I've literally only made three of them, and I'm still learning. Even so I feel weird not laying out at least one thing I find helpful to do in order to kickstart the process. I tend to start off the script doc by just making a point form list on all the things I want to cover. Once that layout is done, I go through in sections and fact check my points before writing a concise script with the other points as reference so I can flow from one to another in a way that comes off less stilted. So far, that's what has worked for me, but I'm only a little less of a newbie than you are pff

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Although that would now seem rapturous in comparison to what Styles might be receiving for his follow-up, a polite and anonymous melodrama that should provide the confirmation many were looking for. Just weeks after his misfiring comments surrounding gay sex were being rightfully critiqued, it appears that his performance will also be, a turn just as tepid as his soundbites. The film, based on the novel by Bethan Roberts, isn’t exactly a washout but it’s not exactly much of anything, a disappointingly drab and stridently straightforward love triangle saga overstuffed with furtive glances and maudlin moping while underpowered by a blank lead performance. If the wheels were coming off pre-festivals, consider the train completely crashed now.

Styles might look like the handsome movie star he’s being aggressively pushed as with his sleek matinee idol hair always in place but he’s all construct and no conviction, a performer as unsure of his ability as we are. There’s a crucial dissonance between the confidence he exudes on stage and the awkwardness we see on screen, a star fizzling out right before our very eyes, as uncomfortable for us as it appears to be for him. There’s too much of a visible process to his acting, the joins of what he’s doing, or trying to, always on display, with a messy, uneven accent requiring an added level of thinking to his every line of dialogue, making the character’s many instinctive moments feel sluggish and stilted. Words are over-pronounced with a sort of stage school affect that clashes with what’s supposed to be an earthy, beer-drinking vision of hyper-masculinity.

Defenders might argue that Styles’s second guessing is in fact perfect for a character trying to hide his sexuality but that would be an overly generous reading for even in his most intimate and private sexual moments, he remains overly, distractingly hesitant. Navigating the world as a queer person, especially in a time when it was still punishable by law, requires too much complexity for someone still testing out his sea legs, it’s essentially two roles at a time when he struggles to play one. He’s drowning in the deep end and it sinks the movie around him.

Not that an actor of more skill and experience could do that much more with something that’s painted in such boringly broad strokes. The characters are based less on real people and more on romantic drama types, lacking in idiosyncrasies and texture, familiar more to people who have watched others be in relationships on film than people who have actually been in them themselves. The queerness does little to differentiate the triangle from so many others we’ve already seen and what’s frustrating for those with even a cursory knowledge of gay cinema is that so many films before it have carefully navigated similarly tricky territory with ease and insight, from Basil Dearden’s Victim and William Wyler’s adaptation of The Children’s Hour both in 1961, James Ivory’s Maurice in 1987 and, more recently, Terence Davies’s devastating Benediction. The stinging tragedy of being gay at the wrong time in history is something that will always prove ripe for emotive, painful drama but director Michael Grandage struggles to pull our heart-strings, an easy target easily missed.

His direction insists that we find meaning or emotional resonance in the small details of the everyday but Philadelphia screenwriter Ron Nyswaner’s perfunctory script rarely gives us enough reason to. It’s a prestige shell for a film that mostly plays like a stodgy soap opera, a misguided hope that we might be suckered into thinking that this is all of more substance if it’s presented in more elegant packaging. Corrin and Dawson are easily more effective than Styles but still a little too mannered to pierce through and so it’s up to the elder iterations to do the heavy lifting and while Everett is stuck in a thankless role that essentially just requires him to dribble and wail, in small, all-too-fleeting bursts, McKee and Roache manage to make us believe in a difficult dynamic against considerable odds. Exploring the festering consequences of a marriage built on this specific kind of lie is far more dramatically interesting than the blandness of what comes before and a better film might have tipped the balance in their favour. Their scenes arrest but the rest of the film is nowhere near as charged as it should be.

The Guardian review by Benjamin Lee - Not full review, read here.

[equatorjournal]

Basil Davidson, Ganvie in Dahomey, a town entirely built on stilts, 1968. From "Africa: history of a continent" by Basil Davidson, 1972. https://www.instagram.com/p/CZSQztktxRN/?utm_medium=tumblr

[lucidpantone]

Firstly, I love you. Thanks for always talking sense.

Your point about Amber being turned into the basic watered down version of Vilde is so true. And it frustrates me to no end that we have seen absolutely no progression with her character in the 5 seasons, particularly given the fact she’s basically had some form of minor subplot in 4 out of 5 of them. They’ve never let her grow from any of it and she’s been turned into this stilted, vapid girl.

I do think by the end of this season wtfock will have basically watered down 95% of their characters in a similar way. The way they constantly write them with inconsistent personalities, and use whoever is convenient at the time to just push a certain narrative regardless if it fits doesnt help, means none of the characters actually feel fleshed out from their og counterparts anymore. Some they just never bothered to flesh out in the first place. I think about the Jonas character and I look at how Italia expanded on him with Gio, and then you have Jens - there’s absolutely nothing there - empty character. And the same with France and Basil, then you have Aaron - again nothing. Jana obviously is no more but obviously her replacement offers nothing. Same can be said about so many of wtfocks characters at this point. Even the new additions - I mean balloon squad may as well not exist in wtfock.

There is just little to no depth to any of them on the whole now and I truly wonder what half of them even bring to the table. Leaves the whole show feeling so hollow.

Thats why tho am annoyed am also sorta of happy Sander was not part of this season they legit would have destroyed him as they did with bits of Zoe and Robbe. @bowieexaminprogress said it best its like they write the script or copy from OG and then after the fact select who delivers those lines without any rhyme or reason even if its nonsensical and completely out of character. Nothing makes sense, nothing is paced well, no one for the last 2 seasons has had any profound character development. Literally two seasons have gone by with surface explorations of characters and mains. Everything just feels like a shell of itself. Also thanks for the support and kind words!!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

• Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • request info • ko-fi •

🍑Using this prompt list.

🍆Second year. Gotta kick butt, I swear. (I am also completing last years, don't look at me.)

🍑I've used a random generator to choose which kink out of the options and which character(s) to use. I wanted to write for a different Oscar Isaac character each day.

Pink text means that the fic is completed, and will definitely be coming out on the correct day.

