#visit to an eccentric lady

[egoschwank]

al things considered — when i post my masterpiece #1235

first posted in facebook october 31, 2023

nils dardel -- "visit hos excentrisk dam" (1921)

"to miss conway this was a challenge. things which were somewhere had been stored by herself and could be located, but things which alice had put in a safe place were often lost forever; the safeness of the place seemed to absolve her from the necessity of remembering where it was" … elizabeth fair

"when the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go and you've just had some kind of mushroom and your mind is moving low go ask alice i think she'll know" … grace slick

"but alice doesn't live here anymore" … al janik

[swordmaid]

thinking about if there was a masquerade quest in act 3 I think shri’iia would THRIVE that’s her shit but it would be unorthodox to see a drow in such a high class party so I def think she would pretend to be nym or mamzell’s newest drow prostitute and she’d be latching on either gale/wyll/astarion/shadowheart or whoever is pretending to be the high class society member that was invited in the party as their plus one/escort for the night.

i think she’d also put on a new disguise - maybe a wig - maybe some makeup to obscure her features - like just imagine her with some bangs and eyebrows it’s a vibe

[glossgojo]

father charlie mayhew x undercover detective fem! reader/that one fleabag scene

5k words (i went crazy with this one)

oh boy where do i begin

TAGS: siren reader!, AFAB reader, religious themes, nonreligious reader, confession booth is sexy, oraI male receiving, big d!ck charlie, dubious consent, p in v, no protection, breeding cuz duh it’s me, blood k!nk (if u squint)

after lois was nearly detained for being belligerently drunk at work, the FBI called you in. not to work alongside her no, to survey and investigate the community. the crimes surrounded her. you became lois’s daughter’s “friend” living with her and hanging around whenever you could. fortunately for both of you, lois did actually like your company and so did her daughter.

with some miracle you became a part of her everyday life, even tagging along when she met sister megan once. the nun was peculiar and although you weren’t nearly as trusting as lois you liked her enough to fake your way into an unlikely friendship. you the hard on her luck “college student” and her the eccentric murder-obsessed nun. it worked well enough for a cover story and she seemed to buy it. given your experience you knew enough about murderers to get along with her, pretending to share her passion for serial killers and the like. she had mentioned visiting the diner over text one day, you thought it a great opportunity to get out and people watch but what you didn’t expect was that she had company.

you knew megan was unconventional to say the least but you didn’t expect her to be on a date with, the looks of it, a lady killer. the closer you got the more you had to mask your reaction, she was with the new priest. you just didn’t expect him to be near your age and straight out of a GQ magazine. you willed a smile to your lips as you sauntered to the side of her booth, throwing an around the back of her seat and leaning down. megan tore her eyes away from the priest, meeting yours after what felt like minutes. you didn’t blame her, you were having a hard time ignoring him as well. “megan! hey i hope i'm not interrupting.” you finally looked pointedly towards him, your smile withering as you met his chocolate eyes. you hadn’t seen eyes so dark in a while.

“did something happen?” she assumed you had an update, it wouldn’t be the first time since you lived so close to lois. you sometimes told her details to gain her trust, of course clearing it with lois first. you pretended you did, pretended whatever you had to say was not for the eyes of a very curious priest. his eyes hadn’t left you since you interrupted.

“no, uh we can talk later.” you motioned slightly towards him and megan realized she’d never made introductions. she broke eye contact turning towards the priest, finding him already looking at you, well more so the small sliver of skin your crop top displayed above your skirt from the way you stretched over her booth. she knew father mayhew was less traditional but she didn’t expect this.

“oh y/n this is father mayhew.” you looked at him waiting a beat before you smiled brighter than before, he was intrigued to say the least. you were confusing him, sending signals he couldn’t quite decipher. maybe he wasn’t your type because you seemed wholly unaffected by him. that or you were just good at hiding it.

“nice to meet you mr.mayhew.” there was no way you were calling him father, you weren’t religious much less catholic.

“father-“ megan started to correct you and you cocked your head to the side, ready to remind her you didn’t believe in organized religion.

