#in the same way I'm happy my cousin I have very little in common with still came to my wedding

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

ngl being in the habit of replying to fic comments is actually helping me write the thank you cards for my wedding bc it has taught me that 1) you can still be genuine while following a script and 2) when you get stuck on one that's v meaningful and you want to let it percolate a bit you can use that time to respond to the ones that only require the script

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavily Lies the Heart - Chapter 4

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 1.8k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: Hello darlings. Sorry this wasn't posted as fast as the others; I'm seeing Hozier today and the pending excitement has had my ADHD going bananas. I also just want to say I love love....that's all.

Beatrice flung herself onto the bed, smiling as she stared up at the ornate ceiling above. Her mind was abound with memories of the past few nights, and as she remembered she could hardly believing it had all been real.

She clutched the smudged handkerchief tightly to her chest, feeling her heartbeat thumping quickly below. For perhaps the hundredth time that week, she thought back to his face in that moment. A slight flush to his cheeks as he so deliberately avoided her gaze. Benedict was undoubtedly a handsome man, but in that moment she found him utterly adorable. He always seemed so effortlessly charming; she presumed embarrassment was a feeling he was rather unfamiliar with. It was gratifying then, seeing him be the one flustered when he could make her heart race with just a look.

And he did make her heart race.

After that first visit, she had gone out to see him twice more--each night more wonderful than the last. She would come to his window and he, now knowing to expect a possible visit, would be waiting. On her second visit, Benedict joked that he felt very much like the Juliet to Beatrice's Romeo. She had laughed, but silently wished for their story to end up much happier than Shakespeare's had.

Each visit fell into the same pattern: He would come down, they would say their hellos, and then the pair would set off down the street arm in arm. They spent the time getting to know each other more and more, and if Beatrice had been taken with Benedict on their first meeting, she was all but consumed with him by the end of their fourth. She hung on his every word, lived for every laugh. He would smile at her, and the whole world disappeared.

Throughout the day Beatrice felt like a caged animal, waiting for nightfall when she could escape and be with him once again.

She rolled over, taking a pillow from the head of the bed to rest herself on. She looked at the handkerchief in her hands, her fingers running across the lace border as she lost herself fully to her deepest thoughts.

She was aware that she knew less than most about love. It was not only romantic love Beatrice had little experience with--the love one might experience with a dear friend, or even close family was overall foreign to her.

She knew her father loved her, but he was rarely around to show it. He spent most of his time out with his friends--or more often, with his mistress. The only way he seemed to be able to show love for his daughters was by restricting their freedoms in a misguided attempt to protect them.

Then of course, there was Charlotte. Beatrice loved her elder sister, but it was undeniable they had little in common. Charlotte had always been a tomboy with a rebellious streak, in contrast to Beatrice's more artistic, quiet demeanor. Charlotte did whatever she pleased regardless of the expectations place upon her, and considered her younger sister quite the bore. This led the sisters to care for one another, but to spend little time together.

Then, there was her mother.

Caroline had spent little time with her daughters, having lived separately from Beatrice her entire life. Then of course the time Beatrice did have with her mother was shared with Charlotte, whom Caroline clearly favored. She had taken no pains to see her daughters as they grew, before one day deciding to quit the country and move abroad. Beatrice had not heard from her since.

She had little in the way of friends, and of course no cousins to spend her time with. She tried making friends with the staff she sae frequently, but whenever they became too friendly her father would promptly fire and replace them.

Her only genuinely close relationships were her grandparents. Even then it was hard to say that she had a typical relationship with either of them, her grandmother having a rather hard time with sentimentality and her grandfather's illness making it difficult to have a consistent relationship.

Considering everything, she rationally understood her feelings of affection could be completely misdiagnosed.

Even so, Beatrice had no choice but to believe her feelings for Benedict were nothing less than love. Surely friendship could not fill one with such longing? Such a desire to be near another person so deeply one may perish from the sheer torture of anticipation? Surely one would not feel their heart skip at the mere sight of a person they did not truly love?

Beatrice knew she was naive. She knew that she was inexperienced and prone to daydreaming. Despite it all, she was certain the constant ache in her chest was the symptom of being truly and completely lovesick. And as much as she knew it could only end in heartbreak, she couldn't help foolishly hoping for something more.

If they could even survive the night.

---

Benedict looked himself over in the mirror for the dozenth time in as many minutes. He pulled on his waistcoat, wondering if perhaps he should change it again, before making a disgusted noise as he turned away.

He felt utterly ridiculous.

How many ladies had he courted in his life? How many more had been declined in disinterest? And yet here he stood, completely enthralled by a woman he could hardly wrap his head around. He felt he had begun to know her quite well, yet still so much remained a mystery to him.

He ran both hands through his thick, dark hair as his eyes fell to one of the many portraits he had attempted to paint since they had met. Despite multiple attempts, he found he simply could not do her beauty justice. Benedict looked into the eyes of the painting staring back at him, and sighed.

He thought about the last few nights. The talks they had, the jokes they made, the looks they shared; all of it seared into his heart like a brand. Upon each parting, he yearned so fiercely to see her again that he thought certain he would never feel another emotion in his life.

They had spoken only a handful of times, but when he had watched her walk away that previous night he was overwhelmed with the urge to chase after her, to hold her tightly and never be parted again. More than any other night before she had seemed apprehensive--perhaps even worried--and it made his heart ache.

It was in that moment he knew he had grossly misjudged his feelings. He had never been simply curious; from their very first meeting he had already begun to fall for her.

Benedict turned back to the mirror, the hesitation clear on his face.

And what was he to do about it? Was he now supposed to court her? Marry her? He had always thought the whole business of the marriage mart hardly worth the trouble; was he now to change his whole point of view for a woman with whom he would very likely have no chance with?

After all, as much as they had shared, Beatrice had held fast to the secret of her lineage. Given her effect on the men of the ton, and her absolute belief that he would put distance between them should he learn the truth, Benedict could only assume she must be from some truly great house. If that were the case, could he even measure up? Beatrice had already told him any future marriage would likely be arranged by her father; as a second son with no title of his own, how could Benedict possibly compete?

He sighed, smoothing his ruffled hair. He stood up a bit taller, giving himself a reassuring nod before moving away to grab his coat and head downstairs.

He had no idea what obstacles he may face if he choice to pursue Beatrice formally, but he wanted to try. How could he do anything less than everything possible when it was Beatrice he was fighting for?

---

Benedict stood with his brother by the drink table, nervously sipping his lemonade as he searched the crowd. He had insisted that his family not arrive fashionably late as they seemed want to do. It had looked suspicious to his family, but he did not care. If things went well tonight, perhaps he may finally have something to tell them.

"Are you well brother?" Colin asked, eyeing his elder brother as Benedict's eyes moved across the crowd, "Are you looking for someone?"

"What? Of course not," Benedict replied, his face still turned from Colin.

"No of course not; you're simply admiring all the eager young ladies looking for a dance."

"Yes exactly, I--" Benedict stopped, finally looking at his brother as he scowled, "Oh yes, ha ha," he said sarcastically.

"It is obvious you are searching for someone; do you honestly not wish to tell me?" Colin questioned, looking somewhat surprised.

Benedict sighed, "It is...complicated. But you are correct brother, I am looking for someone."

"And this someone--it is a woman, yes?" Colin asked.

"Isn't is always?" Benedict mumbled, "When we last spoke, she had seemed rather...well, she was not herself. I am beginning to wonder if she will show up at all."

Colin clapped a hand to his brother's shoulder, "Worry not Benedict, I am sure she will be here."

Benedict opened his mouth to give some snarky reply, but was cut off as the sound of trumpets heralded the arrival of royalty. Benedict thought Beatrice truly must be late, to be arriving after the queen.

"Her Royal Majesty, Queen Charlotte," the steward called out.

The queen entered in all her splendor, with every head in the room turned to take her in. She made her way towards the dias at the far end of the room, which had already been set up with chairs. Benedict turned his attention back to the crowd, hoping the stillness of the room might make it easier to spot the woman he searched for.

His head snapped back almost immediately, not expecting a second announcement.

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Beatrice Amelia Sophia of Wales."

Benedict felt his heart stop, barely comprehending what he saw.

There she was, looking just as she had the night of the ball; the same nervous smile on her face, the same style of hair and dress. She moved towards the far side of the room as her eyes subtly looked through the crowd. Her dress sparkled in the light as she took her seat neside the queen--beside her grandmother.

As she sat on the small stage, she continued to search through the crowd. He was certain she was looking for him, and from her face it was clear she worried what she would see.

Finally, her eyes found his, and the world went silent.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y @bubblegumcat229

[berylcups]

I don't know if you take requests like this but I'm interested in your general headcanons for La Squadra — if you have any! I like the way you portray them :)

Aw, thank you very much! I’m glad you enjoy my interpretations of everyone’s favorite blorbos! 💜

La Squadra General Head Canons

CW: blood mention, death mention, grief, alcohol, weed, transphobia, child mental abuse mention, bullying, sex work, toxic masculinity, internalized homophobia?(im gonna add it just to be safe even though it’s used as a joke by an LGBTQIA+ person…a trigger is still a trigger)

Notes: This is technically number 3 on my list but I'm submitting this one first since it got finished first! I hope this will satisfy your appetite while I continue to work on the earlier asks in order! If anyone wants a deep dive in-depth general HC list of any specific character feel free to send in an ask! 🥰excluding Melone of course... there's already one done of him!(that doesn't include other genres, yandere, romantic, etc. Mel HCs are still on the table!) Hope you all enjoy! 💜 Beryl

Risotto

1- He has PTSD and lingering symptoms of grief. This developed after his cousin died. He has conversations in his head with his dead cousin when he feels lonely or stressed.

2- The smell of blood gives him the same response as cuteness aggression. He needs to cuddle and squeeze the life out of something when he smells that iron-y goodness.

3-He's into leatherwork and knows how to skin an animal. He would help his grandparents in Sicily kill and skin the cattle. Blood and viscera are a common thing in his life.

4. He refuses to drink alcohol. He can’t stomach it knowing that it’s what caused the driver to murder his cousin. He opts for marijuana instead. It's really therapeutic for his PTSD. Formaggio, Pesci, and Melone are the best guys to smoke with. They always know how to show Ris a good time!

5- He doesn’t play favorites when it comes to his men. But only Formaggio knows how to make him laugh. He also has a soft spot for Sorbet and Gelato since they were the first men in his group. He cares for all his men equally, no exceptions.

Formaggio

1- He’s a 30 year old man who’s half Spanish and half Italian. He was born and raised in Firenze. He’s proud of his colorful family roots but he’s always going to cheer on Italy when he’s watching football!

2- Crazy cat man. This guy has five cats and they all are named after cheeses. And they are all orange cats. That grey one you saw in the bottle? You didn’t see shit. There was no grey cats being abused put into bottles. No you can’t change my mind. 😤 There’s Brie, Asiago, Colby, Fontina, and Queso.

3- always says “where’s my hug at??”. Also says “no homo” before doing anything that might be suggestive. This man is bisexual. 🤦‍♀️🤦 saying that doesn’t make it any less queer my Bi- King 👑 he’s the best hugger, 2nd is Pesci, and 3rd is Risotto.

4- This man is the hairiest in the group. He's always trimming his hair and shaving his chest and happy trail. If he doesn't shave he'll end up with a full beard and mustache, full chest of hair connected to his happy trail. The only thing he doesn't shave are his arms, pits, and legs and they are ridiculously hairy. 😬

5- Illuso is actually his best friend. Shocking? I know. They’re very competitive and sadistic hitmen. They always try to outdo each other on how gruesome and creatively they can take someone out. They both like to get drunk or high and watch football and wreck up the base.

Illuso

1- This prideful 28 year old is half Swiss German and Italian born and raised in Milano. His bad attitude came from always being compared to his younger brother. His little brother could do no wrong and Illuso always had to set a good example for him. The pressure got to him and just like Fugo he snapped but it turned bloody. His mom and younger brother are afraid of him and want nothing to do with him anymore and his father is sleeping 6 feet under.

2- He’s very sensitive and has rejection sensitivity dysphoria. As a child he was a big crybaby and his dad always scolded him to “man up” and fight back when he’s being bullied. It wasn’t until Secondary school where he started fighting back and becoming a bully himself. Now it’s all second nature to him. He puts up a façade of being an unpleasant person to hide his weaknesses.

3- He’s an avid artist who loves working with charcoal and graphite. His still lifes, landscapes, and portraits are near photorealistic. If his name didn’t give it away, he loves illustrating reflective surfaces the most. He wants his own studio where he can display his work. He doesn’t want to show off his work to others though. He’s very sensitive about his art pieces. He only does it for his own self satisfaction. He does want to be able to share this with a special someone though if he were able to find someone that he didn’t scare off.

4- He was born with Man in the Mirror. He used to use the mirror realm to hide and cry so he wouldn’t get made fun of by other kids or get yelled at by his dad for being “weak”. He obviously now uses it to store dead bodies and uses it as a safe place to attack people.

5- He was very sheltered as a child. The first time he saw masculine genitals besides his own was he went to Galleria dell’Accademia di Firenze with his parents seeing Michel Di Angelo’s David. He embarrassed them by loudly asking his father “papà why is his pìpì so tiny???” 😳

Pesci

1- He’s the youngest member at 19 years old. He’s from Sardinia.

2- Pesci has a mild form of Klippel-Feil syndrome. This doesn’t affect his self esteem. He’s actually pretty content with his body image! He just wishes he had more mobility with his neck. He does worry about passing that specific gene down to his potential children so he’s going to avoid having them. He fears his children will get bullied and not be able to develop a thick skin like he does. 😢 maybe his future s/o can help change his mind about that? 🥹

3- He’s a farm to table type of man. He fishes for his meal, cleans and debones , and cooks it to perfection. He knows how to prepare anything that lived in the water. Even the poisonous Fugu. But he doesn’t trust his skills enough to serve you that though! …unless you’re the boss. 😈

4- When he’s fed up with Prosciuttos harsh treatment, he’ll mock/impersonate him behind his back with Formaggio. 😅 his voice could use some work but he has the cadence and body language on point!

5- Coffee, tea, Cigs, energy drinks, or anything that is a stimulant will give poor Pesci the insta-shits. 💩 his tummy is DYING. Give him the entire toilet roll he’s gonna be in the bathroom allllll day. �� give him dairy, spicy, greasy, or anything else that’s irritating to the bowels. He can handle it like a CHAMP. Just no go-go juice.

Prosciutto

1- He’s a 26 year old Roman man. He’s a bastard child who never knew his father. He’s the oldest out of his 6 half siblings. His mother was a sex worker and a single mom so she always had to rely on her eldest Son Prosciutto to take care of his siblings. He never had a real childhood and had to grow up fast. This explains the aging nature of his stand and his stern attitude.

2- He sort of followed in his mother’s footsteps by sleeping with tourists and robbing them blind which is how he was able to get so much designer clothes and jewelry. Don’t ever bring up the part of his life before Passione, unless you have a death wish. He’s very ashamed of his past.

3- He has a hobby of winemaking and tasting. His dream is to have a villa in the countryside and have his own vineyard where he can make, drink, and sell his own wine .

4- He’ll take this secret to his grave but he has a mild phobia of taxidermy animals and embalmed corpses. Something that looks so life like yet is completely dead never to walk again really unnerves him. He doesn’t enjoy seeing things decay either. He finds it very unpleasant, but at least he’s aware that they are no longer among the living.

5- He’s a huge technophobe. Outside using his cellphone for calls and laptop for emails, he does NOT want anything to do with technology. Don’t come to his house and expect to Netflix and chill. You’re gonna gramophone and whoopie LMAO 😭. He likes old stuff because it “lasts longer “ totally not because he doesn’t know how to use anything. 🥲 he thinks video games are a waste of time and gets on the guys for playing them…they completely ignore him. 😂

Melone

I did a deep dive on this fella already click the link below to see it!⬇

Ghiaccio

1- He’s a proud 23 year old Venetian. He was born AFAB and became his authentic self as a trans man. Only Melone knows Ghiaccio before he became his authentic self. He's very supportive of him and refuses to deadname him or even speak about his life beforehand. If you mention anything about it you might get beaten up by Melone first before Ghiaccio gets a chance to scream at you. They bicker alot but they are close friends.

2- He got kicked out of multiple schools for beating the living shit out of his bullies for making fun of his nerdiness and LGBTQIA status. He eventually dropped out and joined passione.

3. He has a hobby for sports. He loves competitive swimming, hockey and ice skating the most. He wanted to go to the Olympics for it but transphobia prevented him from competing. (You can see why he might have an anger problem…)

4- Ghiaccio can see without his glasses. He just has severe astigmatism and gets headaches if he stares at the screen too long without them.

