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padfootagain · 3 months ago

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Love in Verses (X)

Chapter 10 : [I] was angry that my trust could not repose in the clear light, like poetry or freedom leaning in from sea

Hi! Here is another chapter! Today: lots of misogyny, the academic world being what it is, and some time spent at the beach with our best boy Elwood!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4344

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Oysters

Our shells clacked on the plates. My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the water.

Alive and violated, They lay on their bed of ice: Bivalves: the split bulb And philandering sigh of ocean Millions of them ripped and shucked and scattered.

We had driven to that coast Through flowers and limestone And there we were, toasting friendship, Laying down a perfect memory In the cool of thatch and crockery.

Over the Alps, packed deep in hay and snow, The Romans hauled their oysters south of Rome: I saw damp panniers disgorge The frond-lipped, brine-stung Glut of privilege

And was angry that my trust could not repose In the clear light, like poetry or freedom Leaning in from sea. I ate the day Deliberately, that its tang Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.

Seamus Heaney, Field Work, 1979

Lunchtime with Andrew and Colm had turned into lunchtime with half the department somehow…

You were tired, you wanted to go home. A few weeks into teaching, you were already starting to feel the familiar tug of exhaustion. You had a thousand things to prepare for your research, books to read, articles to go through… And Andrew and you were still trying to fight against Sam and Frank’s marriage the best you could.

After the flower fiasco, out of which Andrew had managed to gain a moment of glory and a longing gaze from Sam, the two of you were working on a way to make you shine in Frank’s eyes. The perfect gift to offer the couple as they were moving in together seemed a good occasion. You had spent most of your evening the previous day browsing the internet with Andrew. He had come over to your place, had left well after midnight, didn’t want to disturb you by sleeping in the second bedroom. And you had fun, that was the strangest part of your evening. You had fun looking for gifts with Andrew, it had turned into finding the most ridiculous items available for purchase, and you had laughed until your eyes watered at his silly jokes. It was a sad thing to realise this had been the more you had laughed since Frank had left you…

You had stopped listening to the on-going conversation about a writer you didn’t know, your mind wandering away from your lunch to settle back on the previous evening. You were beginning to pick on some of his habits, noticing details about him. He hummed a lot, he tilted his head when thinking, ran his fingers through his hair when he was focused, he rubbed at his neck, his chin, his cheek when he was nervous or uncomfortable, pushed up his sleeves often too. Last night, when the conversation drifted away from your exes and onto the last museum you had visited, his head was tilted, his gaze stern and unwavering while he listened intently to you. It felt strange, to be near someone who listened to you so fully. Frank didn’t…

Your heart and chest grew warm at the memory of Andrew getting ready to leave. After midnight, he made a joke about the Gremlins when you offered him one last drink or bite to eat before he would leave, feeling guilty for your conversation and planning to have robbed the two of you of a decent dinner, your stomachs filled only with biscuits and coffee. He was putting on his coat when he joked about making a mess of your apartment if you fed him now, you both laughed at the silliness of it. You waited for him to wrap a warm scarf around his throat, to cover his ears with a beanie.

“Good night, Andrew.”

Simple words, and yet they made him look at you. You noticed the way his head bent a little, as if leaning towards you. His eyes were so green at such an ungodly hour, tiredness making the brown of his eyes recede. He offered you a shy smile, fidgeting with the sleeves of his warm grey coat.

“Andy.”

You stared at him in silence, surprised by his answer. His smile widened when he went on.

“Andy’s just fine, Y/N.”

You could only smile up at him then, you noticed the way his cheeks were flushed when you repeated his name.

He was so cute…

“That’s a little too much though, this whole thing about a feminist rewriting of history. To give classes about that… what a joke…”

Patterson’s words tore you away from your happy memory, pushed you right back in the present, in the reality you faced daily. University was not as progressive as it longed to be seen as, you were a painful witness of that…

You remembered the list of names Andrew had spontaneously given you during your first week. You reckoned his selection was spot on. Patterson was no exception. Mahoney was nodding enthusiastically, and you chose to ignore them. You were too tired, too emotionally exhausted to go through that kind of misogynistic conversation. You forced yourself not to listen to Andrew’s and Colm’s answers as they entered the debate, defending your side.

But then Andrew looked at you, spoke your name, and you were forced into reality again.

“Asking for help because you’ve run out of arguments?” Mahoney asked Andrew, and it was supposed to sound like mockery but it was too bitter for that.

“Y/N is literally an expert in what we’re discussing and a woman, don’t you think you should listen to her rather than your stupid biased views on such a matter?”

“I know plenty about the matter.”

“What a misogynistic answer… thank you for proving my point about your absolute ignorance.”

“And you’re an expert?”

“I’m not. That’s why I ask someone who’s dedicating her life to the voices of women and who is a woman when discussing something about women.”

Andrew’s breathing was heavy, his eyes stone cold and sharp. You had only seen him angry once before, that night you had learnt about your exes’ engagement. It made his voice deeper than usual, a low rumble that was scarier than the loud booming voice Frank used during arguments. His impressive stature wasn’t helping. And yet, when Andrew turned to you, his eyes were soft again, his voice back to its usual warmth, and he didn’t seem intimidating anymore.

“Do you want to add something?”

You didn’t, but the conversation was happening, and fleeing would only result in more violent views being expressed next time. So, you sharply looked over at your two mocking colleagues, and got to work.

You countered every argument, you offered numbers and examples even though you knew it would make no difference. After a while, you were getting angry more than annoyed. Colm and Andrew were backing you up every now and then, but the rest of your colleagues seemed uninterested by the debate at best, at worst they were enjoying the argument.

You let out a wry chuckle at Patterson, who was now not even trying to find arguments, but straight up rejecting your facts.

“How scientific of you to dismiss proven facts simply because they don’t fit your narrative…” you fought back with sarcasm, and he glowered at you. “And you call yourself an academic?”

“Hey! I’m not attacking your professionalism…”

“Are you not? As Andrew said, I’m the expert in this field. I am studying this issue and the impact of misogyny and patriarchy. And yet, you dismiss all my arguments without any proof whatsoever, without offering another explanation. You are only rejecting facts that do not fit your view of the world, or to be more precise, the world that brings you in a position of power over others. You enjoy the system that favours you instead of favouring everyone.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous, claiming to have arguments when all you have are thoughts and no facts or proof whatsoever. I do have those. You’re a misogynistic man who clings to his tiny bit of power and feels emasculated if anyone dares to contradict him. You’re pathetic.”

You shot up, standing in a hurry and grabbing your stuff before heading back to your office. You didn’t pay attention to the discontented grumble that followed you, nor the scratch of another chair being pushed away from the table. You didn’t notice Andrew was following you until you were outside the room, heading for the stairs to go back to your office. You turned to him with a surprised expression painted all over your features.

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

You stared at him in silence for a moment.

“You’re okay?” he asked with warmth in his voice and gaze.

“Yeah… I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

You didn’t like lying, but it was only half a lie. You were used to it, it happened more often than you had expected when you had chosen this career. You thought that the world of knowledge was a progressive one, a world filled with open minds. What a fool you had been… how naïve…

Now, you were growing numb to it, to some extent. The animosity was never far away. The attempts at slowing down, blocking, or even ending your career were a threat too. And you wished you could say you didn’t care at all by now, but you did. You did, and it drove you mad how frustrated you felt in front of such injustice, over the weight that was put onto your shoulders, over the exhaustion that came with constantly having to prove yourself, over the doubts that slithered there through your system even if you tried not to listen. It was the hardest part of your job, by far.

And then there were a few good ones like Andrew who gave you faith in humanity all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, rubbing at his neck.

“It’s not your fault. On the contrary… thank you, for taking my side.”

“Of course.”

“And thank you for asking me. For including me in the conversation. For recognising the need to put me at the centre of the argument, instead of a male voice.”

You let out a chuckle as you opened the door of your shared office.

“I bet your mam taught you well.”

He grinned, fondness evident in his eyes as he talked about his parents. You had noticed how love was always in his gaze when he spoke of his family.

“Yeah… trying to put in practice what she taught me.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll never have to thank me for something like this.”

You tried to ignore how much that fight had shaken you, but you could barely focus all afternoon, and Andrew seemed to notice. It was still early when he turned off his computer and grabbed his coat, then planted his tall frame in front of your desk.

“Come on, let’s go to the beach.”

You stared at him with a blank stare, blinking.

“The beach?”

“Lunch got me worked up… I can’t focus on anything. I need to clear my head, and to me, there’s no better place for that than the sea. So… come on! Let’s go to the beach!”

