#my naivety is speaking when i express my wish

[thingsarentgreat]

Beware of propaganda coming from multiple angles.

You Are Not Immune To Propaganda has become a meme, but remember that it's frighteningly true. Read the articles, not just the headlines. Then read between their lines. Carve out some time to do a little research for multiple sources.

Decolonize Palestine is a good source that's been going around lately. There is also a lot of easy-to-access information on Wikipedia regarding broad overviews of wars, their inciting incidents, their outcomes, their treaties, who benefitted from what, etc. If you can go the extra mile, please use it more as a springboard to access the primary sources listed in their "External Links" section. I've linked a lot of Wiki entries in the following paragraph to introduce topics.

Look into the history of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict to at least familiarize yourself with an overview of Palestine's internal and external struggles against Israel's colonialism. Know about the 1948 Palestine War, the 1956 Suez Crisis, the 1967 Six Day War, the 1987 First Intifada, the 1993 and 1995 Oslo Accords, the 2000 Second Intifada. Pay attention to the numbers of civilian casualties listed in each of those war articles, too. Take a minute to learn what Fatah is in comparison to Hamas, when the last time an election between the two was held (2006), and then which of them currently runs Gaza. Try to look both further back and further forward than that. Not everything is in this post. This is one of the world's longest continuing conflicts.

"I don't want to do homework and this is really complicated" ok well it is complicated but it is also required reading for you to participate in the class discussion, even if you just take 30 minutes on your lunch to skim a little more than a headline or Twitter post. You gotta inoculate yourself with knowledge of history. Like I said, the sources linked here are mostly Wikipedia for broad overviews - scroll to the bottom and find their primary sources. Look up these topics on your own and find more sources.

I'm saying ALL of this not only because it's important on its own, but also because as expected, every damn right-winger and conservative war hawk is using the most recent tragedy as a way to ramp up Islamophobia, while white nationalists are using it to ramp up antisemitism. It's the same type of game plan deployed again and again to take advantage of sorrow, fear, and outrage following intense violence. They want to channel it into hatred of an ethnic group instead. They want your support to pursue more violence against that ethnic group while cloaked in the name of retaliatory justice and peace.

Remember that your enemy is not Islam nor Judaism, nor innocent Palestinians trying to live, nor innocent Israelis trying to live - your enemy is and always has been the states which oppress the people trapped under their boots. Making sure you blur the separation is part of the game-plan.

[aroceu]

some thoughts on leaving a social media website...again

as of 10/16/2024, twitter has announced its intention to implement a new feature into the platform: instead of blocking allowing you to block certain accounts from viewing your profile if it's public, it now just... doesn't do that anymore. it only limits interaction. though this certainly isn't a surprise with musk's twitter rollouts since 2021—when i first saw people start to trickle out—this, in particular, breaks a lot of users boundaries and has prompted many to private their accounts and move to bluesky.

i'm in support of this, btw—the ceo of bsky is strongly opposed to ever running any sort of ads on the site ("won't enshittify the network with ads"), doesn't use any blockchain technology, and has a culture where supplying alt text on images is the norm. your main timeline is in reverse-chronological order (like intended), but there are other separate options to create a custom algorithmic feed for certain types of content, only if you wish to. though bsky is a work in progress, i have high hopes for what it can be in the future: that is, usable, practical, and more reminiscent of what it was like when twitter first started, than how twitter currently is.

but despite my love for bluesky, i won't spend too much time glazing yet another microblogging platform. instead, i'm here to ponder the concept of social media: why we have it, why we use it, and why these moves happen in the first place. people have been trickling in and out of twitter ever since the richest and evilest man in the world took possession of it; especially in a fandom sense, there's been a back and forth between twitter and tumblr due to tumblr's former porn ban, as well. we all have principles and morals that guide the decisions we make, including what websites we decide to use. they speak to a pattern of not only our culture as people at any given time—but how these platforms have the power to implement these changes whenever they want. and we, as individuals, must make decisions both based on those principles, but also our desires to fit in.

i'll start off by saying this—eventually i'm going to start talking about what social media means for creatives. but there is in fact an extremely well-written article about this already that goes into more detail. if you're more interested in that, let me direct you there first: R U AN ARTIST ON SOCIAL MEDIA??? by omoulo

with that out of the way, let's talk about me, shall we?

i got onto the internet through geocities—crazy sentence to say now after all these years. of course, i played neopets and flash games like many other kids, but that was mostly through knowing those websites and urls existed, and preserving them in my mind so i could return to them for some mindless minutes of entertainment later. geocities was my first introduction to the creative, user-designed web, so to speak. instead of being a number to interact with a thing that someone else has made—a flash game, a youtube video, a website where you can collect fictional pets—the idea of geocities to me at the time was this idea of participating on the internet. being a part of it. writing whatever i wanted and posting it. sharing the link with others. having others find it and read it too—a part of me, my method of creative self-expression, whatever i desired to write and post on the less than permanent internet.

my best friend at the time was the one who needled me into creating accounts—first an email address, then an AIM, then a myspace, then an IMVU, so on and so forth. i wasn't going out looking for these, and though i'd heard of them before or seen ads of some of these sites, i wasn't interested in actually being on these platforms and making these accounts until my friend told me that i should. call me a people pleaser or easily influenced or whatever; i was 12. but it was through this link sharing, this naivety and ignorance of the vastness of the internet, that allowed me to be fascinated with the world wide web in the first place.

i usually cite quizilla as my first "fandom" website, because it was—but it wasn't because i found it by accident. it wasn't that i googled it or looked for a personality test and stumbled upon it. no, it's because i was chatting with a friend on AIM, and she had found some crazy chain letter story and shared it to me for how absurd it was, and sent me the link. it was on quizilla.

literally the moment i clicked that link changed my life forever. even though i read the crazy story, i also clicked on the username of the person who posted it, out of curiosity. that person had jonas brothers fanfics on their quizilla profile, of all things, which led me into an obsession with the jonas brothers in the 2 years that followed. through that link—that account—that platform—i got a lot more interested in writing, webdesign, and what it meant to be on the internet, not just as a numbered participant, but also as someone with an imagination, who finds fulfillment in creative expression. i wrote the longest thing i'd ever written in that time (30k of a self-insert, but we won't go into that), began to experiment with css and website design, and participated, sharing stuff that i thought was interesting or fun, worth 5 minutes of anyone's time.

the internet wasn't just about being a place where my presence didn't matter anymore—it became a medium of self-expression. more than that, it became a place where i could meet and socialize with people, especially as i developed avpd in my high school years.

the internet wasn't always like this. right now, when we talk about the internet, we don't talk about the random websites we find, the links we stumble upon. (i have an entire website dedicated to those for me, though.) the games we spend hours playing, by ourselves, without interacting with others. random personality tests, or just simply the news. we talk about google, but in the same way we talk about facebook, or even twitter. it's a verb; it's omnipresent; it exists within the context of our internet culture, but becomes meaningless outside of it. it's not to say it doesn't have meaning—but that the language we use represents our relationship with it, this assumed normalcy. this assumed dependence.

i bring up my own history because as young as i feel compared to many of my older internet friends, and how late to the game i always felt—i was there. i was there on the internet before twitter (since 2009), tumblr (since 2010), facebook (i lied about my age), bluesky now, and whatever will come in the future. i was there when people were saying that the internet was still being written; when websites were made with tables (eugh); when email was the primary way to connect with others, because irc was for nerds and nothing else had been invented yet.

i'm a big advocate for not looking at the past with rose colored glasses and getting caught up in nostalgia and greener grass. i believe that technology is not inherently harmful or bad—it creates more options for accessibility, especially for those who are disabled. and even outside of that, it allows us to learn about more people, communicate with others with a few keystrokes, and form relationships that we otherwise would never get to have. i don't want this to seem like i'm saying "man remember how good the internet used to be?" because i'm not—i believe that as things change, there are benefits as much as there are hindrances.

of course, it bears saying that the primary hindrance—of current twitter, of many platforms over the years, and the internet with increasing recency—is corporations. big money interests. capitalism.

it's why we get so tired of ads—it's why ads exist in the first place. it's why these social media platforms that used to feel like they were made by the same people who would use them (livejournal, youtube, twitter) have suddenly become these soulless impersonal websites. it becomes more obvious that they want you to use them more because they sell you on exclusivity and visual minimalism, rather than because that's where your friends are, and you have this unique way to express yourself.

in fact, i'll say this: the first time i learned about facebook when i was too young to use it, i was not impressed. i had a myspace at the time that i had dolled up to make pretty with sparkly gifs and obnoxious colors and weird fonts. when i saw how boring and samey everyone's facebook profile page was, i was like, what's the point? sure i could talk to my classmates and random other people in my life that i didn't really care about, but what about making myself different from others? what about my creative expression? what about having an account that makes me look unique, instead of blending in with everyone else?

and so here i am nearly two decades later pondering about the use of social media, our individuality as well as our collective interests, and how the internet has changed so much, both in itself and how it affects us, in that time.

i'm here because i want to talk to my friends and meet new people with common interests and get excited about them. i don't want to feel left out, but that's a normal experience—outside of fomo, it is in our core to connect with others. it's the whole meaning of everything. it's why i even made an email in the first place, in my basement with my best friend, secretly setting up a yahoo account because she wanted another way to talk to me, and i wanted another way to talk to her. it's why people have been leaving twitter little by little for another site—the same site as many others, because that's where all their friends are. whether it's bsky or mastodon or misskey or just back here on tumblr, we're here not just because of our desire for community, but even as simple as our desire for a bond, a relationship with another human being. to me, that is how "social media" is defined—a medium through which we socialize because of this innate desire.

and yet, of course the enshittification and corporatification makes this more difficult for us, in ways more than one. because the fact is that as we (as people) became better at using the internet, finished writing it, and understood it—psychologically and sociologically—so did the corporations. or advertisers, you take your pick. we, the everypeople who use the internet as means to fulfill our social and other self-indulgent desires, are not the only people here. as with many things else in the world, the internet turned from an unpredictable but fun mess of us figuring shit out as we went along, into a product designed to keep us using it and engaging with it more, so some rich people can put even more money into their pockets. it's why twitter is the way it is now; even why tumblr is the way it is. why social media has become about "content creation" and "small businesses." why it feels like, every day, we see more ads and AI generated bullshit, as a little bit of the original soul of the internet gets sucked away day by day.

but even there, i don't want to come across as cynical or world-weary. though i believe this to be true, i don't think it says anything about our lack of agency, or our lack of innate humanity. instead, i believe that this means, at least on the individual level, that we should think more about not only what we're doing on the internet, but why we're doing it. how we're doing it. are we here because we're addicted? or is there something we're getting out of it? sure, many websites now have more addictive UI and algorithms that tell the receptors of our brain to return to them because we were getting so much dopamine from them earlier. but i also wouldn't necessarily argue that the only solution to this is to, then, go offline.

i have many friends who've elected to depart social media but stay online—friends who i met through website building, to be fair, but that's one of my main points. i already wrote a manifesto on my love letter to the personal website; but the tl;dr is this:

the internet is not evil, it is not good, it is just a form. if we desire to express ourselves and socialize with others in this space, it does not have to be just about social media, and creating a new account on a new website every time people move. instead, we have personhood—we have individuality, we have agency. we have the ability to build our own websites, no matter how shitty or times new roman comic sansy or color clashy or sometimes inaccessible they can be. regardless of all these seeming impractical setbacks though, it does not absolve us of that ability to do whatever we want on the internet. and it also bears saying that websites, both the personal and impersonal, can change over time, for better or worse.

i am a huge proponent for people making their own personal websites. it makes me so so happy that neocities is gaining popularity, mostly because i love seeing people try their own hand at making a website for themselves, a new form of self-expression. i won't go into too much detail on this because i've already said everything i want to say about it (see above), but if you take away anything from this post, let it be this: consider making a personal website, a corner of the internet, for yourself, by yourself. not just because you want people to engage with it, or because you want to curate to an algorithm or an artistic/fannish trend. not because you want the things you make to gain traction, to get bigger numbers without considering the people behind those numbers, as soon as possible.

do it because you want to. because you have to. because you think it's cool, and because it's you. people may find it and judge it; but they may like it as well. the more unique and authentic and weird we are with each other, the more we are able to appreciate each other for who we really are. the internet is one of many places we can do this.

i don't really see these forms of self-expression separate from social media, but i do see social media separate from it. to me, social media is a vehicle to strengthen those connections, those relationships, much like DMs and IRCs; but it is not the be-all, end all of the internet. it's only a small part of it. not everything is permanent on the internet; but everything that ever has been online is a microcosm of the human experience, whether it's an old cloudflare site or twitter dot com in 2010.

our experiences on the internet are not about corporate interests. it's about using limewire to download pirate music, sharing random links we find, building a design that may not be practical or universally appealing but still represents a form of individuality. when i think of how the internet has grown, i don't think about what it means for companies or advertisers or what meetings must go on to get people like me to keep using it—i think about remembering the difference between addicting games dot com and addicted games dot com, clicking links on websites to find even more websites, sitting at the family computer and deciding if i wanted to spend hours on neopets or that one willy wonka flash game i grinded like several hours on one night when i was 7. i think about what it's always meant to me, because the internet was not always a centralized place where i was going on the same website every day. the rise of internet centralization to the point that it's become expected, the norm, the primary way any of us to be online, is not inherently a bad thing—but i wouldn't say it's a universal good, either, when the internet is a wide and vast space, and can be so much more than that.

because the one thing that remains throughout the years is our agency and choice. we still have the ability to make the internet what we want it to be, or at least a corner of it, something separate from the corporations, the enshittification, economically researched user interfaces and experiences, the advertisements, the "like and share so the algorithm boosts me more." there's still a point to it all without the money, and without twitter. and it's both our desire for creativity and self-expression, as well as our intrinsic bonds with each other. despite it all, it's about our humanity.

as the internet continues to grow, so do we. nevertheless, the importance of our humanity, and retaining it, will remain. oftentimes it is up to us to remind ourselves of that.