Rydal Keener - Overstimulation

Jack Mojave - Edgeplay

Outcome 3 - Drinking Game

Steven Grant - Collars

Michael Perry - Biting

Poe Dameron - Sex Work

Laurent Le Claire - Thigh Riding

Lleywn Davis - Fingering

Cecil Dennis - Sex Pollen

King John - Toys

Nathan Bateman - Threesome

Jake Lockley - Floor Sex

Orderly!Blue - Shower

Shiv - Begging

Standard - Slow & Soft

Orestes - Public Sex

Bud Cooper - Frottage

Shimmer!Kane - Psychic Bonds

Club!Blue - Masturbation

Richard Mũnoz - Filming

Robbie Paulson - Bondage

Anselm Vogelweide - Smoking

Miguel O'Hara - Can't Get To Sleep

Jonathan Levy - On The Counter

William Tell - Sleepy Sex

Duke Leto Atredis - Marking

Santiago Pope Garcia - Body Worship

Marc Spector - Face Sitting

Basil Stilt - Hair Pulling

Abel Morales - Afternoon Delight

[moonb-eam]

ok i just saw the p&p confession ask and i could not resist: so if eliott was so unsure about if lucas would read his letter, how did he feel when lucas came to arbrenne? what was his pov during that dinner when lucas tried to make him smile and all? and also, why(i know why but i need his thoughts) did he cry when lucas said he loved him too? was he not expecting the kiss bc he seemed confused about lucas saying he'll keep the jacket? anyway i love love love your writing!!!

ahh thank you love!! 💛💛

so, let’s see...

(this got a bit long so i put it under the cut)

Eliott had no idea whether Lucas read his letter or not, and it weighed on him, nearly as much as the thought that Eliott may very well never see him again weighed on him.

He hates the possibility that the letter will remain unopened, and that Lucas will forever hold this impression of Eliott in his mind that is sour and warped - an impression that was cultivated on Charles’ persuasive nature and Eliott’s own foolishness.

He tries to make peace with it, that the letter was his last chance to explain himself to Lucas, and as the days pass: spring slipping into summer, fading to fall, hardening to winter, and returning to first blossom of spring once again, Eliott tries to accept that Lucas will now exist only as a memory to him. A distant dream just out of his reach, a star that he can only ever admire from the surface of the Earth.

He doesn’t have faith in magic and fate like he used to as a child. He’s not hoping for any divine intervention that will point their twisting paths back together, but then.

There’s a warm, sunny day when Eliott returns home early from his trip to Paris, when he surprises Daphné at her piano, and in the midst of spinning them both in a circles, both of them laughing, he hears a faint gasp, notices a flash of brilliant blue in the gap of the open door.

And there, Eliott is wondering if he needs to start believing in magic and fate and all manner of things unexplainable again, because he knows those eyes.

Eliott would know those eyes anywhere.

His chase after Lucas is a bit ridiculous, his subsequent awkwardness embarrassing, but he cannot be blamed for his own lack of decorum, not when he’s standing before Lucas on the steps, watching the way the sunlight kisses his skin.

He’s here. He’s at Eliott’s home.

What are you doing here? Eliott wants to ask. Did I conjure you from thought? From dream?

Did you read it?

Lucas gives a hasty explanation - he’s travelling with friends around Loire, admiring the castles, and they came for a tour, as Madeleine claimed the house was open for tours.

Eliott takes all of this in stride. He knows that people are curious about Arbrenne, knows that Madeleine is always eager to show of the house she works so tirelessly to run, and knows that, often when he’s away, she will show these people around, taking them through the sculpture gallery, the garden, the formal dining room.

But that is people. People who Eliott may never meet, who wander the halls his family built, admiring the architecture. People. Not him. Not Lucas.

Lucas, who is shy with Eliott, in a way that feels oddly incongruous to the image of him Eliott has in his mind: brash and loud, with a tongue like a whip. This Lucas stares everywhere except at Eliott, while Eliott can stare at little except him. This Lucas has his hands clasped neatly in front of himself. He gives stilted and abrupt answers, and it worries Eliott. It makes him think he’s making Lucas uncomfortable.

Maybe he didn’t read it.

Or maybe he did read it, and now he doesn’t want to be near you.

Except he is there. Here. Right in front of Eliott, as mesmerizing as he’s ever been, and Eliott must not have a sliver of self-preservation left because he’s asking Lucas to stay, trying to invite him for tea, trying to do anything to keep him there, to stop him from disappearing on the spring wind like a secret uttered between lovers.

The fragility of Eliott’s invitation, however, is unnecessary. Because Lucas’ friends arrive, and with them, an instant  feeling of camaraderie Eliott did not expect.

Basile Savary and Arthur Broussard. They have an infectious energy about them, an unselfconsciousness that Eliott is a bit envious of. They’re loud and they seem - or at least Mr. Savary does - to speak without considering their words, and Eliott is fond of them immediately.

Eliott invites them all for dinner, because the notion of their dining room being filled with laughter all night is a pleasant one, and because Eliott is sure the Daphné will be endlessly amused by all three of them together.

It’s only then, once Mr. Savary and Mr. Broussard have accepted as Lucas watches on with an indiscernible expression, that Eliott realizes he chased after Lucas without re-buttoning his shirt, and it is with as much dignity as possible that Eliott scurries away from them, clumsy fingers fumbling against the thick material.

Daphné, of course, teases him mercilessly for it.

“Look at the state of you,” she says with a laugh, tying up Eliott’s cravat for him while Eliott sits on the arm of the sofa, pouting. “Running after his with your neck all bare.” She shakes her head. “It’s a basic level of seduction, but it is still seduction, and for that, I commend you.”

“I’m not trying to seduce him,” Eliott complains, ignoring it when Daphné lets out another laugh. “I’m trying to be his friend.”

Daphné pauses, looking up to meet Eliott’s eyes. There’s a soft turn to her mouth, a caring, gentle expression, that makes her look just like their mother. “But you love him, don’t you?”

Eliott sighs, lowering his eyes to his knees. “Yes.”

“So, you want to be more than his friend.” She says it as if it’s the simplest thing in the entire world. As if it could be as simple as Eliott says, Lucas, I want to be everything to you. As if he hasn’t already tried that.

“I don’t think he wants that from me,” Eliott says quietly, and Daphné nudges him under his chin, forcing him to look up and meet her eyes.

“Then he’s a fool.”

“But-”

Daphné shakes her head. “You’re the best person I know in this world, Eliott. And if he can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.” The conviction in her voice, is strong, sure, and it’s almost enough to make Eliott believe her words as if they’re his own, the way Dr. Daucet tells him to speak to himself whenever he falls into a cavern of self-doubt.

I am deserving of good things.

I am deserving of happiness.

I am deserving of love.

Sometimes, when he says these things out loud, he almost believes them too.

“You’re right,” he tells Daphné and she grins, smacking a wet kiss to his cheek and running a hand through his hair.

“Now,” she says seriously, “we have to make you look presentable.” She hums, considering. “Presentable, but in a rogue-ish sort of way.”

“Daphy,” Eliott says, just as seriously. “I don’t think I know what that means.”

They eat dinner together, all of them, including a man named Herman, who has the most wonderfully entertaining stories Eliott has ever heard. They eat together, and it’s perfect, the way they are all able to come together. It’s perfect, because Eliott sits across from Lucas the entire meal, and he gets to watch as Lucas’ shyness morph into something else: something that’s still sweet, but a bit bolder, shades of the Lucas that Eliott has seen in ballrooms: quick and clever and so funny that Eliott nearly snorts wine into his nose from laughing.