5- He has level 1 autism. He’s grumpy but sociable. He becomes awkward when you’re genuinely nice to him. He's not used to not having arguments and having an actual cordial conversation with someone. You can help him get used to that! He’s very sensitive to textures when it comes to clothes or food. Loud noises don’t bother him but certain noises do (pens clicking, fluorescent lights humming, mouth noises, high pitched whining like police or ambulance sirens, etc)

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Afewproblems! @afewproblems has 17 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 16 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @afewproblems:

The World is Upside Down (The King has Lost his Crown)

You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget

A Quiet Confession

Essential Songs to Woo a Metal Head

A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue

"I love Linz and her writing. Even though she's not as active as she once was, I think she should still be celebrated. As a fandom, we tend stop interacting with authors when they aren't actively making fic, and that's disheartening." -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @afewproblems answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I love the ship! I think it’s mostly to do with the characters and the romantic archetypes they represent. You have two people from different worlds, different social stratas, and completely different personalities that still find common ground in one another. It’s Grease, Wuthering Heights, Titanic -these characters not only balance one another out, but they challenge one another to rethink their preconceived notions about the other. Plus, for that one forrest scene in the Upsidedown to have inspired an entire ship and fanon about these two - chefs kiss, 10/10.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Oh there are so many! For Steddie specifically though, I really like reading stories that explore the fanon around Steve’s not so great childhood. I process a lot of my own stuff through fan works so reading about Steve going through the same thing and managing to create his own found family and finding love hits hard in the best way.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Hmm I don't know if it's so much a trope as it would be considered a genre for fan fiction but I love to write hurt/comfort and angst -angst is my bread and butter! Nothing better than putting your blorbo in an emotionally fraught state and then having someone hold them for a little while.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I could be honest, I could be human by GerryStAmour. The angst, top notch, the descriptions are so well done! The writing is so great, please check Gerry out as a writer, his works are incredible! I also really love the Cousin!AU by @strangersteddierthings her work is absolutely incredible, please check her stuff out!!

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Hmm Possibly soulmates I think or soulmarks would be very cool!

What is your writing process like?

So i’ll normally get an idea and kind of turn it around in my head over and over until I can't stop thinking about it and have to get it on the page. Then the snippet or scene will begin to grow and take on more of a life of its own, it's like ‘okay this scene is great, but how did we get here’ kind of thing, that makes me want to flesh out the idea which in turn makes the story and characters expand and grow. I never plot out the whole story before starting, I let it grow from a starting point and let the story kind of take the direction that it needs to go in.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I typically write with Steve as the main character going through as much pain as possible!

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I try to get a few chapters written out before I post my fic, I find it a bit easier to keep myself motivated that way. I don't think I'd be able to keep up with a schedule.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I'm definitely proud of all of them but I think the first Steddie fic that I spent several months on, Warm My Cold and Tired Heart, is still one that I am incredibly proud of and really happy with how it turned out. It was my big jumping off point for the rest of my fics and love for the pairing - which is another point in it's favour!

How did you get the idea for You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget?

It was inspired by a blend of two prompts in an ask from the awesome @zerokrox-blog “Things you forgot to say and things you were forced to say”. The prompt was a challenge to mix but I wanted to have one prompt reflect Eddie and the other reflect Steve. Eddie forgot to tell Steve the truth and Steve was forced to simply react. The story completely took on a life of its own after that though and quickly snowballed!

When writing You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget, what was something you didn’t expect?

The table! It was a bit of a throwaway line about the Hellfire club noticing the crack and worrying that they damaged the table, only for it to culminate in Eddie’s apology and confession to Steve when he fixed it. Probably one of the best little ‘Setup’ and ‘Payoff’ moments I’ve ever attempted.

What inspired A Quiet Confession?

This was also inspired by a ask prompt that came in from an anonymous user, ‘You weren't supposed to hear that’. i loved the angst potential of someone saying just how much you love someone, while worrying they don't feel the same for you. Juxtaposing that with the intimacy that normally comes with napping with you partner and you have A Quiet Confession.

What was your favorite part to write from A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue?

Definitely the confession scene. The whole fic was based on the episode from New Girl where Jess and Nick kiss for the very first time and I loved writing down the garbled speech that Nick says when he stumbles over his words. I just had to give that to Eddie - it fit way too well!

How do/did you feel writing Essential Songs to Woo a Metal Head?

I was excited to explore the idea of Eddie completely distrusting Steve and his intentions, which would be fair for the 80s ya know? Why would Eddie believe that a jock and former prom king was being sincere with him, but having Eddie make this mistake and having to turn to the classic 80s rom-com trope of the grand gesture -I loved it! Having Eddie use music the same way that Steve did to confess his feelings originally? I was super happy that it came back around, full circle. (I also worked pretty hard on the music choices for Steve's mixtape so I am so happy people liked this one!)

What was the most difficult part of writing The World is Upside Down (The King has Lost his Crown)?

There were several difficult parts with writing this story, one was figuring out which scenes from the show should be included or left out for the story to make sense and still flow nicely. I didn’t want to spend too much time rewriting scenes to fit the canon divergence but at the same time there were several important scenes that needed to remain in the story for Eddie to specifically react to. Handling Nancy’s character was also difficult but very rewarding. I don’t hate Nancy as a character but I do find her challenging to write. I didn’t want to paint her as a villain either, she cares for Steve greatly but they couldn’t be what the other needed. It was hard to do her character justice but it was really rewarding to get her right - in my opinion.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I think the scene where Steve smashes the plate in You Can Only Remember What You Want To Forget is up there for me in terms of one of my favourite scenes. Having Steve just completely breakdown, feeling like he's not in control of himself and how frightening that is. It was cool to explore these incredibly intense emotions and having both Robin and Eddie be there to help him process these feelings without looking at him any differently was so so important. It showcased how Robin and Eddie are the two people that Steve could trust with his darkest moments and still love him. Ugh! Still love it so much!

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Oh! I do have a new project that I am working on, I shared a small snippet a few weeks ago but I will be very excited to share the first part soon. It is a Season Three AU exploring what might have happened if Steve and Eddie met in Starcourt mall that fateful summer of 1985. I’ve also been doing some writing for the Psych fandom to get back into writing after a long dry spell, it’s been pretty fun to explore those characters as well!

Thank you to our author, @afewproblems, and our anonymous nominator! See more of Afewproblems's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[grimgoregrimoire]

I'm sick of hearing; "Writing is a refreshing way to cleanse your mind and put you onto a better path."

Babes, this path may have been paved with good intentions, but it was recently patched up with glass shards and used needles.

Also I haven't slept in three days, so here's a list of other bullshit I'm sick of bitches saying to writers.

So much for refreshing.

☆.𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

Feckin Friday 22/03/24

🐈‍⬛️ 1. "Write what you know."

Okay, yes! You shouldn't bullshit your entire book, but also, don't be confined to only what you know. Do you think I know anything about corpse reanimation? Whelp, that didn't stop me! It's good to learn something new, and it's great for your writing to expand your repertoire. Hell, who knows? You might find your new niche. Besides, research is your best friend.

🦇 2. "But my friend, cousin, neighbor, cat's best friend's sister in law's spouse wrote their book in (a ridiculous small amount of time)!"

Well, good for them! They're still going to get slingshot into the sun with the rest of us anyway. Not everybody is the same, and the only thing that ALL writers have in common is that they write things! Find what works for you and tune out the rest of the bullshit, including your own. Don't bully yourself for not writing! We are only on this earth for a very small amount of time. Take care of yourself!

🐦‍⬛ 3. "You have to have a plan/outline/entire plot done before you start writing!"

This is just *ugh* bullshit. Like yeah, sure, if you're a normal person, I guess plot it! But you know what? I've got an illiterate, hyperactive squirrel behind the control panel of my brain, and he's on his sixth line of coke. All I have to say to this is JUST WRITE it'll either all come together when you go over it later or it will be cut. Either way, it's putting words on the page, and that's great practice.

🕷 4. "Writing is your only job, and you have to treat it as such."

Gross. Look, even if someone is lucky enough to be able to write as a full-time job, I guarantee you that writing isn't all that person has does.

A lot of us are parents or keep our houses, most of us are still in school, and a majority of us have to work at least part-time to afford to write!

Writing should be treated as a job in such a way that you take pride in it, but it shouldn't be something you're forced to do.

You know how people say, "If you love what you do, you never work a day."

There ya go.

🕸 5. "Follow this plan!" / "Writing’s easy!"

I have three things to say to that.

Bite me, bite me, bite me, BITE ME.

Look, I am so glad that Stephen King smokes three blunts and eats a pile of shrooms as a part of his routine, I AM SO HAPPY THAT WORKS FOR HIM! But it's not gonna work for me and it's probably not going to work for your poor stressed out little writer friend who is six months behind on sleep and is trying to catch up with shots of espresso and tall boys of redbull. We know you mean well, and we really appreciate hearing new things to try. Don't get that twisted! But I'm sorry, there is just no gospel or quick fix to writing.

What's some other shit you're sick of hearing people say? Come on! Let's trauma bond!

[unmaskthemagic]

Number Correspondences

I'm going to start posting my study of correspondences. I'll list how I relate to the subject first and then I'll list some common correspondences. I'm realizing correspondences are a good base for understanding why and how witchcraft works, while also making spells, potions, rituals, etc. more meaningful for me.

I'm starting with numbers, because I have been making number correspondences since I was a kid. I suspect this may be an aspect of my autism, but I love categorizing things and I used to put numbers into little families. Like literal families with siblings and parents and aunts and cousins. From what I've learned with tarot, some of my assignments were pretty intuitive, too. I'll include some of my childhood interpretations, as well as what I think now.

0

My interpretation: 0 is God. Or sometimes just the great great great grandfather. 0 was patriarchal in my younger christian years, but now I see it as a force behind everything and nothing. It is a mystery and infinite.

Common: the void, complete nothingness, wholeness, infinity, all or nothing, beginning and end

1

My interpretation: 1 was also a patriarchal number for me as a child. I always thought of him as a grandpa. I could never decide who his kids were, but he was always a father figure to 2. 1 also signifies either success or being alone to me. I picture the dollar bill that's framed in a restaurant, commemorating the first dollar they ever earned. Or a gold medal with a big number one on it. Or a single tree or person, with nothing around them.

Common: innovation, independent, creation, proactive, simple, self

2

My interpretation: As a kid, 2 changed genders. but they were always happy-go-lucky and partners with 3. 2 was full of positivity, probably because 2's and even numbers were always the easiest multiplication. Now 2 is still a happy number for me. It can mean opposites or sameness, but there's always a partnership. It connects single things together. Like salt and pepper, the sides of our body, yin and yang, symmetry, etc. I also like eating small things in twos, so both sides of my mouth taste something.

Common: peace, intuition, indecisiveness, teamwork, feminine

3

My interpretation: 3 has always been feminine to me. Maybe because it looks like a feminine body in several ways? 3 in my childhood was the slightly more spunky partner of 2. 3 kind of made things difficult sometimes, but it was still a great number. Now I think of the common archetypes in stories of the character trio. The Three Amigos, Three Musketeers, Luke, Leia, and Han, Hermione, Harry, and Ron. 3 is just a good round number, that I feel brings more balance than 2.

Common: creativity, positivity, social interaction, youthful

4

My interpretation: 4 is the stable one. As a child I had her married to 5. Sometimes 3 was her sister and sometimes her daughter. But when I think of 4, I think of balance and equality. A square, a table, a chair, animals with four legs. 4 is calm and collected and you can depend on 4.

Common: strength, stability, home, practical

5

My interpretation: 5 was always a father figure in my mind. He's brothers with 6, married to 4, and 2 and 3 are his kids. He's kind of the middle of the whole family. Everyone is related to him. He's amiable and a fun dad. Now I still think of 5 as a friendly number. 5 is very useful and makes life/math easier. I always picture it as a person wearing a baseball cap too, haha.

Common: change, adventure, energy, freedom

6

My interpretation: 6 was the smarter brother of 5. Sometimes he is married to 9 with 3 as his daughter. 6 is quick-witted, a bit of a puzzle sometimes. I also think of all even numbers as more balanced than odd numbers, for obvious reasons. I guess I occasionally think of it as the devil's number, but that's never really felt right to me.

Common: love, harmony, destiny

7

My interpretation: 7 is a troublemaker. 7 was also androgynous and I could never decide which gender to assign to them (in my limited view of gender binaries as a kid. Now I accept that 7 is fully genderfluid). 7 was sometimes married to 8 and sometimes best friends with 8. Occasionally they would date 9. They are the younger sibling of 6 and 5. 7 has always been very mischievous and also just a difficult number. It likes to play jokes on me, which can be fun sometimes. I also sometimes associate Slurpees with 7, lol.

Common: perfection, truth, analytical, curiosity

8

My interpretation: 8 was 9's sibling and also switched genders. They were always 7 or 9's sidekick, because they're more of a quiet one. I always pictured the 8 as a pair of nerdy glasses, always overshadowed by their sister 9 or friend/partner 7. 8 was good friends with 4. Nowadays I don't feel like 8 is quite as sad as I made them when I was a kid. 8 is more centered and peaceful. I now picture 8 as someone meditating with their legs crossed.

Common: ego, peace, achiever, responsible

9

My interpretation: 9 is like the older version of 3. In fact sometimes they were good friends, sometimes mother and daughter, sometimes aunt and niece. 9 was the fun aunt who was always going on adventures. She would sometimes be partners with 6 or 7 and always siblings with 8. She was outgoing, flirtatious, and fun-loving. I still think of 9 this way, but I also have a hard time with them sometimes. I'm not sure what it is, but they remind me of someone who is really happy and confident on the outside, but not that way on the inside.

Common: experience, charming, spiritual creativity, empathy

To come up with common interpretations, I googled "[number] numerology" and scanned for some keywords on various website. Through this process I realized numerology is incredibly complicated and I have a lot to learn about it! I had no idea numbers are sometimes considered equal to a zodiac sign. Definitely don't rely on my common interpretations, because I am not an expert at all.

[1d1195]

Ohhhh Sam, THANK YOU SO MUCHHH I FEEL SO PROUD this term i was very busy with my auntie bwcause she was visting us (she lives in france and its been 4 years since she last visited) so i was busy with my cousins and trying to show them around before their time is over with us :(

SAM you ARE incredible😭 we work in a pharmacy together (she's a pharmacist, but I work with cosmetics), so yeahhh she's been talking about this whitening cleanser that has some great reviews, and she's not taking care of herself enough because our older siblings are troubles, so the house is full of drama all the damn time😭😡 and I might just try and buy that cleanser for her it'll be hard tho as we're in the same place but I may ask my brother who's working the night shift to get it (yes all my siblings are pharmacists I am the exception)😭

You absolutely seem like a birthday person it's obvious that you really love to gift people and see their smiles since you're always very kind💕 I hope you stay that way! But don't get yourself hurt. My mom says the kindest people get the most hurt :(

So you think the photo session would make her happy? Idk I'm always hesitant😭 I'll have to make a big-girl decision

I'm so happy to know that you're doing better. You deserve that girlie. Your hair seems so soft and fluffy and really healthy, which is awesome! I know I said my hair is a little longer than usual but it's not healthy🙈 lmao I'm a hijabi and spend most of my time out so when I get an opportunity to take care of my hair I do but I think I made my mind a few days ago I was combing my hair and I think long hear suits me. ANYWAYS THAT WAS NOT NEEDED BUT EHH

I just love self-care, so I love to talk about it. I'm not over the fact that I'm a junior, tho. Oh, btw I recently discovered that I have ADHD like.. it's not thar common here, but I had my doubts, but then I saw an interview with two kids one has ADHD and the other does not,I found myself acting like the other girl and it just snapped to me, but then again don't we all have ADHD😭😭

IM IN LOVE WITH FLOWER (I think that's it, right?😭 sorry!) I saw the new update I'll read it right after finishing my ranting session. Have you read any book from the Twisted series? I bought it recently and the first book is taking me ages to finish it, it's not boring but the chapters are heavily written.

Do you have any pets??? I love birds and cats, but I had two birds a few years back, but we were traveling constantly and it was hard to leave th so I gave them to my cousin but I think they run away😭 but! I reaaaally want a little kitten, duh.