“I have work to do.”

“You’ll work tomorrow.”

“Andrew…”

“Andy,” he corrected you with a warm smile, and you couldn’t refrain your own grin.

“Andy,” you repeated. “I’ve got things to do!”

“Yes! And they include breathing the fresh air of the sea, listening to the waves and having fun!”

“And freezing to death? It’s November… in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten… I go swimming almost every morning.”

You stared at him with unfaltering eyes.

“You’re insane.”

“I need to go home first, but we can meet up by the coast? I know a nice spot.”

“Okay.”

“Do you like dogs?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow at his question, it was coming out of nowhere.

“Erm… yes… of course…”

“Good. I mean… I have to get my dog. He will never forgive me if I go to the beach without him.”

“You have a dog?! How cute! What kind of dog is he?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I don’t know… some kind of mix between a border collie and… something else. I have no clue.”

Your expression softened as you smiled. He looked away, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink under the darkness of his beard.

“Alright, I’ll text you the address of the nearest village, and I’ll guide you the rest of the way.”

“You’re not about to murder me and get rid of my body in some deserted creek, are you?”

He laughed at your joke, bright and loud, and you were quite proud of that, of being responsible for such a sound.

“No guarantees…”

“I should decline then…”

“Hey! You need to live a more adventurous kind of life! Take risks!”

“You could be planning on feeding me to your dog.”

“Now that you mention it, he hasn’t had his ration of human flesh this week.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying!”

You both laughed, Andrew shook his head fondly at you.

“Elwood is a good boy, don’t worry. I won’t be long.”

You were shutting off your computer as well when Andrew exited the room.

You had hurried to the tiny village, spotted a shop and were now motionless in the middle of the aisle, staring at rubber bones and colourful balls.

Andrew should have reached the village fifteen minutes ago, but you were starting to get used to his chronical lateness. He seemed to never be on time for anything. “Time blindness”, he called it. Whatever it was, there was no need to worry. He would show up eventually, apologise profusely, with a mix of guilt and embarrassment on his face, and then you would tell him it was alright because you couldn’t find it in you to be annoyed at him, and he would look at you again and smile…

You smiled as you reached for a squishy ball, with little flowers painted on it. Yellow and white. Daisies.

You bought the toy, went back to your car to wait for Andrew. He arrived almost thirty minutes late, hurried out of his car and secured his dog on a leash before walking over to you. The guilt and embarrassment you were expecting were painted all over his features, indeed.

“I’m sorry… it took me longer than I thought to pick this one up,” he explained with a nod towards his dog.

“That’s okay. And God, you’re adorable,” you said to the dog, crouching down to let the dog approach you. “What’s his name?”

“Elwood.”

The dog seemed to immediately like you, he let you pet his head, wiggling his tail in delight.

“Oh, yes… you’re a good boy!” you cooed. “Here, I’ve bought you something!”

You stood straighter again, offered the ball to Andrew.

He stared at you with bewilderment.

“You… you bought him a toy?”

“Yes! I love dogs! I hope I can have one, someday…”

“You… you shouldn’t have…”

“It makes me happy.”

Andrew couldn’t find any argument against that.

“Thank you.”

You headed towards the beach together. Elwood was obedient yet excited, clearly recognising where you were heading. It was sunny despite the cold weather, you readjusted your scarf a couple of times, put on your gloves after a while. And it was easy to find a topic of conversation with Andrew. First work, your classes, your research as you reached the beach. Then politics as you walked across the sand, sending the ball away for Elwood to catch and bring back. Then movies and art as you watched the waves roll towards you. And then your broken hearts when you were sitting in the sand, side by side, watching over Elwood who was running around by the edge of the water.

The sand was soft under your fingers, your gaze set on the horizon, an infinity of blues and greens, of white waves and the moving shapes of seagulls.

“Are you coming to the dinner next week?” Andrew asked, his deep voice breaking the quiet of the cold sea.

You heaved a sigh, closed your eyes for a second. Frank and Sam had invited both you and Andrew to have dinner in some expansive restaurant in Dublin. A way to ‘get a brand-new start’, Frank had called it. You thought it was rather a new way to get your heart broken, but you didn’t have a choice. If you wanted Frank back, you couldn’t miss any opportunity to see him.

“Of course, I’m coming.”

You opened your eyes to look at Andrew as he slowly nodded.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he confessed. “I was worried to go on my own.”

“Don’t worry. We’re a team for this! We said we would help each other out, and we will. We’ll get the people we love back.”

Andrew smiled, a gesture grateful, but tainted with sorrow. He set his green eyes on the horizon, you watched as the loose curls that had escaped his man-bun were floating in the wind. But then you followed his gaze, stared at the wildness of the sea, its everchanging shape, and you wondered if anything was meant to last in this world, if anything at all could be called permanent…

“What’s going to happen, then? If we fail, if we can’t get them back, if they really don’t love us anymore… what will happen then?”

Andrew was silent for a moment, staring at you now. You could feel his gaze set upon your face, but you couldn’t look at him. It was easier to search for where the sky met the sea.

“Then… we’ll go through hell.”

You let out a long exhale. His voice was quiet, barely there over the wind. Deep, calm, aching.

“We’ll suffer. A lot. And eventually, we’ll get over it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I don’t think that I could love anyone else the way I love Frank.”

“We don’t have to love them the same way we love Frank and Sam. On the contrary, I think every love we feel is unique. It’s shaped by the person we feel so intensely for. I’ll never love anyone the way I love Sam. But maybe I’ll be able to have a love that’s just as important. It will simply be… different.”

“Missing him feels like grieving.”

“Hmm… Missing her feels like grieving too. It’s the same kind of… void. The emptiness that’s left behind. The silence, the habit of opening your mouth to speak to them, but remembering they’re gone, that there’s no one left to listen to you now, and closing your mouth again… a mouth that’s rendered useless now, as there is nobody left to listen to you anyway.”

Slowly, you nodded, feeling your throat tightening at the pain in Andrew’s voice, at the way his thoughts echoed your own.

“I forget that he’s gone all the time,” you nodded, sniffling, although you weren’t crying. “I just… forget… and then I remember, and it hurts all over again.”

“Yeah… me too.”

The wind was so cold, it felt like knives entering the skin of your cheekbones. You readjusted your beanie so it would perfectly cover your ears. Every time either of you spoke, a tiny cloud was born from your lips, and died in the wind.

Andrew’s dog was unaware of your sadness, unaware of the hole that was gnawing a little bit more every day at your heart. He was happy running around the beach, chasing after birds, playing with the waves.

You smiled, soft and sad and filled with the want to forget again.

“I really like your dog a lot,” you chuckled.

Andrew looked at his pet as well, a tender smile on his lips.

“I’m glad,” was his only answer.

“He’s a good boy.”

He hummed softly, rubbing at his cold hands.

“I don’t think Sam likes him very much.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think she likes dogs in general all that much. She was always nice to him, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t think she loved him. When I do. I love him. He’s family.”

“Of course, he is,” you answered with an unmistakable fondness in your voice, one that made Andrew look at you again.

You could feel him shifting next to you, guessed that he hesitated to ask a question. You encouraged him to ask whatever he wanted. You were in a confessing mood, after all.

“What’s your dream?”

You looked up at him with a questioning look, surprised at his question coming out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a dream? Or… did you have one? When you were younger?”

You blinked up at him, feeling silly as you thought of an answer.

Of course you had dreams. You had tons of them.

“I’ve learnt a long time ago that dreams don’t come true.”

He frowned at your answer, his gaze saddened at your words.

“If you could make one true, what dream would it be?”

You blinked tears away, set your gaze on the sea again.

Blue. Blue and splashes of white. A thousand hues of those colours, as far as the eye could see. Such a beauty… And the sound of the waves reaching the shore, curling into white foam, regular like a pattern, soft like a melody.

“I really wanted to be loved for who I am. I just… I would really like for someone to love me. To care about what I think, to care about what I have to say, to hold me when I feel sad. I just… I would really like to feel safe, just once. To have someone… who would treat me as their equal, someone for whom I wouldn’t have to overthink each answer, someone with whom I wouldn’t have to fight to have a chance to be listened to. Sometimes I… It’s so hard to be a woman sometimes. It feels like I’m always fighting. Fighting for my rights, fighting for a chance to be who I want, fighting to be listened to, fighting to be taken seriously, fighting to get my life together, fighting to meet people’s expectation, fighting… for everything. I just… I want to have someone who would make me feel safe enough so I could stop fighting around them. It’s a lot to ask.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

You were surprised by his words, but when you looked at him, his stare was stern and unwavering.