He glances up, hoping no one saw him, except there’s Lucas, smiling at him from across the table as though there’s a private joke they’re both in on.

(And well, Eliott supposes there is.)

The weight of Lucas’ gaze is utterly intoxicating.

Eliott feels himself melt under it like sugar under his tongue.

Daphné won’t stop nudging her knee against his under the table, but Eliott barely notices. He’s consumed by a thought. Not even a thought, but a word. One word that encompasses an entire ocean of meaning.

Eliott feels Lucas’ gaze on himself and the word comes, arresting and gorgeous and hopeful: maybe.

Now, as far as Eliott feelings in the field scene, I’ve touched on that a little bit here.

But the best way I can explain it is like this:

Something happens, and it’s something you’ve been dreaming of for so long that it feels like memory as it unfolds in front of you, and it takes a moment for you to realize that no, this is real. This is not me hoping, this is something happening to me right now. And it’s like, the happiness inside of you is too much to contain. Your heart is a comet. Your soul is a sunrise. Your hands are the wings of a morning dove, but at the same time, you are so wholly, utterly yourself. You are at home in confines of yourself, infinite in your limitations. You are loved. And you love. And you are loved.

That is what Eliott feels, standing in that dew-fresh field as Lucas confesses to him.

That’s why he cries.

[jebentnietalleen]

21!

‘why are you so nice to me?’

If there is one thing Lucas would change about his best friends, it’s how quickly they are willing to open up their inner circle for someone who is nice to them. He truly doesn’t get the need to expand their group, it’s enough just as it is, isn’t it? They have fun together, they can joke around, tease each other. Why would they befriend someone else? And okay, fine, maybe it isn’t just the fact that they included someone new, rather than the person they chose. Because right now, they are hanging out with the new guy. The guy that the whole school can’t shut up about. The guy that is so gorgeous that it makes Lucas want to fling himself out of a window every time he looks at him. Eliott Demaury. He hates him, because it’s fucking unfair the way he makes him feel like he is set on fire just with one glance in his direction. And on top of that, he is also really nice to him. Like, overly nice. He doesn’t get it at all. It’s like Eliott took a bet or something, hanging out with them, with Lucas, to win 100 euros. Someone as cool and collected and handsome as Eliott doesn’t just hang out with someone like Lucas. That’s not how the world works. It feels like he is secretly making fun of him behind his back, because why else would he give Lucas the time of day?

It’s all Arthur’s fault, really, for agreeing to help paint the foyer when Eliott asked them if they wanted to pitch in to make the foyer a bit more homely. Apparently Daphné had heard that Eliott is quite the artist (which, of course he is, like he wasn’t perfect enough as it is. Ugh) and had stormed on over to him to ask him to paint over the ugly mural. He had heard about it from Manon and rolled his eyes, telling her that he wished them a lot of luck dealing with that ugly mural and the foyer in general but there was no way he is wasting his time on that. No way at all. Unfortunately Arthur is a ‘speak first, ask later’ kind of guy, so when Eliott skipped on over to their table at lunch time (Lucas wishes he was kidding about this detail, but he isn’t) and smiled at them while he asked if they cared to help out, Arthur immediately agreed on all of their behalves. When Eliott shrugged his shoulder in the cutest manner possible, his eyes turning into crescent moons, he almost couldn’t be mad at Arthur for agreeing. Almost. Because how the hell was he suppose to spend an entire afternoon and evening painting a mural, being in close proximity to Eliott freaking Demaury, without embarrassing himself? Let’s be honest, that was a trick question. He was doomed.

Yann had only smiled and said it could be cool to have a space in school where they could all chill and hang out in after school or during breaks. Basile agreed, of course, and said he hoped he could trick Daphné into kissing him after he showed her that he helped out a lot. Figures. As if Daphné would ever give him the time of day. He’s glad he isn’t that delusional himself, at least he knows that Eliott would never fall for a guy like him. For one thing, he probably wasn’t even into guys in the first place because he heard he had recently broken up with his girlfriend. For another, Lucas is a right mess while Eliott looked like he could be a supermodel. So, it was best to just avoid him all together, which was now something that was made impossible because of Arthur and his big mouth.

They met up after school to get some snacks, Basile insisted on taking some disgusting gummy worms and Yann wanted chocolate. His friends truly had no taste, obviously chips is the way to go. Throwing everything into his backpack, they made their way back to school. Daphné had convinced the principle to let them stay late to work on the foyer, he had given them until after the genitor and cleaning crew would be done, which usually took a couple of hours. The closer they got to school, the more his nerves started to grow. This was stupid, ridiculous really, it was just a guy for gods sake, not a god. Or, well… no, snap out of it, Lucas. Get yourself together.

He stops for a second right in front of the foyer to take a deep breath. Here it goes. When they walk into the foyer, the first thing he sees is Eliott, standing on a ladder with a paintbrush in his hand. He looks like he is enjoying himself a lot, even though the only thing he is doing right now is painting the wall white. He has a concentrated look on his face, his tongue peeking out of his mouth just a little bit. It shouldn’t look as endearing as it does. Basile trips over a can of paint, he’s lucky that it hasn’t been opened yet. It’s loud enough to make Eliott lose his concentration and finally look back at them, smiling instantly when he sees the boys have arrived. Funny thing is, it looks like he is only looking at Lucas. He knows that’s not the case and that he is just seeing what he wants to see, but it makes his cheeks burn up non the less. ‘You’re here! So great! Just grab some paint brushes and get started whenever you’re ready. Best to drop your bags and jackets in the corner over there’ Lucas looks over to where Eliott is pointing, and nods stupidly. ‘Looking great already, Eliott! Maybe we should just leave it white’ Arthur smiles enthusiastically, looking at the mural with approval on his face. ‘Pff, white is boring, we’re gonna make something amazing on here once the paint has dried. I already have so many ideas. Of course, I am open to suggestions, though.’ Eliott rambles on about some of his ideas, one of them is painting the night sky on it, which actually sounds pretty cool. It’s weird how his enthusiasm about art can rub off on people, but it does. It makes him want to know more about art. Makes him want to hang out with Eliott. And god, that makes him angry, because he shouldn’t fall for this. This. Nice guy façade. He is planning on ignoring Eliott for as long as he can, starting to paint at the exact opposite of where Eliott is painting.