Sam thank you so much for helping take care pleaaase🩷🩷🎀

Oh btw a question just popped. Do you ever wonder about the anons? Like their names and stuff, I find MYSELF wondering lol😭 yalla byeee🏃🏻‍♀️‍➡️

🎀-anon 🙈

OH WAIT I ALWAYS REMEMBER STUFF AFTER SENDING THE MESSAGE, TOOTHPASTE IS SO DEVINE!!!! I love that she's confident, she can't hold her tongue and it's just so cute that he asked her on a date on that note it was so cute you're always writing cute stuff I don't know if I'll melt from it or the weather

--

That's so sweet you got to see your family 💕 My family is crazy and I love them but it's never relaxing when they're around. It's nice you got to see them after so long.

That's really cool you work with your family. It's nice! I'm sure your sister will appreciate the cleanser! Especially where it's something you talked about with her. The photo session would be nice too! I think that would be really special as well, so whatever you decide she will love I'm sure 💕

I think unfortunately your mom might be right. I hurt my own feelings more than anything. It's because I want a me in my own life to do what I do for others and it just doesn't happen lol. Shakespeare's got something on how expectation is the root of all heartache. It's very true. But thank you, I'm trying to be better about my self worth and whatnot and lower my expectations hahahahah

My hair is sometimes soft and definitely fluffy. One time I straightened it and my friend couldn't find me in the lunch room. The problem is that like one degree of moisture sets it into a complete frizz. It's looking healthier now but it looked pretty raggedy not too long ago 😂 I really love long hair though so it sounds like you made a good decision!

Idk what I have but I need to be studied 😂 I read a lot about how ADHD and anxiety presents differently in women than in men (naturally) so I probably have one or more diagnoses in my future. It's cool you connected with the person though and recognized similarities in yourself. Even just getting comfortable with the idea of being ADHD or whatever, I think, is an important step in coping and figuring out how to navigate everyday life 😊 Hopefully that makes sense!

I have not read Twisted, but I've heard good things. I'm not sure I want something deep right now though. This tbr shelf of mine is out of control lol.

No pets for me. I'm pretty allergic to pet dander. Cats especially. I'm def more a dog person than a cat person as well. I love all baby animals though, kittens are so sweet!

I WONDER ALL THE TIME ABOUT MY ANONS. I think about everyone's name and where they live. It's really fun to imagine but I wish I could have a huge Harry Styles themed party and hug everyone.

I'm starting to really love toothpaste. I'm glad you liked it 💕

stay cool and don't melt! Much love 💕

xoxo

[dreamsinfiction]

April 2024 recap (aka the month my social battery was truly spent)

Lol am already two months behind my recaps haha. It's okay, as long as it gets done, it's okay~

Highlights of April:

a. Got a better-than-expected PB 🥹 - Alhamdulillah! Honestly thought I was gonna get an average or get thrown under the bus with a lower than average PB since I already posted out of my previous dept. But yes, thankfully my efforts over the past year was (rightfully) recognised (because I was thrown a lot of shit in my last couple of months there hahaha)

b. Dad's birthday and impromptu Raya shopping - Brought the family to The White Label (before they closed the North Bridge Road outlet and reopened back at a Bugis hotel) for my dad's birthday and it was really nice seeing everyone enjoy a good meal out since it's so rare. TWL's food is really the best and the food didn't disappoint. The night also turned out to be an impromptu Raya shopping for the parents cos I convinced them to get matching baju with me and my sister. Getting older, it does make me feel warm inside when I was able to buy them the clothes that they want without worrying about the prices. Alhamdulillah for the little things truly.

The food was next level amazing gah.

c. Signed up for volunteering - This year I wanted to do more for the community and thought Ramadan was a good place to start. I did sign up with a volunteering organisation but I think it was oversubscribed and I didn't end up getting picked 😔. Need to be more intentional next year; maybe signing up with a smaller organisation will help my chances. If anyone knows of any lobang to volunteer for a meaningful cause, please let me know!

d. Raya! - This Raya was more meaningful for my family because my dad semi-reconciled with his siblings. It'll be too long to get into the reasons why they were fighting here but I'm just happy to see everyone trying to make nice as they get older. I guess it also helped that they have a common foe (maybe too strong a word but I can't wordsmith it right now) in my grandma and her very stubborn/toxic ways. They banded together and tried to manage her situation right. I really enjoyed visiting everyone and seeing how they're growing up (even though it's at the costs of my limited social battery hahaha)

Featuring a vary manja cat at Nek Muda's house heh.

e. Meeting up with Aunty Eny - Aunty Eny was here for Raya! And also for some medical check ups for Uncle Jim in the area. Even though we've not met up in a while (think the last time was early 2023) it still felt so easy and peaceful to chat and catch up. She also recently opened up a cafe back home in Glasgow so now my mom, sister and me are itching to go back and visit heh (summer 2025?😛)

f. IU in Singapore - OMG fangirl dream came trueeeee. I actually went to the concert alone (not a big deal for me, in fact I loved it more cos I could truly appreciate her music and bop along) in my baju kurung cos I came straight after visiting my cousin for Raya hahahaha. Also my seat was amazing like it was very near to the stage and I barely need to zoom for my videos. IU is amazing live - she's the same age as me but I don't know how she has the stamina to sing and perform for 3 hours straight with 2 encores?? K-pop concerts are putting Western concerts to shame hahaha. During the second encore, she straight up just asked the audience what song we wanted her to perform and she just sang it (to the horror of her live band quickly flipping thru their scores lol). Love it. Ngl, I did tear listening to her ballads which are my fave (Love Wins All, Through the Night)

g. Work stuff - Volunteered to do some extra CCAs! One was organising the monthly divisional meeting for the next quarter (Apr-Jun) + the quarterly HLS/teambonding activity. Doing it with Farah and I think our combination is the best - she comes with the wacky ideas and extroverted self while I help to rationalise everything/tone it down when needed and do the backstage stuff haha. I also volunteered to help out with the Volunteer Festival happening in July! Thought it would be good to have some brownie points on my appraisal this year and it seemed quite straightforward in terms of stakeholder management, ground ops, plus the location I volunteered for will be at Lot One hehe.

Phew my April was super packed; how did I even go through all that and come out in one piece lol. Till the next recap! Which should be quite soon since I'm so far behind in writing them down hahaha.

[wily-one24]

6, 9, 27

Ok, Nonny, let's do this.

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

Oooh. I mean... that noone will like it? That I can't do it?

That my best writing days are behind me and I can never reach the level I used to.

Actually, you know what? As my kidney failure continues to worsen, sometimes the brain fog gets REAL. And I worry I forget words. Which I do. Sometimes I really have to stop to think about the words/ phrases I'm trying to say.

My kids are used to it. I'll be speaking and I'll just turn to them all "What is it? The word?" and they know.

Words were always my power. I use them so specifically, that I worry that's going to be taken from me. It's all very hit and miss at the moment and eventually I can either change the way I was trying to say something or remember the words to use.

But I worry that one day it won't be like that, that it will be a more permanent thing. And my writing will not be mine anymore.

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn't about writing, I just want to know.

Yes and no.

Yeah, I know, that sounds like a cop out.

Do I believe there are ghosts that walk the world in the way they are presented in most media? Not really. I don't think there are sheet wearing boogie monsters. Or spirits that can't move on.

That said, I do believe that there are planes of existence that we are not aware of.

Some people have stories of signs that their loved ones are watching out for them in the afterlife and that's beautiful to believe in. But where does that leave the rest of us who don't get those signs? Are we supposed to believe that our loved ones just didn't love us back enough?

I don't think that's true. But I do think some people are more open to seeing/reading the signs.

I believe if you believe and it gives you comfort, then that's good.

When my son was four, I am convinced he saw or had some kind of interaction with a dead person and you can never convince me otherwise.

I was driving him to his grandparent's house and the conversation literally went like this.

Him: Mum, do you have any cousins? Me: Well, there's your Auntie Caz, you see her all the time. Him: No, not her. Me: Well, I have two other cousins, but you've never met them, I haven't seen them for years. Ben and Chris. Him: Yeah, that's the one.

A few minutes later...

Him: Mum, why do people die? Me: Huh, well, sometimes they just get really old and their bodies give out. Sometimes they get sick and the doctors can't save them. Sometimes they get into an accident and the doctors can't save them. It's different in all cases. Him: Ok. I dropped him with his grandparents and left my phone in the car. After ten minutes, I came out to find my phone had eight missed calls and a dozen messages.

My cousin Chris had had an accident and was in hospital on life support. They were only waiting for family to come in and say goodbye before pulling the plug.

You cannot tell me that a child who had never heard the name before suddenly came up with that on the very day/time it happened without SOMETHING intervening.

But do I think that same cousin is hanging around and watching us now? No.

*something* is out there. But I don't know what. And I'm happy not to. But my mind is open.

27. Who is the most stressful character you've ever written? Why?

This is a difficult question to answer.

Some characters I find easy and some not. The ones I find difficult are ones I don't like. And that's because I don't feel like I have a grasp on them the way I do my faves. I feel that's a pretty common theme in wriitng, though. I try to keep my dislike characters to a minimum.

Take Once, for instance. I didn't (or barely) write Hook, Neal, or August. I just... couldn't really get a handle on their motivations or characters. And I didn't see the point in trying. I also didn't like Rumple, but I wrote him a fair amount in PIB and a little bit in Memory Cloud, but he's easy to write. I find him not likable, but understandable.

I wrote Duncan in Veronica Mars, but even then I did put a warning at the start of the fic that I didn't like him and my portrayal would probably be a much more negative one that the show put forth.

In SVU you won't see Cassidy much. In fact, I forgot he existed for the first few chapters of D5 and then retroactively had to write "oh, yeah, he went and died off screen.... of the guilts".

Although, to be fair, in thinking about it.

The most challenging fic/characters I wrote, were for a fandom I had never been in and had never seen an episode of the show. A friend asked me to write a specific fic, covering a specific event/theme... between two characters, with no real informaiton about either of them.

I wrote it.

And the response was pretty surprising. Because everyone was like "omg, you NAILED them". And when I did eventually watch the show, I was like "omg, I really kinda did".

Alas, this was back in my LJ days, it was a very small show and a very small fandom and I cannot find this fic again. I have lost the harddrive it was on. I have searched LJ for any signs and it's just not there that I can see.

So, it has been lost to the ether.

But that one was challenging.

[planetkiimchi]

as promised, i have arrived!!! gimme chinese names you’d give your moots!! i’m really curious about it hehehe 🫂🫂

OKAY!! THANK U FOR THIS ASKNI HAD SM FUN DOING IT! it got into a really really long post but i got ... excited ... and yeah if anyone else wants more clarification u can ask HAH (i kind of picked some based off how it sounds or looks, then js googled the meanings HEHE)

for you,, i'm gonna give you 雪莉 (xúe lì)! one of my cousin's chinese names is xueli, altho i'm not sure which characters they are LOL. also i like xue because it means snow and it makes me happy js like u !! 莉 means jasmine and thats also very fitting if u ask me

@riordanness emma i'm gonna give you 愉欣 (yú xīn)! the first word means happy, like 愉快 (yú kuaì), and the second word is from admire, 欣赏 (xīn shǎng)

@i-luvsang ria you get 明宣 (míng xuān)!! was fighting the urge to give you a moon themed name but too many of my moots go by moon / luna so i decided to give you 明 from 光明 (guāng míng), meaning light, instead. honestly the second character doesn't have as much significance, xuan is just a common character in people's names, and i have at least two friends with that in their name.

@fylithia moon!! you get 稀月 (xī yuè) 🫶🏼 稀 (xī) means far away, but that's not why i chose it lol, i just rhink it's a nice name and one of the talented guys on idol producer s2 had it in his name HAHA 月 (yuè) means moon, and it's self explanatory

@strxbrymochi KII i'm giving you 莓琪 (méi qí)! 莓 méi like 草莓 cǎo méi, strawberry, and 琪 qí means angel. overall a very pretty name and qi also sounds a little bit like ki <3

@chocojae luna, your name is 嘉慧 (jiā huì)! 嘉 jiā means nice / pretty, and 慧 huì comes from 智慧 zhì huì, which means knowledge bc you give me smart vibes!

@wheeboo rania i'm giving you 兰尼 (lán ní)! lán means orchid, as in 兰花 lán huā, and 兰尼 lán ní sounds similar to rania in a way (we don't have a character for the "ra" sound so "lan" is the closest)

@stvrlvghtwrites vanyaaa you get 安雅 (ān yǎ)! 安 like 安全 ān quán, safe, and 优雅 (yoū yǎ) means elegant like u hehe

@vnsux ANGIEE i'm giving you 金星 (jīn xīng)! it means venus / hesperus and by themselves, 金 jīn means gold and 星 xīng means star, or 星球 xīng qiǔ means planet <3

@dirtleathr NADA! you get 诚然 (chéng rán)! 诚chéng means sincere, like uu <3 and also 诚实 chéng shí means honest

guys i got tired and i'm not very good at this so everyone from this point on gets a one character name. in china, this is relatively common—you would get called your full name, including your surname, or just 小 (small) + ur name. it's not common where i live but bear with me okay i'm not THAT creative

@jisungsdaydreamer dreamy,, ofc you get 梦mèng! it means dream, and it's also a really pretty name if u ask me

@realparkminkyun seok you get 仁 rěn! it means benevolence, humanity, and it's also one of my favourite nicknames when romanized

@winterchimez ally ik u probably already have a chinese name so i'll js go with a name i think looks nice! 雯, which has the same 旁 as 雪 (yk the 雷头 part or whatever thing it's called) and ur user is winterchimez so self explanatory, 文 bc of its meaning, learned.

[triflesandparsnips]

Update 1: Let's talk about SOAP.

So-- unlike the previous adventure into Stede's likely household cosmetics, wherein I basically got the ingredients, spent half an hour carefully destroying my kitchen, and ta da, lip balm-- making Stede's soap will be somewhat of a Process.

To start us off: There are three things you need to know immediately about Stede Bonnet's lavender soap.

1. It probably wasn't completely "lavender" scented.

The majority of the extant recipes for scented soaps in and around Europe didn't really do "single" scents-- it was usually a fun mix of herbs, spices, resins, and, uh, animal parts, with a base scent of one or more floral waters and oils.

Figure 1. Regarding animal parts, please meet the musk deer; or, Sir Not Appearing In This Recipe; or, "quick boys, get its semi-viscous-secretion-filled exocrine glands, we need 'em to smell fancy."

As an example of one of these recipes, Sir Hugh Plat's 1609 recipe in his Delightes for Ladies required orris root (dried and powdered iris rhizomes), cypress, sweet flag (A PSYCHOTROPIC, WOO), rose leaves, lavender flowers (finally), and rosewater. This big mix of yummy smells, common plants, and very very expensive and imported ingredients is pretty in keeping with most of the scented soap recipes I've been able to find for Stede.

(Though, note, if we take a SHARP LEFT TURN into, oh, I dunno, medical horror my beloved, the odds of more heavy use of lavender go way up. BUT since we're just testing the concept right now, let's save that for later experimentation.)

2. The first step in making scented soap... was to buy some plain white soap.

So far as I can tell, all extant recipes for scented soap are basically the household equivalent of doctoring your instant ramen noodles. This strikes me as intensely funny, since, like-- Stede. Store-bought pirate, store-bought soap, cmon follow me on this, this is very funny.

Figure 2. Man who definitely gets the joke, I'm pretty sure.

...Anyway. Uh. Very briefly: Western soap was strong as fuck, mostly good for laundry, was soft or liquid even if you salted the fuck outta it, was made with smelly animal fats, and wouldn't take pretty herbal scents worth a damn. (It was also called "black soap" because of the color of the potash lye used to make it. Remember Ed's happy "soap!" from the English camp? The square bar of black soap he held up? That's probably what it was supposed to be.)

Figure 3. Little did the prop department realize that someone would get entirely too invested in the fucking history of soap.

But over in Syria, and brought to the rest of the Mediterranean and elsewhere via the Silk Road, was this cool stuff called Aleppo soap-- and it was white, solid, gentle on the skin, almost scentless, and could be mixed with herbs and spices and icky animal parts to smell very fancy indeed.

Of course, people in the West wanted it badly because it was great, but it was also expensive as fuck, so there was Big Business in backwards engineering the stuff-- which a bunch of European coastal cities/countries with access to high quality olive oil and the ability to make soda ash (a significantly gentler cousin to potash) managed to do, including Castile, Spain, Marseilles, France, and Venice, Italy.

Soap recipes from Stede's time and earlier predominantly start with some amount of "Venetian Soap"-- spellings of which might also be "Venice-Sope", "Venise sope", "Saponis Veneti", etc. The goal was basically to start with a white hard soap, and Venice wasn't the only place that had it, but it made for a useful shorthand. Other soaps that seem to have occupied the same ecological niche were "Spanish", "Castle", "Saracen", "French"... and, of course, "Castile", which seems to have become today what Venetian Soap once was: a shorthand for olive oil soap. Neat.