“charlie is fine, please y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” he cut in before you two began your conversation, seeing the way your eyes narrowed at the correction. your eyes were back on him as soon as he said your name, masterfully hiding how your stomach flipped at it coming from his lips. it didn’t matter to him that you weren’t religious, hell it might be for the best if you weren’t. he would rather never see you or your red heels ever again.

“charlie, i’ll leave you two to it.” you attributed the startling attraction you felt to the taboo of it all. a priest, sinfully handsome, and from the look of his shoulders and arms his body was even more unholy. your glances had been brief but they were enough to spike your curiosity.

“please join us, i’d be interested to hear whatever you were about to share.” there was that egotistical expression on his face that made you think he didn’t usually get no from women.

“oh i don’t know it’s kind of a secret. can you keep a secret charlie?” you were pulling out all the stops, straightening your posture, batting your eyelids, even cocking your head to the side and if megan wasn’t so transfixed by his reaction she would’ve taken notes. he was completely drawn into you, reminding himself to blink and respond when you a smile twitched at the corner of your lips when you were met with silence. you knew you had him and he knew too.

“let’s pretend this is confession.” he drew his arms out, leaning back against the booth and you took the challenge, sitting next to megan before she could try to leave you two alone. the scent of your perfume hit him as you sat down, sensual and distinct. he’d remember it for days.

“sure confession, i’ve always liked the notion. there’s something so sexy about the whole thing don’t you think megan?” charlie watched you try to shift the subject away from whatever you came to say. he wasn’t so naive. however one thing became clear, you didn’t trust him.

“oh geez, i guess it is sexy. you’re dishing out your deepest darkest secrets in a small box where you can’t see the other person.” he could see the way your eyes softened around the edges when you looked at megan. and the way they changed when you looked back towards him. he hadn’t felt so wholly consumed by someone. whatever trap you had laid out, he was ensnared.

“i’ve always wondered who a priest confesses to?”

“God.” his eyebrow cocked at the question, eyes lighting up in amusement and you bashfully nodded your head.

“ah right.” megan laughed at your response, finding the exchange a bit trivial. she was itching to hear the new information.

“i’m gonna head back to the church, can’t exactly leave it unattended this long. sister it was great to speak with you and again nice to meet you y/n.” you waved him a goodbye as he got up and walked past you both, your eyes never leaving him until you couldn’t crane your neck much further. megan shook off the worries that were beginning to surface and instead pestered you to spill your guts. you did as soon as the diner’s bell rang to signal the door closing. you told her what you had rehearsed all the while being haunted by the ghost of father mayhew’s appearance.

the murders continued and you spent late nights with lois spinning every possible theory. you couldn’t scratch the itch that bothered you about megan and charlie. instead of asking megan to meet you, you decided to visit the father himself. although you would play it off as a last minute plan you carefully dressed for the occasion, a baby pink cropped cardigan covered your lacy tank top fit with high waisted flare jeans that hugged your curves just right. it looked casual and your skin was indeed covered enough for church but if you stretched or raised your arms even slightly your skin would show and you knew his eyes would find their way there just like before. you wore baby pink platform heels to match even, your hair up in a seemingly effortless updo that actually took you thirty minutes to perfect. and to top it all off you made sure to smell downright sinful and gloss your lips to the heavens.

he didn’t stand a chance.

you were grateful to find the church empty save the priest in question sitting in the pews reading what you assumed was the bible. the click of your heels drew his gaze over his shoulder, he would lose this battle without a doubt in his mind. he only hoped god would forgive him after. he rose to stand, abandoning the bible with ease and a smile crept to your lips as he met you in the walkway between the pews.

“y/n, what a surprise i thought you weren’t religious.” he didn’t think he’d see you again, not like this at least. maybe only in his dreams or when the desire deep inside him took over.

“oh i’m not, just curious.” you cocked your head to the side and charlie had a sneaking suspicion you got whatever you wanted when you did that. he wasn’t a stranger to using his looks to get things handed to him, he just didn’t expect to be so easily swayed by it himself.

“anything i can help you with?” as much as he would have liked to continue this staring contest he had an idea you were here on a mission. you had unsuccessfully hidden how taken you were with him. now standing at his full height you were finding it hard to disguise your attraction. he was tall, much taller than you had figured and even in your heels you came up to his shoulder. his body was crafted for sports, for modeling, for anything but the cloth. the sheer strength he wielded was going to waste, you wondered why he needed it all.