“Did you feel like that with Frank? Did you feel safe enough to be yourself?”

You bit on your lip, hesitated on whether to lie or tell the truth. You didn’t feel like lying though…

“Not all the time.”

You let out a sad chuckle.

“But it’s just a dream, Andy. Dreams don’t come true. I can’t offer to stop fighting. If I do, I’ll just end up giving up… And I’ve done so much already to get my career, to be who I am today… I can’t rest, not when there’s no one to offer me a place to do so. And there will never be anyone to offer it to me. People are too flawed for that.”

You were surprised when Andrew reached for your hand, but you let him touch your skin, wrap his fingers around yours. His hand was so much larger than yours…

“I really wish you could have someone who would make you feel this way. I wish… I wish you didn’t have to fight in the first place.”

You looked up at him, blinking tears away.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered, and there was something close to awe in his expression, although you couldn’t believe that someone could have such feeling aimed at you. “I hope you know that, at least. That you’re unbelievably strong.”

You smiled, and so did Andrew. A genuine smile, that wasn’t so sad anymore.

“What about you? What was your dream?”

Andrew let go of your hand, rested his forearms on his knees as he looked at Elwood, checking that his dog was alright, but he was still busy running after seagulls.

“I wanted to be a musician, once.”

“A musician?”

“Yeah… I used to sing a lot. Played guitar too. I still do, with old friends.”

“What made you decide to be an academic then?”

A pause, filled with Elwood’s happy barks, the distant cries of seabirds, the regular whisper of the sea.

“There were sacrifices to be made. I didn’t want to make them. I thought I could, for a while. I had a few opportunities. But they were all… They were not me. There were talks for an album at one point, an opportunity for me to sing and be paid for it. But they wouldn’t have been my songs. They were pop hits in the making. They were aimed to please others. And I… I didn’t want to do that. I had things to say, and I wanted to tell them my way. It didn’t work out. And then my father…”

He blinked tears away, and you said nothing. He cleared his throat.

“My father had surgery when he was younger. He had some trouble again a few years ago. He’s fine now, and it wasn’t anything serious, but… I don’t know, I think… I thought about the cost that having a life on the road would have. If I wanted to make music the way I wanted to, it would cost me even more than a pop hit would. And I was in love with Sam, and my family needed me, and I thought… I thought it wasn’t worth it. At one point, I had to choose between studying or music. I changed majors from music to literature, finally had the opportunity to study things I was interested in. I didn’t drop out. Instead, I stayed in Dublin, I gave up on the hope of having a career as a musician.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “More so since Sam has left.”

You playfully nudged him.

“Hey! We wouldn’t have met had you become a rockstar! So, it’s not all that bad! I’m glad you chose a life where we could become friends.”

He looked at you, hazel turning fully green in the pale light of winter, cheeks pinkish in the cold. His nose was a little red, his gaze tender as it rested upon yours.

“I’m glad we could become friends too, Y/N. I’m really glad about that.”

You exchanged a smile, rested your head on his shoulder, wrapped your arm around his. You both remained silent for a long time, staring at the sea, the beach, the birds, Elwood still having the time of his life. And you were content to say nothing, to simply be there next to Andrew.

Your cheek felt warm while it rested against him.

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violettduchess · 10 months ago

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A/N: This is my gift for @readerinsertfanfiction 💜 The moment I saw Cyran on your list, I was thrilled. I hope you enjoy!

A huge thank you to @ikemenlibrary for her support and friendship and for being a generous, caring host 💜

Prompt: A servant, someone who knew Cyran from before his time in Rhodolite

Cyran x AU Emma

WC: ~4k

Obsidian: the Past

She runs across the cracked, sunbaked cobblestone streets, her treasure wrapped in a cream-colored tea towel and held protectively against her chest. Her worn leather shoes make a pleasing thunking sound against the stones as she hurries past dusty shop windows and faded porches, carefully dodging people on the street.

“Langsam, Emma!” someone yells as she flies past but she doesn’t listen to their warning. She can’t slow down. She has somewhere to be.

Finally she reaches the edge of town and takes a sharp left, leaving the cobblestones behind for a ribbon of dirt road that winds its way along tired hills covered with sparse sage-green grass and dotted with scraggly yellow dandelions. Another turn onto an even smaller path, a faint thing that meanders through the knee-high growth and then, finally, the faded barn comes into view.

She smiles, pumping her young legs harder, willing them to swallow the distance faster and faster until she reaches the peeling, splintered wooden doors and haphazardly flings one open.

“Cyran? I’m here!!”

The boy, just shy of fourteen, turns away from the wooden beam he has been faux-sparring with, lowering the dull, well-worn practice sword he is so proud of. His hair gleams like fire in the hazy sunlight that shines through the pocked roof.

Emma hurries over, gulping down huge breaths of musty air as she grabs his thin forearm.

“C’mon. I’m dying to see how they taste.”

Cyran laughs, struggling to sheath his sword as she drags him over to the blanket thrown over the hay in a cozy corner of the barn. This is their favorite place to meet, an escape from the outside world they discovered several years ago while exploring. It is here that Emma sometimes reads to him from one of her treasured books. She’s even shared stories she’s written, romantic tales of princesses and dragons, knights and monsters. Cyran is always the hero, the knight who slays the monsters and rescues the damsel in distress. Emma will change her roles in the stories.

Sometimes she needs rescuing.

But sometimes, she is the dragon.

Often they sneak treats to each other, hard biscuits or smoked meat or, if they are really lucky, sweet berries brought across the border from the lush neighboring country of Rhodolite. Cyran’s neighbor is a servant for some of the merchants that make the risky trips over and when he’s lucky, she manages to tuck away a few treasures just for him.

He settles himself down on the frayed checkered blanket and pushes his bright hair away from his forehead, eagerly watching as Emma drops down next to him, laying the tea towel down. Her face is flushed from her run and from the thrill of what she’s managed to bring him.

“Ready?”

He nods, enthusiastically motioning for her to unwrap it already. He has hands that are too big for his young body, growing the way many boys do at this age, in odd fits and spurts.

Emma leans forward, pushing up the sleeve of her too-big dress and carefully pulls back the edges of the tea towel.

The smell hits them first, the warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of the cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger. It wafts up towards them, exotic and tempting. Cyran breathes in deeply and then sighs happily as he looks at her, eyes bright and admiring.

“It smells so good.”

Cyran had carefully been saving up the exotic store of spices, some of them gifts from his neighbors, others decadent purchases made at the market from his meager earnings made mucking stalls and chopping wood. He knew that Emma would be the one who would create something special with them. Young as she was, she was a talented cook and baker, able to make the most fantastic treats out of the simplest ingredients. And now that she had been given such a treasure trove to work with, she had spun pure magic.

The spiced biscuits are dappled dark brown and gold. When she hands him one, it is with a reverence that echos a priest giving communion or a child receiving a shiny new toy at Christmas.

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Together.”

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes.

“Together.”

They bite into the cookies at the same time. Emma breaks into a proud smile as Cyran closes his eyes, savoring the medley of flavor and even better, the knowledge that she made them just for him.

“It’s good, isn’t it?" she asks, grinning. She sees the look on his face, the way he is practically melting with enjoyment.

He lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug, feigning indifference.

“I guess……”

“What?!”

He takes another bite, leaning back on one hand. “I mean, they’re ok. But you know, Hilde’s biscuits are also really good–OOF.”

She’s tackled him, throwing herself at him with all the force of a frenzied feline, her nimble fingers scratching at his sides. Cyran breaks into laughter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tries to squirm away from her.

“Ok ok Brown Eyes, enough!”

Emma lets him go, sitting back on her heels with a glowing, triumphant smile.

“Never say that about Hilde’s cookies again.”

He pushes himself up, heart pounding furiously in his chest. Only some of it is from laughing. He tears his gaze away from the unsettling beauty of her eyes, traveling up to her hair.

“You’re a mess. You got straw in your hair and your braid is a disaster.”

Emma turns and scoots until she is sitting in front of him. “Since it’s your fault….you fix it.”

Cyran heaves a sigh he doesn’t mean and then settles himself into a comfortable position, reaching forward and with a tenderness and care far beyond most boys his age, begins slowly picking the straw from her messy plait.

Emma’s eyes drift closed as she revels in the attention he’s giving her, the gentle way he untangles her braid and then very slowly begins brushing his fingers through her soft, chestnut-colored hair.

It feels comforting and safe.

It feels thrilling.

It feels like the early evening has come to a standstill and they have all the time in the world.