For a while his plan is working really great, he is concentrating on painting everything white, standing on his toes whenever he has to reach the ceiling and climbing of from his ladder to paint to bottom of the wall. He can hear Basile and Yann argue in the background, while Arthur is making small talk with Eliott. Every once in a while, it feels like Eliott is looking at him, like, really looking. The kind of stares that makes his skin burn, makes him have to control the urge to turn around and look back. He is able to resist, but just barely. Then all of the sudden, without him even noticing how it happened, he is standing next to Eliott. It seems like they both worked quick enough for them to now be meeting each half way. ‘Fancy seeing you here’, Lucas can’t deny Eliott’s present any longer, not with him standing close enough that he can feel the warmth of his body, not with him making such a corny joke. So he does look, and he can’t help but grin back at that beautiful smile Eliott gives. What a dork. ‘I know right, quite the surprise.’ He bites his lip, regretting the fact that he engaged in conversation the moment he closed his mouth. He shouldn’t indulge Eliott like this, not when it’s clearly nothing more than flattery for flattery’s sake. He climbs back on his ladder, intent on going back to what he is there for: painting this wall as white as he can. It is working for a while, until he feels Eliott’s presence right by his side. He doesn’t turn to look at him, but all of the sudden their arms are brushing against each other, lighting up a spark deep within him, making his arm feel like it’s set on fire. He jerks his arm back automatically, so fast that he stumbles back and falls of the ladder, landing on an open can of paint that falls over and covers the floor. The floor that they forgot to cover with newspaper or anything else. Shit. Daphné is going to be pissed. Thankfully, Lucas isn’t injured, just extremely embarrassed. ‘Just my fucking luck’ he mutters under his breath, trying to salvage the situation and grabbing some paper towels to clean up the paint.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but Eliott came down his ladder during this ordeal, because he is now helping Lucas clean up all the mess. They work in silence, until all of the sudden there’s a voice that sounds through the room: ‘What the hell happened here?!’ It’s Daphné, looking angry and confused, shooting death glares at Lucas. Before he can say anything, Eliott speaks up: ‘I’m very sorry Daphné, it’s my fault, I am so clumsy. I promise I’ll make it up to you though, I’ll make sure the mural is done by the end of the week’. Of course Daphné can’t get mad at Eliott, not when he is apologizing so eloquently, not when he is giving her a blinding smile. Daphné stutters for a bit and says it’s okay, no big deal, and returns to get back to the girls. Lucas can’t believe that Eliott just did that, and for what? He looks at him, slightly stunned still, when Eliott asks: ‘What? Something wrong?’ Lucas shakes his head a bit in disbelieve. ‘Why are you so nice to me? I’ve been nothing but distant and mean to you ever since you’ve arrived at school, I’m not dumb enough to believe that you actually like me, literally everybody wants to hang out with you and yet you still spend your time with us and talk with me. And now on top of everything, you took the blame for something that was in no way your fault. Why?’ Eliott looks down for a bit, looking shy all of the sudden. ‘It’s not that I haven’t noticed that you have been quieter than the rest of the guys whenever I am near. But. I don’t know. There is just something about you. I keep hoping that that will change and that one day, you’ll actually give me a chance.’ He looks back up at Lucas at that last word, his hands stilting after cleaning up most of the paint. Lucas doesn’t know what a say for a moment. Trying to get his head around Eliott’s words. ‘What do you mean, give you a chance?’ A small smile is spreading over Eliott’s face. ‘Well, if you really want to know… I have been trying to find the courage to ask you out for months now. But I wanted to wait until I have won you over a bit. Is it working?’ he bites his lip, tilting his head sideways just a little bit while his eyes seem to stare into Lucas’ soul. He can feel his face glow, getting redder and redder by the second. ‘Ask me out? For what? A date?’ his voice cracks when he spits out that sentence, because of course it does. Eliott just laughs and nods at him: ‘Yes, a date, what else?’ out of all the reasons Lucas could think of, Eliott being this nice to him because he wants to date him would never have crossed my mind. ‘Are you sure you want to date someone who has been this horrible to you for the past few months? Although in my defense, I think it was just my way of trying to deny my feelings for you’ as soon as the confession leaves his mouth, he regrets it, but there’s no turning back now. Eliott’s smile grows wider and wider: ‘That’s very good to hear, actually. Makes me feel a bit less like a dork for trying to catch your attention all this time. So it’s settled then? We’ll go on a date?’ Lucas can’t help himself: he’s smiling too. ‘Yes, we will. So whatever will we do, mister Demaury?’ he can’t believe he is openly flirting with Eliott Demaury as if it’s nothing. Apparently, this is something he has wanted before he was even ready to admit it to himself. ‘I hear the foyer well look amazing next week. We can have a picknick right here, under the stars.’ Eliott jerks his head towards the white wall, that will be transformed by this time next week. ‘Honestly? I can’t think of anything more perfect’. Who would have thought the night would end with Lucas and Eliott planning a romantic date? It’s like Eliott can read his mind when he says: ‘You know what, you are surprising. I like surprising people.’ One thing is for sure, there isn’t anybody else who can make Lucas feel as alive as Eliott is making him feel right now, and if that is something that will continue? Sign him up.

[romanarose]

I was tagged by my beloved Fen <2 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got.

NSFW belooooooow (this includes wips for my dark account so dark themes may be mentioned)

tagging my bbs

@hon3yboy @whatthefishh @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @toxicanonymity @beefrobeefcal @ivystoryweaver @winniethewife @koshkaj-blog @pimosworld @neverwheremoonchild

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE CAVALCADE OF AMERICA:  “SKYLARK SONG”

June 21, 1948

The Cavalcade of America ran on NBC Radio from 1935 to 1953. It featured events from American history, usually dramatizing the positive aspects of the nation’s past. Additionally, the show attempted to end criticism of its sponsor, the Du Pont Company due to negative publicity from profiting by producing gunpowder during World War I. 

Throughout the years, actors and actresses from Broadway and Hollywood were featured. The show was broadcast live from the Longacre Theatre in NYC and repeated later in the day. 

In 1952, the series was transferred to NBC television and lasted until 1957, nearly identical to the run of “I Love Lucy” on CBS. For six months the radio and television versions also overlapped. The TV version featured “Lucy” actors Robert Foulk, Dayton Lummis, Byron Foulger, Maurice Marsac, Ross Elliott, Roy Roberts, Hayden Rorke, Pierre Watkin, Will Wright, Nestor Paiva, Joi Lansing, Dorothea Wolbert, Don Rickles, Burt Mustin, Lurene Tuttle, Gladys Hurlbut, Paul Picerni, Richard Reeves, James Flavin, Larry J. Blake, Peter Graves, Rhodes Reason, Irving Bacon, Milton Frome, Eleanor Audley, Joe Mell, Mary Ellen Kay, Mario Siletti, John Banner, Harry Bartell, Robert Carson, William Fawcett, Mabel Paige, June Whitley Taylor, Iron Eyes Cody, Strother Martin, Norma Varden, Madge Blake, Ellen Corby, Dick Elliott, Vivi Janiss, Ida Moore, Elizabeth Patterson, Frank J. Scannell, Herb Vigran, and William Schallert. 

Synopsis: "Skylark Song" by Virginia Radcliff is the story of Grace Moore,  charting her climb from a small southern church choir to star of the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City.