“you and sister megan are so wholly devoted to all this. i’ve never had that, something so…guiding.” he invited you to sit next to where he was situated before, you did with ease crossing your legs and sitting closer than you should be.

“your morals surely come from somewhere.”

“my parents, they weren’t religious, at least not catholic. all these murders, it just made me wonder.” you spoke in hushed whispers, the church was eerily quiet, so starkly different from the chaos of lois’s home.

“you’re scared, it’s reasonable to be. faith can give you strength but it can’t fix everything.” his head turned down towards you, onyx eyes sucking you in, you were captivated.

“hey i thought i was the atheist here.” you bumped your shoulder against his or really your shoulder against the muscle of his arms. he sucked in a breath, finding himself thinking less of religion the more he looked into your eyes. charlie drew the bible in front of him, turning the page to where he knew he’d find distraction.

“Isaiah 41:13 God promises to comfort and help those who are worried, and to take their hand and guide them through difficult times.” he turned the page to continue, not licking his finger in time and cutting his finger on the paper. it had never happened before and he didn’t even notice it until you listened on, eyes naturally drawn to his large veiny hands and then the pearl of blood that threatened to drop on the spotless floor.

“oh charlie,” you took his right hand in both of yours, thoroughly stopping his reading. you did the first thing you could think of, not wanting the blood to spill anywhere, bringing it to your lips and licking it off, meeting his gaze bashfully. the familiar taste of salty iron lined your teeth. the wet warm lap of your tongue against the pad of his finger combined with the sheen of your lips and your eye contact made charlie suddenly very aware of his corporeal form, all the rest of his blood rushing south. you did it so casually, as if consuming his blood was as natural as wine. the quiet vulnerability making him twitch in his pants. he thanked god it wasn’t well lit in the church or the bulge in his black slacks would be apparent. fortunately for him you were also too embarrassed to notice.

“s-sorry i just didn’t want it to spill.” you dropped his hand quickly, ignoring the warmth between your legs and opting to look very intently at the first button of his dress shirt. he needed to diffuse the situation before he coaxed you upstairs and smudged your damned lip gloss.

“it’s alright, i’m gonna grab a bandaid.”

“okay i’ll be hiding in the confession box trying not to burst into flames.” he laughed at your admission, he hadn’t expected you to be so embarrassed. it was probably the hottest thing he’d experienced and he thought you would own it, own that you were unabashedly seducing him. perhaps he’d misjudged your intentions all along. he came back to empty pews and he scoffed at the realization you were actually in the booth.

“what do you wish to confess?” he assumed the position, taking it as seriously as he could muster. part of him was wishing you would just tell him something substantial about yourself, he didn’t even know what you did for a living.

“how much time do you have?” charlie huffed a laugh at your words and you liked his laugh, it was airier and lighter than you expected. “i suppose ill start with the most recent sin, i embarrassed myself in front of a priest. surely that’s against some rule.”

“not entirely, embarrassment isn’t a sin.” he crossed his arms across his chest, endeared by your admission.

“right, what about lust?” he closed his eyes, he’d nearly gone half-soft but here you were painting deadly images in his mind. he felt like a teenage boy, rock hard and trying to will it down.

“lust, one of the seven deadly sins, but it can be forgiven. that is if you don’t act on it.”

“ah i’ve never been good at that part.”

“i can pray for you, kneel with me.” you did as he said, finding it hard to deny him of anything when his voice was so deep and commanding through the grated screen. you waited a beat and then another, breathing out in and out. you wondered if he was trying to remember a prayer or you were too far gone for one that readily came to mind. instead you heard him grumble under his breath, the church far too quiet for it to go unnoticed.

“fuck it.” you blinked your eyes in surprise, the wood digging into your knees as you waited another beat and the curtain to your side was drawn open and charlie stood in front of you. the sight of you kneeling nearly made him pass out, he swore he’d never been so hard in his life.