But their time together is like a rose slowly losing its petals.

A petal falls as he tells her, wide-eyed and shaken, that his neighbor has been killed in her own home, throat opened in the dead of night and left smiling its ghastly red smile until she was discovered hours later. Emma rubs his back, not knowing what else to do. This is not the first death in their village as of late. And it will not be the last.

A petal falls as they lay, side by side, on the blanket in the hay, staring up at the patches of starry sky visible through the holes in the roof. “My parents are scared,” she whispers. He turns his head to stare at her profile and knows it isn’t just her parents who are frightened. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers, voice fierce with youth’s naïve promise. Her gaze remains on the silver stars but she reaches out, taking his hand and squeezes it.

A petal falls as she comes to their favorite spot, face pale as bone, to tell him that her family is leaving. Her father has contacted distant relatives that live far to the north, as far from Rhodolite and the dangers it poses as one can get. Cyran feels like his young heart may break right there in his chest and he will be forced to live the rest of his life with its pieces rattling around inside of him. Though filled with dismay, Emma’s eyes are as beautiful as ever. They shine with tears, rivaling any star they have ever spent time gazing at.

A petal falls as she rushes through the dark, on the night before her family is to leave, her throat burning with feelings she can’t quite name, waves too strong to try and understand for fear they will sweep her away. She bursts through the barn doors and finds him already there, his hair dark as garnet, damp with sweat. He has spent the entire day doing heavy labor, removing heavy wooden beams, hauling ancient and broken equipment, sweeping the dusty, straw-strewn floor. Several lanterns placed around the interior bathe the space in warm, yellow light. The barn is as clean and inviting as he can make it. He wanted to give her one more memory, something beautiful, that she can take with her on her journey away from here. Away from him.

Emma is frozen in place, soaking in all he has done, before finally stopping on the young man at the center of it. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Already his shoulders carry the hint of what manhood will bring him: strength and breadth. Arms that with training will turn hard and sculpted, legs that will lengthen until he is taller than most. He is the faint beginning of what he will become. Emma wonders wildly if she will ever get the chance to see the finished masterpiece.

“Emma,” he says, his voice raw and rough, deeper than she has ever heard it.

She sets down the bundle she is holding, the one she carried so close on the way here, leaving it on top of a weathered wooden barrel.

“Cyran,” she answers, her muscles tense, like a fawn when it hears a crunching in the underbrush.

He starts forward, one hesitant step and that is enough. She flies towards him, throwing her thin arms around his neck and buries her face in his worn linen shirt, clutching him to her. There is power in her small frame, something fierce and bright, a hurricane in crystal. Cyran holds her close, his eyes closing as he breathes in her familiar scent. He’s been teased his whole life because of his last name, but she is the one who reminds him of a rose, who always smells so sweet.

The anticipation of loss that has them clinging to each other slowly ebbs and something else, something that has been burning low and quiet in every laugh, every touch, every glance begins to emerge. She is suddenly aware of the press of her chest against his, of how much taller he is, the earthy smell of his skin. She leans back to look at him and sees the same awareness mirrored in his dark eyes.

Outside a rooster crows, loud and discordant.

Cyran turns his head toward the sound and Emma, sparked by the frantic knowledge that she must leave, grabs his chin, pulling him back to her and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

It is a sunbeam bursting through gray clouds. A spark breathing life into a pile of dried leaves. It is hope and promise and wonder.

And heartbreak.

With a stifled cry, she steps away, turns and flees the barn, not wanting to see the look on his face as she leaves, not wanting that to be her last memory of him.

Cyran watches with a thundering heart as the door swings shut. Flooded with helplessness and misery, he notices the bundle she left behind. Tenderly he lifts it, undoing the sky-colored ribbon. It’s her favorite handkerchief, white with pale blue forget-me-nots painstakingly embroidered along the edges, and nestled inside are several of her spiced biscuits. His favorites.

Rhodolite: The Present

Rhodolite is so much MORE than she expected. The streets are wider and cleaner and lined with greenery, more trees and flowering bushes and grass than in the entire garden of the palace in Obsidian. There are more people than she expected too, many standing under awnings and lampposts, peeking through windows and around doorways, watchful eyes in beautiful faces following the royal procession as it makes its way towards the palace.

When she had been told by the Head Chef that they would be accompanying Prince Gilbert and his entourage to Rhodolite, Emma had felt a familiar ringing through the cockles of her heart. Rhodolite is where Cyran was rumored to have ended up. Whispers from the south had traveled her way, over the many years since they parted. He had joined the army when he was of age. He had left Obsidian for the verdure of Rhodolite. He was employed by one of the Princes there. Crumbs of information she had managed to gather, hoarding them tightly like precious drops of mana.

He may not even be here, she reminds herself as her tired gray mare plods along down the street. She and the other servants are at the end of the procession and most of the people have turned away, not interested in anything but the dangerous Prince Gilbert with his sharp smile and blood-red gaze.

Still, Emma finds herself scanning the crowds as they pass, looking for any head of red hair. She spots a few but they are never him.

As the overwhelming elegant palace suddenly rises towards the heavens before her, she draws in a sharp breath.

We’re here…….

…….Is he?

The palace looms closer, a breathtaking monument of pale beauty.

And if so….how in the wide world will she ever find him?

Cyran runs a hand through his thick mass of russet hair as his long strides make quick work of the pathway towards the training hall. It’s late evening and the young, freshly-minted knights are at the end of their training and he needs to make sure everything went well without him there. He knows Lucian is more than capable of leading them through their drills but Cyran has a responsibility to make sure. They are all under his charge.

Entering the hall, he sees several of the knights laughing in a corner. Some are sitting and catching their breath, others are pushing the heavy sandbags they sometimes train with back into their storage room. What he sees reassures him. They look tired and sore, yet satisfied, faces bright with the feeling of accomplishment a tough training session will leave behind.

He’s about to go look for Lucian, expecting a full report when he notices several of the knights standing by the wooden table at the far end of the training circle, the one usually covered with straps for shields and rope and other odds and ends. They’re smiling, far too widely to be discussing anything so mundane as weaponry. Several are chewing. He approaches the table, greeted by his men with smiles and respectful nods. Immediately he notices the tin: it’s round and black, covered with decorative golden swirls.

“What’s this?” He glances towards the first knight at his left, a tall lad with sandy blond hair.

“They were brought here by an Obsidian servant. She said they were a present for us.”

Cyran frowns, a skeptical look on his face as he reaches inside the tin for one of the golden brown cookies.

“And you didn’t think to–” He was going to ask if they thought accepting gifts from strangers was a good idea when the scent hits him, cutting through the sweat and musk of tired men.

The warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger.

He goes still, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Could it be…..

Something in his face hushes the men around him. They watch, curious as Cyran lifts the cookie and takes a bite.

The man who sees everything, ever watchful, closes his eyes as he chews and the knights are transfixed by the absolute stillness that has overtaken their leader.

And then those eyes open and something in them has begun to burn, bright and alive.

The other half of the cookie falls to the dusty ground as he turns on his heel and, practically jogging, exits the training area, leaving behind the half-eaten biscuit and a slew of surprised faces.

The rose gardens are somehow even more beautiful in the twilight of evening. The red petals seem to have darkened, shedding their bright rose-red for a sultry scarlet. Shadows emerge from the trimmed hedges, stretching across the winding stone pathways, giving a visitor like Emma glimpses of hidden benches and secret dirt paths leading into clandestine corners of the gardens.

She has taken several of these more narrow, less-trodden paths, not at all afraid of getting lost. Her heart is a bird, flitting between dark branches, full of a nervous, tightly-wound energy she can’t quite explain.

As the sky darkens to a deep navy blue and the first stars open their eyes, Emma pauses in front of a gray stone fountain. Two swans, nuzzling their beaks together, bodies curved towards one another as a blossoming flower rises above them, water spraying outward in celebration. She tilts her head, the romantic in her sighing at the way the two swans perfectly mirror one another, two halves of a whole, two souls in perfect harmony. So enchanted is she by the fountain that she doesn’t hear the footfall on the path, doesn’t notice the man who has stopped several meters away from where she is standing, the sight of her freezing him in his tracks.

“Emma.”

She jumps at the deep voice, her eyes wide and dark as she turns towards the sound. The owner of said voice is standing, half in shadow, at the place where the small path to the fountain begins, beneath a shadowy arch of crimson roses. She is so startled, she doesn’t even register that he has said her name.