-

links here, for access:

Bluesky CEO Jay Graber Says She Won’t ‘Enshittify the Network With Ads’

R U AN ARTIST ON SOCIAL MEDIA??? by omoulo

links @ kingdra.net (my links, like bookmarks)

A manifesto of sorts; or, my love letter to the personal website by me

[allfrogsmatter]

Yessss music vibe time!!

Okay okay…what about 7, 12, 38, 71, and 82? 😏

I can always count on you to make things interesting 🤭 these selections cover so many bases - and I'm going to take a page out of your book and YAP!!!! (love your rambles btw)

7. Alley Rose by Conan Gray

STRIKING GOLD WITH NUMBER 1!

THIS song is so Reed coded. This whole album, really! My friends weren't too impressed with Found Heaven, but it really resonates with Reed's character (Conan Gray in general tbh) so I have a soft spot for it.

I also got to see his FH Tour in Seattle in October and Alley Rose was the closing song on the setlist so EXTRA sentimental now

Anyway:

And I don't even care If it makes me sound insane I ran my fingers through your hair And I thanked God to touch the flame

'Cause I swore necks were made for bruisin' I swore lips were made for lies And I thought if you'd ever leave me That I'd be the reason why

This song really speaks to where Reed is in his life- how his past has shaped how he views love, and how he's healing. He had a difficult childhood and has always felt it was something he did to deserve it, but he is slowly learning that he is worthy of love.

12. The Night we Met by Lord Huron

Okay now this one's totally not relevant because they're together forever, right? RIGHT???

We'll see.... but I love this one because it relates to so many different perspectives and points in time in my story.

When the night was full of terror And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh! Take me back to the night we met

Interestingly.. I think this time around it resonates more with Jerry's arc (take from that what you will)

One of the most captivating things for me in exploring a modern variation of my characters. I find them treating each other differently, acting in different ways. In my novel, Reed and Jerry are navigating their self-discovery together, but in modern au Reed is really on his own in that. It makes him feel more vulnerable in the relationship, and he is compelled to act in ways he thinks protect him from being hurt, but in truth they do more damage than good...

38. Cigarette Daydreams by Cage the Elephant

Well first off I credit at least 35% of this song being in my top 100 to my sister for adding it to our summer road trip playlist (my Spotify had an undeniable preference for playing her songs for some reason).

Cigarette daydream You were only seventeen So sweet with a mean streak Nearly brought me to my knees

This line was the entire reason I added it to my playlist. Reed is a year older than Jerry, and in my story he turns eighteen just before Jerry turns seventeen. Something about this line feels like Reed, thinking about Jerry. In some ways Jerry is more mature than him, but in other ways Reed sees his naivety. Jerry hasn't been hardened by the world like Reed, and Reed envies his optimism and wishes he could've protected it.

71. Verano A Tu Lado by Mounts

This is a fun surprise - a rare non Reed/Jerry song!

This one is actually written by a friend of mine! I met him in Spain when my old exchange student took me to fiestas patronales in Extremadura and he just released it this summer (he has three other songs too- he sang Color Crema my first night there!)

I don't know much Spanish past Section 2, Unit 15 on Duolingo but I know it means 'summer by your side' and it has me counting down the days until I'm back in Spain this summer!!

82. In The Stars by Benson Boone

Right back into the fcking feels man...

Like I cannot express how devastating this song is... and what a spoiler for a NUMBER of different things. (Reed and Jerry? Maybe? Maybe not? You don't get to know yet...)

Anyway on a more personal note, this song has hit me hard since the moment I first heard it. Particularly these lines:

Diggin' through your old birthday letters A crumpled 20 still in the box I don't think that I could ever find a way to spend it Even if its the last 20 that I've got

He wrote this song about his grandma after she passed, and before I even knew that it had me thinking of my grandma. Thankfully she's still with us, but it just reminds me that nothing is forever and to appreciate her while I have her, because she is very special to me.

I have always saved every card I've ever gotten from her and all my other relatives, usually I leave the cash in there and tuck it away in a box so I know if I'm ever pressed for cash I have somewhere to look. It feels like those lines could've been ripped straight from my own life, it's uncanny.

Anyway, thanks for the ask!!! I had so much fun rambling and I hope it built a bit of intrigue for my story 😏

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 14 | Words: 3.3k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

The next morning is filled with more noise than Astarion would prefer.

“No, no - truly! I’ve heard of your heroic deeds on my journey here. Though I’m only passing through. I have a very important mission to fulfil, one bestowed upon me from my- uh, Goddess, Mystra, but I’ll admit, the chance to finally meet the group of heroes in the same predicament as I…it is an honour.”

Astarion quirked a brow at the man talking boisterously to his companions, Tar’eon and Wyll sitting much further apart than he would have assumed after their little affair last night. Sneaking away for a dance and a kiss. Ridiculous.

Jealousy was an ugly monster that crawled up from his gut to his throat, thin, oily tendrils wrapping around his voice box, heat simmering there like it was just burning, yearning for the chance to take control of him.

He snatched a bottle of wine from the shelf and didn’t bother with a glass, standing behind the bar and taking a swig, staring at the wizard before him with a deadpanned expression, entirely unamused by his word vomit that resembled something akin to praise but sounded more desirous to him, like he was hoping to earn something by laving them with fancy words.

“…and you are?” Astarion finally asked when the man did not speak, regarding him with curiosity.

“Mind my manners, I did not realise I was missing out on one of your dear companion — Gale of Waterdeep. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my pale fellow.” He offered a hand and Astarion bared his fangs, hissing like a cat giving a warning before he stalked off, his black rain cloud quite obvious. He didn't wish to play friends with the annoyingly cheerful man. Tar’eon frowned as he watched the man go.

“Ah. A vampire. You, uh, have quite the diverse team. A githyanki, a Shar worshipper, two tiefling — even a devil and a vampire!”

“I’m a human. I was cursed to look like a devil.” Wyll frowned, looking a touch annoyed.

“Ah. My apologises. Still! You lot seem to be flourishing. I’m almost sad we did not meet earlier.”

“Yeah…” Tar’eon’s gaze drifted off to where Astarion had walked off to. “Would you- could you excuse me? I’ll be back.”

“Oh, no, please, don’t let me keep you. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another on our journey to Moonrise!” Gale laughed, sounding jovial as he raised his glass to the other, a mages hand working as his own right hand.

Tar’eon smiled tightly and found Astarion sitting with His Majesty in his lap, drinking from the bottle of red. He was drinking a red he didn't even examine before opening it - likely plonk or vinegar according to him. That worried him.

“Are you…are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, sweetheart. Go, enjoy the wizard and all his tricks. You like the magical type, don’t you?” He said bitterly, refusing to admit to his pout as he took another gulp. Tar’eon frowned and sat beside him with a grunt, his wound still tender.

“Well…I don’t think the wizard will like me much when he realises the price of meeting me was his hand.” Astarion paused in his next swig and looked at Tar’eon, squinting as he tried to make sense of his words.

He barked out a laugh, head tipped back. Oh, of course! No wonder the voice niggled at his brain. Tar’eon severed his hand off. Gods. How had the wizard not realised yet?

“What are the odds?”

“Fairly high. He’s got a parasite too.”

“And no hand.” Astarion giggled.

“Please stop laughing, I feel awful.”

“Pfft, please. He’ll never know. I was the only one there that day, remember?”

“I do remember. He called me a lunatic.”

“Oh yes, his vocabulary was quite exquisite, even as you gnawed his flesh from his bone.”

“Astar.”

“Darling.”

Tar’eon sighed, letting it go as he leaned back into the wall heavily. He watched Astarion pet the wrinkly cat, the man smiling without even realising. Somehow, he’d gained the cats favour. Not even Tar’eon had managed that yet.

“…are you sure you’re alright? You really don’t seem it.”

Astarion scoffed.

“I’ll be alright when we kill that stupid creature Raphael wants dead and I can know what the Hells Cazador has locked me into, okay? Leave it be.”

“Astar…” Tar’eon slipped his hand into his, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Ph myirz; we will go there today, I promise you. I…I unfortunately have no lead on Mol, so I promise you, this is priority to me. By dusk, you’ll have your answers. Or, when we get back. Times a little flimsy here.”

Astarion huffed and slipped his hand free of Tar’eons.

“We better. Please tell me that wizards not coming.”

“Well…”

“You didn’t.”

“I promised to let him tag along. I mentioned the place and he seemed interested. He’s really hard to turn down, Astar.”

Astarion groaned.

“Fine. I’ll go get ready. But I expect a drink before we leave. I’m quite peckish considering you forgot to feed me last night.”

“I bled most of my blood out, Astarion.” The vampire tsked.

“Excuses.”

****

Astarion didn’t bring it up. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he wanted to drag it out, just that little bit longer. It was so hard to hold back and not say anything, not snap, when Tar’eon kept touching him every now and then along the journey, adjusting his cloak, tucking a curl behind his ear, his fingers brushing his when he took the Moon Lantern so Astarion could unlock a chest they found along the way, looting gold out of it.

He was still being so affection. In fact, he hadn’t even spoken to Wyll the whole journey, the man lingering at the back of the group with Gale who was chatting his ear off about some tome he read. Wyll was trying to get words in between the wizards pauses in monologue, but it was a hard feat. Once he started, he didn’t seem to stop.

Astarion was annoyed at first, but it was becoming background noise very quickly to his ears.

As they came back to where they had seen Raphael for a third time on their journey, Astarion looked at the daunting entrance with a little apprehension. He was nervous, sure, but he wanted - no, needed, to know. He couldn’t let Cazador have his secrets, or any more power over him.

Tar’eons hand was warm against his back.

“You’re not alone. You’ll have your answers, ph myirz.”

“You still haven’t told me what that means.”

“I told you. It’s untranslatable.”

“Liar.” Astarion grumbled, moving word with the lantern in hand, guiding their way.

It took almost half an hour to disarm all the traps by hand as not to scorch or gas themselves, and figuring out the puzzle itself to open the crypt took him ten minutes of pressing buttons endlessly, rolling his eyes into his skull when it failed again and again until Wyll pointed out it was more of a story than a riddle. The man gazed at the three pictures for all of a minute before he pressed the buttons in succession and the tomb opened.

Astarion gave him a deadpanned look.

“You and your fairy tales.”

“I’m a man of fine literature.”

You’re a homewrecker, that’s what you are, Astarion thought bitterly. But truthfully, there was no home to wreck. Wyll had had every right to make a move on Tar’eon. Tar’eon had every right to kiss him back.

That didn't ease the jealous monster inside his chest.

Tar’eon patted Wyll’s back with a tight smile.

“Good job, Wyll.” They slipped away, even deeper into the crypt, Gale making a marvelled sound.