“tell me no.” his large hand, now with a bandage on one finger, slid to the side of your face, tilting your face up and up until your neck craned to meet his as he stepped closer. the heat of his body radiated against you. his thumb pushed at the plush of your bottom lip, the lip gloss was as sticky as he imagined, drawing your mouth open. your eyelashes fluttered at the gentle pressure, the coaxing, the slow sensuality of it all. you felt as if you would actually burst into flames, you wished you had worn a skirt. the denim of your jeans felt like hot coals against your skin, your underwear sticky with need. he could see the desire dripping from your gaze, but he needed to be sure.

“i can’t.” you whispered, like the obedient girl you were. and that was enough for him, he shoved the thumb fully between your lips, you hummed at the intrusion. the warm wet heat of your mouth made him whimper as you swirled around the finger sucking it like you wanted so desperately to do something else. your gaze finally moved from his eyes down the length of his body to his slacks, you raised up on your knees and you were eye level with his bulge. even in the dim light you could tell he was massive and your jaw would be sore tomorrow.

“father let me help you, please?” he huffed a breath at the name, there was no going back now though, he knew what he was doing making you kneel. he nodded at your request, removing his hand from your face so you could do as you pleased. the urgency in your motions made him scoff as you practically tore his zipper down and cupped his bulge. you fidgeted to get his length through and when you did you grinned at the sight. the shadow of his length covered your face and while you were intimidated and failing to hide it you still licked tentatively at the furious red tip.

“good girl.” he smiled down at you and you squeezed your thighs at his words, cleaning up all the precum along his slit. he was so big you didn’t think you’d get him even halfway down your throat, but you were never a quitter. your hand circled his base, one cupping his heavy balls as you licked along his shaft, veins protruding angrily and you kissed the tip one more time before flattening your tongue against the bottom of him, stretching your mouth as wide as you could to accommodate his girth. it was a struggle to attempt and you groaned at how hard it was. he chuckled at your frustration, he couldn’t deny how hot the whole scene was. he placed a hand on your head, guiding you down his length and you moaned at the feeling, shivering from how badly you needed him. you wished for some sense of relief and so you took one hand off his balls and tried to touch yourself. it was no use because charlie saw you, catching your wrist. he was gentle until then, forcing you down his length and you gagged. he was so heavy and thick you felt like you couldn’t breathe. the sensation made you nearly lightheaded and he finally released his grip letting you relax and slink back. you got into a comfortable rhythm then, pumping the length you couldn’t reach and swirling your tongue along his veins while moving up and down his length. he could tell he was close from the small groans and whimpers you could hear, his grip on your wrist tightening until he let go completely and pulled you off him. he tapped his cock against your tongue, debating if he should finish this now or give in fully to what he needed.

“tell me about your sin.” your eyes glazed over as he held his cock away from your mouth, letting you speak but making you mourn the heavy feeling. it took you a few seconds to remember what he was talking about.

“i’ve touched myself thinking about this man, but he’s devoted to someone else, to god. it never feels as good as i know he can make me feel.” your gaze traveling from his cock to his eyes, he jaw clenched as he looked away before leaning down and lifting you effortlessly out of the booth and into his hold. your legs looped around his waist and your arms around his neck. he was strong and solid against you, and you whined at the slightest hint of friction of your core bumping his belt buckle.

“we can attone later.” it’s all he says as he’s walking purposefully up the stairs and down a hallway, the walk is long or at least it feels that way when you’re nearly drunk from desire.

your back hits something soft, you realize it’s his bed as he’s climbing over you. you sit up, unbuttoning his shirt while he’s doing the same to your pesky jeans. his shirt is unbuttoned before he’s pulling them off you and you marvel at the sculpted muscles of his body. you're not sure if you’re drooling but you could be. he doesn’t bother to take your heels off, opting for your cardigan and crop top next. and you whine as you try to reach the buttons of his slacks, he tucked himself back in at some point and you don’t like the insinuation. charlie can’t help but laugh at you, maybe you weren’t the femme fatale he thought you were. “patience is a virtue.” he’s got you in your bra and panties splayed out under him and he relished in the sight of your lip gloss smudged. in the light of his room he could see all the sinful details of your body and he couldn’t wait to wreck every part he hadn’t touched yet. he kneels in front of you, shirt gone and his slacks unbuttoned, watching your chest rise and fall in anticipation as you maintain eye contact. he can tell you’re struggling to, the way your eyelids droop and narrow. when he’s finally bare in front of you, you’re looping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, finally kissing him and it’s as messy as you hoped for. all teeth and tongue, he bites your lip hard enough to draw blood and you groan into his mouth. he’s feral and you can’t help but arch into him, the hard planes of his body pressing so deliciously against you, you silently wish you could grind against his abs for some kind of friction. charlie pins your wrists above you with one of his hands, the other deftly unclasping your bra, an action that speaks volumes of his experience.