“Oh….s'il te plaît, excuse-moi,” she says quickly, doing her best to remember the phrases of the common language spoken in Rhodolite. “J'espère que ça va…” She trails off, trying to remember how to say she hopes she is allowed to be here but the man takes another step closer, leaving the blanket of shadows and stepping into the fading light.

Even the dusky hue of evening cannot hide the red of his hair.

A gasp as soft as the flutter of a bird’s wing escapes her. The young boy she knew juxtaposed against this tall, broad man before her sends her heart into a tailspin. Her hand flies to her mouth as she takes him in. She sees the same bright light of recognition and admiration and overwhelming emotion plain as day on his beautiful face.

“Cyran?” The word is a whisper, a breathless repetition of the name she has kept in her prayers for decades.

His eyes never leave her, almost as if he has the power to hold her there with his gaze, to keep her from vanishing into the realm of his dreams where she has lived for so long. Slowly, he reaches up and loosens the laces at the top of his tunic. His hand slides inside and when it emerges, he is holding a small square of cloth. As he slowly opens it, her heart falters.

It’s white, with pale blue forget-me-nots embroidered around the edges.

He holds it out to her, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes. That handkerchief has lived next to his heart, in an inner pocket, one he has sewn into every shirt he has ever owned since the day he watched her leave.

“I think…..this belongs to you, Brown Eyes.”

She chokes back a sob, unable to contain the thunderstorm of emotion coursing through her and runs to him, falling into his arms as naturally as a willow bends to the wind, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Cyran wraps his arms around her, sheltering her, holding her the way he has imagined a thousand times. His throat burns with all the words he has ached to say, all those sleepless nights spent remembering the lilt of her smile, the music of her laughter, the bittersweet taste of her kiss.

Emma squeezes her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him, at once so familiar and yet so strange. Her arms wind around his waist as she presses herself against him, drinking in the sensation of his body on hers.

This is Cyran….her Cyran…..her….

A thought pierces her heart as she suddenly steps away from him, eyes wide, still so beautiful as they glimmer with the remnants of her tears.

“Oh…I…I didn’t mean…..you could be married. I shouldn’t have-”

His laughter is coarse, rough with emotion, a roll of rushing water as it careens over the lip of a cliff.

“As if I could ever love anyone else.”

Love…..

As if summoned by the very word, the moon itself parts the soft gray clouds, flooding the small section of the garden with silvery light. The tinkling of the fountain fills the momentary silence.

Cyran’s cheeks suddenly flush, a hot mixture of embarrassment and panic overriding the elation of the previous moment.

“I…..I don’t mean to presume of course that you feel the same. It has been a long time and…..” He trails off, wincing. Fluster is such an uncharacteristic state of being for Cyran. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I–”

His words are cut off as Emma launches herself back into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Please, don’t apologize.” She tilts her head up to look at him, still in awe of how she sees the young man he was and the handsome man he has become in his beautiful eyes, in his exquisite face. “It has always been you.”

Cyran drags air into his lungs, hardly able to believe he isn’t dreaming. His rough fingers capture her chin, his thumb running over the sensitive skin just under her lower lip.

Slowly, he leans down as she stretches upwards, eager and nearly trembling with emotion.

He kisses her, his hand still cupping her face. Gently his mouth moves over hers as he tells her a wordless story of longing, of a bruised heart that learned to somehow keep beating.

He kisses her, a strong arm pulling her closer, his lips and tongue weaving the tale of a young soldier who never forgot the girl with the tender heart and radiant spirit. The soldier who dreamed of her face during his darkest nights and longed for her laughter on days of sunshine.

She meets him, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, sliding her palms along his broad shoulders, clutching him as she answers his tale, confessing without words how he has never left her heart. How his smile was her light in times of worry and despair. How seeing him again has been her northern star from the moment of parting.

Only the moon knows how long they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s yearning.

When they finally part, Cyran rests his forehead against hers, still keeping her tightly in his embrace. He may never let go again.

“You’re….in the employ of Prince Gilbert. I am here.” He frowns ever so slightly as he brushes several loose strands of hair away from Emma’s charmingly flushed cheek. “This could get complicated.”

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Yes…..but we’ll figure it out.”

And suddenly he is carried back in time to an evening when her eyes shone just as brightly, just as excitedly, a young girl with something to give a young boy, a homemade cookie, an offering of love.

“Together.”

Her voice echoes across the years, that word wrapping itself around his battered heart, a balm, a blessing.

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes, tenderly stroking the silk of her hair, and answers her now as he did back then.

“Together.”

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @wordycheeseblob

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri cyran #cyran rose #ikemen cyran #ikepri cyril #cyril rose #ikemen cyril #my ikemen valentine gift exchange #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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fouryearsofshades · 2 years ago

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hi! do you have any information on how hanfu were traditionally washed and stored? thank you :)

First, sorry that it has been so long. Then, sorry that it is a short answer. Hope it is alright.

Expensive clothes were not washed. In the old days they used a lot of plant dyes and those things discoloured when they came in contact with water. Modern plant dyes are slightly better due to the fixative used in dying but the colour still faded with every wash. Hence, people in the old days used to wear layers to avoid dirtied their fancy clothes with sweat.

Clothes can be scented with something called 熏笼/Xūnlóng (lit. "smoke cage").

It is usually made from bamboo, but rich people could have them made from porcelain, like this one from the Three Kingdoms period.

A book on incense from the Song dynasty, 洪氏香谱/Hóng shì xiāngpǔ (Hong's Book of Fragrance), recorded the method of scenting clothes: first placed a bowl of hot water to moisturize the clothes, then smoke the clothes with incense.

Sometimes clothes could be washed separately.

护领/Hùlǐng (lit. "Collar protector". They are usually white in colour) were often detachable so people only needed to wash that instead of the whole clothes. It could also be made from paper.

Those type of embroidered/painted collars from Song dynasty were attached separately, so it was possible that they were removed while the body of the clothes were washed separately.

People usually washed clothes in water with the aid of a 捣衣杵/dǎoyī chǔ or 洗衣杵/xǐyī chǔ 搓衣板/cuō yī bǎn wash stick and/or a washboard.

The earliest type of of soap recorded being used was 草木灰/cǎomù huī (wood ash). Other plant based soaps were also used, such as 皂荚/zàojiá (Gleditsia sinensis, black locust), 无患子/wúhuànzi (Sapindus saponaria, soapberries), 茶箍/chágū（the dregs from pressing oil from camellia seeds plus hay) etc.

There were also records of potassium soap. Those soaps however were usually in liquid form and often used in fabric manufacture [我国古代的洗涤剂].

猪胰子/Zhū yízi Pig pancreas was also used. 白国斌/Bái Guóbīn (in 2021) wrote how they made pig pancreas soap when he was young - pasted the pig pancreas, then dried and powdered it. Later mix with alkaline water and made into ball to air dry.

澡豆/Zǎodòu was made from the combination of powdered pig pancreas, bean powder and other herbs. There are many recipes, such as a recipe by 孙思邈/Sūn Sīmiǎo from Tang dynasty includes 16 materials. They were also known as 胰子/Yízi.

Aromatic herbs and other xiang (fragrant things) could also be added into the water in the end to add pleasant fragrance to the clothes, such as a book in Ming dynasty《多能鄙事》/Duō néng bǐ shì ("I can do a lot of humble things") by 刘基/Liú jī recorded: Tree Peony Bark 31.25g and Spikenard 3.125g, powdered.

#chinese history #hanfu #china #historical clothing #laundry #fouryearsofshades #long post #my ask box is finally cleared #i am free

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katamaricule · 5 months ago

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Ha, sorry to burst into your ask box from nowhere, but I saw your explainer post for DMBJ come across my dash (very helpful!), and I was wondering something random. A year ago I watched the movie The Mystic Nine: Qing Shan Hai Tang because it had Zhu Zanjin in it, but I did not have access to a version with subtitles, hence it was very confusing for many reasons (Zhu Zanjin was still great though lol). I was wondering where this movie fits in with the other parts of the series if you know? I see DMBJ around a lot and I am curious!

I can answer this one!

But before I do: There are subtitles now! iQiyi has the whole thing, so if you'd like to watch that beautiful man be a beautiful opera singer again, well, now you can do so while being less confused. Well, okay, slightly less confused. I'll get to that in a minute.

Back to your question: The movie is set several years before the Mystic Nine drama/book story begins. It's the tale of how Zhang Qishan and Er Yuehong (that would be Zhu Zanjin) met, as by the time the Mystic Nine itself starts, they're clearly old friends. If you've watched this movie, you have seen about the earliest filmed thing in the DMBJ timeline (flashbacks notwithstanding).