Grace Moore (December 5, 1898 – January 26, 1947) was an operatic soprano and actress in musical theatre and film. Born in Slabtown, Tennessee, she was nicknamed the "Tennessee Nightingale." Her films helped to popularize opera by bringing it to a larger audience. She was nominated for the Academy Award for  for her performance in One Night of Love. In 1947, Moore died in a plane crash at the age of 48. She published her autobiography in 1944 titled You're Only Human Once. 

In 1953, a film about her life was released titled So This Is Love starring Kathryn Grayson and Lucy’s friend Merv Griffin. The movie featured “Lucy” players Herb Vigran, Victorio Bonanova, Moroni Olsen, Mario Siletti, Ray Kellogg, Olin Howland, Tristram Coffin, Jack Chefe, and Barbara Pepper as Fat Girl with Sailor in Nightclub!

Lucille Ball (Grace Moore) may be the last person on earth one would consider to play one of the most famous opera singers of all time - but this was radio - and recordings of Grace Moore and studio singers were used to supplement the program. Ball affects a slight southern accent during the broadcast. Operatic trills and other miscellaneous singing by the character was provided by Marjorie Brett and Marjorie Hamilton. 

Lucille Ball signed the contract for “Skylark Song” on June 11, 1948 and was paid $3,500 for her work. 

The story starts when Moore is 17, convincing her father to allow her to attend music school. She goes to New York City where her father tells her to “only take parts in Shakespeare”.  She tells him she will report to theatrical impresario David Belasco to ask him if she can play Juliet.  

GRACE: “Hark! What light through yonder window breaks...”

Belasco stops her. Moore is reciting Romeo’s speech because that is the role she played in school. Lucille Ball purposely does a very stilted rendition, with a large country twang. 

Lucy Ricardo also did Romeo and Juliet in school, later hoping to repeat her triumph with Orson Welles. 

Belasco sends her to see composer and producer George Gershwin, who unfortunately hasn’t got a job for her.  

In 1920, Moore finally lands a job in the chorus of a Broadway show called “Hitchy-Koo.” The show was produced by Raymond Hitchcock (hence the unusual name) with music by Jerome Kern (”Showboat”).   

GRACE: “Well, Daddy, what do you think of your skylark, now?” 

Grace lands an audition at the Metropolitan Opera but is told that her Broadway work has damaged her classically-trained voice and sent away. 

GRACE: “I’m either a skylark or a mud hen. There’s nothing in between.”

A fortune teller named Carmen tells her that she should go to Europe and make her name. In a montage sequence, Moore trains in Europe. Now at the peak of her vocal range, Grace finally gets a job at the Metropolitan Opera as Mimi in La Boheme.  

Her proud father and mother attend Grace’s triumphant opening night. 

Announcer Ted Pearson sums up Grace’s remarkable journey, as well as her tragic death in a plane crash in Denmark. 

Pearson reminds us that next week on The Cavalcade of America Basil Rathbone will play Thomas Jefferson in “The Common Glory”...

...and that Lucille Ball will soon be seen in the Paramount Picture Sorrowful Jones, despite the fact that the film will not premiere until a year later, June 1949. Filming began on April 7, 1948. 

[pandolfo-malatesta]

Extra! Extra! The Orphan Trains and Newsboys of New York by Renée Wendinger is not quite as niche as it sounds.  It gives a decent background history of both subjects, with plenty of primary source material and an obvious focus on Charles Loring Brace, though the expected discussion of newsies who became orphan train riders never coalesces.

My additional issues with the book are that: --the writing is occasionally stilted, with some awkward word choice and grammatical errors, and in need of editing --it is not always clear what information is quoted directly from a primary source and what Wendinger synthesized --there are no new pictures you haven’t seen before if you’ve done any research into newsboys; all of Lewis Hine’s greatest hits are included

Its strength is in the profiles of orphan train riders in the first half of the book.  More of those would have been welcome.

Further assorted tidbits and reactions:

To me the most affecting and pathetic aspect of the orphan train riders’ experience was how many of them had their given names changed when they reached their new homes.  Yes, many of them were very young and probably not attached enough to their names to be bothered by the change, but not all of them were.  The changes seem to signal a loss of their heritage (especially because more “ethnic” names seem to have been changed more frequently than English-sounding ones; for example, a Scholastica renamed Mary and a Gaetano DeLeo renamed Joseph (though he later went back to Guy DeLeo, under which name he became a big band leader of some renown)) and a separation from their past.

John M. Arsers was born in northern Italy in 1865.  After his mother died and his father remarried he was sent to Paris, where he earned money playing the triangle.  In 1870 he and a group of other children were shipped to America; there he had a short stint at the Brace Farm before being sent to Iowa, allegedly later that same year.  While I think some of the chronology may have been condensed, it’s an amazing story.

Some families who accepted one rider later went on to adopt more.  In one case a rider, Harry Lee, traveled West in 1883; his daughter went on to marry a man named Basil Kolosky (whose birth father had a Japanese surname and whose birth mother was white) who rode in 1899.  A woman named Mary Lamm had been a rider in 1883 and in 1910 adopted another rider, her daughter Anne, née Anna Haberbosh.

In 1899 the superintendent of the Duane Street lodging house was a man named Rudolph R. Heig, himself a former newsie.

The first dedicated dormitory for newsboys was on the top floor of the Sun building.

Per the Children’s Aid Society Annual Report from circa 1860, the lodging houses were open to not just newsboys and bootblacks but also “Match sellers, apple vendors, button peddlers, and all who engage in petty pursuits.”

There ought to be more stories that mention the newsies casually mending their own clothing in the evenings.

The question of what one calls a group of newsies was answered in an August 11, 1904, edition of the New York Times when a reporter described a “colony of newsboys.”

In 1870 Theodore Roosevelt was on the board of the Children’s Aid Society.

At least one orphan train rider left New York City and ended up in Escanaba, Michigan.  To me this was a mindblowing idea, because although I have never been to Escanaba itself, I have been close, and even in the 21st century it was one of the darkest places I’ve been.  The differences between the Big Apple and the Upper Peninsula must have been even more jarring in 1897; it’s only a little over a thousand miles from New York to Escanaba (in this case via Chicago and then up through Wisconsin), but it must have seemed like an entirely different world.

While Midwest states were the most popular destinations for riders, a few also ended up in Jacksonville, Florida.

Finally, everyone’s favorite: the names of real live newsies!  All of the following are attested in the New York Times from 1904 to 1906. Gawk Cassidy States Nixon Snipe Buschwit Leaves McNulty Angel Zeller Slats Carter Duster Cook Wigsy Lefty Burns One-eyed Jack Bonsey Dobbins Sparrow Kelly Snubsy Harry “Dowie” Spencer

[yolandajulius]

Common Magic

A one shot because of course this drabble decided it needed to be a oneshot.