“A temple of Shar. Fascinating. We should have brought your cleric! She’d love this.” Gale hummed, and despite his words, he sounded a little apprehensive about being in another place of worship. He himself worshipped some other Goddess after all, didn’t he?

“We’ll have to loop back sometime. She could definitely like this place. We can explore it more later, for now, we’re focusing on killing this enemy of Raphael’s.”

“Raphael? A friend of yours?”

“No.” Was the resounding response from all three men and Gale made a vague sound of understanding.

“A reluctant ally. I see.”

“Barely. He’s a devil. We’re doing him a favour for a favour because he’s too scared to do it himself.” Astarion drawled.

“A devil of the Hells? Not someone you’d want to get mixed up with, indeed.”

“Yes, well, we already have one idiot who made a deal with a devil, so we’re not looking to repeat his mistakes.”

“I do not regret my decisions, Astarion. I can’t say the same for the likes of you.” Wyll crossed his arms, looking at Astarion with contempt at the obvious jab to his situation.

“Oh come off it, Wyll the Wise. You can insist you hold no regrets, but that would be a lie, and heroes aren’t supposed to do that, now are they?”

“Astar. Enough. Wyll, ignore him.” Tar’eon sighed.

“No, I don’t think I will. If you want to dance, pretty boy, I will gladly waltz you into my blade.” Wyll held the hilt of his scimitar where it hung from his holster at his belt, looking ready to make good on his word.

“I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth if you ever offer me a dance." Astarion narrowed his eyes at the man, remembering the firelight, the shapes of their bodies as they circled around each other. "You’re nothing but Mizora's favourite toy solider.” His voice was cold as ice.

“And you’re nothing but a pet who strayed too far from it's master." Wyll hissed, his words striking him as they left his forked tongue. His eyes widened, obviously shocked by his own slip of tongue, the cruel words so unlike himself.

Astarion was still as stone, the lantern's light illuminating a piercing red eye, a marble complexion like that of a statue, but half of his face was shrouded in darkness, the only thing visible being the sharp gleam in his eye. A few seconds ticked by, everyone's nerves on end as they waited for Astarion to react, Wyll's hand still on his blade, less as a threat and more as a defence now.

"I...I apologise, that was unnecessarily cruel-"

Astarion lunged forward, and he would have taken Wyll down in half a second if not for Tar'eon wrapping his arms around him tight, crushing him to his chest as he fought against the hold, expression feral. Gale had appeared in a flash in front of Wyll as well, his left hand outstretched and glowing an ominous purple, tangling his fingers into the weave.

"Let go of me. I'll kill him." Astarion bared his fangs.

"I'm afraid if you do that, I'll have to eviscerate you." Gale said plainly, levelling his gaze with the vampires.

"Calm down, Astar, please."

"Let go of me!" Astarion finally broke free, smacking Tar'eons hand away with a snarl. He looked up at him, every inch of his expression murderous. "Send him away."

"Astar-"

"Send him away, or I'll decorate this place with his innards." His voice was near calm despite his terrifying expression, and Tar'eon knew he wasn't lying. He was completely serious.

"...Wyll, go back to Last Light."

"So he can get away with every cruelty imaginable, yet I cannot. I told you, I'm sorry, but you keep testing my patience at every corner-"

"Wyll." Tar'eon turned a stony gaze to the man. "Just...go."

Wyll's hurt expression morphed into something more accepting, yet still sad.

"I see...I should have known where your favour lied. Let the vampire disillusion you to his nature. His tongue is no less forked than my own." Wyll took a few steps back and clenched his jaw. "I will send Shadowheart in my stead. I'm not cruel enough to allow you to fight this battle one man down, unlike some."

He turned on his heel sharply and stalked out of the crypt, the only thing left of his presence being the echo of his boots against stone.

The air was rife with tension, Astarion turned away from the other two men. His shoulders were hunched in, hands fisted tightly. When he forced them open, blood stained his nails, crescent moons imprinted into his palms. He raised his head, standing tall and looking at the wizard with contempt.

"If you ever raise your hand to me again, I'll take it."

Gale met his gaze, acting cool and collected despite the pinprick of his pupils, giving away his fear of the threat coming to fruition. Astarion could smell it on him, as rank as the smell of his slowly dying body. Tar'eon pursed his lips.

"Gale...A moment, please?"

"Right, yes, I...I'll wait for Shadowheart. Show her the way inside." Gale bowed his head ever so slightly as he took his leave, leaving the pair alone.

Tar'eon turned to Astarion, hesitating before he rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. Astarion shrugged him off sharply, his lip twitching like he wanted to pull it back and hiss like a feral cat.

"Right, okay, I won't touch you, just...talk to me? Please."

"I would love to, once I no longer feel like stripping the skin and muscle from someones bones, darling." The affectionate lint of the pet name was missing, sounding more like a warning. An omen.

Tar'eon sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to do with this. He'd never seen Astarion so full of fury before, so unreachable in his anger. His expression was as chilling as a frozen wasteland, eyes devoid of any warmth. They were empty. Contemptuous yet empty.

"...He didn't mean it. You know that, don't you? You're more than what he said."

"Do not try to defend him right now." Astarion's gaze snapped to the tiefling, regaining their piercing nature, that emptiness fading as they were filled with something indistinguishable. An amalgamation of diverse emotions, all overtly intense.

He stepped forward and Tar'eon took a hesitant step back, frowning ever so slightly at his advance. With quick steps, Astarion had the mans back to the wall, his cold fingers walking up his chest and curling around his neck. He could hear his pulse, the way it got faster, his heart beats more erratic; he could feel the bob of his throat as he swallowed beneath his palm, his tail winding around his ankle like it did when Tar'eon was holding something back, trying to hide his true feelings.

Astarion hadn't seen him do such a thing with him in so long.

"I don't want to talk about him." Astarion's hand slipped higher, cupping his cheek and allowing his blood tipped nails to scratch along his jaw. Tar'eon shivered against him.

You still want me. You're an open book. You're just as easy as they were.

He tipped Tar'eon's chin down, stretching to his full height to press his lips to the mans, the heel of his boots barely touching the ground in his ascent to meet his parted lips.

It felt like the thump in Tar'eons chest was ricohetting into his own, his hands possessive as he wound them into dark strands, curling the other around his throat to keep him in place. It was not a gentle kiss, not when his whole body was trembling with the rage that was hot beneath his sternum, crushing ice cold lips to burning ones, devouring the heat from them for himself.

Astarion's hands dipped down to his armour, frantically unbuckling the chest plate the man wore, needing closer, needing skin on skin, needing proof-

This isn't over yet. Let me have your lust, if nothing else. Let me monopolise you.

Tar'eon groaned against his lips, hot hands running up his sides, his fingers spanning over the centre of his back, his thumb in the divot of his spine as he seemed to pull him even closer, if the action was even possible, his other hand trailing over his backside, resting on the back of his thigh. Enveloping him with his frame. Holding him like something precious even as Astarion's fang punctured his bottom lip, blood filling both of their mouths.

You called me beautiful once. Let me convince you that's enough.

Astarion suckled on the wound and moaned, something raw and unpractised as he managed to get the chest plate off, his hands crawling beneath his undershirt, nails raking over the swell of his chest like he could claw his way into the tiefling. He felt animalistic and calculated all at once, there yet not, floating yet burning.

Breathe me, think only of me, of all my body can do for you, love me, you damn devil. Love me, love me, love me-

Skin broke beneath his nails and Tar'eon pulled his hips forward, grinding his cock against the taunt muscle of his thigh, tilting his head and crushing their lips together after barely a moment to catch his breath, being the only one who needed it. He cradled his face as he devoured him, the taste of his own blood on his tongue, the metallic taste stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to hold his face between both of his hands and kiss him forever, wanted to cradle his skull and increase pressure, squeeze harder and harder until-

"I see you two are having quite the talk. I was wondering how long you'd be." Shadowheart's disapproving drawl broke them both from their moment, Tar'eons hands dropping from the vampires face instantly where they had attempt to crawl upwards into the silver strands at his temples.

His whole body was trembling, stomach roiling as he fumbled to fix his armour, whatever arousal he felt being washed away by the ice cold water that was dread. He'd been so close to crushing his skull between his hands...even while awake. He'd gotten distracted, and his urge had been ready to take advantage.

Astarion looked over at Shadowheart, licking his lips, a deep red stain of blood smeared across his cheek like lipstick. He licked at one fang like a hyena cleaning its canines, looking annoyed at her appearance by strangely calmer despite his aching cock. He wiped at his cheek with a finger, licking it clean of blood.

"Too bad you couldn't stay away another ten minutes. I would have been able to have my fill without someone interrupting my meal." Astarion's nails scratched along the edge of Tar'eons jaw, smiling at her. "I'm sure your Lady Loss would have appreciated the show."

Shadowheart wrinkled her nose, Gale looking equally disgusted. And very awkward.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid we have a very important mission to attend to, do we not? Right, Tar'eon, my friend?"

Tar'eon licked his own lips, the wound on the right of his bottom lip stinging fiercely.

"Yes...Lets focus on the mission."

He needed to kill something. He needed to sate the urge, before he did something he couldn't take back. He couldn't afford to get distracted again.

Astarion watched the man as they travelled deeper into the crypt, eyes fixated on his swollen, bloody lip.

He'd like to see Tar'eon explain that away to his righteous, noble lover.

As long as I continue to make you burn, you will look only at me. I am the only salve to your desire. No one will ever be as good as I am. I have centuries of skills above them all.

Like he could hear him, Tar'eons gaze fell to his as they walked, staring back for a long moment before he glanced away, a splotch of red high on his cheek.

I have you hooked. And you know it too, don't you, darling?

[mafia-tsukasa-official]

[Tsukasa has an unexpected encounter with a familiar face at night. What he notices right away is the somber demeanor she's displaying. And the tear stains.]

Akiyama? Are you-

i'm not in the mood to talk.

...?

[Very odd. Mizuki would usually not respond like this.]

... ah... but since you're here... i have a request to ask of you.

[Mizuki faces Tsukasa with a numb expression.]

tell rui to give up on me. if he asks about me, tell him i never plan to see him again. starting today, i will abandon everyone i know.

What...?

[It was absurd, hearing Mizuki say such things. It was wrong hearing her sound this lifeless. Tsukasa didn't like it.]

Do you realize what you're asking?! I'm not going to do that! What's going on, Akiyama?!

none of your concern. the only thing you need to know is i will be gone forever. simple as that.

[Mizuki is about to turn around, but Tsukasa grabs her wrist.]

[Mizuki stops.]

Akiyama... did someone hurt you?

...

Because if so, let us help you. Shutting yourself out... won't do you any good. Try to do things on your own too much, and you'll break. I don't want that to happen to you.

.......

Please, Akiyama... I haven't been treating you fairly this whole time when I should've been... let me change that. Please.

[Mizuki is silent. She's staring down at the ground. When she finally speaks...]

ah... it's just as i feared...

you got that naivety from rui, didn't you?

...!

[Tsukasa lets go of Mizuki's wrist in shock.]

look at you, talking to me like i'm deserving of your kindness... like you see any good in me... i feel bad for you, really.

...

[Mizuki is walking further away from him, bit by bit.]

i will not let you waste your kindness on me any longer. if only we had a chance to bond more... but if we did, i'm sure you would've been put in danger too. i shouldn't wish for that.

[Mizuki is facing away from him. He can't see her face.]

if you're not going to fulfill my request... at the very least, just do this other thing for me. stay with rui. you make him happy more than you'll ever know. you make him so happy that it won't make a difference if i'm gone. he'll be okay with you and everyone else. he doesn't need me.

goodbye, tsukasa.

[With that, Mizuki is gone. Tsukasa is now alone.]

...

Kh...!

[Tsukasa slams his fist against the wall.]

Rui needs you too... you idiot...!

[lwprodz24]

Taylor Swift has the Infinity Stones - My theory

Note: this theory just came to me and I felt the need to share it.

So, I've been seeing stuff about Taylor Swift nearly defeating Thanos but she had all the Infinity Stones before Infinity War even happened.

This theory is separated in two parts.

Part one: Album Colors make the stones.

Debut album is green = Time Stone

Fearless album is yellow = Mind Stone

Speak Now album is purple = Power Stone

Red album is well, red = Reality Stone

1989 album is blue = Space Stone

Which leaves her Reputation album to be the Soul Stone.

Now part one is simply the color schemes however part two is about the music.

Part two: What the albums truly represent(according to me).