However.

The Mystic Nine: Qing Shan Hai Tang is an original story that does not use specific content from the novels for its source material. As such, it both makes several claims that contradict the main series and introduces a lot of backstory elements that no one ever mentions again. It simultaneously expects you are already familiar with these characters and assumes you know nothing so it can just tell you random shit with impunity.

This, by the way, is not unique to this movie. All DMBJ installments are done by different production teams, and all of them have to make up stuff to fill in various gaps/satisfy content standards for Chinese television. Therefore, every series and related movie will have some amount of its content directly contradicted by at least one other series or related movie. It's not like you picked some uniquely terrible starting point that will ruin you for everything else. They're all uniquely terrible, each in their own way. That's the DMBJ promise!

I return to my theory that the best way to understand every DMBJ installment and its various, uh, unique claims about the canon is to regard every story as being told by a different semi-unreliable narrator. So maybe it helps if you think of this movie as Fo Ye doing a double-take, like, sorry, did you just say there was a magical tattooed assassin? and eternal drama queen Er Ye going, shh, handsome, I'm narrating our meet-cute my way.

#i made this #m9 #silly tomb boys meta

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vintagestagehotties · 6 months ago

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FINAL POLL Hot Vintage Stage Actress Round 5

Anna May Wong: Hai-tang in The Chalk Circle (1929 West End); Madame Lan Ying in On the Spot (1931 Broadway); Highlights from Hollywood (1939 Melbourne)

Tallulah Bankhead: Hallie Livingston in Nice People (1921 Broadway); Judith Traherne in Dark Victory (1934 Broadway); Regina Giddens in The Little Foxes (1939 Broadway); Sabina in The Skin of Our Teeth (1942 Broadway); Midgie Purvis in Midgie Purvis (1961 Broadway)

Propaganda under the cut.

Anna May Wong:

Tallulah Bankhead:

There is nothing about this woman that does not turn me on. Sexiest woman to have ever lived

ambisextrous, alcoholic, supported foster children, helped families fleeing the spanish civil war and world war ii, related to several alabama politicians, supported civil rights, wild sex life, top of the hayes commission doom book, her last words were a request for codeine and bourbon, drank champagne out of her shoe at the london ritz, inspiration for cruella de vil

#vintagestagehotties #vintage tournament #vintage ladies #vintage poll #vintagestagepoll #ladies round 5 #anna may wong #tallulah bankhead

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starlightandetherealshadows · 1 year ago

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Hello! Could I please ask you about the flings? Can we play the whole game only having a fling with someone? can we keep the fling alive?

Good evening sweet one!

Did someone say...FLINGS!?

Now you're speakin my language!

In Contra Spem Spiro, there will be three hookup/fling options.

You can absolutely play the whole game and only have flings!

These three won't be present the entire game, though. Instead, they'll pop up as you embark on your journey. You can choose whether to add them to your group, or leave them to their own devices. Kinda like Dragon Age ooooo

Just know though...the only characters with plot armor are the RO's and MC. everyone else is fair game for me to be evil and do crime. so uh yea, you can try to keep all the flings alive. i will allow an attempt but i can say no more on the matter.

These characters are also currently unavailable for committed relationships. You can befriend them, roll in the hay with them, but that is it i fear. (If i get like, a million requests to make one a late game RO...i'll consider it. or if i do a second book. you know the vibes)

Here are the Contra Spem Spiro fling options !

♡ Carter Sinclair (he/him)

Carter was a carpenter before shit hit the fan. Good with his hands, he can chop wood with the best of them and then build a house with said wood. Period.

Height: 5'9. Age: 31.

♡ Magdalena (Maggie) Harken (They/Them)

Maggie was getting a master's degree in graphic design when the world went to hell in a handbasket. Their favorite music genre is old school rap. 2Pac, B.I.G, Wu-Tang Clan.

Height: 5'1. Age: 24

♡ Delphine (she/her)

Delphine is a succubus alien. Yes. Mommy? yes no wait. Mommy? shit sorry. She has a calming seductive presence and glows in the dark btw.

Height: 6'1. Age: MILF (like 674 in human years)

That's all I'm gonna say about them for now to avoid any spoilers!! Lemme know what you guys think of them! I think they're neat (and I need Delphine in like a very feral way)

Giving you the warmest virtual hug, anon! ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

All my love,

Cheye

#choicescript #choice of games #cog #dystopian #romance #alien #ask: css #ask: answered #ask: flings

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ros64 · 13 days ago

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Today is the Second Sunday of Advent. Today/tonight, we light the second candle in our wreath. Customs around the world vary as to which candle carries which meaning and when it’s lighted, but where I am right now, the second candle is called Joy.

The nature of Joy is elemental. You can’t really plan for it to happen (though you may hope), and often are surprised by its appearance in an unlikely place or time.

Joy is a comet--often unexpected in its coming, but the tail of its memory stretches long in a spray of light across dark skies.

“What are you thinking?” I asked. “I know it’s about William.”

“Oh, aye?” Jamie glanced at me, mouth curled up at one side. “And what do I look like if I’m thinking of William?”

“Like someone’s handed you a wrapped package and you’re not sure whether it’s something wonderful, or a bomb.”

That made him laugh, and he put an arm around me and pulled me in close, kissing my temple. He smelled of day-old linen, ink and hay, and the dribble of honey that had dried down the front of his shirt like tiny amber beads.

“Aye, well, one look at the lad and ye ken he’ll explode before too long,” he said. “I only hope he doesna damage himself doing it.”

“Or you.”

He shrugged comfortably.

“I’m no very breakable, Sassenach.”

“Says the man with four—no, _five_ bullet holes in his hide, to say nothing of enough surgical stitching to make a whole crazy quilt. And if we start counting the bones you’ve cracked or broken…”

“Ach, away—I’ve never broken anything important; just the odd finger. Maybe a rib, here or there.”

“And your sternum and your left kneecap.”

He made a dismissive Scottish noise, but didn’t argue.

We stood for a bit, arms about each other, listening to the sounds outside. The younger children had fallen asleep under bushes or in their parents’ wagons, their happy screeching replaced by music and the laughter of the dancers, the clapping and calls of those watching.

“He came to me,” Jamie said quietly. He was trying to sound matter-of-fact, but he’d stopped trying to hide what he was feeling.

“He did,” I said softly, and squeezed his arm.

“I suppose there wasna really anyone else he _could_ go to,” he said, off-handed. “If he canna find his grace, I mean, and he couldna very well talk to anyone in the army, could he? Given that….” He stopped, a thought having struck him, and turned to me.

“D’ye think he knows, Sassenach?”

“Knows what?”

“About—what he said. The…threat to Lord John. I mean--” he elaborated, seeing my blank look, “does he ken that it’s no just a canard.”

“A—oh.” I stopped to consider for a moment, then shook my head with decision. “No. Almost certainly not. You saw his face when he told us about what Richardson was threatening. He’d still have been scared—maybe _more_ scared, if he knew it wasn’t an empty threat—but he wouldn’t have looked the way he did.”

“Anxious? Angry?”

“Both. But anyone would be, wouldn’t they? Under the circumstances.”

“They would. And…determined, would ye say?”

“Stubborn,” I said promptly, and he laughed.

“A bomb for sure, then.”

The air had cooled with the setting of the sun. Now it was full dark and the mountain breathed, a lithe sense of spring in an air filled with night-blooming flowers and the resins of resting trees. It would be different on the coast. Still fresh, but strong with fish and seaweed, tar and wood and the tang of salt in everything.

I might have one more mountain night like this, maybe two or three, but likely not more. I breathed deep, resolved to enjoy it.

“When?” I asked.

“If it were up to William, we’d already be gone,” Jamie said, drawing me closer. “I told him I must think, but meanwhile, preparations would be made; no time will be wasted. “ He glanced toward the window. With luck, Brianna and Roger Mac will have him drunk by now; he’ll sleep sound. He kens he’s safe,” he added, softly. “Or I hope so, at least.”

“I’m sure that he does,” I said, also softly, and rubbed his back, the scars invisible under his shirt. _Safe_. His children, his grandchildren. If only for a moment, here, together, in the place he had made.

There was a break in the music, though the air was still full of talk and laughter. That died down now, though, and there were a few moments of silence before the faint sounds of a guitar drifted up from the distant bonfire. Then two voices, one rough and one smooth, weaving a song.

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair_?

_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…_

My heart squeezed tight and so did my throat. I’d never heard Bree and Roger sing together. They must have done this before, though, in private; perhaps as an exercise to strengthen Roger’s voice.