Figure 4. The earliest reference I've found so far to Venetian Soap, from a 1558 translation of an earlier work-- though this image in particular is from a 1595 edition.

But anyway: Basically, step one to modern recreations of Stede's lavender soap would be "buy some fancy shit olive oil soap."

And finally...

3. The finished, scented soaps were called WASH BALLS.

I mean sure, some recipes were just called "a white sweet Soap" or "a muskified Soap"-- but uh. The majority were labeled "a delicate washing ball", "washing balls", "an Excellent Wash-ball", "Perfumed Wash Balls", etc.

(Listen. This is also very funny. I don't know what to tell you. Get on my level, it's great down here.)

Figure 5. This guy gets it.

They were named wash balls because the remade Venetian soap were typically, uh, spherical, for reasons that are mostly guesses on my part but amuse me anyway. For size reference, though, "little" balls were listed in 1706's Bate's Dispensatory as being about 2 or 3 ounces in weight, so we can imagine a regular size ball as being about 4 or 5 ounces (as a reference, a bar of modern Dove soap is 4.75 ounces).

They could also, according to Barbe's 1696 The French Perfumer, be stamped with a sigil and have a delicate gold leaf applied to the raised edges afterwards to make them super fancy, and if you think I'm not keeping that idea in my back pocket for Stede "Why Not Have an Entire En Suite Installed On My Giant Midlife Crisis-Mobile" Bonnet, then hooboy, you have not been paying attention to my entire, like, jam.

Anyway.

So where's the soap, Trifles

Did I not say that this was a process.

I wanted to keep things simple, and also start with as close as possible to what Stede would've had-- which, in the show, amounts to all of three words: "yummy lavender soap".

Figure 6. The evidence, Your Honor.

"Yummy" here is obviously "very very nice", not a quality of its taste, just as the "sweet Soap" referenced in at least one extant recipe refers to the scent and quality, and, again, not the taste.

(Although... there were recommendations in the manuals of the time that the soapmakers taste the soap mixes and the lye to determine whether they were cooking correctly. So... make of that what you will.)

Anyway, if it's yummy and it's scented, it's going to be that nice solid white soap, and likely shaped into a ball. And, if I was going to be Accurate, I needed to buy some.

Stateside, the closest I could easily find to a period-accurate formulation was "Kiss My Face" brand olive oil soap-- hilarious to imagine, but it's green in color, which is Not what soap made from very high quality olive oil that's been allowed to dry and age properly should be -- so I said to hell with the inherent humor of the brand name and instead went really method: Say hello to Nabulsi soap, a next-door neighbor to Aleppo soap.

Figure 7. What up, boys.

Nabulsi soap's been made the same way for centuries, with the same ingredients-- and unlike Aleppo soap, which has laurel berry oil (an ingredient Western soapmakers apparently did not successfully discover as part of their backwards engineering), Nabulsi soap is closer in ingredients and process to what the Western soapmakers were doing than just about anything else I could easily get my hands on.

(In particular, I think Nabulsi soap is still made with soda ash made from barilla, a salt-tolerant Mediterranean plant that was a key reason why these soaps were fucking amazing. Barilla farming and soda ash production was big business until 1792 when Nicolas Leblanc decided to personally ruin my dreams by discovering a way to artificially create sodium carbonate -- the primary active ingredient in soda ash -- thereby causing the collapse of barilla farming and my current inability to order barilla lye online.)

Figure 8. That asshole.

Anyway, I figured Nabulsi soap was just as likely to show up as an expensive ingredient in an apothecary shop as any other soda-ash-and-olive-oil soap, and a lot closer to whatever Stede's household would've used than more modern soaps. So, reader, I bought some.

Most of the recipes I found required that the white soap be scraped or grated and then left in the sun for several days. Behold, in progress:

Figure 9. A partially scraped bar of Nabulsi soap, a potato peeler, a "holy shit don't cut yourself" safety glove, and thou.

These little bastards took maybe an hour to scrape down, but I switched off frequently with my child, who would've apparently been the one Victorian kid who volunteered to spend all day at the factory, so your mileage may vary.

I would say that Nabulsi soap isn't entirely scentless, but what scent it has is very light and fresh, not at all overpowering or chemical-ly. In future, I'm going to try a cheese grater or, if the gods smile upon me, a microplane.

Figure 10. The entire 7 ounce bar, reduced to smithereens.

This tray is now lightly covered with a see-through lid and in a sunny location in my studio-- per Wecker/Culpepper's 1660 Cosmeticks, I'll leave it to dry like that for the next 6 to 10 days (though I'll likely stir it every couple of days, to ensure it's equally... whatevered).

While I wait on the soap, though, I knew I should turn my attention to the final riddle: "lavender".

Lavender is a toughie, ingredient-wise -- it wasn't the herbal most frequently added. Powdered orris root (Iris rhizomes), cloves, and storax resins (like bezoin, liquid storax, labdanum, and their various offshoots and adulterated variants) were the usual culprits. A couple of recipes called for lavender flowers, but certainly not the majority, and rosewater was usually what would be added to that dried, grated Venetian Soap when the soapmaker was ready to reform it into wash balls.

In fact, scent-wise... cloves smell spicy/sweet/warm, the various resins all apparently smell warm and vanilla-y, and orris root smells "sweet, soft, powdery, suede-like"-- so lavender, which actually has a huge spectrum of possible scents depending on the variety used, might either soften the soap's entire scent profile or kick it into spicy overdrive. But without the lavender, I do wonder if, somehow, this would be yet another historical cosmetic that somehow smelled like COOKIES.

But! We are making Stede's soap here, so lavender it is-- and of a sufficient quantity that Ed would specifically identify it as the lavender soap.

While the majority of recipes call for the grated soap to be reconstituted with rosewater, both Cosmeticks and Salmon's 1685 Polygraphice mention using Oil of Spike in addition to or replacing the rosewater. Oil of Spike was made of spike lavender (Lavandula latifolia), which seems to be one of the spicier lavender boys. I, tragically, did not have spike lavender or store-bought Oil of Spike readily to hand-- but I did have some dried French lavender (Lavandula stoechas), several bottles of olive oil, a recipe from 1623, and too much time on my hands, SO GUESS WHAT:

Figure 11. Local over-invested idiot decides, why the fuck not? Let's make some goddamn Oil of Lavender.

Figure 12. Local over-invested idiot sees no reason to be concerned about current life choices, hobbies, use of time and effort.

The recipe is from Markham's The English Hus-wife, and it's its own goddamn adventure-- but for the time being, let us say that I am now waiting 10 days on the soap, 12 days on the lavender oil, and for my next trick I should probably grind up some cloves maybe.

This will surely end well.

For those who may or may not remember my mostly historically accurate Stede Bonnet lip balm, get ready-- I'm going to start experimenting soon with mostly historically accurate lavender soap.

So... I guess be prepared for me to accidentally explode more shit, hooray.

[scottie-writes]

Under the Influence (Pt.1) (Harrington!reader)(Cousin AU)

CH. 1 How it all began.

Summary: After some life choices that don't exactly meet with your parent's approval they send you to spend the summer with your cousin in Hawkins. They're convinced he'll be a good influence and set you back on the right path.

Tags: Fem!reader, cousin!reader, Harrington!reader, slight AU,

w/c : 2k(ish)

A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first Stranger Things fanfic and the first fanfic I've written in about 10 years. I have this set around s3 but I'm not fully committed to cannon. I fully intend for this to become an Eddie x reader piece, so if that's not for you now, you know. I'm not sure if I'm going to keep in all the supernatural stuff from the show but either way, Eddie will remain alive and well, and the duffer brothers can bite me.

This is a reader insert fic but I'll be keeping use of y/n to a minimum just as a personal preference.

Feedback is very much welcome, but please be kind, I am old and fragile. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - A step too far? 

Your parents were good people.   They both held down steady jobs, working long hours, it had taken them quite some time and a few different tries, but eventually, life started working out for them the way they planned. Which made them good people, according to society. You didn’t see much of them, especially as you reached the age when they felt it was okay for you to make your own way home from school, around eight years old, as it meant your mother no longer needed to request half days. Whilst their hard work benefited the family, you lived in a nice home and never wanted anything; you were painfully lonely.  Growing up an only child, you had grown used to quiet and the peace that could come with solitude.  Something your peers did not appreciate.  Sure, you had some friends; however, those friendships were limited to school grounds and birthday parties. For the most part, you were content to be by yourself. The only time you remember enjoying the company of others was when you would spend your summers in Hawkins. 

Summer in Hawkins; a staple of your youth. For a few weeks every summer, when your parents were either: so swamped with work they couldn’t think about you or wanted a holiday together, to allow them some ‘quality time’ with one another.  They would ship you off to stay with your Aunt and Uncle, ‘quality time’ with you be damned. They did their best to make it seem fun, like Hawkins was your holiday, a treat just for you.   

“It’s a special time for you to get to know the family”, your dad would say.  

“ Think about how happy your Aunt and Uncle will be to see you.” 

“you and Steve are the same age; I’m sure you have lots in common”.

You were happy enough with the arrangement for a time.  Your Aunt was always delighted to see you - “It’s so good to have another girl around”, she would say - and she made the most amazing dinners.  Your Uncle was pleasant enough but was usually too busy with work to care what you got up to.  Then there was Steve.  You guys had been close in your younger years, eagerly anticipating how many weeks you would have to play and adventure together.  He was the only kid your age who seemed to understand when you needed that alone space. For a few years, it was the best part of your year, bar Christmas - the only time your parents seemed content to have you in their presence. As you had grown, though, the summers dragged.  You longed for your room, for your city, for the autonomy you had grown so accustomed to.  Steve, too, changed; he had friends of his own and summer plans concocted in school hallways, and the time you spent together each summer lessened.  He would still make the obligatory effort the first few days, ensuring you got unpacked okay and had everything you needed.  But it would never take long for him to become restless, your changing personalities no longer meshing. He just wanted to play with his friends, run around in the heat and the mud, and generally cause a little chaos, the way young boys want to do.  You would rather sit with a good book, either by the pool or in the library - they were the only places in town that held any interest to you. 

As the years dragged on, you found yourself bristling each time Hawkins was mentioned.  You questioned the need to be shipped off every summer.  After all, you were fourteen, and your parents had left you alone for extended weekends before - business trips always taking precedence. You fought them the whole spring on the arrangements; eventually, they caved—no more summers in Hawkins.  

-⌘-

The new arrangement meant you were alone most of the time.  You learned to take care of yourself, learned how to cook, how to navigate the city streets and keep yourself out of trouble.  Things took a turn around your 16th birthday.  Your parents had noticed that you had been lashing out more, the argument about Hawkins a few years prior being the beginning of a downward spiral, according to your mother.  You went to school, came home, then shuffled out again, not to be seen until your 10 pm curfew.  They never knew where you went and were beginning to get concerned. Hypocrites - you hardly ever knew where they were.  The comments started coming when you no longer would wear the dresses your mother bought for you—opting instead for jeans that slowly became more ripped and bedraggled as the years went on. “Darling, I wish you wouldn’t dress like that” “It’s not becoming of a young lady”  Then it was your taste in music.  You went from listening to the radio with pleasure to tutting and rolling your eyes whenever you caught wind of bubbly pop music.  Your preferences now revolved solidly around music that your parents claimed would “make your ears bleed”.  

  Your first grounding lasted a week.  It was the longest week you had ever known.  The grounding, of course, did not dissuade you from your rebellion but instead pushed you further into it.  You stopped caring about the consequences and went where you liked with whomever you wanted.  Often returning home a mere minutes before curfew - a strategic choice to mitigate the grounding as much as possible.  Your parents tried to crack the proverbial whip a few more times, but as history had proven, their jobs took precedence.  You were grounded in name alone, with no one at home to enforce it.  And so you fell into a life of relative chaos. Frequently skipping classes or, on an odd day, skipping school altogether.  Your choices of recreational activities becoming more ‘unsavoury’.  

The nail in the coffin was parent-teacher conferences during Junior year.  Your parents actually decided to attend this one - what with high school drawing to a close and college looming, they needed to know what to expect of you.  You knew exactly what to expect; you weren't precisely valedictorian material due to your frequent day trips around the city that often lacked permission.  And you hadn’t exactly kept your parents appraised of the situation.  ‘They’re never home anyway’, you had reasoned while forging signatures on the failed assignments that were becoming a regular occurrence.

The evening was a symphony of “If this continues, she won’t graduate”, “she’s a bright girl; if only she would try”, and “Maybe if she attended class once in a while, it would be better”. This culminated in a meeting with your principal, the man collaring your family as they finished their rounds with the disapproving educators you had come to know and loathe. His office was stuffy; windows shut tight despite the growing evening heat that heralded the start of summer.   Everything you had endured so far started to pile onto your shoulders. The sympathetic look he gave your parents and talked like you weren’t even in the room. The accelerant spilled on your already lit fuse was the ‘concern’ that spilled from your parents’ mouths.  You were tutting and rolling your eyes as they spoke about you like you were a problem requiring a solution, not their daughter.  “We just want what’s best for her” is the phrase that sets loose your growing frustrations. 

“Fucking liars”, you scoffed, venom dripping from each word.  The three adults turned to you as if suddenly remembering your presence, shock painted across their faces.  You took their stunned silence as an opportunity to tell your parents what you thought.  “If you cared, you would be at home more.” Your voice raised, heart pounding with adrenalin “the truth is you care about your jobs more than you ever cared about me” your chest was heaving now with the weight of your anger. “I’M NOT EVEN A PERSON TO YOU; I’M A BOX TO CHECK.  YOU DON’T FUCKING CARE” from there on; the words are all a blur; the only memory was the white-hot anger burning your throat as you screamed.  And then the sound of the clock that broke as you smashed it to the ground.  Never had your rage and bitterness been so pronounced.  With rushed apologised and fervent glares, your parents all but ran you out of the principles office.  

“I just don’t know what else to do for you”, your dad bristled in the car on the way home. “We’ve done everything for you, this life; it was all for you!” He was close to yelling, and you could see the flush creeping up his neck.  Your mom patted his arm. “We just want what’s best for you, sweetheart, but you have to work with us," her tone cloying as she eyed you in the rearview mirror. You said nothing; arms crossed, glare fixed out the window.  

The punishment came swiftly, suspension from the last few weeks of school, no prom, no attending school fixtures, no admittance to school property  - oh no, what a nightmare!-you rolled your eyes as your dad laid out the terms set out by your school.  Then there were your parent's terms.  Grounded, obviously, for the whole summer.  That’s what would fix it, they decided.  You had been sent to your room and told to pack up all your books, comics and music. You tried to resist until your dad informed you that if you didn’t pack it up - neatly and respectfully- he’d come back with trash bags, and you would never see any of your precious things again.  So you spent your night putting the only things that brought joy into your life in boxes.  They were placed in the attic, which was always locked.  “You’ll get them back when you can show us the little girl we raised,” your mom said as you cried silently, watching your lifelines slip away.  You scoffed at that “that they raised”?  They didn’t even really know you.   

-⌘-

You sequestered yourself in your room for three days.  You only came out for meals when your dad screamed at you from the bottom of the stairs, threatening your beloved things over and over.  The silent treatment was your crowning glory; not even grunts of acknowledgement passed your lips—glares from your bloodshot eyes were the only conveyer of your displeasure. 

It was on day four that your dad finally broke.  They had taken it in turns to stay home, ensuring you stuck to the terms of your grounding, and your ever gloomy presence was wearing on their nerves. I mean, really, how could they ever be expected to put up with a whole summer of this?  “I’VE HAD ENOUGH”, your dad bellowed that evening at dinner, “Jim dear, please don’t shout,” your mom cooed, “No, Mary, I’m done.  I won’t have someone under my roof that doesn’t want to be here.  Who can’t even acknowledge her parents when they speak to her.  I’ve had it! This is not what Harringtons do!” You knew it was bad when dad brought up the family name.  He rarely did, and you knew why.  He felt inferior to his brother, who, as far as you were all aware, never had any trouble. Not finding a job, not with his family, not with his town.  You knew your dad was jealous of the life that came so easily to your Uncle.  “It’s time you learned what it is to be a family”, he continued. “You need some better examples in your life; these peers of yours have filled your head with rocks.” His face was approaching a dangerous shade of purple as he continued to rant and rave about how disappointing you were. 

You seethed silently, glaring at your mashed potatoes -As he started muttering.  “ they never had these sorts of problems with Steve; hell, the kid even graduated despite having a concussion most of last year”. The family is very proud of Steve, the basketball player.  No one blamed him he missed out on a scholarship because of his mystery concussions.  No one even questioned why he’d been beaten up so many times.  You had tuned out your dad's ramblings for a minute, thinking about how different you and your cousin had become.  