Note: this part of the theory is about the stolen records as the vault tracks in her re-recordings could change the analysis. Also, not all of the re-recordings are out yet.

Debut album = Space Stone

The debut album is the actually the space stone due to the naivety in most of the songs. It goes to show that she still has a lot learn and there's plenty of space for her to do that.

Fearless album = Power Stone

This should be obvious as this is her most powerful album. It reached #1 in country records and is still highly praised and talked about. Not to mention almost all the songs are either empowering or just powerhouse songs.

Speak Now album = Time Stone

Maybe this one's simply on me but this is her most nostalgic album. Listening to most of the songs can make you feel like you went back in time. In fact, her song Back to December mentions that she wishes she could go back in time.

Red album = Soul Stone

This might be surprising to some but this album is really revealing in terms of lyrics. Several of the songs on the album are emotional and can help you understand where she's coming from. It just feels like this album is the most soul-baring to me.

1989 album = Mind Stone

Probably another shocker but quite a few of these songs have something to do with the mind. Whether the songs are about reminiscing or they're about dreams/scenarios, this album relates more about being in one's head than anywhere else.

Reputation album = Reality Stone

And lastly, I feel this one should also be a little obvious. Her Rep album is the most realistic as it has less to do with fantasies and more to do with the hard truths of both the media and people she called friends. It's literally her 'everyone sucks except my boo(with a shout-out to my mom and probably fans)' album. The album cover itself is split in half with one side having the media plastered on it and the other side being clean. And that's the reality, she's split in half because the media's never going to stop seeing her one way even when she always expresses the opposite. At least, that's how I see it.

[hhbridgertonau]

15 - Declarations of Intentions

Not the chapter you're looking for? Check the Masterlist!

Daleon expected the frown on Prince Tomo’s face when he called on her a few days later. After all, what kind of lady turned down a prince’s proposal by engaging in a scandal with another gentleman?

"I understand your situation is…difficult," he began. “I have heard Lord Gabriel has returned to London. It does not take a genius to know what he came for.”

His gaze lowered to Daleon’s hand. She twisted the ring on her finger, hiding it from Tomo’s line of sight. “Yes…”

Tomo's expression remained the same. “I was under the impression that we were getting along."

"Yes." Daleon said meekly. “But it would not bode well for His Majesty if you married a ruined woman, now would it?”

“You were not a ruined woman when I proposed to you, and that is the nature of my inquiry.” There was not an ounce of anger in the prince’s tone. However, the haze of self-loathing and shame still had its hold on Daleon and rendered her speechless. The words were there yearning to burst past her lips, but she didn’t dare speak.

“To my understanding, his grace approached you that night,” Tomo continued. “I would not put it above him to use some underhanded tactic to make you complacent—“

“Please do not speak about my fiance that way.” Her anger was sudden, as if she was struck by lightning at the top of her head. It spread through her torso towards the soles of her feet. Realizing what she had done, she shrunk back into herself. “I was the one who forced him to propose - by doing what we did.”

Never in her life would Daleon think that a kiss could be so damaging. “I accepted his proposal as proof of my intent to atone for involving him in this scandal.”

Tomo did not speak or react. He quietly tapped a finger on his thigh as he processed the information he just received. “But he came to you.”

Daleon did not acknowledge the remark.

“I see. I must say it is very like you.” Tomo pursed his lips and breathed out slowly through his nose, as if he had been holding a breath since he came in. "To be honest, I am quite relieved."

It was Daleon's turn to be surprised. "How so?"

“You are not fit to wear the crown at all.” He offered a curt smile - a rather pitiful attempt at comfort. “Do not misunderstand, my lady. I meant it when I said I hoped to fall in love with you. But as a prince, affections cannot be my sole priority in finding a wife, no matter how much I would wish it to be. I've told you before: the crown can be cruel.”

“So when you proposed to me, you were not truly in love with me either?”

His bottom lip twitched, and he looked lost in thought. His gaze did not meet hers. He wavered as he spoke. “I persuaded myself to be in love with you, just enough that I would have had the courage to propose. I would have given you everything you would ever ask for, and the only thing my family would have required in exchange was a child.”

Not a family. A child. Not even for himself, but for the monarchy he was born into. Her naivety got the better of her once again, but strangely, fate was kind for not allowing her to meet that end. She clasped her hands together, the warmth anchoring her to the present. “You have a way with words, your highness.”

“I was hoping you too would be amenable to that kind of partnership. My uncle is fond of you, and my mother would have been as well. But I see now how you seek a romance, the kind that many would envy. That is not a crime. However, what I seek is a partner. An equal not in rank, but in will."

There was no malice in the prince’s words, but she saw as he did in her the things he nor anyone could change: his role and the weight it carried. It was more than enough that he was kind. Unlike her, Tomo was part of the elite circle that led a society. She and countless others depended on the way he ruled. Of course he needed a wife to shoulder that responsibility with him.

Without question, Gab needed, no, expected that of his wife too. A Dukedom was not easy to manage. The ring on her finger suddenly felt more like a ball and chain, rather than the romantic reminder she had always dreamed of, and the behemoth of tasks ahead of her as the imminent duchess of Edengrove slowly dawned.

Daleon smiled. “In the end, I suppose we are all willing to live in an ignorant state of bliss.”

Tomo perked at her suggestion. “Yes. That is a forward way of putting it.”

“But I still believe that we are entitled to searching for our own means of happiness regardless of the situation.”

He nodded in understanding. “Do you think you could be happy with him?”

Daleon needed a moment to respond. There was truly no way of knowing unless she spoke to Gab. But it had been days since he proposed, and he had not even so much as sent her a letter. They kept each other in the dark.

“I do not know,” she said. “It must all depend on whether I can be a good wife to him. But I suppose I can learn, just as you were willing to learn more about me. So can Gabriel.”

The prince finally smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing. "His grace is most fortunate to have you as a wife. In my good spirits, I feel I should warn you. His Majesty will not take this rejection lightly. You must be prepared to show your resolve when the time comes."

He asked for Daleon’s hand one last time and kissed it.

“I pray your days with the Duke be filled with joy and light. And that we find happiness in our purpose.”

The last statement felt more like a prayer for himself than it was for her. She prayed for it nonetheless.

Gab finally called on her as the date of their nuptials loomed over them, but not for the reason she expected.

“My request for our marriage license was denied,” he said. “By the king himself.”

As they all stood in the foyer, Dancel and Ainsworth, who had accompanied Gab to see the bishop, hung their heads in deep thought.

“Lord Ainsworth,” Dancel began. “With how familiar we are with his majesty, may I assume we have reached the same conclusion?”

“If that conclusion is that His Majesty wants you to appeal for your marriage before him, then we have indeed come to an agreement.”

“Appeal?” Daleon asked.

Gab’s brows creased. “He wants us to beg.”

Ainsworth clicked his tongue. “He wants both of you to justify why you should be allowed to marry. It will be more difficult, given the ‘incident’, but you must be truthful.”

“And a little dramatic,”

Ainsworth smiled a little. “Yes. His Majesty enjoys a good show.” He turned to Gab. “Be honest with each other, and more importantly be honest with yourselves.”

The intensity of Ainsworth’s gaze made Daleon want to look at him too. She saw a muscle twitch under his cheek. His gaze was hard, and her hands trembled in response. She knew this was the last place he wanted to be, the last situation he wanted to be in. And yet he had done, and continued to do it, for their honor. Seeing him again, she so desperately wished to ease that burden, even a little.

“What shall we say?” She asked him.

Gab looked at her, but did not answer.

They arrived at the king’s palace bright and early the next day, walking in blind into a proverbial lion’s den.

His Majesty lounged leisurely on his throne, shooing away one of his prime ministers as the couple approached. Ainsworth and Dancel offered their greetings and stated their business. He sneered at them.

“And why is an audience necessary if your concern is your marriage license?”

Gab was already in a sour mood since that morning. Daleon could feel him seething now. “You know very well what we came for,” he said.

He nodded his head almost teasingly. “And I’m waiting for you to make your case.”

Their moment was at hand, but neither were courageous enough to speak. She thought to wait for Gab, but he stood there, taking breaths so deep his shoulders heaved.

“We don’t have all day, Driscol.”

Daleon stepped front and center. “Your Majesty, it was love at first sight.”

Hijiri scoffed, unamused.

Gab tried to speak. “The lady exaggerates—“

“It was for me.”

Her words silenced the hall, and Hijiri was listening intently, despite his lazy posture.

“I thought he was beautiful. Yes, that is how I would describe him. But then he turned out to be rather sharp-tongued and condescending. Despite that, he has not unkind and has always paid attention to my best interest. I could not find it in myself to stay away, no matter how hard I tried. Lady Nightbloom has only proven that I have feelings for him. But I…”

I have doomed him. She thought to say, but the words caught painfully in her throat that it began to ache. She bit her bottom lip to keep any mewls from escaping.

Hijiri sighed. “Frankly, this might be the most boring appeal I’ve ever heard of in my life. And an appeal is quite rare. It is most blatant that you are marrying for the sake of correcting the consequences of your scandal. I was expecting a little more entertainment.”

He stood up to leave.

“Your Majesty—“

“I will not deny that our marriage is one of most unfortunate circumstances,” said Gab. The room looked to him now. He clenched his jaw. “The lady honors me. But this whole time, Miss Morningstar and I have only been using each other as a means to an end. She wanted to find a husband, and I wanted peace whilst I attended my business here.”

Hijiri stopped and listened.

“We fooled the ton and even you into believing that we were courting. But in the end, we could not fool ourselves. It took a prince coming along for me to realize that.”

Daleon stared at him, at his trembling lips and the way his eyes gleamed with truth. His eyes flickered between the ground and her, and she saw his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red. She thought it a precious and adorable sight. His nose twitched as if he was reluctant to speak. How she wished she could tell him to stop if it hurt him. They did not have to do this. They never had to.

But Gabriel held his head, and despite the evident embarrassment on his face, he said: “No one will provide for Miss Morningstar’s affections better than I. I swear it.”

His tone was not the usual firm timbre everyone associated with him - yet it was more commanding than the king’s and more raw and tender. Daleon placed a hand on her heart, terrified it would jump out. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to hold him and wanted to be held by him.

“If you wish to belittle me and call this feeling love or infatuation, then so be it. But I want her to be my wife.” He finally looked at her, lips trembling and brows furrowed as if he was going to cry. “And I will have no one else.”

She could feel tears slipping from her eyes, but she did not wish to look away. The near-noon sun shone through the glass panes in the ceiling, illuminating faint wisps of blonde in an ethereal halo.

He was her duke - and she was going to be his wife. She wanted nothing more than to be his wife. But no sooner had she thought it, did she realize how much of a selfish and conceited creature she truly was.

He turned towards the king. “So I beg of you, do not make us wait.”

For had there been no audience, Daleon would have kissed him again.

[pagetreader]

"When did this come to your attention?"

"Not long ago...he's been so distant -- so angry lately...but it all began to make sense when I discovered the correspondence between him and a Major John Andre."

Her former lover's name left her lips without a trace of familiarity or bitterness, though inside Peggy was screaming scornfully.

"Your fiancé, he…he spoke so kindly of my brother. He was the only one to commend him, in fact, so I just…"

Remorse caused her heart to twinge as she saw the pain flicker behind the major's eyes. The way he spoke of his brother told her all she needed to know about the unfortunate situation.

"You have my deepest, most sincerest condolences, Benjamin," she replied as she placed a hand on his shoulder, "Truly."

As Benjamin's face fell, Peggy's gut twisted and her heart ached. In condemning her fiance, she never wanted to hurt Benjamin -- especially after all they'd shared tonight. He didn't deserve the betrayal, a betrayal that had largely been brought about by her own persuasion.

"You do realize that once this comes to light, Washington may look to you, as well?"

"I...I didn't know what to do," she found herself saying, "I've been so afraid of speaking about it, with my family being known to lean toward the favor of the crown and now this..."

If she was going to protect herself, she needed to remain convincingly innocent. Peggy turned away a moment and took a few steps, clasping at her stomach and chest as she feigned difficulty breathing.

"I thought I was to marry a Patriot soldier, but with the truth so evident before me, how could I allow such a betrayal to continue?"

"I do not believe you complicit -- not at all --"

Good...good.

"But couples tend to share everything with one another: fervent affections, plans, secrets, and we need to make sure Washington won't ever suspect that. Not even for a moment."