We stood in silence ‘til the song was over, listening to magic. I looked up at Jamie’s face, soft in the candlelight, his eyes far away. He didn’t hear music, as such, but I knew he felt the song.

Seconda Domenica di Avvento

Oggi è la Seconda Domenica di Avvento. Oggi/stanotte accendiamo la seconda candela nella nostra corona. Le tradizioni in tutto il mondo variano su quale candela rappresenti quale significato e quando venga accesa, ma dove mi trovo ora, la seconda candela è chiamata Gioia.

La natura della Gioia è elementare. Non puoi davvero pianificarla (anche se puoi sperarla), e spesso appare inaspettatamente, in un luogo o momento improbabile.

La Gioia è come una cometa: spesso inaspettata nel suo arrivo, ma la scia della sua memoria si estende a lungo, come un getto di luce attraverso cieli oscuri.

“Che cosa stai pensando?” gli chiesi. “So che stai pensando a William.”

“Oh, aye?” Jamie mi lanciò uno sguardo, con un angolo della bocca sollevato in un sorriso. “E che aspetto ho se sto pensando a William?”

“Come qualcuno a cui hanno dato un pacco avvolto e non sa se dentro c’è qualcosa di meraviglioso o una bomba.”

Questo lo fece ridere, e mi circondò con un braccio, tirandomi a sé e baciandomi sulla tempia. Profumava di lino del giorno prima, inchiostro e fieno, e della goccia di miele che si era asciugata lungo la parte anteriore della sua camicia come piccole perline d’ambra.

“Aye, beh, a guardare il ragazzo, sai che esploderà prima o poi,” disse. “Spero solo che non si faccia male.”

“O che non faccia male a te.”

Lui scrollò le spalle, tranquillo.

“Non sono molto fragile, Sassenach.”

“Dice l’uomo con quattro—no, cinque ferite di proiettile sul corpo, per non parlare dei punti di sutura che potrebbero fare un’intera coperta patchwork. E se iniziamo a contare le ossa che ti sei incrinato o rotto…”

“Ach, basta—non ho mai rotto nulla di importante; solo qualche dito. Magari una costola, qua e là.”

“E il tuo sterno e la tua rotula sinistra.”

Fece un rumore scozzese di disapprovazione, ma non discusse.

Rimanemmo lì per un po’, abbracciati, ascoltando i suoni provenienti dall’esterno. I bambini più piccoli si erano addormentati sotto i cespugli o nei carri dei genitori, e le loro urla felici erano state sostituite dalla musica e dalle risate dei ballerini, dai battiti di mani e dalle grida di chi guardava.

“È venuto da me,” disse Jamie a bassa voce. Stava cercando di sembrare distaccato, ma aveva smesso di nascondere ciò che provava.

“È vero,” dissi dolcemente, stringendogli il braccio.

“Suppongo che non ci fosse davvero nessun altro da cui potesse andare,” disse con noncuranza. “Se non riesce a trovare la sua grazia, intendo, e non poteva molto bene parlarne con qualcuno nell’esercito, vero? Dato che…” Si fermò, colto da un pensiero, e si girò verso di me.

“Pensi che lo sappia, Sassenach?”

“Sappia cosa?”

“Quello che ha detto. La… minaccia a Lord John. Voglio dire—” spiegò, vedendo il mio sguardo confuso, “sa che non è solo una calunnia?”

“Una—oh.” Mi fermai a riflettere per un momento, poi scossi la testa con decisione. “No. Quasi sicuramente no. Hai visto il suo viso quando ci ha parlato di ciò che Richardson stava minacciando. Sarebbe stato comunque spaventato—magari più spaventato, se avesse saputo che non era una minaccia vuota—ma non avrebbe avuto quell’espressione.”

“Ansioso? Arrabbiato?”

“Entrambi. Ma chiunque lo sarebbe, no? Date le circostanze.”

“Lo sarebbero. E… determinato, diresti?”

“Ostinato,” dissi prontamente, e lui rise.

“Una bomba, allora, senza dubbio.”

L’aria si era rinfrescata con il tramonto. Ora era completamente buio e la montagna respirava, con una sensazione di primavera in un’aria piena di fiori che sbocciano di notte e delle resine degli alberi a riposo. Sarebbe stato diverso sulla costa. Ancora fresco, ma intenso di pesce e alghe, catrame e legno, e con il pizzico di sale in ogni cosa.

Forse avrei avuto un’altra notte di montagna come questa, forse due o tre, ma probabilmente non di più. Inspirai profondamente, decisa a godermela.

“Quando?” chiesi.

“Se fosse per William, saremmo già partiti,” disse Jamie, stringendomi più forte. “Gli ho detto che dovevo pensarci, ma nel frattempo i preparativi sarebbero stati fatti; non si perderà tempo.” Lanciò uno sguardo verso la finestra. “Con un po’ di fortuna, Brianna e Roger Mac lo avranno già fatto ubriacare; dormirà profondamente. Sa di essere al sicuro,” aggiunse, piano. “O almeno lo spero.”

“Sono sicura che lo sa,” dissi, anche io piano, e gli strofinai la schiena, le cicatrici invisibili sotto la camicia. Al sicuro. I suoi figli, i suoi nipoti. Anche solo per un momento, qui, insieme, nel luogo che aveva creato.

Ci fu una pausa nella musica, anche se l’aria era ancora piena di voci e risate. Poi calarono, però, e ci furono pochi istanti di silenzio prima che i suoni lontani di una chitarra arrivassero dal falò. Poi due voci, una ruvida e una morbida, intonarono una canzone.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme…

Il mio cuore si strinse forte e così fece la mia gola. Non avevo mai sentito Bree e Roger cantare insieme. Dovevano averlo fatto prima, però, in privato; forse come esercizio per rafforzare la voce di Roger.

Rimanemmo in silenzio fino alla fine della canzone, ascoltando la magia. Guardai il volto di Jamie, morbido alla luce delle candele, i suoi occhi lontani. Non sentiva la musica, in quanto tale, ma sapevo che percepiva la canzone.

#sam heughan #jamie fraser #outlander #outlanderedit #diana gabaldon

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legend5911 · 1 year ago

Text

PERFECT LIFE

Haseena pov

"Baby girl...... Aapko apne table pe Jake kaam karna chahiye" I said the 3rd time in the last 2 hours.

" Mommy bass 5 min aur" she said while concentrating in files. I know her, once I start looking at my files, she will again make her focus on my face. It's been almost 3 years, we both are married, still there are some days In karu's life when she becomes extra whiny and very very needy. I believe those days are going to start. It's not like I hate that part of her, but itna bhi nhi karna chahiye.

Here she comes.

I closed my eyes not in mood of any fight again. I don't know what's her problem, she just wants reason to start a fight.

"AJ kl ki ladkiyon ko toh pta nhi kya ho gya hai, pyaar ke naam pe kya kya karti hai....

Pta nhi kis boore waqte tumhe Haan bol Diya hamare toh bhag hi photo gye" she said

I didn't responded, I saw my baby getting angry, I have to stop her

"Maddam sir !!"

"Ammmaaa !!"

"Karuuu !!"

"Ek sec mommy" she mouthed last word and turned to ps

"Amma aapko samj nhi atta, kitni baar bolle inhe tang mat Kiya kijia woh senior hai, ek min Mai line hazar kar dege aur ham bhi senior hai, ye aapki Bahu baad mai hai pehle hamari wife hai, so stay away from her. Abhi jao field duty pe. Abhi !!" She exploded

Once ps was gone, she ran in my arms and sat on my lap.

"Mommy aapka mood toh kharab nhi hua na ?" She asked

I smiled at her being soo cute, "no love, I am not and u too should control yourself. She is your mom"

"But u are my mommy" she whined

I kissed her nose.

She remained in my lap.

"Kya baat hai !! samundar Mai paani khatam ho sakta hai, dharti par hawa khatam ho sakti hai par tum donno ka romance kabhi khatm nhi ho sakta " mishri said while entering.

" Arre mishri, aao baitho" I said, ks remained in same position not even turned to see her.

" Iss shehar mai 4 thanne hai bakki teeno Mai jao toh dsp mam ki aise sewa karte hai jaise bhagwan ke baad ham hi hai aur ek tum log ho, na koi Jai hind na koi respect"

She said.

" Hamara mood kaafi acha hai issi liye itni baat karli warna abhi Tak kapde faad ke bahr fek Diya hota isse jada kya respect de" ks said while remaining in same position.

" Acha ji ? " Mishri ran and picked ks in her arms, ks hugged her tightly and wrapped herself like koala.