“It's decided.  She’s going to Hawkins.”

[butterflies-dragons]

Eugénie Grandet and Sansa Stark

Art credit: 1) Chinese Book Cover for "Eugénie Grandet" by Margarita Winkler; 2) Lady Sansa by Batata-Tasha

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Channeling my inner Sansa Stark in order to avoid the terrible reality of late, I lost myself in some of the French, Spanish and Russian classics. Eugenié Grandet (1833) by Honoré de Balzac was one of them.

Eugenié Grandet is a book that Sansa Stark would love:

They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Eugénie (23) and Sansa (13) are kind, generous, eager to please and extremely romantic girls.

Although they are both dutiful daughters, they have a strained relationship with their fathers and at some point they defy them out of love.

The main different between Eugénie and Sansa, aside their age, is their education. While Eugénie is a provincial girl from Saumur with almost zero formal education, Sansa, a northern girl, comes from high nobility and has been educated to be the perfect lady and queen.

Eugénie and Sansa aren't exactly the same, but while reading Balzac's novel it's very difficult not to find them similar. Even Eugénie's house in Saumur resembles Winterfell and the North, the same way Eugénie's walnut tree from her garden resembles the Heart Tree from Winterfell's godswood.

I'm sure that GRRM knows about Honoré del Balzac, however I have no certainty if he has read Eugénie Grandet. But I would not be surprised to know that he did read the novel, and in that case I would even suspect that Eugénie inspired him, even a little, while creating Sansa.

It could all be just a coincidence, of course.

FAIR WARNING : EUGÉNIE GRANDET SPOILERS

Saumur / The North & Winterfell

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

Such elements of sadness formed the physiognomy, as it were, of a dwelling-house in Saumur which stands at the end of the steep street leading to the chateau in the upper part of the town. This street—now little frequented, hot in summer, cold in winter, dark in certain sections—is remarkable for the resonance of its little pebbly pavement, always clean and dry, for the narrowness of its tortuous road-way, for the peaceful stillness of its houses, which belong to the Old town and are over-topped by the ramparts. Houses three centuries old are still solid, though built of wood, and their divers aspects add to the originality which commends this portion of Saumur to the attention of artists and antiquaries.

(...) The whole history of France is there.

(...) The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

The vast and frigid realm of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell, is generally considered the first and oldest of the Seven Kingdoms, in that it has endured, unconquered, for the longest. The vagaries of geography and history set the North apart from their southron neighbors.

It is often said that the North is as large as the other six kingdoms put together, but the truth is somewhat less grand: the North, as ruled today by House Stark of Winterfell, comprises little more than a third of the realm. Beginning at the southern edge of the Neck, the domains of the Starks extend as far north as the New Gift (itself part of their realm until King Jaehaerys I convinced Winterfell to cede those lands to the Night's Watch). Within the North are great forests, windswept plains, hills and valleys, rocky shores, and snow-crowned mountains. The North is a cold land—much of it rising moorlands and high plains giving way to mountains in its northern reaches—and this makes it far less fertile than the reaches of the south. Snow has been known to fall there even in summer, and it is deadly in winter.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The North

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. "The barrows of the First Men."

Robert frowned. "Have we ridden onto a graveyard?"

"There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace," Ned told him. "This land is old."

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Sewing and Embroidery

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

By the window nearest to the door stood a straw chair, whose legs were raised on castors to lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a height from which she could see the passers-by. A work-table of stained cherry-wood filled up the embrasure, and the little armchair of Eugenie Grandet stood beside it. In this spot the lives had flowed peacefully onward for fifteen years, in a round of constant work from the month of April to the month of November. On the first day of the latter month they took their winter station by the chimney.

(...) Mother and daughter took charge of the family linen, and spent their days so conscientiously upon a labor properly that of working-women, that if Eugenie wished to embroider a collar for her mother she was forced to take the time from sleep, and deceive her father to obtain the necessary light. For a long time the miser had given out the tallow candle to his daughter and la Grande Nanon just as he gave out every morning the bread and other necessaries for the daily consumption.

(...) In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes.

(...) "and your cousin (...) who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) Her treasuries were not the millions whose revenues were rolling up; they were Charles’s dressing-case, the portraits hanging above her bed, the jewels recovered from her father and proudly spread upon a bed of wool in a drawer of the oaken cabinet, the thimble of her aunt, used for a while by her mother, which she wore religiously as she worked at a piece of embroidery,—a Penelope’s web, begun for the sole purpose of putting upon her finger that gold so rich in memories.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Underestimated

"We will try to relieve the monotony of your visit here. If you stay all the time with Monsieur Grandet, good heavens! what will become of you? Your uncle is a sordid miser who thinks of nothing but his vines; your aunt is a pious soul who can’t put two ideas together; and your cousin is a little fool, without education, perfectly common, no fortune, who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) “Not at all, monsieur l’abbe. This young man cannot fail to see that Eugenie is a little fool,—a girl without the least freshness. Did you notice her to-night? She was as yellow as a quince.”

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

"I … I had not thought, my lord." "Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . .

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called "the Queen of Thorns." Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

The woman that calls Eugénie a "little fool" is Madame des Grassins, who despite underestimating Mademoiselle Grandet, wants her to marry her son Adolphe.

In a similar way, Cersei Lannister underestimates Sansa, believing her unworthy of her beloved son Joffrey.

Romantics

They were able to examine Charles at their leisure without fearing to displease the master of the house. Grandet was absorbed in the long letter which he held in his hand; and to read it he had taken the only candle upon the card-table, paying no heed to his guests or their pleasure. Eugenie, to whom such a type of perfection, whether of dress or of person, was absolutely unknown, thought she beheld in her cousin a being descended from seraphic spheres. She inhaled with delight the fragrance wafted from the graceful curls of that brilliant head. She would have liked to touch the soft kid of the delicate gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, the freshness and refinement of his features. In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes, and whose life flowed on beneath these unclean rafters, seeing none but occasional passers along the silent street,—this vision of her cousin roused in her soul an emotion of delicate desire like that inspired in a young man by the fanciful pictures of women drawn by Westall for the English “Keepsakes,” and that engraved by the Findens with so clever a tool that we fear, as we breathe upon the paper, that the celestial apparitions may be wafted away. Charles drew from his pocket a handkerchief embroidered by the great lady now travelling in Scotland. As Eugenie saw this pretty piece of work, done in the vacant hours which were lost to love, she looked at her cousin to see if it were possible that he meant to make use of it. The manners of the young man, his gestures, the way in which he took up his eye-glass, his affected superciliousness, his contemptuous glance at the coffer which had just given so much pleasure to the rich heiress, and which he evidently regarded as without value, or even as ridiculous,—all these things, which shocked the Cruchots and the des Grassins, pleased Eugenie so deeply that before she slept she dreamed long dreams of her phoenix cousin.

(...) In the pure and monotonous life of young girls there comes a delicious hour when the sun sheds its rays into their soul, when the flowers express their thoughts, when the throbbings of the heart send upward to the brain their fertilizing warmth and melt all thoughts into a vague desire,—day of innocent melancholy and of dulcet joys! When babes begin to see, they smile; when a young girl first perceives the sentiment of nature, she smiles as she smiled when an infant. If light is the first love of life, is not love a light to the heart? The moment to see within the veil of earthly things had come for Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

(...) It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were.

(...) He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. "

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind … and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. "It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

She loved King’s Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

[…] They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

Eugénie and her deep infatuation with her Parisian cousin Charles Grandet, reminds me a lot of Marianne Dashwood and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

Charles was a prince in Eugénie's eyes, with all his dandy manners and Parisian refinement. Charles was the South and the pretty songs for Eugénie, the same way Prince Joffrey and even Ser Loras were the South and the pretty songs for Sansa.

Dressing well as a weapon

An early riser, like all provincial girls, she was up betimes and said her prayers, and then began the business of dressing,—a business which henceforth was to have a meaning. First she brushed and smoothed her chestnut hair and twisted its heavy masses to the top of her head with the utmost care, preventing the loose tresses from straying, and giving to her head a symmetry which heightened the timid candor of her face; for the simplicity of these accessories accorded well with the innocent sincerity of its lines. As she washed her hands again and again in the cold water which hardened and reddened the skin, she looked at her handsome round arms and asked herself what her cousin did to make his hands so softly white, his nails so delicately curved. She put on new stockings and her prettiest shoes. She laced her corset straight, without skipping a single eyelet. And then, wishing for the first time in her life to appear to advantage, she felt the joy of having a new gown, well made, which rendered her attractive. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best." Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II "I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa I I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

Here, while Eugénie uses the business of dressing to try to impress and gain the affections of her cousin Charles, Sansa uses the same resource as a shield against Joffrey's ill temper and to cover the bruises left on her skin by Joffrey's ill temper.

Complimenting someone's name

“Is anything the matter, my cousin?” he said. “Hush!” said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, who was about to answer; “you know, my daughter, that your father charged us not to speak to monsieur—” “Say Charles,” said young Grandet. “Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautiful name!” cried Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "I don't even know your name." "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" —A Clash of Kings - Jon III "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Kissing Cousins

“My dear cousin—” “Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,” she said, opening her purse, “here are the savings of a poor girl who wants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant of the value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, after all. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse of your sister.” —Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— “I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managed my affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris. All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on a commercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be in demand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship is loading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and ten thousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very small beginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—” “Do you love me?” she said. “Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling. “I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her. She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she saw him, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached the corner near Nanon’s den, in the darkest end of the passage. There Charles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longer resisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most unreserved of kisses. “Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marry you,” said Charles.

(...) After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin. Those who have known that most endearing of all passions,—the one whose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortal illness, by human chances and fatalities,—they will understand the poor girl’s tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now so narrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed. She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he was about to traverse. At last the eve of his departure came. That morning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious case which contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the only drawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now empty velvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodly number of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man’s love.

—Eugénie Grandet * * * How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II "I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories." (...) She put a finger to his lips. "I know what you want, but it cannot be. I am no fit wife for you. I am bastard born." "I don't care. I love you best of anyone. " (...) "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble. (...) "The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? —The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Eugénie and her cousin Charles's brief romance is nothing like any of Sansa's experiences with suitors, but it reminds me a bit of Sansa and her little cousin Robert Arryn interactions.

Despite looking at his provincial relatives with disdain at first, after knowing about the financial disgrace and death of his father, Charles gets use to the humble and monotonous life of Saumur and especially gets fond of Eugénie's kindness and generosity.

In a similar way, despite the violent events from Sansa's snow castle chapter in A Storm of Swords, after the the death of his mother Lysa, Sweetrobin clings to Sansa/Alayne as a mother figure and later love interest.

Charles is nothing like Sweetrobin though, he is more similar to men like Harrold Hardyng and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

At the end, similar to John Willoughby's actions, Charles Grandet chooses to marry a girl he doesn't love to re-gain his high status in Parisian society and a nobility title, unbeknownst that Eugénie had become extremely rich, richer than him and his new bride combined.

Harrold Hardyng is not Sansa's cousin but Robert Arryn's cousin and heir. Harry consented the betrothal to Alayne only to gain the political support from Petyr Baelish.

And while cousin Charles's kisses mean love's kisses to Eugénie, cousin Robert's unrequited kisses remind Sansa of another forced and unrequited kisses from the past that left only trauma and fear in her.

But despite all her awful experiences from unworthy suitors, Sansa still longs to know kisses of love, and she associates those with Snow and she happens to has a cousin named Snow. More about this later.

You will know it some day / You may learn that one day

It was a death worthy of her life,—a Christian death; and is not that sublime? In the month of October, 1822, her virtues, her angelic patience, her love for her daughter, seemed to find special expression; and then she passed away without a murmur. Lamb without spot, she went to heaven, regretting only the sweet companion of her cold and dreary life, for whom her last glance seemed to prophesy a destiny of sorrows. She shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures. “My child,” she said as she expired, “there is no happiness except in heaven; you will know it some day.” (...) Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath. This is love,—true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance. “My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer—and die!” —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." —A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

This is a parallel but also a contrast between Eugénie and Sansa.

Eugénie's mother wasn't happy with her husband. Monsieur Felix Grandet was an awful husband and father. His only love was gold. That's why at her hour of death, Madame Grandet envisions a destiny of sorrows for her daughter, knowing well that not only the Cruchots and des Grassins coveted Eugénie's inheritance, but it was her own father, Monsieur Grandet, the most dangerous threat to Eugénie's welfare.

On the other hand, Catelyn Stark, Sansa's mother, was very happy with Eddard Stark. Ned was a good husband but a terrible father. Being aware of her good luck in her marriage, Catelyn said this to his firstborn son Robb: "We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." —A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V.

Catelyn's words of hope to her son contrast to Petyr Baelish's words of sorrow to Sansa, not only because the bad omen, but because he is an active player in the sorrows that await Sansa and her family.

Strained relationship with their fathers

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

On the morrow Grandet, in pursuance of a custom he had begun since Eugenie’s imprisonment, took a certain number of turns up and down the little garden; he had chosen the hour when Eugenie brushed and arranged her hair. When the old man reached the walnut-tree he hid behind its trunk and remained for a few moments watching his daughter’s movements, hesitating, perhaps, between the course to which the obstinacy of his character impelled him and his natural desire to embrace his child. Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood. If he rose and continued his walk, she sat down obligingly at the window and looked at the angle of the wall where the pale flowers hung, where the Venus-hair grew from the crevices with the bindweed and the sedum,—a white or yellow stone-crop very abundant in the vineyards of Saumur and at Tours. Maitre Cruchot came early, and found the old wine-grower sitting in the fine June weather on the little bench, his back against the division wall of the garden, engaged in watching his daughter. —Eugénie Grandet * * *

He had only to look at Sansa's face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard IV

Monsieur Felix Grandet and Lord Eddard Stark were awful fathers to Eugénie and Sansa. They both used their daughters for their own business but they never tried to understand the girls. They both could only watch them from apart not knowing how to approach them.

The severity of Père Grandet and Lord father Stark towards their daughters made Eugénie and Sansa defy them for the first time when they fell in love with Charles and Joffrey.

Ned was not the awful person that Monsieur Grandet was, though. Despite all his flaws as Sansa's father, he gave his own life in order to save Sansa from the same fate.

Melancholic Beauty

When his daughter came down the winding street, accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass or Vespers, the inhabitants ran to the windows and examined with intense curiosity the bearing of the rich heiress and her countenance, which bore the impress of angelic gentleness and melancholy. (...) “Mademoiselle, the best way to stop such rumors is to procure your liberty,” answered the old notary respectfully, struck with the beauty which seclusion, melancholy, and love had stamped upon her face. —Eugénie Grandet * * * Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. —A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Although it is a bit morbid to find beauty in someone's grief and misery, this image of our heroines being graceful while in disgrace got my attention.

This regard of Eugénie and Sansa comes from two men that wanted to reach them and gain their favor. Monsieur Cruchot, the notary, wanted Eugénie to marry his nephew, President Cruchot de Bonfons, while Tyrion Lannister, already married to Sansa, wishes to get her affections despite their forced marriage.

This is the point of view of two men that wanted to play the hero of a damsel in distress, but they are not the heroes that those fair maids wished for.

Love's kisses / Lover's kisses

Her imprisonment and the condemnation of her father were as nothing to her. Had she not a map of the world, the little bench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Did she not taste upon her lips the honey that love’s kisses left there? She was ignorant for a time that the town talked about her, just as Grandet himself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure in heart before God, her conscience and her love helped her to suffer patiently the wrath and vengeance of her father. —Eugénie Grandet A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

While Eugénie's love to Charles gives her strength and dignify her in her tribulations, Sansa, in front of a beautiful winter scenery, feels soiled by her southern experiences. She feels that she doesn't belong in that pure, innocent world, as white as Snow.

Yet Sansa, defying her supposed maculated fate, embraces the beauty of the falling Snow that reminds her of home, and compared the sensation of the snowflakes brushing her face to lover's kisses.

The calling of the Snow at dawn was too powerful for Sansa to resist it. It was like the Snow telling her, you are wrong, you belong with me, let me kiss you to prove it.

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

No one will ever marry me for love

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

Only six individuals had a right of entrance to Monsieur Grandet’s house. The most important of the first three was a nephew of Monsieur Cruchot. Since his appointment as president of the Civil courts of Saumur this young man had added the name of Bonfons to that of Cruchot. He now signed himself C. de Bonfons. Any litigant so ill-advised as to call him Monsieur Cruchot would soon be made to feel his folly in court. The magistrate protected those who called him Monsieur le president, but he favored with gracious smiles those who addressed him as Monsieur de Bonfons. Monsieur le president was thirty-three years old, and possessed the estate of Bonfons (Boni Fontis), worth seven thousand francs a year; he expected to inherit the property of his uncle the notary and that of another uncle, the Abbe Cruchot, a dignitary of the chapter of Saint-Martin de Tours, both of whom were thought to be very rich. These three Cruchots, backed by a goodly number of cousins, and allied to twenty families in the town, formed a party, like the Medici in Florence; like the Medici, the Cruchots had their Pazzi.