Spinning on the heel of her boot, she grasped softly at his forearm and presented her best expression of distress, the one that made her eyes sparkle with naivety like that of a doe and had been known to bring even the strongest of men to their knees.

"Just tell me what I must do, Benjamin. I'm at the mercy of your good General, but my fate ultimately rests in your capable hands."

"We need to prove to him you are innocent in this and have no prior knowledge of Arnold's accounts. Perhaps if you seem unwell..."

"Would that be enough?" she asked, sincerely doubting it.

"Washington is a hard sell. Since I, myself, initially questioned how you came to know of his letters, so will he. I could always say I found them, but then the question would arise as to why I was snooping through a superior's home office to begin with."

"We've found ourselves in a rather muddled conundrum indeed."

Ben took her hand and her chest fluttered the way it had when he'd first taken her by the waist, "You and I...we need to work together."

How cruelly ironic that she'd heard similar from a man she thought she could trust only months before.

"Together," she echoed, fearing that she may very well be alone no matter what she did.

Wanting to chase away the feeling of dread, Peggy cradled Benjamin's face and kissed him fervently, wishing they were still back in her chambers beneath the safety of the sheets and pretending the rest of the world did not exist.

"Thank you," she breathed, "I don't believe I'd have had the courage to go through with this were it not for you..."

Important...

Although Peggy was merely reaffirming what he'd already said, Benjamin took a certain level of appreciation in hearing it confirmed. These days, nobody deigned to commend him for his hard work, his extra hours poring over notes, his field work, his personal sacrifice, and to realize that a young, lonely socialite was the one person to acknowledge this rankled fiercely.

"I'm only doing what a man should," Benjamin softly said. "That doesn't make me special." Or decent, as she'd claimed; in his mind, every man should automatically wish to defend his home and country.

"Because he's greedy, Benjamin, blinded by what he desires most in this world. The love of money is the root of all evil, is it not? If you knew him as I do you might be able to see it more lucidly, that wretched blackness in his soul..."

She was right. The start of this whole damnable war was caused by greed and avarice, so it was sure to ensnare even the most seemingly well-intentioned of men. Shoulders sagging, Benjamin whispered, "I wish it wasn't so..." Why must the man who'd praised Samuel be a potential blackguard? Sometimes, it truly felt as though God was mocking him.

With a lump in his throat, he gathered Peggy's hands and drew them over his chest. "Come -- let's get dressed, and then we can look through his study."

--

With his hair refastened and his clothing intact, Benjamin joined Peggy in Arnold's study, his heart in his throat and his palms growing clammy as he waited for her to fetch the damning documentation.

"When did this come to your attention?" he asked, his voice hushed. "Your fiancé, he...he spoke so kindly of my brother. He was the only one to commend him, in fact, so I just..." It hurts. It was painful to think of locking away, and even having to execute the one military link he held to Samuel.

Peggy retrieved the letters and stalked toward him with purpose, her eyes alight with a pleading intensity. "Will you bring these to General Washington immediately? Or will you wait until you're able to speak to him privately?"

Swallowing, Benjamin accepted the stack and sifted through their contents, the heavy sensation in his heart weighing down like stone. It was true -- it was all true! And with each horrid, damning word, the painful lump in the back of his throat only worsened.

"We mustn't be hasty," he hoarsely said. "It would be unwise to give your fiancé the opportunity to run, but it would also be an embarrassment to Washington and his leadership, were I to publicly defame one of his top generals." Exhaling, he looked to Peggy earnestly. "You do realize that once this comes to light, Washington may look to you, as well? I do not believe you complicit -- not at all -- but couples tend to share everything with one another: fervent affections, plans, secrets, and we need to make sure Washington won't ever suspect that. Not even for a moment."

Shaking, Benjamin tucked the stack of papers into his coat. "Word of mouth, unfortunately, will not be enough. We need to prove to him you are innocent in this, and have no prior knowledge of Arnold's accounts. Perhaps if you seem unwell..." Hesitant, he chewed his lip. "Washington is a hard sell. Since I, myself, initially questioned how you came to know of his letters, so will he. I could always say I found them, but then the question would arise as to why I was snooping through a superior's home office to begin with." He took Peggy's hand. "You and I...we need to work together.

[pixelofthepast]

By the time the girls were left to settle into the dormitory, Edith’s mood had seemed to sour. She didn’t appreciate the little frown that had sat upon her sister’s face for the better part of the day, this was supposed to be a momentous occasion for Edith!

“Oh Louisa, must you mope about all day? You’re going to get frown lines from that expression on your face. Are you really so jealous of how partial Miss Tillman is to me?” Edith questions her elder sister.

“I am not jealous of you Edith, I’m glad you have found a mentor in Miss Tillman,” Louisa assures, but she can’t help but be frustrated by her little sister’s naivety. Though she still hadn’t told her younger sister of her turning down Edward’s proposal. “But you are a young lady now, when are you going to realize that the universe does not revolve around you?”

“This is supposed to be a special day for me, but you’ve managed to make it about you!” Edith fumes. “Oh poor shy Lou, so meek and quiet... like a mouse. The perfectly behaved girl,” She mocks.

Louisa could not believe what she was hearing, how could Edith believe this when she had been such a devoted sister to her?

“I have spent the whole of my life at your whim,” Lou cries. “I have wiped every one of your tears, I have given ear to all of your gripes and complaints, been a constant companion and hoped for nothing in return. How can you be so thoughtless?”

The two March sisters fall into tense silence, neither sure how to proceed. Sure, they had squabbled before, but they had never been so coarse with each other. When it became clear Edith wasn’t going to speak, Louisa bowed her head and quietly wished her younger sister well before leaving the dormitory.

[ponyam]

Heyyyyyy! I can’t express how much I love your writing honestly and I really want to request something if your still taking them. Could you do a Zhongli x reader? Zhongli takes reader on a date to propose to them and could you include the wedding too if that’s too much to ask? I would really appreciate it :)❤️❤️

thank you so much! and sorry this took so long omg

devout

zhongli x reader [gender neutral]

synopsis: zhongli takes you on a proposal-date and sweeps you of ur mfkn feet <3

cw: slightly suggestive towards the end, mentions of a [food] coma, i'm a sap

The light of the morning sun shone brightly, yet the air was brisk as it nipped at your cheeks. The crisp smell of sea air wafted in from the docks, while the rhythmic chime of ship’s bells echoed off the walls of buildings, indicating that sailors had risen to greet the day and the unruly tide that awaited them.

Your hand was pocketed with his, keeping your grip warm and secure as you walked closely together through the awakening streets of Liyue. At the brink of dawn, your lover began persistently nudging you awake, peppering your face in sweet kisses while promising you with an even sweeter meal as a form of bargain. How lucky he was that it appeared to have worked.

Mornings like this weren’t totally uncommon with Zhongli, however this seemingly newfound fervor for planning a whole day trip like this was a little out of the ordinary. When you asked him what the occasion was— out of slight concern that you might’ve forgotten it— he denied that there ever was one; he simply wanted to express his “love and adoration through a little quality time together.”

Before you could press any further, something had caught your lover’s attention, as you were suddenly being ushered in another direction. He escorted you to sit at one of the tables at the Wanmin Restaurant and, once you were settled, excused himself to order food, planting a quick peck to your cheek in the process. Looking around you noticed that the area wasn’t too crowded at this time of day; there was a certain peacefulness that had settled over the atmosphere that contrasted heavily with the normally bustling streets of the harbor. Perhaps that was what he intended by waking you up so damn early.

Breakfast was delicious, as promised. It also served to ease some of the bitterness you felt towards being jostled awake at the crack of dawn. Zhongli didn’t hold back, either. Anything and everything that you might like was placed on the table in front of you, and you weren’t sure how he was able to afford it, nor if you’d manage to finish it all without going into a coma.

On top of all that, your lover seemed to have brought his own food from home, though it was neatly wrapped and sat underneath the small table. Again, when you asked him about it— not having ever recalled him making it— his reply was as vague as ever; “oh it’s just a little something for later.”

After boxing all the leftovers from the meal that Chef Mao so kindly put together despite the large request, Zhongli offered to take you to visit Dihua Marsh to show you a few of his favorite sights, and maybe even enlighten you with some of the history as well.

There was something so enchanting about the way he spoke; his deep, honeyed voice coating over his words as he recounted tales of his many years of living. He exuded the calm and sophisticated aura of a scholar, which he practically was whether or not he chose to admit it, yet his occasional naivety and silliness were equally charming qualities of his.

You failed to realize how quickly you were drowning in his presence until he directed a question at you, which you had to embarrassingly ask him to repeat. Fortunately, Zhongli wasn’t irritated that you hadn’t been paying attention, in fact he found the dumbfounded expression you wore to be quite endearing.

“I said,” he began as he reached out, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and forefinger while tucking a few stray hairs and a glaze lily that he must’ve picked earlier, gently behind your ear.

He then leaned in, arms snaking around and pulling you towards him by the waist as his breath danced along the side of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin.

“...would you allow me to take you to see a few ruins with me? There is still so much that I wish to show you…”

A sudden tingle shot down your spine as Zhongli’s lips moved to decorate your neck in soft, delicate kisses that seemed to leave a burning imprint in their wake, leaving you slightly flushed. It was truly astonishing how easily he could leave you breathless, even with such little strenuous activity. His affectionate demeanor was slightly peculiar, too, but you were hardly in the position to complain about it.

“Then show me,” you replied, managing to tame the swarm of butterflies that had almost completely consumed you.

Letting out a deep chuckle, Zhongli withdrew his kisses while his hand moved to cup your cheek. He hummed in satisfaction, admiring you with his glowing amber gaze for a moment before speaking.

“Gladly.”

That afternoon was spent with Zhongli as your tour guide as you traversed the various decaying stone structures throughout the Guili Plains, Luhua Pool, and finally, Jueyun Karst, where Zhongli recalled some of his early memories of the adepti with a fond smile adorning his face. You quickly discovered him to be quite the archaeological expert, not that you ever doubted it of course, but he seemed to have quite the knack for uncovering intricate little mechanisms that had been hidden away and preserved in stone over the course of the last few millennia.

He was also very adamant about showing you many of Liyue’s great sights, and was not afraid to express this by taking you to every available vantage point, regardless of how far or out-of-reach it seemed. Even if you claimed to be exhausted, Zhongli would simply carry you the rest of the way because you were going to see this view. And what a view it was. From up high it was easy to take in almost the entirety of Liyue in all of its golden splendor, which was the original intention in bringing you here. This was something that he spent years constructing and cultivating, something he took great pride in and fought hard to protect. It was his world, and you were his crowned jewel.

As the sun was beginning to set, Zhongli escorted you back to the harbor before excusing himself to quickly go and “check something,” sending you off once again with a sweet kiss, and asking you to meet him at the peak of Mt. Tianheng in about twenty or so minutes. You smiled to yourself as you waved goodbye, curious as to what he had in mind and slightly amused by his frantic behavior. You thought back to your earlier denied inquiries regarding what was so special about today.

Perhaps now you would get some answers.

When you arrived at the rendezvous point, well, least to say you were taken aback. Laid out before you was a spread of a variety of your favorite foods, including desserts and a tea set, accompanied by an array of flickering candles that illuminated the small picnic blanket as well as the single glaze lily that grew nearby. Just past it stood the man that you had fallen in love with, his back turned as he watched the sun sink beneath the clouds.

“What’s all this?”

Immediately you caught his attention.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” he said, turning slightly to face you. “Come here. I have something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

He extended his hand out towards you, a gesture for you to stand beside him. You approached him hesitantly in an attempt to not disturb the lovely display he had assembled for you, while letting his arm gently drape itself across your shoulders.

Your breath caught in your throat. By the Archons, the view was stunning. Sure, you had been sight-seeing all day and this could hardly be any different from the last dozen places you trekked to watch the skyline, but there was something about the way in which the glowing aura of the evening sky reflected off of Liyue and the twinkling sea of its harbor that left you in completely awestruck.

Had you not been quite as transfixed as you were in that moment, perhaps you would’ve caught sight of the distant, far-away look in your lover's eyes. Maybe you would have noticed the way he was fidgeting slightly, or the way his eyes were no longer trained on the view, but on something far more radiant.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, snapping him out of his trance.

Zhongli smiled, enjoying watching the awe and wonder twinkle in your irises.

“Indeed it is.”

You felt his arm lift away from your shoulders.

“But I think I have found something far more precious.”