Because people plant cute ideas for ships in my mind and Yolie’s parent figures are all terrible role models. Safe for consumption if you can handle it.

A stronger man would have moved o.

That was what crossed Noudenet's mind almost daily; the feeling he should have simply kept walking to his destination, the fact he could and shoulf have easily ignored the young outsider whom came to Ishgard with a scant handful of other nonbelievers by will of House Fortemps. But he didn't and the conjurer couldn't help his irritation with himself. The woman was a Garlan, and thus she didn't even have the most basic of the Fury's blessings -- the gift of magic. But, he supposed, from listening, she had other qualities, he supposed, and for those he was able to make peace with the twinge of guilt at letting himself grow close.

She was an outsider, a non-believer, but she wasn't judging him when he lingered, speaking of the Fury's will. She listened, quietly taking it in, asking questions. Some were like those of children, others, far more challenging but no less respectful, harboring the ring of curiousity of one whom genuinely cared about what they believed. She always heard him out in silence, simply working on her cookery as she did, and she was never one to seem unreadable. On a level, she seemed to even enjoy it.

Prtjspd hr'f mskr s brlirbrt og hrt yrt, nuy thrn voild he trouble her with thje sin of how close they were? Noner whm believed would dare treat a member of the Heavens' Ward so casually. They were on a pedestal, a platyform that left a sense of disconnect between them, and the people, at times. It was certainly unlikely they'd continue their quiet moments, Noudenet buried deep in his resrearch, seated on a floor with pillows while she laid her head on his legs to rest, safe and secure in the trust he would let no ill come to pass. That...

Noudenet supposed he would miss tyhat trust, innocent as it was. She might treat him like others did, not as the companion she came to share her cooking projects with, the man she'd learned to trust with her joys and woes. They'd lose that connection, he feared -- a connection he greatly vbalued. He'd miss her smile, her lack of fear in telling him her feelings about events, the honesty with which they spoke. She was genuine, polite, considerate, careful, and kind. It wasn't the kind born of generations of grooming and stilted church lessons of modesty and compassion -- she had learned it in the wilds and that was a rare gift. Still, a styronger man would have passed her originaly.

Noudenet approached the space Yolanda preferred to practice -- she didn't mind being watched, so long as nobody minded testing what she made, and that was how they'd met. Halone be good, but the man never refused a good fruit tart, or rolanberry jam-filled anything, to even begin. and this Garlean woman was a culinarian of some skill. To thinmk she was self-educated to cook and bake blew him away. She ravenously tried new recipes and shared the results for weal or for woe -- nothing was wasted, but Noudenet found it rather comforting to be able to wait patiently for her sweets.

Noudenet's reverie was fiercely interrupted by the warm scent of a cookfire, filling his nostrils with the scent of fresh meats, spices and herbs telling him she'd gotten hold of some dhamel chuck that was being seared and roasted on the flames, and he drew to the crowd lazily, taking in the scent of basil and rhyme, sage and a faint aromatic of cinnamon and clove, the woman carefully bastingthe cut of meat with a butter sauce to glaze it, and Noudenet wondered what she might be making. The delicate aromatics were accented, on closer inspection, with what he suspected -- cinnamon and clove with a smattering of rich dark maple sugar to compliment the herbs; the butter sauce was warmly golden, bits of minched garlic and onion in it, and the slowly forming crust spoke of salt and groundf black pepper, but Noudenet diudn't move much closer at first, watching silently. Yolanda nodded to him silently, a small smile forming before she hummed, removing some popotoes to slip deep in the embers -- so, it was mostly a roast she was trying to make taste right. For now, at least -- and Noudenet drew himself to a position of espectful curiousity to watch. Slow roasts could take time, but she'd clearly been set up most of the day, meaning his timing for her to begin practicing sweets was perfect.

It was dascinating to see how one cooked without magic. Unable to properly manipulate crystals of water or fire, and yet capable of taking naturally occuring -- or crystal-originating water and flame to create the same thing was almost mesmerising. She moved expertly, yet still clearly learning, removing the roast dhamel from the flame to slice on a clean, wide stone slab silently,allowing the meat rest before beginning to wash a mixing bowl with a pail of water, clearly one of many. Noudenet watched silently as she worked to create a simple flatbread, pouring the batter on a second stone she placed on the fire, waiting for it to heat through, batter on top and all with a gaze of wonder. Nothing would be prepared together, and that was normal. Those whom knew the woman's cooking space and came often didn't expect a meal, they enjoyed a curiosity, and she seemed aware,slicing the roast in silence before sharing the cuts with those gathered, and Noudenet scowled to himself -- she'd taken to using her aged lance to cook again, and while she was not a Dragoon he could almost feel the one or two present wince, but there wasn't much to do for it. She didn't own a proper spit. Noudenet accepted a heel carefully, wondering if it might be as sweet and savory as it smelled, and contemplated silently, sllowing himself to pick the flavors apart. It wasn't the finest combination, but it was perhaps the sweetness, too strong for the liking of the conjurer when iyt came to his meat. Still, it was far from blande, and he was no culinarian. He watched as he ate small bites of the food in silence still. The flatbread was off the stone, sliced to share with those gathered as she poured the rest of the batter out, before beginning to clean out her bowl before removing a second. He hoped it meant she made sweets soion, and she didn't disappoint him when she pulled some rolanberries and walnuts from her sack, the conjurer lighting up atthe sight as she hummed, beginning to prepare a simple butter and sugary syrup to add things to as she cleaned the berries and nuts. Noudenet looked somewhat hopeful as she worked to start heating the berries, allowing them to simmer but not burn, turning to remove the potatoes and passing them to some Brume lowborn whom often came to watch as she worked on slicing and sharing flatbread. This he passed, even as he finished the meat -- his eyes locked on the slowly cooking fruit, walnuts awaiting adding to the candying process, and he was not disappointyed as she soon added them and stirred the mixture. She then began to work on a dough -- filo, if he recalled correctly, which meant laminating butter in and -- oh. A touch of pink came to his ears as he finally cast the woman a questioning look, earning a coy smile in response tht answered his unspoken question before he hummed.

"Yiu forgot the creamed cheese." He said firmly. Yolanda made a noise of surprise before iut sank in, and she frowned, considering her options as she paused,a voice huffing.

"Typical, the unbelievers are so useless." Someone muttered. "Especially Garleans -- who can expect some barbaric race to know anything? The Fury doesn't even gift them magic -- worthless, really."

The commentary was low, the sort common in a gossiping group and a few murmured assessment -- new facs mostly seeking to see what drew a crowd, and Noudenet watched silently at the brief, but telling movements the woman made. A twitch, a slight wince and a cringe, before he reached impulsively and ran his fingers throughher hair to cup her cheek.