Madame des Grassins, mother of a son twenty-three years of age, came assiduously to play cards with Madame Grandet, hoping to marry her dear Adolphe to Mademoiselle Eugenie. Monsieur des Grassins, the banker, vigorously promoted the schemes of his wife by means of secret services constantly rendered to the old miser, and always arrived in time upon the field of battle. The three des Grassins likewise had their adherents, their cousins, their faithful allies. On the Cruchot side the abbe, the Talleyrand of the family, well backed-up by his brother the notary, sharply contested every inch of ground with his female adversary, and tried to obtain the rich heiress for his nephew the president.

This secret warfare between the Cruchots and des Grassins, the prize thereof being the hand in marriage of Eugenie Grandet, kept the various social circles of Saumur in violent agitation. Would Mademoiselle Grandet marry Monsieur le president or Monsieur Adolphe des Grassins?

(...) “If I had a man for myself I’d—I’d follow him to hell, yes, I’d exterminate myself for him; but I’ve none. I shall die and never know what life is. Would you believe, mamz’elle, that old Cornoiller (a good fellow all the same) is always round my petticoats for the sake of my money,—just for all the world like the rats who come smelling after the master’s cheese and paying court to you? I see it all; I’ve got a shrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple. Well, mamz’elle, it pleases me, but it isn’t love.”

(...) She (Eugénie's mother) shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures.

(...) (Eugénie) Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

“If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

—A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

It came to her suddenly that she had stood in this very spot before, on the day Lord Eddard Stark had lost his head. That was not supposed to happen. Joff was supposed to spare his life and send him to the Wall. Stark’s eldest son would have followed him as Lord of Winterfell, but Sansa would have stayed at court, a hostage. Varys and Littlefinger had worked out the terms, and Ned Stark had swallowed his precious honor and confessed his treason to save his daughter’s empty little head. I would have made Sansa a good marriage. A Lannister marriage. Not Joff, of course, but Lancel might have suited, or one of his younger brothers. Petyr Baelish had offered to wed the girl himself, she recalled, but of course that was impossible; he was much too lowborn. If Joff had only done as he was told, Winterfell would never have gone to war, and Father would have dealt with Robert’s brothers.

—A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

“I will be safe in Highgarden. Willas will keep me safe.” “But he does not know you,” Dontos insisted, “and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.” “My claim?” She was lost for a moment. “Sweetling,” he told her, “you are heir to Winterfell.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

“Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father’s place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The girl’s happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark.” […] “She must marry a Lannister, and soon.” “The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name,” his uncle Kevan put in.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

“How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?” The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now. “I … can scarcely wait to meet him, my lady. But he is still a child, is he not?”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As you can see, Monsieur Grandet's banker des Grassins wished Eugénie to marry his son Adolphe, while his lawyer Monsieur Cruchot wished Eugénie to marry his nephew President Cruchot de Bonfons. Both, the Cruchots and des Grassins, coveted Eugénie's inheritance.

In a similar way, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, Theon Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Harrold Hardyng, and even Lysa Tully in the name of his son Robert Arryn, coveted Sansa's claim to the North and Winterfell, with all the lands, money, armies and political power that come with the name Stark.

So, when I read these lines, 188 years after Balzac wrote them:

(...) and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

I couldn't help but think about Sansa Stark and one of the saddest quotes from the ASOIAF series:

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

Walnut Tree / Heart Tree

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— (...) I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—”

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling.

“I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

(...) When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

(...) In the mornings she sat pensive beneath the walnut-tree, on the worm-eaten bench covered with gray lichens, where they had said to each other so many precious things, so many trifles, where they had built the pretty castles of their future home. She thought of the future now as she looked upward to the bit of sky which was all the high walls suffered her to see; then she turned her eyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and to the roof above the room in which he had slept. Hers was the solitary love, the persistent love, which glides into every thought and becomes the substance, or, as our fathers might have said, the tissue of life.

(...) Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood.

(...) At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes which had followed it.

—Eugénie Grandet

As you can see, Eugénie's walnut tree is the heart of her house in Saumur. In the old wooden bench beneath that immense tree, the cousin lovers Eugénie and Charles Grandet exchanged vows of eternal love. As Charles said later, beneath that walnut tree they got married.

Eugénie sat in that same wooden bench for years, remembering and waiting for her lover. Charles, on the other hand, forget his promises of eternal love, broke those vows and married another woman.

In a similar way, the weirwood trees are called heart trees, the weirwood from Winterfell's godswood is called the Heart of Winterfell, and godswoods are a sacred places for praying and meditation, under the weirwood tress lovers kiss and make promises, and heroes vows to protect the realms of men:

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it.  The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn I

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. "This is a sacred place, we will not defile it."

When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. "They're watching us," he whispered. "The old gods."

"Yes." Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night.

"Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow," they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

The woods fell silent. "You knelt as boys," Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. "Rise now as men of the Night's Watch."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Robb bid farewell to his young queen thrice. Once in the godswood before the heart tree, in sight of gods and men. The second time beneath the portcullis, where Jeyne sent him forth with a long embrace and a longer kiss. And finally an hour beyond the Tumblestone, when the girl came galloping up on a well-lathered horse to plead with her young king to take her along.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

In contrast to Eugénie, who fervently clung to her walnut tree that became the symbol of her vows of eternal love to Charles, since Sansa left Winterfell, she only found godswoods without a weirwood tree:

The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home. The Eyrie was no home. […] When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Even the gods were silent. The Eyrie boasted a sept, but no septon; a godswood, but no heart tree. No prayers are answered here, she often thought, though some days she felt so lonely she had to try. Only the wind answered her, sighing endlessly around the seven slim white towers and rattling the Moon Door every time it gusted. It will be even worse in winter, she knew. In winter this will be a cold white prison.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

But despite the absence of a weirwood tree, those empty godswoods became a metaphor of Sansa herself, lost in the south and longing to come back home:

A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa Stark has started her journey back home, she is going back North to take back her heart:

But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, “I’ll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She’d go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She’s gone back north, she has. That’s where her gods are.”

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

A veil of courtesy / Courtesy is a lady's armor

She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy speeches. She hid her misery behind a veil of courtesy.

—Eugénie Grandet

What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Agency, richness, power... And loneliness

At the end, life gives Eugénie her revenge, especially against the people that always coveted her vast wealth.

Eugénie was at last free, independent, rich and powerful, but she was very lonely. Her only comfort was the company and loyalty of la Grand Nanon:

Eugenie Grandet was now alone in the world in that gray house, with none but Nanon to whom she could turn with the certainty of being heard and understood,—Nanon the sole being who loved her for herself and with whom she could speak of her sorrows. La Grande Nanon was a providence for Eugenie. She was not a servant, but a humble friend.

—Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

La Grand Nanon was often compared to a loyal dog and she was in charge of the wolf-dog that protected the old Grandet House in Saumur.

Nanon did everything. She cooked, she made the lye, she washed the linen in the Loire and brought it home on her shoulders; she got up early, she went to bed late; she prepared the food of the vine-dressers during the harvest, kept watch upon the market-people, protected the property of her master like a faithful dog, and even, full of blind confidence, obeyed without a murmur his most absurd exactions.

(...) Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open, and took her rest with a mind alert.

(...) Nanon went to bolt the outer door; then she closed the hall and let loose a wolf-dog, whose bark was so strangled that he seemed to have laryngitis. This animal, noted for his ferocity, recognized no one but Nanon; the two untutored children of the fields understood each other.

—Eugénie Grandet

La Grand Nanon and the wolf-dog remind me of the Stark children's direwolves, of course. Loyal companions and protectors until the very end.

After the deaths of Monsieur et Madame Grandet, only Nanon remains to Eugénie. Then, thanks to the new financial independence of Mademoiselle Grandet, La Grand Nanon became rich as well, and she even got married to her old suitor Antoine Cornoiller.

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

The day on which Maitre Cruchot handed in to his client a clear and exact schedule of the whole inheritance, Eugenie remained alone with Nanon, sitting beside the fireplace in the vacant hall, where all was now a memory, from the chair on castors which her mother had sat in, to the glass from which her cousin drank. “Nanon, we are alone—” “Yes, mademoiselle; and if I knew where he was, the darling, I’d go on foot to find him.” “The ocean is between us,” she said. While the poor heiress wept in company of an old servant, in that cold dark house, which was to her the universe, the whole province rang, from Nantes to Orleans, with the seventeen millions of Mademoiselle Grandet. Among her first acts she had settled an annuity of twelve hundred francs on Nanon, who, already possessed of six hundred more, became a rich and enviable match. In less than a month that good soul passed from single to wedded life under the protection of Antoine Cornoiller, who was appointed keeper of all Mademoiselle Grandet’s estates. Madame Cornoiller possessed one striking advantage over her contemporaries. Although she was fifty-nine years of age, she did not look more than forty. Her strong features had resisted the ravages of time. Thanks to the healthy customs of her semi-conventual life, she laughed at old age from the vantage-ground of a rosy skin and an iron constitution. Perhaps she never looked as well in her life as she did on her marriage-day. She had all the benefits of her ugliness, and was big and fat and strong, with a look of happiness on her indestructible features which made a good many people envy Cornoiller.

Eugénie became so rich that she was considered a Queen and the sovereign of her own court:

It seemed unlikely that Mademoiselle Grandet would marry during the period of her mourning. Her genuine piety was well known. Consequently the Cruchots, whose policy was sagely guided by the old abbe, contented themselves for the time being with surrounding the great heiress and paying her the most affectionate attentions. Every evening the hall was filled with a party of devoted Cruchotines, who sang the praises of its mistress in every key. She had her doctor in ordinary, her grand almoner, her chamberlain, her first lady of honor, her prime minister; above all, her chancellor, a chancellor who would fain have said much to her. If the heiress had wished for a train-bearer, one would instantly have been found. She was a queen, obsequiously flattered. Flattery never emanates from noble souls; it is the gift of little minds, who thus still further belittle themselves to worm their way into the vital being of the persons around whom they crawl. Flattery means self-interest. So the people who, night after night, assembled in Mademoiselle Grandet’s house (they called her Mademoiselle de Froidfond) outdid each other in expressions of admiration. This concert of praise, never before bestowed upon Eugenie, made her blush under its novelty; but insensibly her ear became habituated to the sound, and however coarse the compliments might be, she soon was so accustomed to hear her beauty lauded that if any new-comer had seemed to think her plain, she would have felt the reproach far more than she might have done eight years earlier. She ended at last by loving the incense, which she secretly laid at the feet of her idol. By degrees she grew accustomed to be treated as a sovereign and to see her court pressing around her every evening. Monsieur de Bonfons was the hero of the little circle, where his wit, his person, his education, his amiability, were perpetually praised. One or another would remark that in seven years he had largely increased his fortune, that Bonfons brought in at least ten thousand francs a year, and was surrounded, like the other possessions of the Cruchots, by the vast domains of the heiress.

Later, after knowing about Charles's betrayal, Eugénie chooses to marry President Cruchot de Bonfons under certain conditions. It was a sham marriage, only in name, but never consummated:

(...) “Monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie with a noble composure, inspired by the thought she was about to express, “would it be a sin to remain a virgin after marriage?” (...) “Monsieur le president,” said Eugenie in a voice of some emotion when they were left alone, “I know what pleases you in me. Swear to leave me free during my whole life, to claim none of the rights which marriage will give you over me, and my hand is yours. Oh!” she added, seeing him about to kneel at her feet, “I have more to say. I must not deceive you. In my heart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling. Friendship is the only sentiment which I can give to a husband. I wish neither to affront him nor to violate the laws of my own heart. —Eugénie Grandet

And even when President Cruchot de Bonfons was waiting to Eugénie's early death, he was the one that died and made his widow even richer by adding the Cruchot's fortune to the already vast Grandet's fortune:

Nevertheless, Monsieur de Bonfons (he had finally abolished his patronymic of Cruchot) did not realize any of his ambitious ideas. He died eight days after his election as deputy of Saumur. God, who sees all and never strikes amiss, punished him, no doubt, for his sordid calculations and the legal cleverness with which, accurante Cruchot, he had drawn up his marriage contract, in which husband and wife gave to each other, “in case they should have no children, their entire property of every kind, landed or otherwise, without exception or reservation, dispensing even with the formality of an inventory; provided that said omission of said inventory shall not injure their heirs and assigns, it being understood that this deed of gift is, etc., etc.” This clause of the contract will explain the profound respect which monsieur le president always testified for the wishes, and above all, for the solitude of Madame de Bonfons. (...) Endowed with the delicate perception which a solitary soul acquires through constant meditation, through the exquisite clear-sightedness with which a mind aloof from life fastens on all that falls within its sphere, Eugenie, taught by suffering and by her later education to divine thought, knew well that the president desired her death that he might step into possession of their immense fortune, augmented by the property of his uncle the notary and his uncle the abbe, whom it had lately pleased God to call to himself. The poor solitary pitied the president. Providence avenged her for the calculations and the indifference of a husband who respected the hopeless passion on which she spent her life because it was his surest safeguard. To give life to a child would give death to his hopes,—the hopes of selfishness, the joys of ambition, which the president cherished as he looked into the future. —Eugénie Grandet

But Eugénie's vast riches were an empty victory for her. The avarice of her father marked her life.

Due to the frugal life style imposed by Monsieur Grandet, Eugénie was never attached to money and gold like her father was:

In spite of her vast wealth, she lives as the poor Eugenie Grandet once lived. The fire is never lighted on her hearth until the day when her father allowed it to be lighted in the hall, and it is put out in conformity with the rules which governed her youthful years. She dresses as her mother dressed. The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life. She carefully accumulates her income, and might seem parsimonious did she not disarm criticism by a noble employment of her wealth. Pious and charitable institutions, a hospital for old age, Christian schools for children, a public library richly endowed, bear testimony against the charge of avarice which some persons lay at her door. The churches of Saumur owe much of their embellishment to her. Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

“I have none but you to love me,” she says to Nanon.

The hand of this woman stanches the secret wounds in many families. She goes on her way to heaven attended by a train of benefactions. The grandeur of her soul redeems the narrowness of her education and the petty habits of her early life.

Such is the history of Eugenie Grandet, who is in the world but not of it; who, created to be supremely a wife and mother, has neither husband nor children nor family.

—Eugénie Grandet

Eugénie was meant to be a wife and a mother, she wanted to love and be loved, but life only gave her sorrows and riches.

This sad ending reminds me a bit of Show Sansa's ending. She was a Queen of an independent Kingdom, but she didn't get any of her siblings with her at Winterfell.

But, unlike Eugénie that only knew the likes of Charles Grandet, the Cruchots and the des Grassins, and even if Sansa doesn't know it yet, there is someone who despite being offered Sansa's claim, had chosen her over Winterfell and the North and the name Stark:

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Unlike Tyrion, Willas, Theon, Littlefinger or even little Robert, who pursued Sansa’s claim over her, Jon Snow chose Sansa over her claim. Among all the high lords interested in becoming the Lord of Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, the bastard Jon Snow refused to despoil his sister Sansa of her rights, even if her claim is the one thing he has wanted as much as he had ever wanted anything.

Jon Snow is not some fancy suitor from the South like Charles Grandet was to Eugénie, like John Willoughby was to Marianne Dashwood, like Joffrey, Loras and even Harry were/are for Sansa/Alayne. Jon Snow has Stark blood, he was raised by Ned Stark, he worships the old gods, and he knows very well that you can't make false promises in front of a weirwood tree:

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

So, there is hope.

The end.

[This post is very personal and was written during somehow convulsed times. So, if you have come this far, thanks for reading.]

[tinyboxxtink]

"Caught In The Storm" *Part 2*

Y'all thought I was kidding when I said I was pumped for this story; you just read how long this chapter is.

IT'S POURING OUT. I JUST WANT YOU TO GET WHERE I AM ALREADY.

It's so good guys. Like, SO GOOD.

Okay I'm sorry proceed.

Tag List:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@wanniiieeee

@milkshqke

@gibbs274

@lolliepopsicle

@aprildecker-blog

@objection-argumentative

@word-scribbless

If you missed part 1: Here!

Part 3 Here!

-----

The next day the SVU squad was having one of their "murder board" meetings when you came storming into the station.