" Mishri Aaj kaafi khush lag rahi ho kya hua? " I asked

" Kahe na ho, hamari 2 best friends mission ke liye Shimla Jaa Rahi hai, aur hamme bhut saare gifts Milne walle hai unke trip se" she said.

Ks excitedly looked at her, " sachi ?"

"Yess my love" she said

Ks kissed her face.

"Thq thq thq thq thq " she is extremely happy.

Haseena pov

At night, While packing

Ps entered in room with ks being behind her.

"Tum donno kha ja Rahi ho ?"

I was about to speak when karu cut me off

" Aapse dur, aisi jagah jha aap nhi pahunch sakti"

" Kyuuuu hamne kya kiya ?"

" Shadi ke baad siraf ladki aapne sasural aati hai maa ko aapne Ghar hi rehna chahiye"

" Karruuu stop !! Amma hum mission par Jaa rahe hai"

" Mission sach Mai hai yah bass bahana hai"

" Aaj dsp mam aaye Thai thane Mai wahi bta ke gye" I said

" Ham bhi chale ge"

" Nhi aap nhi jayegi, aap thana sambhale gi" mishri came and said while back hugging me.

" Ji there hai mam, par hamko ye cheez achi nhi lagti ki hamare Ghar ki chabi hamare ilawa kissi ke paas ho" ps said

" Amma woh hamari room mate thi aur hamari best friend bhi, usko har cheez pta hai hamare baarre mai" ks said while sitting on bed.

" Theek hai, par ..... " She was about to say

" Amma jao aapka sonne ka time ho gya, jao jao jao" ks said

Ps went while blabering some things in her mouth.

" Packing ho gyi ? " Mp asked

" Karu ki hogyi hamari chal rahi hai" I responded while finding my clothes

" Well done karu ye haseena shuru se hi bhut time leti hai packing ke liye" she said

" Time iss liye lag rha hai kyuki karu baby ka packing karne ka Mann nhi tha, so pehle baby ke kapde pack kiye aur aab apne" I said

" Karu baby tab Tak plane ki tickets hi book kar do"

" Kya ?? "

" Kyuu. ?? "

Both looked at me shocked

" Kya hua ? "

" Plane se nhi car se jaayege ham"

" Aur itni der car kaun chalega ? "I asked

" Dono chalalege, but jaayege car se"

"But baby hamari car ki toh service bhi nhi hui, itne lambe route pe..."

"Kisne bolla tum apni gaadi se jaoge" mp said

"Neeche dekho kya cheez laaye hai aapne mamaji se "

Ks went to balconi to see

" Kya baat hai mishri pehli baar koi dhang ka kaam kiya" ks said while hugging her" Chalo ham chalte hai, bass gaddi Dene aaye Thai" mp said" Karru ek min bahr janna" I said, ks wentI pinned mp to wall" Kya hua hai ? "" Matlab ? "" Dekho itni Shar...

" Kya baat hai mishri pehli baar koi dhang ka kaam kiya" ks said while hugging her

" Chalo ham chalte hai, bass gaddi Dene aaye Thai" mp said

" Karru ek min bahr janna" I said, ks went

I pinned mp to wall

" Kya hua hai ? "

" Matlab ? "

" Dekho itni Shareef toh tum ho nhi, aur hamara mood nhi hai jada behs ka seedha seedha bollo kya chal rha hai tumare dimaag Mai" i said while glaring mp

" Yrr kooch drugs aur illegal samaan aa rha hai mamaji ke liye, jab Tak tum log aaoge saaf karwa dugi but unke liye kaafi baddi deal hai. issi liye bass tum donno ko nikal rahe hai yha se, agar kooch gadbad hui toh tum donno safe hoge aur karu ka toh ham donno ko pta hai, usse pta chala toh pta nhi kya karegi, woh log kaafi khatarnaak hai aur karu ko ye cheez samj nhi aati, ye police department ideal nhi hai" mp said worringly

" Theek hai aur tum bhi inn se dur rehna" I said while cupping her face.

" Kay"

haseena pov

in morning

aaj bhut dinno baad araam se good morning hui hai. I love these moments when amma is not screaming to get up, just me and karu. i saw karu in my arms, sunlight was making her face glow, i tapped my phone screen and tapped the button of remote making curtains to be aside, and sunlight to enter making whole room glow, espacially her face.

Karu whined at this, "mommy........"

"bacha uthne ka time ho gya, utho........... we have to go , challo jaldi jaldi utho" i said

"mommy............ thodi der aur" and she hid her face in my chest.

I stood up and put her on my hip, "babbyy......"

ks still closed her eyes, went to by back and wrapped her arms and legs with my body and kept her head on my back and slept again.

I did my brush and then packed food. further put bags in car and started shower still having karu on my back, I can't believe how she can sleep while i am moving. just imagine having a moving bed. Its only a skill which my baby can have.

"bubba utho, chalo bhut ho gyi neend" i said

"mommy udhar chalo mereko brush lenna hai"

"apne aap chale jao naaa.... utro"

"nhi meko aise bhut mazza aa rha hai"

"okay challo"

she took brush and started doing it while I was thinking of anything which is left to pack, I went in bedroom and took both of our phones to charging, then i started doing sheets when karu tapped my back.

I took her to bathroom again and she washed her face but to do this instead of removing herself from my back, she made me kneel.

"mommy, let's have shower" she said

I took her to tub, she jumped from my back

"mommy, now u relax in tub, I will do everything." she said

"okay love"

karishma pov

I made mommy to lay in the tub after removing all her clothes while i took the fragrance soap lotion with a scrub. I started from broad shoulder, her strong biceps and triceps, her arms, her fingers, her neck, her breast, her back, her waist, her lower part, her inner thighs with some teasing, then her strong thighs, her calf, her ankle and at last her feet. I washed her completely, and then washed myself. Once I was done with my work, I dried her body and made her sit without clothes in front of mirror. First I took, soft jasmine perfume and applied it on her neck and breast part, next I took sandalwood perfume and applied on tummy and waist part. Next I took a strong whisky flavored perfume and applied on her lower part. Last thing, I took a saffron perfume and applied on her hairs and tied it into braid.

after an hour we both are ready to go

Mommy was locking the door, when she asked me to go in car, I went and sat at other seat and opened the car cabinet in front of me, I saw a box with letter kept on it. I saw that, and saw

To karu baby❤️

Babes this is the box having key of my farmhouse, in shimla. There is no mission, the person you are going to arrest in shimla is not in shimla, he is in my lockup. Don't worry no one is gonna make you trouble. If it happens, I will be there to take care. I have seen stress on hasu's face. She is very stressed because of work. Calm her as much as you can and most important thing, have fun. Once u read this, text me hi on WhatsApp, I will send you location of farmhouse. Now have a smiley on your face and bring all the stuff of my shopping list.

I smiled after reading it. I know she love both of us very much. We both too love her. She was my roomate in college and hassu's roommate while training. Because of her we both met. She is very cutie, and always want both of us to be happy.

We both were on our way, when mommy took the car to the jungle side, I didn't bother much, why to have any tension when you have THE HASEENA MALIK as your mommy. I kept my head in her lap and laid myself sideways, she kept her hand on my head and started playing with my hairs.

"Baby firse Sona hai ?"

"Yss I am tired" I can sense her raising eyebrow with a smile. She pinched my nose and we both giggled.

"Baby u don't even have bed"

"Yhi toh aap galat ho mommy I have u as my prsnl bed😘😘"

I can see her melting face🫠 with awwwwwed face.

Karishma pov

My sleep was disturbed when I realised, mommy picked me up on her hip and carefully caressed my back and shushed me. I hugged her tightly while she entered the house.

"Mommy.....?"

"Yess my love ?"

"Mommy hum kha hai ?"

"It's a house, just beside a waterfall. I took it on rent for next 2 days. After that we will go to our mission. Now just enjoy with me."

" Okay mommy, now just be with me, I don't wanna have any disturbance"

" Sure my love"

We both went upstairs in room.

Sun was setting and through window it was best view

I kissed mommy's face multiple times. "Love u mommy, this is very peaceful view"

"I am happy to know u loved this."

She dropped me on bed and crawled on my body, I was laying on my back and was looking up at mommy with such a hot face. She looked at my neck and attacked on it. Kissing it, biting it, sucking it. Made it red and at last gave a small peck. This whole happened on whole neck.

I love when mom is not with us, mommy can do whatever she want and I too have no worries of hiding my hickeys. I saw mommy smiling at the work she did.

I moved up and kissed mommy's lips.

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