"I can fetch some. It's an honest mistake." He spoke, voice soothing before the Ward Knight moved off, eyes judghing those murmuring with scathing disapproval. Were they thaumaturges or conjurers themselves? Their garb spoke not, instead mostly of lowborn or lower nobles, those more inclined to shun an outsider, but magicians? Hardly. His errand was executed swiftly -- taking to the crozier to collect the needed materiels before he returned. They were gossiping, of course.

"Do youthink she even knows how to make things right?" someone muttered. Another scoffed.

"I heard in Garlemald they barely eat anything. Coerthans have better fare."

"That blandpile? Makes you wonder what she thinks she's doing."

Noudenet scowled sharply once more, gaze disapproving as he took in every face present, reading them before drawing close to the woman he cared for, pressing the supplies into her lap gently.

"Here you are, these will suffice." Noudenet soothed, but his gaze never fully left the newcomers, appraising them thuroughly. Not a magician among them, he concluded, and Noudenet sniffed his disdain, rising towards them, but not moving from his position close to the woman.

"T'would seem she has a far better grasp of the Fury's teachings than a lot of ill-bred, ill-mannered children whom have naught better to do with themselves than judge a woman attempting to find the true path to the Fury's Halls." Noudenet scolded sharply, letting his judgement sink into their terrified expressions. He never once tried to force Yolanda's hand, but a little creative phrasing? There was no sin in that, and he greeted her startled expression with a calm, reassuring gaze, nodding politely.

":Do not let the words of ill mannered smallfolk trouble you, Miss Julius." Noudenet soothed. He dared not pull her to him to shield -- he didn't dare risk a threat to her safety with the harridans present. "You cook well enough and everyone makes mistakes learning a new recipe besides. None will judge whom seeks to remain on the path to the Fury's halls and those whom might may yet earn Her disapproval."

The message was rather clear. Although wrapped in reminders of the scripture that guided Ishgard, by the Fury's disapproval, he meant his, and by his, he meant judgement, the ill spoken moving away nervously before scrabbling for their homes. Noudenet knelt, and watched her work, pulling a card with her intended pastry recipe from her belongings to verify how to use the creamed cheese before making an awkward, sheepish noise before working it into the warm compote and nuts, watching the woman waiut for her dough to proof if slowly, before smiling faintly as she began to turn dough into a fruit and nut jam-like filled pasty, watching her gently seal each parcel and brush egg on it to let it turn golden, before placing the treats on the styone and covering them to create her oven. It was imperfect but it was something, and she mostly cleaned as they waited, quiet for once as she worked before looking away when her hands fell idle. Noudenet knew this look all too well and he never liked it -- she was troubled by what had been said, both what he heard and likely missed, the conjurer staying byher in silence with others about. She didn't meet his gaze, didn't look at anyone -- her mind was deep in thought, and Noudenet finally allowed himself to worrry. When she was like this he wanted to hold her to him and heal the pain she didn't show on the flesh, but the soul, and his fingers ran throughhis hair these times as he would murmur reassuring proverbs in her ear. They were quiet moments when he wasn'ta Knight of the Heavens' Ward but a man who simply wished to offer some modicum of succor to the worn soul of the person he cared for. And right now he was in public, unable to act beyond silentlystanding close, allowing her to feel him standing by her side watching. It wasn't enough for him, though, and it dogged him.

Finally, however, the thrice-damned lid was off and the pastries moved to cool from baking, which meant soon he could do something about it, and not a moment too soon. The quiet was making him uncomfortable and the conjurer felt himself shift to fidget as he often spotted Grinnaux, Paulecraine, or, even though it was rare, an act Charibert even indulged in, the conjurer allowing frustration to wash over him like a blizzard. He appreciated the care she exercised in baking and cooking, but the woman was being damnably slow right now, and he wished she moved a little more swiftly -- he had little patience for the melancholy she'd allowed to wash over her, and was quite eager to spirit her away from things to do something about it, and as a hrealer, it frankly bothered him to be idle while someone was in clear and apparent pain. Yolanda finally deigned her attempt at filled croissants completed when she began to pass them to those whom remained -- faces Noudenet recognized. They knew where the real rewards of her cookery lie, and they didn't seem to judge. Instead he waited, letting them take the free pastries with gratitude, perhaps more than normal considering the tonguelashing he left the less kind, but still gratitude before she offered him the last, the conjurer taking it gently as she began to clean, putting the fire out after allowing it to consume what it could of fond on her pans, and the conjurer allowed himself to indulge in the creamy and sweet flavor of the pastry, eyes closing. Fury take him, but the woman knew her fruits and flavors with sweets and were he still living as his father's house he'd have seized on the woman for his wife long ago. It was sweet, selicately sweetened with just a smallamount of maple sugar and honey, but tart and hardy, and the earthy walnuts broughtthe flavors together ina warm embrace to his palate, the Ward Knight closing his eyes and losing himself in the treat several silent moments, sighing softly in contentment as he ate. The woman simply... There were no words for how Noudenet felt about her baking -- but if this was an apprentice to that Miqo'te, then the miqo'te was a phenominal chef and teacher. Well, he'd seek him out if Charibert sought some gingertsnaps or something. Noudenet was wrtapped around the woman's pinky, and for several moments he could forget thata Garlean could never perform great feats of magic -- no skill in the arts of thaumatyurgy, conjury, or anything properly magic but cooking? She was magic there in another way, a way that afforded her a skill for delicious fgood even if the materiuals for cooking were often poor for her location or the textures imperfect. She was magic in the art of cooking, and when he opened his eyes from savoring the pasyry, they were alone, Yolanda watching in some concern.

"Did I ruin it?" She asked finally. Noudenet swallowed, and placed his fingertips along her jawline, eyes boring into hers fondly.

"No, not at all, my violet. I simply wished to savor the pastry. It was quite exquisite, and you'd have it perfect in a proper kitchen." Noudenet's fingers trailed along her chin and jaw softly, the Garlean turning pink and looking away.

"I can do better. The fruit overcooked, the roast was oversweetened, and I'm all but sure that fglatbread was underseasoned." She huffed. "I'm not getting this right at all. Maybe they're right."

There it was. Noudenet's fingers moved of their own accord, brushing hair from her face before taking her chin in his fingers, giving her a quiet, hard look.

"They were judgemental fools whospoke out of turn of things they know nothing of. You really mustn't give weight to their words, my violet. They're merely insects seeking to takeof you, and give nothing. A fire crystal is naught but a crystalfrom which fire is produced,awater crystal naught but acrystal from which weater is produced. You create both of that which the Fury provides all of us."

Yolanda was thoughtful, allowing herself to trn his words over in her mind, and he offered her his arm politely, the Garlean accepting it before he drew her close to walk with her, letting the quiet help his words sink in before she spoke.

"Temperature affects food." She finally admitted. "And the conditions they cook in. Crystals can help change that." Yolanda looked down hesitantly, frowning. "I can't use them to control heat or moisture as well. Wild fire is hotter than aetheric, right?"