"Well I hope you're happy!!" You looked right at Fin.

"Audition didn't go well, cannoli?" Sonny asked you using his pet name for you.

"No Sonny, it DID NOT," You huffed. "I walked in there and I blew my audition," You circled Fin’s desk. "And I don't mean I forgot the lyrics, or I hit a bad note. No no, ohhhh no," You finally stood in front of him and crossed your arms.

"Halfway through the song I broke down SOBBING. I had a complete mental breakdown, because all I could think was that I had the worst moment of my entire life in that room!!!"

"Hey you can't blame us for your mistakes," Fin retorted.

"I don't blame them, I blame you!" You gestured to the rest of your “family” and then to him.

"Excuse you?" Fin sat up straighter.

"You didn't have to say anything Fin, you really didn't," You sighed.

"What?"

"You could have waited to have your fucking temper tantrum until after my audition,"

"Excuse me no--"

"She has a point" Olivia interjected.

"You too?" Fin took offense.

"Fin she was leaving, it wasn't like she was going to try and jump Rafael's bones right there," She went on. The whole room shivered at the thought of you “jumping” anybody’s bones.

"Look, I don't love it either but you can't help your feelings. And she just has a little crush on him, you can't fault her for that,"

You scoffed in offense.

"You're not helping, sweets," Olivia warned.

"Right…"

"Anyway you could have waited to have it out, is all I’m saying,” Olivia nodded at you with a smile. You mouthed a “thank you”.

"Oh we haven't begun to have it out," Fin huffed.

"Save it" You put a hand up before he started to stand up and get in your face for a fight.

"I already know what you're going to say; he's too old for me, we're a 'family' and he's supposed to be my 'uncle' or 'brother' or some other creepy thing, and we have nothing in common. But we do!"

"You barely know him, Y/N," Nick chimed in.

"I know him better than any of you!" You cried defensively.

"What?" Sonny looked at everyone confused, but they were just as lost as he was.

"That summer….when I was working with him. We got... close," You muttered the ending.

"I fucking knew it, you did bang him begin my back…" Fin growled.

"It wasn't like that! It's not like that, da--FIN," You actually did usually call him dad or daddy, but since he had been trying to use his dominance you persisted to remind him he wasn't actually your father.

"So what, now you two are in love?" Fin rolled his eyes.

"No! He didn't... we've never….it's never gone there, and I don't even know how he feels," You looked down as you talked. But then, you remembered why you were there in the first place and you raised your head up with eyes of fire.

“And it wouldn't matter anyway because it's none of your business.” You snapped.

“It is absolutely my business Y/N he’s my co-worker, he’s ALL of our co-workers, this affects ALL of us,”

“I knew it,” You scoffed, tears coming to your eyes.

“What?”

“I knew you’d blow up, and freak out, and not even ATTEMPT to open your mind or hear what I have to say, it’s just about you and what makes you okay,” You backed away from all of them.

“So I came here willing to say that I’m done,” You raised your hands.

“What do you mean you’re ‘done’?” Fin crossed his arms.

“With you,” You replied straight faced, willing tears not to fall right now. “Olivia’s right, I can’t help the way I feel, and BELIEVE me I have tried, daddy,” You resorted to your old name for a punch in the gut.

“Y’know whenever Sonny and Nick started, I had ‘crushes’ on them too,” You nodded at the two, who quickly looked uncomfortable picturing you that way.

“But those quickly went away, and I accepted them as my uncles, or whatnot,” You continued. “I have done that since I was in Jr. High, come here and meet my new ‘family’. I’ve always felt maternal or paternal vibes from everyone here, Uncle Brian, Grandpa Kragen and Munch, Uncle Stabler who can rot in hell…” You gave Olivia a sad look.

“But it’s ALWAYS been familial love! And the day I met Rafael, something was different,” You couldn’t help the tears choking your throat. “And I have never, EVER no matter HOW hard I have tried, felt anything like I feel about the rest of you. It’s just....different,”

“And now, you all know. And I know that you don’t like it, or it makes you uneasy, or blah blah blah,” You made blah gestures with your hands.

“But I can’t go back to pretending that it doesn’t kill me every time that I see him, and I’m not going to pretend like I’m okay with dad being-- this,” You gestured to Fin who shifted uncomfortably.

“So, I’m not going to come around here, for a while,” You said sadly.

“We didn’t do anything, cannoli! We’re your family too,” Sonny protested.

“Yeah I know, I just--”

“Look, Y/N before anybody does ANYTHING, you need to go talk to Rafael,”

“What?

“WHAT?!”

Both you and Fin exclaimed at the same time.

“Look I’m not thrilled with the idea of...that, but the bottom line none of this arguing means anything if he doesn’t feel the same way. So I’m saying before you start going off and making threats to US, go talk to him first. Without anybody else’s input,”

“Yeah, alright,” You shrugged and left before anyone else could argue.

--------

You walked into Rafael’s office quietly, not really sure how to start the conversation. He was writing a deposition silently so you knocked on the door to get his attention. He looked up at you with a small smile.

“Hey you,” He got up and walked around his desk as you shut the door behind you. “I was worried about you,” He put his hands on both of your shoulders.

“I know,” You gave him a small smile back. “But you’re right we do need to talk about last night,”

“Yeah, I--” He looked away nervously.

“I already went to my da---Fin, and the squad about this,” You bit your lip.

“....About what?” He was now concerned.

“Us,” You looked at him with a small smile.

“I’m sorry, there’s an ‘us’ now?” Rafael half laughed.

“Well that’s what I’m saying, Rafael!” You bit your lip. “Look after all the fighting and what not, what it boils down to is how you and I feel,”

“.....What are you saying?” Rafael asked, backing away from you.

“I’m asking,” You step forward and took both of his hands and looked at him seriously.

“For you to forget about Fin, or the squad, or an age gap, or all the million other things that are ‘against’ us,” You took a deep breath and asked the hardest question you’ve ever asked anyone:

“I’m asking you...do you love me?”

“Of course I love you Y/N, you’re like a--” Rafael immediately responded, moving away from you and gesturing wildly.

“Do NOT say daughter,” You cut him off. “Or sister, or niece, or cousin. You know that’s not what I’m asking,” You grabbed him and made him look at you again.

“Do you want to be with me?”

“I...it’s complicated,” He broke from your hold and paced his office.

“No I’d say it’s pretty damn simple-- do you feel about me the way I feel about you?” You asked him again.

“I just...I don’t want to become between you and Fin, he’s basically your--”

“He’s NOT my father!” You yelled.

“But he’s the closest thing you have!” Rafael argued, putting his hands over his face and taking a deep sigh.

“Christ almighty, Y/N. I don’t...I don’t want this to be a whole ‘thing’, I don’t want to upset Olivia, or the other squad members, I just...want us to go back to normal,” He gave you a sad look as he sank into his chair behind his desk.

“....Yeah well, normal is not an option, Rafael. And you STILL have not answered my question,” You circled his desk to be closer to him again.

“What question?”

“Dammit, Rafa!” You threw up your hands, then took both of your hands and put them on either side of the chair preventing him from evading you again.

“Look me in the eyes right now, and tell me you’re not in love with me,”

A very long pause began, as the two of you just stared at each other. You were searching his green eyes for a hint, a tell of what he was thinking, but he kept himself very guarded. You hated it.

“...No, I’m not,” He said in the tiniest voice as he looked down at the floor.

“You’re lying,” You pulled back with a sarcastic laugh, tears choking your throat yet again.

“Oh so just because I didn’t say what you wanted me to, I’m lying? For fuck’s sake grow up, Y/N,” Rafael spat at you coldly, turning back to his desk in an attempt to resume working.

“Fine, you know what? Fine. That’s great. You believe whatever you wanna believe Rafael, but things are NOT going back to normal,” You shook your head, trying to be cold and direct but failing as tears fell from your eyes.

“Y/N….” He felt his heart breaking, he hated to see you cry.

“No,” You stopped him. “We’re done. I don’t ever want to see you again. Not here, not at the station, not at the fucking Starbucks down my street!” Your voice raised as more tears fell.

“Y/N, please don’t do this…” Rafael began to panic, realizing what you were saying. He leapt up from his chair and tried grabbing your hands but you pushed him away.

“Don’t call me, don’t text me. Just...leave me hell alone,” And with that you turned on your heels and stormed out of his office, now full on sobbing down the hall.

Unbeknownst to you, Rafael let out an angry scream, running over to his desk and flinging papers everywhere, then proceeded to sink back into his chair behind his desk and cried ever so silently in his office.

-----

It had been about a week since your whole fallout with your “family” and Barba and you weren't doing great.

Then one day you got a phone call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/N, this is Sandy from the supper club?” You immediately stopped walking when you heard her voice.

“Oh yes how are you?”

“Great, I was wondering if you could come back in and audition for us again?”

“Are you serious? I know I’m going to regret asking but, what made you change your mind?”

“Well your friend Kelsey called and told us that the day you came in and auditioned, your dog had just died that morning. But you didn't want to stand us up so you came anyway. And to be honest with you, all of the other auditions have kind of sucked so we'd like to give you another try.”

“Oh my God thank you, thank you, thank you so much!!!”

“Great so we'll see you tonight at 8:00?”

“Absolutely,”

You hung up the phone and immediately called Kelsey.

“Hello?”

“I love you so much I love you I love you I love you!”

“Oh so they called did they?”

“YES. I cannot believe that you would do that for me,”

“Well I figured you needed a win right now. Since you know you lost your family, and everybody who actually cares about you,”

“....Wow,”

“ You know what I mean! I mean you still have me, and Kenny obviously,”

“....Right. ANYWAY, the audition is tonight so….”

“Yes?”

“Will you play for me?”

“Let me see if I can free up my busy schedule,”

“Ha, Ha,”

“Oh look I’m free! I'll be there after work. Love you bye”

----

*That Night*

You walked into the Supper Club with a brand new outfit and a nervous smile. You noticed Kelsey was already at the piano, waving at you with a huge smile and a thumbs up.

“Hey Sandy, Hey Kyle…” You shook hands with the owners. “Thank you so much again for this chance,

“Girl we should be thanking you, you should’ve seen the ‘talent’ that has stunk up this stage all week!” Kyle laughed.

“So are you ready?” Sandy asked you.

“Yeah, I think I’m good,” You took a deep breath and smiled at her. She nodded at you while you took your spot on stage once again.

You closed your eyes and blocked out everything and everyone out of your mind, except for your song. It was just you, and the stage. This is what mattered.

-----

“....Good to you,” You finished the last line with a breathy note, your eyes still closed. You had kept them shut the entire time just so you wouldn’t look out into the house and just see the horrified looks of your family's faces burned into your brain.

“That was beautiful!!” Sandy clapped her hands. “Do you think you could come back tomorrow night and do that again?”

“Like for a second audition?” You asked hopefully.

“Like as a job,” She grinned back.

“Really?!”

“Yes really! That was enchanting darling, really,” Kyle placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” You nodded for Kelsey to come over as Sandy and Kyle walked away.

“I got the job,” You beamed.

“YOU GOT THE JOB!!!!” She squealed, causing people to stare. You shook your head and lead her out of the club back onto the street.

“Oh my god, Oh my GOD! I’m going to sing to a packed club, night after night after night! Oh my god, I have to call Dad---” Your celebrating tone quickly died when you realized the only people you’d wanna call about this weren’t...there.

“...You can call Kenny,”

“Kenny!” You smiled. “Yes I’ll call Kenny!���

“Hey girl what’s up?”

“I got the job,”

“Wha---at the Supper Club?”

“YES!!!!!!”

“Oh my god you GOT THE JOB!!!” *she got the job!*

You heard him speak to a muffled voice in the background.

“Kenny…”

“Yeah babe what’s up?”

“Who are you with right now?”

“...Alejandro,”

“Oh, Alex! I haven’t seen him in forever, put him on the phone,”

“He uh-- he has food in his mouth,”

“Boy why you lying, tell her she needs to--”

You heard Fin's voice.

“KENNETH,”

“...Yeah?”

“Don’t tell him that! He doesn’t get to know that!”

“Y/N, can’t we just stop all of this--”

“NO. And if you tell him to come tomorrow night I will kill you,”

You hung the phone and noticed Kelsey giving you a look.

“What?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t have to tell him you were singing tomorrow, you could’ve just texted him so Fin wouldn’t hear,” She smiled mischievously at you. “You want him thereeee,”

"...Maybe," You bit your lip. "Do you think he'll come?"

"I bet they ALL come, baby girl," She winked.

You wondered if she was right. If you'd see Rafael tomorrow, after all this time.

------

“I can’t believe she--” Kenneth stared at the phone, then to Fin.

“Dad, you have to go to her show tomorrow night,”

“Kenny she literally just said she’d kill you--”

“Yeah but dad, we both know her,” He looked at Fin with earnest eyes. “She might be mad at you right now, but she’ll want you there when her dream is coming true,” Fin’s eyes lit up as he finished speaking.

“AND the rest of the squad,” He quickly added, making Fin sigh.

“Yeah,” He agreed.

“AND Barba,”

“...Yeah alright Ken I get it, okay? Finish your food before it gets cold,”

-----

The next day Fin went to see Barba at his office. He knocked softly then entered to see Barba talking with Olivia.

“Detective,” Barba nodded. “Didn’t expect you here, was Olivia not working fast enough?” He teased Liv with a smile.

“Actually I’m glad you’re both here. I need to tell the rest of the guys but-- I wanted to come here first,”

“That sounds ominous, Fin,”

“Actually it’s not,” He shook his head. “Y/N got that job she...auditioned for, a few weeks ago,” He muttered awkwardly not looking Barba in the face.

“Wha--Seriously? How? When?!” Olivia began asking questions rapid fire.

“....Why did you come to tell me this, Fin? You didn’t know Olivia was here,”

“Look, Barba,” Fin sighed, running his hand back across his head. “I don’t-- I don’t need to know the specifics of how close you and my daug---Y/N, are,”

“Oh Fin look I haven’t--”

“Yeah, I figured. She’s iced us all out for a while now,” He chuckled sadly. If he taught you anything, it was how to stand your ground.

“But Kenny said, that as mad as she is we need to be there tomorrow night when she goes on,” He continued. “All of us,”

“Tomorrow?” Barba’s eyes perked up. “Tomorrow night, you want me to go see Y/N?”

“ALL of us,” He emphasized. “But, yeah,”

“Sounds good,” He replied as nonchalant as he could, trying to hide his excitement. He missed you so badly, it scared him how much it hurt not to have you in his life on a daily basis.

“Uh huh,” Fin chuckled, nodding to Olivia. “I’ll see you back at the station,”

“Actually I was on my way out, I’ll see you tomorrow night Rafa,” She winked at him.

As soon as they left his office, Rafael did a fist pump in the air like a kid. He was going to see you, after so long.

He couldn’t wait. He just hoped you couldn’t either.

[milk-addicc]

I really liked that post you made about how Capcom feels about Narumitsu. And I'm wondering how do you think they feel about Narumayo? Personally to me it feels like they throw more hints at Narumitsu since with the other one if Takami wanted it to be canon he would of done it at the end of T&T. I also think the team could of made it more obvious in SoJ with Maya's big return but I never really saw the hints but I know I'm biased lol.

oh i’m glad you like my rambles haha;;

ahh... that ship, 

well first, about the whole Takumi “wanting narumitsu to be canon” thing, its not exactly making them canon but have more fanservice leaning heavy towards narumitsu (which was declined by the director(?) who claimed, i sorta agree with, that the game did well even without the narumitsu hinting since in the first game they didn’t have that intention and it was pure coincidence that their relationship was just THAT deep and meaningful which is incredible lmao, Takumi and co managed to slip his warning and still put at least some of the hints in TT tho hhh-). so even then, i doubt the crew actually want the endgame to come so soon hh.

okay, back on topic. what i think about naru//mayo? yea, i’m not keen on that ship personally at all, actually i despise it. like, they first met in the office, in front of their dead loved one, Mia. Maya was 17, Phoenix was 24. you have Maya, who’s supposedly still in HIGH SCHOOL and Phoenix, who has GRADUATED COLLEGE, has a JOB, and most likely has PAID HIS OWN BILLS. from that point alone, it should already feel weird. 