he doesn’t loosen his grip on your wrists even slightly, somehow in control despite the rabid look in his eyes, trailing his lips down your neck, biting and sucking likely leaving marks for tomorrow. you buck your hips into him, desperate for something, anything. he’s so hard against your core, sliding against your stomach. you can’t imagine he’ll fit, not with how far up your chest his length reaches. your thoughts are drawn back to the hot mouth that’s latching to your nipple, bitting and sucking like it’s the last thing he’ll do. charlie groans around your breast, massaging the other one with his hand rough palms creating a friction you try to get closer to. he’s slurping and biting so roughly you’re whining without realizing, tears pricking your eyes from the sharp pain. it’s so devastating you think it might be the way you want to go out.

and when you feel you might just come from his mouth on your breasts, he’s moving off you with a pop to his lips. it’s reminiscent of your actions downstairs and his cock twitches at the image. he leans back to take a look at his work releasing your wrists, bite marks and bruises littering your shaking chest and his lips curl in a smile. you think you’ve never seen him genuinely happy until now. he stays out of your reach kneeling between your spread legs and you almost complain until he’s peeling your underwear off you, it’s sticky and you revel in the cool air finally grazing your heat. charlie’s eyes are inexplicably drawn to how you’re nearly dripping onto his sheets, the light illuminating how badly you needed him, and from the looks of it it was just as long as he did. you can’t help the moan slip from your mouth when he’s biting his lips and spreading your folds to watch a fat wad of arousal drop down to your ass.

your pleasure ends when you see him leaning down for a taste, far too gone for any more foreplay. you need him and you need him now. you’re twitching when you slide your fingers into his hair, drawing your gaze to him. the hunger in his gaze doesn’t dissolve but the black of his eyes seems to soften when he sees your wrecked expression.

“please i need your cock, now please.” you’re begging and charlie can’t say no to that. he’s been aching for what feels like forever. he coos at your request, wiping the tears you didn’t even notice were falling and moves back on top of you, the satisfying weight against you calming whatever worries you had. but he doesn’t give you what you want. his fingers, still spreading your folds dip into you, there’s zero resistance from your sopping entrance, but the stretch makes your eyes roll back. “please.” you don’t want his fingers, you don’t care if he splits you in half at this point.

“relax baby,” he’s soothing you as best as he can when he just wants to sink into you. instead of focusing on where he can make you unravel, he scissors you open, getting impatient himself. you hum at the shift, bringing his lips to yours with a hand still threading through his hair. when he adds a third finger you groan at the stretch. “so tight darling, you won’t be able to take me.” he’s purring at you, teasing you. you can’t string the words together to dissuade him. when he’s satisfied you’re stretched enough he pulls back, licking his fingers and groaning at the taste. devine, just like he expected.

despite your wishes he’s leaning back, tapping his angry cock head against your clit, and you realize his words may be true. your legs slide over his shoulders like they were made to be there and when you look down at your entrance, panic creeps in.

“i don’t think it will fit.” he watches your eyes widen, your brows furrowed in genuine concern. it’s comical.

“where did my good girl go? you were just begging for it.” he’s teasing you, laughing at the way your wide eyes meet his. without you responding, he slips his head towards your entrance, catching on it and slipping away, fuck you were so tight. you whimpered at the feeling, trying to slink away from him but he tightens his hold on your hips. you realize, albeit far too late, your heels are still on and very much on his shoulders.

“it won’t fit.” you’re pleading with him, for what exactly you’re not sure. and then he’s leaning down, pressing the tops of your thighs back towards you, folding you in half, his lips not quite reaching yours.