"Not so, my violet." Noudenet felt a faint surge of excitement wash over him -- a chance to tell her of the way of magic, even if she could not use it herself, was still something he could share. He led her for the Vault, keeping her close to him to ensure none questioned as he guided her for his cell, almost giddy at the opportunity. When he entered, the Garlean was quietly focusd on the floor, seeming to studythe mortar binding ancient stones as he led her to sit upon his bed. Noudenet diud not sit. The conjurer closed his door before witthdrawing a handful of crystals, turning to her gently as he cradled them with quiet pride, feeling their aether dance in his fingertips like lightening or flames, the potential raising his excitement as he handed them to her.

"You know what these are meant to do, yes? Each represents another element. Earth, water, ice, flame, wind, lightening. That's what each produces when asked of it by those capable." He did not forget her inability to use them, and she looked away, down to the aetherically charged crystals as if begging them for some miracle that they might spontaniously react to her will, and Noudenet placed his hands around her own, calling the elements wiuthin to respond to him, startling her as he continued.

"They each offer us a means to access their gifts. You call them through other ways. Perhaps, not aetherically or magically but it is no less a call. You take flint to metal for fire, yes?" Noudenet focused on the fire crystal, the others growing inert again as the flame crystal heated rapidly, Yolie fasping and dropping it with a yelp, and the flame burgheoning withered again as Noudenet kept his grasp, wuilling water forth from the water crystal to soothe her burns a moment. He was quick to coax her to drop the lightening crystal lest it react as her hands filled with clear water before he ceased his summons of it, his larger hands remaining around her own smaller gently, supporting her hasnds so she could see. Feel.

"And the water is similar. There is no difference from them and your methods. The flames still burnt, the water still soothed, and is fine for a drink or wash or cooking. There is absolutely nothing wrong wuith your methods."

"But I can't use magic. That makes others look at me as poorly."

There was quiet, Noudenet reading her face quietly before he collected the crystals, placing them back in his supplies before moving back, allowing her to drinkthe water he called in her hands before pulling her into him, allowing her head to rest on his breast silently as his fingers worked her hair free of her normal ponytail to begin running through her hair softly, sighing. There was the root of her distress, something even the archbishop himself could not cure. A Garleancould not do a spell; they had no aethericv ability and never would. They lacked even children born with the Echo, and while at one time Noudenet had himself considered it a pitiable trait, he had come to resent how it affected Yolanda, the woman leaning into him as she sighed. She was clearly about to disparage herself and Noudenet shiftled his fingers tocup hert chin, pulling her to look at him softly, his other arm coiling around and reaching to take her hands to offer the gentle touch of healing magic to her burns, the counjurer, perhaps, also trying to shield her from the cruel fact of her birth.

"No, you do not work magiuc of the aether as many races do." Noudenet said, but conviction laced his voice. "But you do magic. Garleans do not use what we do but we need teachers to learn magitek. To create fire of a stone and a bit of metal. Magic makes matters too easy. You work with only what the gods give us and not with crystals. You are of a people whom learned to take little and make much more. Yours isn't aetheric or magic as it is defined but magic nonetheless in it's own right, which is a skill tyhat can be taught." Noudenetpressed a kiss to the top of her head before she glanced up quietly, the conjurer keepingher embraced, held to him closely.

"Yours are skills of merit. You must not lose sight of the skills you've fought to learn my violet, or you'll lose what you've gained. Please, my violet, do not give those curs that. They're below you." He sighed, letting that seep into her mind and bones, holdingthe woman close to him as she nestled in, thoughtfiullyparsing what he told her. The conjurer was content though; enjoying the company of her presence and the warmth of another person. Were he asked, he would say she was a pupil, of a kind, seeking to understand Eorzeran custom, or the Word of the Fury, and naught else. He would see to it them she was safely home, but for now he took in the knowledge her breath slowed from a slight panic, to the peaceful calm she enjoyed -- a sign his intent took seed. The elezen nuzzled at her ear softly, eyes closing some as he steeped himself inbthe scent of wood smoke and cooked food, metaland leather, and of another being, allowing himself to get lost in a daydream where he might whisk her away from House Fortemps and perhaps away from Ishgard, someplace they might be together with eyes unclouded by religious opinion or racist judgement. Maybe someplace like Gridania; she had mentioned camping in the Shroud often, and the conjurer's guild was there; or perhaps in Cylbrand, or...Anywhere they might enjoy the chance to be with one another freely, without judgement or fear, and the Ward Knight sighed softly, earning a shift of movement from his companion.

"Are you alright?" She asked him softly. Noudenet hummed.

"Day dreaming." He responded softly.

"What about?"

"...Rolanberrypie." He bluffed, and she laughed, relaxing him some to know she'd cheered enough, and he didn't resist returning the smile she facored him with.

"One-track mind." She teased softly, and he pulled her knuckles to him, pressing his lips to them lightly with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, perhaps if I were a stronger man I could resist your culinary experiments, but I am as I am, and you know it." He teased softly, and she smiled, giggling again.

For now, all was right in Noudenet's world, and nothing seemed to be changing that for some time.

[asklondinium]

When I started writing Londinium 14 years ago today, I didn't expect it to be about comedy. It was originally intended to be a deep story filled with typical Victorian pathos and a lot of meaning. I was 15 and thought I could do that without it sounding cheesy. Basil was originally dead serious, unimaginative, and dull. Dustin was originally taller (5'8", then 5'7") and his role in the story was to more or less bring Basil around to having fun with life and not being so uptight.

The story evolved from there and I worked on it and the characters from time to time, with Basil starting to loosen up but still being somewhat stilted and overly-responsible and Dustin being, well, his goofball, music hall-loving self, but the major turning point came on January 2nd, 2007. I've always been a comedy aficionado, as most people know, and I was reading about double acts that day. My notes for the next day in the little green notebook I've been using since the day I started the project have the first mention of Basil and Dustin's inter-character and double act dynamic mirroring Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. That realization has guided their characterization ever since. Basil is now an avid reader and phenomenal writer with a deadpan delivery and the ability to break other comedians with his eyes, and Dustin, who is now 5'2" and would be the best recital pianist of his generation if he didn't keep trying to be funny about it, is his most frequent victim. They write together on Friday nights and go after the main villain of the entire story by exposing his actions with a comedic revue written and performed with two other writers. They've gone from people who barely interacted to people who saw each other fairly frequently to best friends and writing partners who I couldn't imagine not knowing one another and being collaborators. They started out as two much more serious characters whose interactions were full of stilted symbolism, and now they write sketches and songs and make each other laugh hysterically and it's so, so much more meaningful than anything they were before because now they feel like real people.

I love them more than I can put into words here. They quite literally mean the world to me and are my favorite creations I've ever worked with - and I have hundreds of original characters. These two are, despite not being actual people, two of the best friends I've ever had. Here's to 14 more years, and hopefully somewhere in there a finished first draft and an eventual published book.