You felt his hand slip into yours.

“Oh really? And what’s tha—”

When you turned, Zhongli, Rex Lapis, the former Geo Archon, was kneeling before you, regarding you with such an adoring gaze as if you were the deity to be revered, answering your question without needing to utter a single syllable: ‘You’

“(Y/N),” he began, giving your hands a light squeeze. “There is much I’ve been meaning to say to you, but I fear that I have such little time,” he sighed. “When I first gave up my gnosis, I found myself wandering aimlessly, unsure of my place in this world now that I was no longer Rex Lapis. I am now just a mortal man, with no duty to my people. It was a… foreign concept to me, at first. I wasn’t sure how to lead a carefree life, with a clear and resolute heart, until I met you.

“I never anticipated to meet someone quite like yourself, nor did I intend to fall in love as deeply as I have, but I hold no regrets. You have shown me true happiness, and for that I must thank you.”

Zhongli pressed a kiss to your knuckles as you felt your eyes begin to well up with tears.

“Each day spent with you is as valuable as gold to me. Our time together is boundless. I knew not my place in this world before, but I now realize that it has always been right here with you.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“(Y/N), my love, I cannot imagine a world without you in it, and I wish to form a new contract with you from here on out, so please…”

Reaching into his pocket, Zhongli produced a small, black box. Inside was a beautiful jade ring, crested and adorned with gold.

“...will you marry me?”

—

It was a warm summer’s night, and the moon rose full, its light ricocheting off of crystalline streams of water as they cascaded down the high cliffs which surrounded you. The air was humid, but somehow the combination of mist and the gentle night’s breeze made each inhale feel more rejuvenating than the last.

Fireflies were out tonight. They were dancing about you and your fiancé as you stood together side by side adorned in matching hanfu, rapidly beating hearts synchronizing to the same rhythm. It was a relatively quiet ceremony. There weren’t too many guests, and the venue was fairly secluded, making the process feel much more intimate.

After lighting the altar candles and paying respects, a tea ceremony was held, followed by the exchanging of vows. A few adepti were present, as well as some close friends and family members. Seldom did you release each other’s hand, regardless of what you were doing or who was looking. It provided a sense of security for the both of you, a silent reminder to one another that ‘yes, I’m still here, and yes, this is real.’

Although Zhongli is known for being a very composed gentleman, he still found it difficult to restrain himself from sweeping you off your feet and twirling you around while kissing you all over; he was overjoyed, though he was not the easiest person to read.

Instead of performing such an extravagant display of affection, Zhongli opted for a single, chaste kiss once you completed in saying your vows. It was extremely tempting to turn that one kiss into many, much more passionate kisses, but Zhongli was still quite aware of his audience, giving him reason to hold back.

After the wedding reception was held and you had just sent off the very last guest, your husband pulled you aside, albeit a little harsher than intended. You let out a small yelp as you collided with him, surprised by his sudden brazenness.

“You look divine,” he spoke softly, admiring you as you were bathed in moonlight.

A hand then moved to brush some of the hair away from your face, while his other remained gently clasped with yours. Soft lips moved to caress your forehead, and then your temples.

“I have been waiting for this moment for a long time,” he continued.

His lips then moved to your cheek, then jaw, lingering there for a moment while his hand cradled your face.

“Longer than you can imagine,” his voice was deep, sultry, and right in your ear.

He moved to repeat the same process on the other side of your face.

“So forgive me if I’m a little selfish tonight.”

He kissed the tip of your nose before moving his lips to hover over yours, warm breath mingling with your own.

“I must make up for the lost time, after all.”

Zhongli sealed his promise with a kiss that was deep and devouring, conveying all the emotions he had ever felt for you as well as one last, simple message:

'I am utterly and wholly devoted to you.'

[hypnomicimagines]

For Honor [Samurai!Yamada Ichiro/Reader] - Chapter 6

The silence is painful.

You can’t help but feel used, the romance having burned up so shortly after you’d gotten what you wanted. You expected more from someone like him, from someone you thought you had known though it was probably your naivety speaking now. You shouldn’t have made assumptions about a man that you had hardly known a week and you shouldn’t have pushed him to do something he was clearly having doubts about, no matter how enthusiastic he seemed in the moment. You’re left alone in the back to ponder your thoughts, only getting a word out of Ichiro when he asks if you’re hungry or if you need to stop to stretch your legs.

You just want this trip over with.

The castle loomed in the distance and though your journey had taken a turn, you almost wished you were back in the woods again. The future that was practically decided for you was now within reach when it had felt thousands of miles away just this morning. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut but you swallowed back your worry and instead presented yourself as you knew you should, standing tall and proud as you approached the royal family of this region with your chin held high. Pleasantries are exchanged while Ichiro stood off to the side to allow you some room, your eyes meeting his for a split second before you both whipped your heads in another direction. Thankfully this little action isn’t caught as the Queen is far too happy to see you, pointing you towards a room where you could change before officially meeting the prince.

You’re attended to by the lady-in-waiting who thankfully doesn’t force conversation, wiping the dirt from skin and helping you into a dress perfectly suited for you. She gave you a few compliments in an attempt to brighten your mood and things felt almost normal again, like your priorities hadn’t taken a total turn while out in the wilderness with a wild samurai. You almost wished you could tell this stranger about your journey but it was too dangerous, Ichiro might be acting like a bastard now but you’d never do something to endanger him and his brothers. Before she left the room she said to take a few more moments for yourself, giving an understanding smile before she exited.

You’re thankful to finally be alone with your thoughts yet at the same time having others around distracted you from the pain of a one-sided love. You had a difficult time falling asleep the night before with how coldly Ichiro had treated you, and the fact he woke up the very next morning acting as though nothing had happened… It set you on edge. You had never met a man like him and you had been smitten so quickly perhaps you hadn’t gotten a full sense of the reality of his situation.

You knew as well as he did that there truly wasn’t a chance, no way for this to work in your favor.

You took another deep breath, hoping the prince wasn’t a total bastard and that your marriage to him would be merciful. When you finally had your wedding night with him would he be gentle? Would he know what to do? Would he guide his hands along your body with such precision you would think he was made for making love with you? It felt wrong to think of Ichiro when you were going out to meet your husband but you supposed this was just the beginning of the challenges you’d face as royalty, being bound by duty rather than getting to live a free life.

Ichiro stood off to the side as he watched you exit the room, his duty still wasn’t over until he saw you home safely and if anything happened here under his careful watch… He didn’t want to think of the repercussions. You looked so beautiful in your new gown but then again, he thought you’d looked beautiful in anything, even a potato sack though he’s sure you’d never consider fitting in one just so he could double-check. He bit his tongue to stop himself from addressing you, knowing it would seem too casual and that there were listening ears everywhere now. He gave a slight bow and then followed behind you as you were led to a more open room, where the prince was waiting with bated breath.

Well, Ichiro thought he should be but he was rather unimpressed by the overall demeanor of this so-called royalty. He didn’t graciously kiss your hand or have a sparkle in his eye when he first saw you, instead he approached like you were any other person off the street and greeted you almost normally. You wouldn’t think this was a meeting between two people soon to be betrothed and there was lingering confusion on your part as well, a careful glance back at Ichiro for reassurance that this was indeed an odd situation

“My prince it’s-“

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you. Just call me Samatoki if we’re gonna be doing this.” You’re even more confused, head tilted but you nodded; he was certainly unlike any other prince you met before, that was for sure. You’re fascinated by him almost immediately, wondering if this was just a test and they’d switched out the prince with some street urchin to test you. “I don’t like this at all. I want you to know that.”

“Uh, I’m… I’m sorry? Is there something I’ve done?”

“Get out.” You think he’s talking to you at first but he’s glaring at the guards at the entrance of the room, who looked rather wary but quickly ducked their heads and fled as Samatoki’s glare intensified. When his eyes trailed to Ichiro there was a moment of panic, suddenly feeling exposed and all too aware that you’d be completely at this man’s mercy should you be stuck alone with him. You gave Ichiro a pleading look and, despite the awkwardness between you, it was clear he still took his job seriously.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Ichiro’s voice is steady and calm, his arms crossed over his chest as he fixed the prince with a steady glare. “Anything you say to her can be said to me.”

“And what if I don’t want to fuckin’ talk to you?” Ichiro seemed taken aback by the curse, his wide eyes cluing you in that he hadn’t been aware of the prince’s unsavory personality. “Get lost, or I can have you thrown in the dungeons so you really can’t guard your sweet little princess.”

Ichiro seemed at a loss but you’d rather not have your only protection thrown somewhere unreachable, so you put your brave face on and address him yourself.

“Could you just…wait outside the door, please? I’ll scream if anything happens.” Ichiro wondered if that was really okay with you but he nodded, not willing to show you the same disrespect the prince had been. It was making his blood boil to think you’d be marrying someone so blatantly disrespectful but then again, he had violated you, stolen your virginity and that made him even guiltier of this crime.

“You think I’d give you a chance to do that?” Samatoki is smirking, and you rolled your eyes at the childish retort that was clearly meant just to get under Ichiro’s skin.

“As you can see the prince is nothing but a petulant child. I’ll be okay.”

Once you were alone, you felt the obligation to be proper slip away.

“What exactly is your problem?” You started off the conversation, cutting Samatoki off before he could get another word in. He regarded you with a raised eyebrow, allowing you to continue on. “I traveled for days in the most uncomfortable way possible to come here, to meet a prince who was worthy of marrying, and I’m met with a rude oaf who can’t even properly greet a lady? I’m not happy about this arrangement either but at least I know how to fake it!”

“You think I haven’t faked it my whole life? Think you’re the only one who’s ever struggled?” Samatoki shrugged his shoulders, turning away from you to look out a window that led to a garden area. You walked closer to see what he was staring at, noticing that the princess, his younger sister if you heard correctly, was outside with the same lady-in-waiting who had helped you get ready to meet him. You can’t tell which one of them he’s looking at but as soon as you open your mouth to ask Samatoki held his hand up.

“What is it?”

“Do you think you could fake being married to me for your entire life? Do you think that would make either one of us happy?” He’s regarding you with a serious expression. “Don’t bother answering now, I want you to really think about it. I’ve rebelled against my parents my entire life and don’t think I’ll stop now, but this is the last thing I want.”

“Are you one of those true romantics? The type that believes marriage should be between two people in love rather than arranged for the sake of money or territory?”

“And if I am?”

“I’d say you weren’t really the type.”

“That’s the thing then, isn’t it? You don’t know me.” Samatoki started to mess with his belt, a dagger safely harnessed to the side of his thigh. You were fascinated about why he would be carrying such a thing around but he seemed unwilling to answer your questions, at least for now, more focused on debating philosophical views that wouldn’t do either of you any good. “I’m willing to tell my parents it won’t work out.”

“You’ve hardly known me a day and you’ve already decided that?”

“It has nothing to do with you. I’m sure you’re a fine…princess.” He’s staring longingly outside again, such a vulnerable expression you wonder if he realized he was even making it. It was clear he wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but confined by the walls of a castle, bound to a royal duty he hadn’t asked for.

You felt a kinship with the prince, even if it wasn’t the romantic spark that had been hoped for.

“Shouldn’t we at least… Attempt a connection? I have no problem denying this proposal as well but to keep our parents on good terms I feel as though we should… pretend to get along?”

“I’ll take the blame when this heads south, you won’t have to worry about that. You’ll just have to figure out a plan on how to deal with the suitor who gets thrown your way.” You hated the truth behind his words but knew the reality was the same for him; even if you both found someone you loved, if they didn’t hold the proper title there would be no point. You wouldn’t be able to be together.

“I think I like talking to you, at least.”

Samatoki seemed baffled by that statement, but the grin on his face told you that your honesty was appreciated.

“You’re not half bad, either. Could be snootier, I’ve met plenty of uptight women in my life… Have you ever handled a blade?”

“Yes, actually.” In a very controlled environment, but still.

“Interesting. Come then, show me your skills. If we’re going to pretend, we might as well have some fun with how we spend our time together.”