Maya’s an adolescence, a teenager, she just lost her sister and barely grew up, in a way she’s still innocent, notice how she tend to ask random questions and or say things that she thinks makes sense or amusing, she tends to be naive too. its kinda like.. a child.

and Phoenix on the other hand, is a grown man. heck even Maya says he’s an “old fart”, they’re legit aware of their own age gap in game and outright say it. if anything, they both act like self-aware best friends/brother-sister than romantically. even Maya said it herself, she wants to be a good big sister for Pearl and Nick.

now how about we ignore this obvious fact just for a little while and try to see it from only their interactions in-franchise. heres the kicker, you may not see it in game since they only lightly nudges about this ship (usually with Pearl, and was dismissed by Maya right after.), but in some of AA spin off mangas (and from what i heard, one of the stage shows), for some reason, this ship has their own hints despite being completely aware that Maya is a teenager.

but its okay now don’t hold your breaths, 

their “hints” are more of a one-off ish thing, most of the time a gag and not taken seriously, and unlike other ship per say narumitsu, where it actually affects their lives and changed it forever IN-GAME. “i care about Maya and understands her” and “i became an attorney because of you, Edgeworth and i don’t have any regrets” are both literally incomparable, especially given Phoenix and Edgeworth’s history together in-game canon.

anyway, here’s some common arguments i’ve encountered about this particular ship :

“but Phoenix cares about Maya a lot! he literally went through a trial against a hitman and run through a burning bridge for her!”

“Phoenix blushed and goes red when Pearl says he’s Maya’s special someone and he stutters!”

“Well my parents had a huge age gap!"

“well, Maya is 18 in AA2″

“considering Maya is a christmas cake now, Nick better tap that” 

“she’s an adult in AA6 tho”

now lets dissect each of these,

yes, Phoenix cares about Maya a lot he literally did cross a burning bridge for her but people seem to forget that this is the same man who turned his life around, abandon his dreams, study law for four years, and became an attorney to meet one man and willing to defend a girl who looks like his psychotic ex that nearly poisoned him in court. he literally would believe in his clients’s innocence no matter what, he’s by nature would sacrifice anything and even his life for someone. so its normal that he cares about Maya, but is it romantic? i doubt it, he cares about her safety and well being but does it have to be a romantic hint? no, of course not, he’s just very selfless for the people he cares about and Maya has no one to help her but Nick when she’s in trouble, he’s one of few adults she can trust and will help her out.

oh so blushing and stuttering due to embarrassment means having feelings now? and about the stuttering, he literally stutters around Edgeworth a lot lol. i’m starting to feel like people ships naru//mayo not because of their depth but because Pearl said so. Pearl finds them should be together and keep shoving the audience with Nick being “Mystic Maya’s special someone”, well if thats the case, they also explained why this happened, in-game. Pearl grew up very sheltered and among unhealthy marriages she just assumes a girl and a boy together means they’re dating and being “special someones”. she most likely just wants her cousin to be in a happy relationship unlike her parents where her father left both her and her mother but didn’t know any better because she was eight years old.

https://youtu.be/FGAqQkMEKNs?start=674&end=776

now about the parent thing and taking it personal, well my parents too had a huge age-gap of 7 years. but how come is it okay? its because they met when my mum was already a career woman at 26. she’s already an adult when my dad met her. what does this mean? it means my parents were both adults when they’re together, this is why i still like GumMaggey despite their age gap so wide, they first met when Maggey has already had a career, supposedly in her 20′s, she’s a young adult, she can buy alcohol by herself, already knows whats right and wrong and has live life independently, not a still hormonal teenager who depends on one adult figure. did your parents date when your mum is in highschool while your dad is like in his mid 20′s? sorry to hear that.

as for the last three arguments, i don’t even want to touch any of them with a five-foot pole. are you listening to yourself? do you not feel like you’re a creep typing that?

let me give you a benefit of the doubt. yes she’s older and legally an adult, but are you really discrediting the fact they met when Maya was still in highschool? they met and became friends when she’s 17 and he’s 24. sure they barely met during disbarment era, but should that change anything? why should it? how should it? like this?

“Oh this is Maya, i haven’t met her in years but boy she sure has grown up can’t wait to date her since she’s legal now.”

because thats what that argument sounds like, YIKES. 

you know? if they met under a different circumstance and Maya was like 19, i’d let it go. but they didn’t, they met because of a horrible loss, Maya, still in training, 17 lost her big sister and Phoenix, a rookie, at 24 lost his mentor. 

in conclusion, i don’t like naru//mayo at all

pairing them feels like pairing Edgeworth with Kay or Phoenix with Ema, just because they partnered in investigations, make playful jabs at each other, and saved each others’s lives before, people just think they like each other romantically despite their age-gap in first meetings (not to mention Kay sees Edgeworth as somewhat of a father figure, and she’s nearly 18 while Edgeworth is the same age as Phoenix). especially with how Maya, being a zoomer, calls Phoenix an “old fart” and just makes jokes about how so out-of-touch Phoenix is with the modern entertainment.

from observations, i have a huge hunch that almost all of them pair these two because :

1. Maya’s a girl protagonist so its a male protagonist x female protagonist type of deal and despise narumitsu because “yaoi”

2. AA6 she’s an adult so she’s legal which is damn creepy on its own, or last

3. because of Pearl shipping them in game despite being an eight year old and was so sheltered she thought a man and a woman being next to each other means they’re special someones.

either way, i only see them as best friends, sibling-like relationship with self awareness here and there since they tease the audience a lot with their gag “hints” in spin-off mangas and game. 

not only that, it kinda showcase how all male/female bond don’t have to be romantic, they can be just friends or familial and still hang together. another plus for the franchise right after encouraging moving on from ex partners. *glancing at Phoenix//Iris*

and as to the people who pairs this for some odd reasons, sometimes i just want to ask these questions,

“how would you feel if you’re in Phoenix’s shoes? met your mentor’s little sister at age 17 while you’re 24, would you feel romantically interested in this high schooler?” because i don’t, to me anyone 3 years younger than me is like a baby, how would Phoenix feel when Maya’s 7 years younger?

“also... why even? narumitsu and other less questionable pairings are RIGHT THERE in the open!”

but oh well people can like and pair whatever hhh, 

and there you have it, my even longer rambling hahaha sorry;;

Edit : To add the final nail to the coffin, Phoenix outright has said that Maya’s like his kid, like a niece.

Edit 2 : remember that this is simply my personal take, you can somewhat use this to make yourself feel better about your pair nor simply just to hate on the ship itself but do not use this to dictate actual people what to ship and not to ship. 

please don’t be destructive towards others.

[bumbershots]

A CERTAIN ROMANCE

CHAPTER THREE: WHO ARE YOU?

Author’s note: Hello! Once more I would like to thank you all for the love this story’s been getting, it truly blows my mind. I am also looking for a beta reader so if anyone out there is interested let me know! (: Let’s pick up right where we left off...

Story masterlist ** Word count: 2.3K **

Two souls don't find each other by simple accident, Harry thought after taking a seat for the first time that night, his feet were probably going to be swollen tomorrow, they were killing him already. But he wasn't keen on turning down a dance from the girl collapsing in the settee right next to him. A slow Amy Winehouse song was their cue to rest.

"Do you want a beer?" Her voice sounded a bit hoarse, probably from all the giggling and singing she did while dancing the night away.

"Yes please."

He watched her trot to the small bar on the other side of the flat, focused on how the multiple bracelets bounced in her left wrist as she instructed her brother which beer to give her. As she came back to take her previous seat, he felt a small wave of anxiety for wanting nothing more than to start a conversation with her, as she handed him the beer. Usually it was the other way around, but in most of the cases, people wanted to know his persona.

He knew the silence was becoming awkward, but he was still debating whether to ask about her upbringing or what she did for work, whatever the case was, he didn't want to make a fool out of himself, he almost never seemed to be that lucky.

"You're not used to people being calm around you, are you?" Alma’s frown os curiosity is a mirror to the one on the musician's face.

"Yes and no?" Harry's coy tone makes her smile warmly and shake her head in denial, "so, I'm Hampstead station guy?" Her eyes widen, a shy smile appears on her full lips before she takes another large sip of her drink.

"It's unlikely to find the same person thrice in the tube! I told my friend Laura, it felt like a glitch in the matrix." She answers and he lets out an amused laugh.

"For the record, I wasn't following you, at all..."

"I know, you just had to take the same line I did and it was a happy coincidence," she interrupts him, the new song gathers a few more dancers and Harry wonders if she will ask him to dance again, "although it would've made a great anecdote for my YouTube channel; story time, a famous musician follows me around the city possibly plotting my painful death." She joked as she gingerly flashed her hands before the two of them, as if presenting the latest play from the West End.

It was Harry's eyes turn to be wide and smack his hand into his forehead.

"You have a YouTube channel?" His interest was genuine and Alma made herself more comfortable on the sofa, before proceeding to fill him in about what that was about, just videos about her 'sort of interviewing remarkable people' or so she claimed.

It was something that started as a class project back when she was seventeen, trying to get good grades to win a scholarship and study abroad —none of those things happened. She kept doing it afterwards because it was too much fun, once she interviewed all her friends, she moved onto her family. "Believe me when I tell you, that I have more relatives than I should!" With a smile as big as hers, he sighed before breathing 'lucky' as his heart sped and she continued.

Restaurant owners, chefs, firefighters, barristers, doctors, accountants, waitresses, sexual workers, sex shop employees, bankers, homeless people, hairdressers and apparently every person from her home country had been on the informal interview series. Harry was impressed with the whole concept and her.

"I sort of abandoned it a little when I moved here last year, it was crazy busy the first couple of months and the whole bureaucracy... and I was a little homesick to be honest." For the first time in the night, her voice is thinner, he has to lean in a few inches to hear better, "I miss my parents, my cousins, my aunt, my grandparents. But this is something I've wanted for the longest time you know?" Her eyes bore into his, allowing him to see the vulnerability swimming in them, "I've never felt like an outsider here, never got lost in the tube, took the wrong bus or anything like that. Isn't it weird?" Harry smiled at the sentiment, thoughts of his latest trip to Japan flashing before him.

"No, I think it's marvellous that you feel that way." He cannot be real, is the only thing running through her mind like a restless hamster in its wheel.

Harry and Alma talked about everything they didn’t have in common, despite the brief interruptions to do some shots and drink champagne with the birthday boy. Their families were discussed, their favourite things to do in the summer. Alma even asked him how was work going, as if she didn’t know that he was one of th world’s most successful artists. Harry was thrilled to joke through their drinks and the girl wasn't shy to ask him for a couple more dances. None of them noticed the partying dying around them, it was only after Fernando said his goodbyes to his laughing sister, that they noticed how late/early it actually was.

Before they knew it, golden hues streamed through the window behind them as Freddie walked out of his room and offered them coffee.

"I'm never drinking straight vodka again," Freddie mumbled to himself after finishing his cup of coffee.

"At least it wasn't Vodquila like last time," Alma's words make him groan but agree. "I should go now, need a shower and a healthy breakfast."

After Harry also admitted he needed to be on his way, with all their belongings gathered and after saying goodbye to a very ill Freddie, neither Harry or Alma looked forward to their imminent separation. He had spent hours hearing how busy she is, when not recording content, she was working at Wenzel's and teaching Spanish to her neighbour's daughter on the weekends. Still, he was determined to meet with her again.

As soon as they started moving down the street, Harry noticed the next one was where he had to turn right in order to go home. It wasn't a short walk but the most effective route for sure.

"So, the bus stop is that way," Alma nodded her head to the left, smirking knowingly as she stuffs her hands in her coat pockets.

"Of course," they had come to a rolling stop at the corner. Harry suddenly felt beyond nervous about asking the girl for her phone number. "Thank you, for keeping me company last night." It was amazing he wanted to add, but licked his lips quickly instead.

"You mean keeping you from catching up with all your friends," she corrected him.

Harry shakes his head and smiles, the dimples graciously adorning his cheeks, his racing heart giving him the last push needed to finally ask. "Do you think we could go, like for coffee... sometime?” With that she laughed, immediately memorising the sound of it, her loud cackle is one of the nicest things he has heard in awhile.

"Only if I can buy you something from the selection of pastries." Harry laughed loudly, completely relieved by her answer. She dug around her purse for a moment before taking out a pen and what seemed to be an old receipt, quickly scribbling down her number and handing it to him.

"I'll call you," he beamed, carefully placing the piece of paper in his wallet. He'd be an idiot to lose such a precious fragment of information.

"Looking forward to it," Alma smiled at him for one last time before she started walking to the opposite direction. "See you around Harry." His face was a bit puffy from not having slept properly, but she would be lying to say he didn’t look adorable at the same time.

He waved and watched her walked away, her sweet and tired morning smile seemed to be engraved into the musician's mind as he headed home.

The air was still a bit cold, but the heat was starting to rise and plague London for the rest of the day, the hot summer everyone's been yearning for was finally here, even Harry could feel it in his bones as he continued down his path. He was still highly enamoured by the amazing night he spent sharing a piece of himself with Alma. His feet felt heavy, were even burning a little, but it was nothing as he made his way through his home gate twenty minutes later.

He decided to get some toast and a cuppa for breakfast, his high spirits not faltering even one bit although he could feel the consequences from the all-nighter already with each yawn. After eating he decided to take a shower that got him ready for a well deserved sleep in his comfortable bed.

Waking up around six o'clock startles him at first, Harry is well rested now but a bit grumpy for the weird taste on his tongue, something usual after drinking beer. He scolds himself for not brushing his teeth earlier as he walks in his bathroom. The cool tiles against his bare feet wake him up a bit more. After some needed dental hygiene, Harry gets dressed to go out and pick up his sister for their weekly dinner. Hopefully he can convince her to stay in, that way he can go on and on about the events from the night before.

His feet still hurt, he can even feel a blister underneath his big toe. But it doesn't bother him, it's actually a nice reminder of the incredible things that miraculously happened. Harry knew that since Alma was related to Fernando, someone that was bound to be in his life for the next six months or so, there was a big chance they would've met at some point. But he'd rather think it was fate, some sort of good karma coming round, he stared at her contact on his phone, still charmed by the fact that she gave it to him on the back of a receipt. Ignoring that she only did it that way, because the thought of asking for his mobile to enter it herself, was a very bold move. And Alma wasn’t really that confident, not when his green eyes were boring into hers anyway.

"When are you gonna call her then?" Gemma's voice snaps him out of his daydream for the third time during their quiet dinner in her flat. "What is it? You've got that look."

"What look?" He asks before his sister frowns and pinches her bottom lip with her thumb and index finger. It's his nervous quirk, he sighs, "I don't know, I'm just so nervous." Without a valid reason, he knows the girl is so lovely, maybe that's why.

"You're afraid of fucking it up," she knows, Harry nods. "Well, you could tell her that, perhaps on a text—

"—I want to call her, texting her will make me feel a wanker." Gemma smiles at her little brother, he looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself but nonetheless excited. It was endearing how the first thing he told her after crossing her home's threshold was 'my life is officially a chick flick!' Before proceeding to explain with detail about the whole situation.

"What about a text that reads: hello, this is Harry please save my number so when I find the guts to call you, you don't think it's a telemarketing scam," Gemma might be joking and mocking him all at once, but has a point. A text so she also has his number, makes the situation more even, she can call him too. "Assuming she gave you a real phone number."

"What?" Harry is mortified.

"I'm kidding, you should've seen your face," his sister wanted to drag a bit more her joke, but the preoccupied look on his face stopped her. Gemma couldn't wait to tell their mum, knowing that she would be just as absorbed. "There's nothing wrong with showing interest right away. If you want this to be honest and genuine, set an example." She finished before taking the last bite of pizza.

Harry knew that to be true, but now he was left wondering if it was the right time for him. Had he really left behind all the ghosts and baggage from his past? Or was he still carrying them in the new tattoos of his knees?

Despite his sister's encouraging words about how nothing could go wrong this early with Alma, he couldn't help but wonder if his still grieving heart was ready.

He takes his time walking back home, not caring if it was a really long one, he was aware of the curious eyes once he reached the Southbank but paid no attention to them. He welcomed the chill breeze, hoping for it to cool his boiling mind. Remembering the last time he walked along the river arms around his former flame, her laughter still ringing in his ears, her tender kisses in his knuckles, her delicious scent flying away with the airstream into London's sunshine.

Missing someone is not wrong, Harry reminds himself.

There's no point going down the rabbit hole of what ifs about their relationship. Harry can admit his mistakes, no matter how hard it comes to him, he can also apologise wholeheartedly. He did all those things already, months ago. Which is why he was able to keep her as a friend, not a close one, more like an acquaintance. And she's happy, he can see that, knows it.

Why does he feel like he's still drowning? He's already been pulled from the vast ocean of hers. Harry groans, struggles to open his gate, his good spirits from this morning nowhere to be found.

He doesn't know if it's the memory of her, the fear of loneliness, coincidence and laziness, or a bad habit? But he doesn't text the girl with warm brown eyes, instead he plays the voicemail that sometimes haunts his nightmares, on repeat, for the rest of the night.

///

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