[fatewoven]

His armor remains bristled, sharp at the edges. Both a shield and weapon built from broken pieces, salvaged and scavenged, paid in blood an a waning naivety over the years. To that effect: his disdain proves oppressive. There's something clogging in the back of his throat, preventing him from breathing properly for too long of a moment at her response. "What I've endured," he repeats slowly, tone baleful. Acidity clings to each harsh consonant. "What could you possibly understand about it? No other choice existed but to endure it. Do you think I simply tolerated being treated as less than nothing every day of my life?" More awaits of that sordid, gruesome, and shameful history awaits on the tongue, but he swallows instead. Tastes bitter hops and something worse as he glares at Merrill and her too-wide eyes. Dalish, they're always looking down at something; always finding a lack to point out, a wisdom the flat-eared elves haven't the bloodline to earn. Too easily does her voice slips between the gaps of his armor, a chisel against the brittle surface he wants to hide forevermore. "I hope you do not take your freedom of choice for granted for as long as you live, mage." Expression shifting toward cynical neutrality, Fenris leans back into the chair. "I refuse because I want to refuse. It's an experience that's yet to wear out its novelty. The way you speak has little difference to how magisters bemoan their lost glory. You can pave whatever road you wish with good intentions, but do not be surprised when it leads to an ending that's far from satisfactory."

"Shall that reason present itself, will you truly be able to let go of it after this long ? " It was a genuine question. She had so much trouble in the beginning to shed what she had been when coming to Kirkwall. She had learned a lot from it, but to learn you had to accept certain things. As she watched , with a slight stiffness, Fenris take another swig of ale, she did wonder why he indulged talking to her, if he had that much disdain for her.

The usual chain of words then came again. Even if she showed him that she was no little girl, that she had been educated and tought to be a Keeper, he would still find something to correct her. "So you're hateful and a hypocrite" she concluded. " You are willing to use something from your past and mold it to something you stand for. You too use markings built on the corpses of countless slaves, with a potential that could cripple you and everyone around you. However you think you know what you are doing, but you only see the world through what you endured. " She picked up her cup, she felt the tips of her ears burning a bit. She was so daring, she had to tell that to Varric and Isabela later. But , the tone was still one of a historian. There was no judgement, just a matter of fact conclusion. "Maybe that is why you are so grumpy, lying to yourself must be more exhausting than me digging through the past. " She put her cup down. "And you are mistaken. I understand your disdain, you refuse to relate." And now she would wait for the sardonic laugh or the cynical reply.

[dropintomanga]

The Young Jump Upstarts - Oshi no Ko and Boy’s Abyss

Two titles that caught my eye as of late come from Shueisha’s Weekly Young Jump Magazine and both cover adolescents dealing with the reality of how the world operates.

Oshi no Ko is about a male hospital doctor who’s into an idol named Ai Hoshino. One day, Ai is entrusted to his care as she is pregnant with twins. Trying hard to contain his inner fanboy, the doctor does what’s best for Ai despite the world of idol culture being harsh towards any idol that’s not “pure.” (i.e. in relationships, had sex, etc.) The doctor, however, ends up getting killed by a stalker of Ai’s. In a twist of fate, he is reincarnated as one of Ai’s twins. Now reborn as Aqua Hoshino, he grows up into being a performer in the entertainment industry a la Ai and his journey is a introspective look at its workings. The manga is touted as a series created by a superstar duo, Aka Akasaka (Kaguya-sama: Love Is War) and Mengo Yokoyari (Scum’s Wish).

Boy’s Abyss is about a male high school student named Reiji Kurose and his relationships with various people in his hometown. The town he goes up is small. There’s not much going on. Reiji feels that he has no purpose in life. While contemplating his future, he meets a woman working in a convenience store named Nagi Aoe. It turns out Nagi is an idol that Reiji loves. The two begin to get to know each other and the story becomes a suspense drama where toxic relationships seem to be the one thing that gives the characters some kind of certainty when life continues to fail them.

I feel that these two statements sum up the series best.

Oshi no Ko - if you’re in a big city full of opportunistic individuals and are naive to a fault, you’re going to get manipulated.

Boy’s Abyss - if you’re in a small town that’s tainted and are naive to a fault, you’re going to get manipulated.

Both series focus on lying to yourself in order to make the people around you happy. Oshi no Ko talks about the lies that idols (and performers/actors in general) have to put up to convince their fans to like them. The smiles, the cheerfulness, the purity - all of it an act to provide some sense of connection that’s parasocial at best. It’s better to live in a lie to escape reality for a bit, no? In Boy’s Abyss, almost every character tries to justify their reasons for what they do. They feel trapped in their own abyss. Throughout the manga, Reiji himself comes up with multiple excuses (due to fear) to not leave town. He himself feels that his family is lying to him in some way, but lacks the courage to speak up for himself in an assertive manner.

Suicide is another topic brought up in both series. There’s an arc in Oshi no Ko that has a young female character trying to kill herself due to negative fan reaction and it resembles the Hana Kimura/Terrance House situation (albeit with a happier resolution). In Boy’s Abyss, suicide is a central theme in the story. The small town Reiji lives in is noted for one thing - a local river where two lovers killed themselves due to constant pressure from town residents. Nagi, the woman Reiji meets, talks about ending it all at the same river and encourages Reiji to join her. Reiji starts to straddle the line between wanting to live and wanting to die. There’s also a mystery regarding the circumstances of the double suicide incident at the river.

There’s a grander theme from both manga - it’s that the world today can treat children as if they’re worthless. Regarding the Oshi no Ko arc I just mentioned, Aqua speaks up to a producer about how production folks tend to make certain actors (especially young actors) in reality shows look bad just to generate drama. He asks the producer if they have any shame in prioritizing ratings over actors’ feelings and proclaims that adults should have responsibility in protecting children. The producer begrudgingly admits that Aqua has a point. In Boy’s Abyss, a couple of the adult characters want their children to stay in town no matter what. While there are adult characters who do want young people from the town to escape, their intentions are to satisfy their own desires by taking advantage of the naivety of youth.

There’s a line in Boy’s Abyss that sums up how I see both series - what’s the point of freedom if you aren’t freed from yourself? I would add the following question as well - what if adults are a reason why youth aren’t freed from their own doubts? When you have a number of adults who don’t seem to care about making the world better for children and youth, you can’t blame youth for having all kinds of feelings waiting to be expressed. The timing and popularity of these series couldn’t be more perfect as it’s time to make a bigger jump towards giving youth chances to dream with consideration to their experiences and not let them fall into an abyss due to adult selfishness.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Chapter 1

The revelry from the bookstore leaves a heady buzz of la libertà flowing through their veins, and as the crescent moon climbs higher in a pin-pricked sky, Rome’s labyrinthine streets bear witness to the loss of their remaining inhibitions. Drunken kisses give way to drunken dancing - and unfortunate drunken vomiting - but the ancient cobbles are their compass on this ferragosto evening, steering them back to the complicit safety of their hotel. 

The stale scent of sex still lingers in the room, yet tempted as they are to add to it, the prospect of their imminent separation is a sobering force. Elio’s body is heavy with exhaustion. The oppressive tightness in his chest magnified by all that he’s trying to ignore. Their time is borrowed. Soon, all of this will be naught but memory. The man beside him nothing but a ghost. Haunting his every step with visions of a life denied. A future obfuscated by what-ifs and maybes.   

He refuses to sleep, however. Refuses to sacrifice a single minute to unconsciousness in spite of the grappa’s siren call. Absurd though it is, a part of him dreads waking up alone. That Oliver will disappear like a thief in the night - taking what’s left of his shattered heart with him. His guards are down - all his pretences stripped away - but here they are, stretched out on a too-small bed, solemn fingers caressing familiar skin. Worshipping each other by words, if not by the flesh. 

And it isn’t easy. Of course it isn’t. Elio’s an individuo reservato. A trait he’s uncomfortably aware of. But he can’t let that stop him from spilling his innermost thoughts. From divulging the things he wishes he’d done differently. Or not at all. In some aspects, he’s sure he’s repeating himself, but there’s just so much he needs Oliver to hear. Things he never dared tell him previously - never deemed vital - when the end of their summer idyll was a nebulous concept.  

Like how he’d leave the adjoining door open at night, hoping beyond hope that Oliver would walk through it. Or that afternoon at the tennis courts, when he’d recoiled from his massage for fear of leaning into the frisson of excitement. Needs him to understand his visceral reaction the morning after they first slept together. The crippling anxiety that twisted his intentions, necessitating a hasty - if short-lived - retreat. Wants to beg him not to forget. To remember everything. So that when next he tastes the salt-tang of the ocean upon his lips, the sweetness of apricot juice beneath a cloudless yonder, a piece of Elio - nevermind how fleeting - will slip into that parallel life, too.

All his secrets. 

All his worries. 

All he’s put off for later. 

A futile notion, admittedly, now that there is no later. 

No more chance for postponement. 

Thankfully, he isn’t the only one speaking, and Oliver lays his own regrets out like a hand of cards whenever he stumbles into a tongue-tied silence. His forearm is slung around his waist, their legs tangled at the knees, and Elio drowns in his eyes as he recalls the steely glares that once pierced him to the core, but which he now appreciates were a means of self-defence. An attempt to stave off the unavoidable.

“Did you mean it?” he whispers, twisting Oliver’s Star of David between his fingertips as he burrows into the sticky warmth of his neck. “When you said you’d been happy here?”

“How can you even ask me that?” 

“How can I not?” Elio replies, failing to control the tremor in his voice. “You tried to keep your distance when you arrived. It was me who sought you out. If I hadn’t pushed so hard -”

“I’d have probably spent ten more days kicking myself for my cowardice,” Oliver tells him, dropping kisses to his knuckles as though they’re something to be cherished. “Wearing holes in my espadrilles… trying to hide a semi each time you passed by in those swim trunks...”

Elio snorts. “The feeling’s mutual, mon ami.”

“So we’re both idiots, then?”

“Well… one of us was being purposefully difficult...”

“Goose,” Oliver growls, and Elio giggles despite himself when he’s tickled without mercy. “I’ll show you purposefully difficult.”

It soon devolves into a childish wrestling match, Elio’s wrists pinned above him as Oliver scrabbles along his sides, leaving him bow-taut and winded. “Tutto apposto! Enough!”

“You give?”

“I give,” he says, lungs heaving in his chest. “Dio… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Nonsense.” Oliver rolls to the side, tipping his chin up to better meet his eyes. ”This is new to us both. It’s only natural to have doubts.”

Elio huffs. “Doubt is the father of inventions.”

“And may I ask what you’re inventing?”

An awkward shrug. “Nothing,” Elio says, afraid his misgivings will lead them down a destructive path. “And everything. You know how my brain works.”

“I do, yes.” Oliver brushes a thumb over his bottom lip. “Though for my sins, I’ve yet to find cause for complaint.”

“Déviant.” 

“Takes one to know one.”

Elio nips at the tormenting digit, not quite ready to let the subject go. “I want to hear it,” he murmurs, teeth scraping the nail. “I think I need to hear it.”

“Elio…”

“Just tell me,” he insists, and sighing, Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” 

Impatience flares at the return of his evasiveness, and the remorse in Oliver’s gaze is immediate. “We never talked much about my family, did we?” he asks, and Elio shakes his head, shuffling closer as Oliver draws a shuddering breath. “My parents, they’re.... well. To describe them as traditional would be a kindness,” he continues. “Our relationship has been strained for years, but they have certain... expectations, I suppose. For my future, specifically. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” Elio asks, stiffening as I'm sure I'll pay for it somehow echoed from the not so distant past. 

The implication is clear, and maybe there are razor blades in his expression, because Oliver’s own turns instantly apologetic. “I guess not,” he says, sliding a conciliatory hand to his hip. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Elio frowns. “In what way?”

“With your folks,” Oliver explains. “My father would cart me off to a correctional facility.” A beat. “He still might.” 

“Only if he finds out,” his traitorous mouth blurts before his alleged genius can catch up, and Elio’s heart sinks. “But he won’t, will he?”

It’s less a question, more a statement, and Oliver’s jaw clenches as he stares at him in silent concession. “I wish things could be different.”

“I know,” Elio says, the words braver than the sentiment behind them. “Me too.”  

But the universe isn’t that lenient. Like Icarus, they’ve flown too near to the sun, and the consequences of such defiance will see their wings clipped once they crash back down to earth. He’d cautioned himself on the journey south to prepare for the blow. Peered out the grimy window of the direttissimo, knowing that when he next stands on the platform he’ll be alone. That he’ll hate it. Those rehearsals, it seems, have done little to dull the pain of what’s to come, and latent superstition has left him fumbling in the dark, regardless.

“E’ la vita,” Elio says, resorting to self-preservation as he dredges up a smile - the over-bright, false one he’s perfected through years of dinner drudgery. “Why risk it all for a bit of fun, right?”

“Don’t do that.” Apparently Elio’s not the only one who can see through a facade. “You mean more to me than some fling, and you know it.”

“But -” 

“No. Hear me out.” Earnest, Oliver smooths the hair from Elio’s temple. “These past six weeks… I don’t know how to describe how important they were to me. The freedom. The acceptance.” His throat bobs in the grey strokes of dawn. “You.”

“Me?” 

“Us.” Oliver fidgets with a loose thread on Elio’s shirt. “I meant it,” he mutters at last, winding an errant curl around the index finger of his other hand. “I have been happy here. I’ve been happy with you.” He hesitates. A quick flash of indecision. “I’m not sure I was ever really happy before you.” 

“Please don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Per carità! That only makes it worse,” Elio says, whirling away to hide in Oliver’s collar. The sour musk of sweat is soaked into the material, and he inhales deeply, hoarding every piece of him while he still can. “You are the very best parts of me,” he confesses, lifting his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do when -”

“Hey…” Oliver’s grip tightens. “Didn’t we go over this? You’ll be -”

“Fine. You said.”

“Clearly it bears repeating.” 

Elio touches his face. Watches the ripples of emotion spread out like a pebble cast into the lake. “And you?” he returns, recollecting that night on the rock. His naivety in presuming Oliver’s ghost wouldn’t always be staring out at the horizon. Rodin’s Thinker clad in billowy cotton. “You’ll be okay?”

A breath. “I’ll be okay.”

Elio’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince, so he kisses him gently in lieu of examining it further, his stomach flipping when Oliver pulls back with an air of exquisite softness. “What time do we need to be at the airport?” he asks, seeking sanctuary in distraction. “You have your passport, sì?”

“I do,” Oliver says, studying him carefully. “The plane leaves at noon. But don’t feel you have to -” He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “You don’t have to see me off. Not if you don’t want -”

“I want.”

“Elio -”

“Non essere ridicolo. I’m coming,” he tells him, fighting a shiver as the cool breeze from the window brings goosebumps to his skin. “Of course I’m coming.” 

The relentless tick of the clock rings loud in the sudden silence, and Elio raises up on his elbow, only for Oliver to cup his cheek before he can turn towards the wall. 

“Don’t look,” he whispers, sounding choked as he double checks the time on his watch. “It’s ten minutes fast at any rate.”

“Ten minutes?” Elio laughs. Slightly unhinged. “What difference does that make? Ten? Twenty? You still have to leave.”

He detests the unspoken word that hovers between them. The entire phrase a sullen admission of weakness: you still have to leave me.

“Don’t think of it like that,” Oliver murmurs, one hand stroking the base of his spine. ”We have a few hours yet.” 

Elio sniffs. “Not like they’ll matter tomorrow.”

“Maybe not. But they matter right now.” Oliver nudges their foreheads together. “Every second, Elio.” 

“Every second, Elio,” he echoes numbly, if only to call him by his name one last time.

He’s shaking, he realises, though in all honesty he doesn’t care that his vulnerabilities are on display. That Oliver can see how lost in him he really is. That the situation is gutting him, and he’s unable to stop the bleeding. His chest feels concave. The space below his ribs too small to contain the sheer need and protectiveness that washes through him. He wants to shelter Oliver from the storm that lies ahead. To house him beneath his breast where the burdens of this world cannot touch him. Encapsulate everything Oliver is within the confines of himself, meagre as those confines might be.

But what can he do? Implore him to stay? Ask him to give up his doctorate? His career? His responsibilities? And for what? A life in the shadows? Always looking over their shoulders. Always that sense of shame.

He thinks of the pink and yellow lilies that bloom in the giardino back in B. The delicate petals that unfurl for such a brief period of time. There’s something recherché, he knows, in such transitory beauty, yet Elio’s never lacked for stubbornness. Oliver may believe his story is already written - that their destiny is forged in stone - but no one’s ever survived a freefall by continuing to spiral. 

For something so tragically temporary, their bond has left a permanent mark. And Elio? He wants to beat his fists against this odious ending until they’re bloodied and raw.

[ourlittleforever]

first kiss; millie & dooku

warnings: slightly suggestive content; age gap (between adults, Dooku is 60 in this)

---

After dinner, Dooku and Millie went down to the hotel garden. They laid a hand on the crook of his elbow, trying to ignore how tired it made their arm; he was 17 inches taller than them and having to reach up hurt their shoulder.

They stepped out into the night, the cool Coruscant air refreshing after the stuffiness of the dinner party. Dooku had noticed Millie’s earlier apprehension and politely excused the duo to go get some fresh air. Their heart ached with fondness. Dooku was a nobleman and politician, but he never forced Millie to stay during parties if they were anxious or uncomfortable. He would often escort them out to make them feel at ease – or if he could not escape his duties, a battle droid was always available to help.

Millie glanced up nervously at Dooku, flexing their fingers, wishing they could intertwine their fingers with his. He looked down with a gentle smile, one he reserved for them alone. “You wish to hold my hand,” he said coolly, sensing their feelings as always. When Millie mumbled an embarrassed yes, he extended his hand to them and they took it. He was so warm, so big compared to them. His presence combined with the light thrum of alcohol in their veins made Millie feel like they were floating through the world.

They strolled aimlessly, hand in hand, under the light of Coruscant’s four moons, until they reached the fountain in the center of the garden. Millie stepped up onto the edge of the fountain and grinned at Dooku. “I’m taller than you now!”

There was a cheeky twinkle in his eye as he kissed their hand. “Indeed you are, my dear. How ever will I recover from this?” Millie embraced him, their cheek brushing against his beard, and they felt at home. They also had a deep surge of pride – Dooku was regarded as a cold man, an unfeeling man, but he was genuine and warm with them and them alone.

He pulled back slightly, gazing upon them fondly before speaking. “I don’t believe I’ve ever shown you the Force, my dear. I could make you taller than me without the concrete rim of a fountain.”

“You can still use the Force? Even if you’re not a Jedi anymore?”

Dooku nodded; he found Millie’s curiosity and naivety charming. “Indeed. My connection to the Force remains, even if I no longer associate with the Order.” He stepped back and let go of them, lifting a hand slightly. Within moments, Millie was floating above the rim of the fountain. They giggled in delight, their voice carrying into the busy cityscape above. Millie reached out for Dooku, taking his hand, and he could sense their anxiety at floating above the ground. “You doubt me,” he said, not upset, but amused.

“N-no! Sorry – just – afraid of heights!” Millie wrapped their arms around his shoulders, and Dooku embraced them once more, keeping them floating so they were eye-to-eye.

“Better?” he asked, that twinkle still in his eye. Being held by him made Millie feel utterly tiny.

“Mhm.” Their eyes flitted down to his lips before looking away and blushing furiously. Dooku had started out as their benefactor, and while he was kind to them, Millie had not expected to develop actual feelings for the man; he was 40 years their senior, after all. As they spent more time with the Count, though, they found themselves falling in love with him regardless of the age gap. They were grateful he enjoyed how physically affectionate they were, because that was the only way they could express their feelings without making a fool of themself.

“What are you thinking of, dear?” He was carrying them now, back to the fountain. Dooku set them down as he sat on the edge, keeping Millie between his spread knees. He was still as tall as Millie was, despite sitting down while they remained standing.

“Why’d you set me down?” Millie asked as a way of responding, trying to ignore the beating of their heart. “Does your back hurt, old man?”

Affection lit up Dooku’s honey brown eyes. “You’re lucky I like you quite a bit,” he murmured, running his hands down their arms to their hands before he grabbed their hips. Millie rested their forearms on his shoulders as he looked at them. Now it was his turn to stare at their lips. They noticed this and they looked away shyly. He let go of their hips and concern filled his voice. “Are you alright? I haven’t made you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all, Count,” they mumbled. “I… I’m sorry. I’m so bad at expressing myself.”

He chuckled lowly at their clear embarrassment. “Adorable.” His hands were back on their hips. “You vex me, little one.”

“How so?”

“I’m not a young man. Yet you choose to spend time with me, and you actively seek to show me affection. Now, this could be explained away by me being your benefactor. But somehow, I doubt that my credits are the only thing keeping you by my side.”

Millie’s breath hitched. Of course he saw right through them. “Count…”

“Just Dooku.”

“Dooku,” they corrected themself, “I… I believe I… have feelings for you.” Maker above, they sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush, not an adult. “You make me feel safe. Appreciated. I’ve never really felt that before.” They flushed as Dooku tucked a strand of hair behind their ear and cupped their cheek in a large hand.

“May I kiss you?”

Millie nodded, and they leaned in. Dooku placed a hand on the back of their head and urged them closer. His lips brushed theirs, his beard tickling them slightly. He pulled them close to fully kiss them, his lips surprisingly soft. His clean, masculine scent surrounded them, and they purred as his hands began to wander back to their hips. "Ah…"

Dooku sat back and admired them in the moonlight. Millie followed his lips, and he smiled. "You enjoy kissing me, little one."

"Can we… can we head back to the room for the night? I don't want to go back to that party… I'd prefer to be with you."

He nodded. "Of course, my dear."

[briannabrackens]

♣️

for someone that was so impulsive and frankly informal, there were patterns of naivety that danced within her wide, doe-like orbs as she looked between the facial expressions the ladies shared between one another as she stood in the middle, with a bat, as though she had not been busy practicing her technique sneakily just some moments prior. for a moment, brianna thought the flame haired lady had approached the three of them, however it became apparent that the lady had only wished to speak with one of them.

her own dark brows furrowed slightly at the tension, and for a moment brianna was going to tell all of them to build a bridge and get over whatever issue was here she knew not of, when the other two women walked ahead after assuring they would wait for her at the end of the gardens.

"want a shot?" brianna asked,as the woman's striking jewel orbs looked upon the bat she held at her skirts. she extended it over to the woman, as though she would have no issue with the woman taking the opportunity, using the heel of her shoe to roll the ball into position. "just be sure to mind reginald, he do be quite old and lady grafton be very protective of him." she used her hand to shield her gaze from the sun for a moment to be sure to mind where reginald was, deciding there was enough space. she heard the woman's accent, and she sounded entirely proper; civilised. the type of lady one would find in portraits. she were a westerlander or a reach woman, it were clear to see in the way the woman carried herself with a level of confidence that was different to brianna's own brash sort of confidence.

"this be my first gathering but i do see what you mean." brianna spoke; the other would have had the opportunity to come across many other people time and time again. "lots of faces. lots of small talk." now, she found herself trying to remember names she truly cared not for, or trying not to talk about people she found odd. it always happened anyway, considering knowing looking were shared between the three who were always joined by the hip. when the lady introduced herself by name, brianna's vivid orbs flickered over to the woman's direction, holding her gaze. why did that momentarily cause her to stop all she was doing? why did that matter?

"oh really?" brianna's words were not meant to be a dig. it were true, during the annulment, it were all anyone heard. all anyone listened to.

she nodded as the lady introduced herself, her aura warm. "lady brianna of house bracken. my brother, lord ronan…you'd have heard of him, i do believe." she found herself trailing off on how. because how would feel the need to bring in the ruling lord of golden tooth into the conversation - all knew of the closeness between the two men that shared the battlefield together. "it is nice to meet you, my lady."

Calla took notice of the way the other two ladies looked at her, fairly used to such expressions. They often ranged from being subtly scandalized to downright open contempt. The red lioness merely held their gaze, a confident pull at the corner of her lips, raising her eyebrows. Off you go, her demeanor seemed to say. And they did, walking away to grant some time for the Lady of Stone Hedge and the Lady of Golden Tooth.

“That looks fun,” she commented, glancing at the bat the Riverlander held. She wielded it somewhere between a weapon and a child's plaything, making Calla recall the less-than-ladylike games she liked to play with her brothers when she was younger. Before her mother began her attempts to shape her to be a dignified woman of the West. How much failure had there been in such an endeavor, more so for the red lioness' passions and capricious nature than for any shortcomings of Lanna Lefford.

“I am quite well, thank you,” her diction and accent entirely different from that of the woman before her. There was a particular spirited nature in the way Brianna Bracken spoke and carried herself, so it intrigued her that Leo would find himself drawn to someone so opposite to him. It was a pleasant surprise, really. “Oh fret not, my lady, we see so many faces in every gathering, don't we? We'd not been formally introduced, though. I'm Lady Calla Lefford”.