“i’ll make it fit.” without warning he’s nudging at your entrance again, bullying his way in and you whine and jostle at the feeling. it’s too big, the stretch too much and you feel tears prick your eyes. he’s tearing you open, ruining your for anyone else and you can’t find it in you to care.

when the tip is finally in you breathe out in relief, there’s still an ache between your legs and you know you’re dripping onto his sheets but you think the worst is over. you don’t know you’re far from it. because while charlie is a man of faith, of perseverance and virtue he can’t hold back from how addictive your pussy is. the tight hug of your cunt around his tip drives him to ease his full length into you without warning. you paw at his chest, eyes rolling back as he pushes his way fully in nestling against your cervix and curving inside you. making you gush out more liquid than you knew you had. in fact, it’s so much you’re not sure if you’re squirting or you just came. the pain and pleasure mix into one and you think scream his name. you swear you can feel him in your ribcage and you choke out a breath.

he’s barely holding himself still when his balls finally rest against you. your walls are molding to him, and he think he might have died and gone to heaven. “so fucking tight, you were made for me.” a deep groan leaves him before he can hold back and you whine at the sound, clenching down on him and making him only more painfully turned on. you can feeling him throbbing inside, carving you out, the veins of his cock pressed against.

when you begin to squirm under him, still not used to his size but not in pain, he starts moving. every time he moves out he feels he has to push back in, your poor abused cunt is gripping him so tight, he feels bad even pulling out. the burn becomes so intense and every time his tip bumps your cervix you twitch beneath him. he presses a sweet kiss to your ankle over the strap of your heels before pressing his hips down and reaching even deeper. you cry out his name at the change in position and then he’s drilling into you like he wants you to be ruined forever. you don’t know where your orgasms start or end as he continuously fucks against your most sensitive spot, your mind numb from pleasure and the only word leaving your lips is his name and cries of pleasure.

he’s no better, he swears he might be addicted to you. the way you call out his name, the way you clench around him when he groans and how you seem to still get wetter from his thrusts. he hopes you don’t blame him when he feels himself getting close already, from the look on your face he realizes you might not be able to think at all. his pace is cruel, driving you into the mattress and likely denting the wooden floor.

your mind is fractured into a million tiny pieces; the only thing you know is that you need him. and when he’s close he’s pressing into you like he wants to get you pregnant, he’s breeding you, making you his and you come again. there’s no room for his cum inside you, so it’s leaking out the sides and he can’t have that, not after how good you’ve been, how well you take him, so he’s scooping it back up and fingering it inside you all the while pumping you full. you don’t know when you started crying but you can taste the saltiness of your tears when you pull him down for a kiss, savoring in the drag of his tongue along your teeth and you suck on it slightly, still hungry. he wishes the moment could last forever, but begrudgingly he pulls out and swallows down your whimper. how could he ever begin to atone for this? he had a feeling he would be begging for forgiveness for the rest of his life, there was no way he could forget you.

[bethanydelleman]

Genteel Poverty Vs. Actual Poverty in Austen's Novels

Genteel poverty, which is being experienced by the Bates (Emma), the Dashwoods (Sense & Sensibility) to an extent, and possibly the Prices (Mansfield Park, though I don't know if they qualify as gentry), is different than actual poverty. The reason they struggle is because they have to keep buying things that keep them in their class, such as proper clothing and food to feed visitors. For example, the Dashwoods host the Middletons for dinner every time they dine at the park. That makes them participating members of the gentry, but it's probably eating up a lot of their budget. It's probably also why Mrs. Dashwood refuses to visit anyone outside of walking distance, they can't afford to host anyone else! Mrs. Grant also does this by the way (in Mansfield Park), she hasn't chosen to visit with the Rushworths and start this endless back and forth, so she doesn't accompany the others to Sotherton.

The Bates would have to do this too. They don't ever host Mr. Woodhouse because of his eccentricities, but if they are invited to dinner they would be expected to host back. That pork that Emma sent them likely was shared with Mrs. Elton or Mrs. Cole or whomever they needed to invite back to dinner. Or their neighbours might come up with clever excuses and then just come for tea.

The only Austen character at risk of real, actual poverty, is Mrs. Smith in Persuasion. She is unable to keep even a servant and is selling handmaid goods to support herself.

Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell is all about this: a small town mostly inhabited by spinsters and widows who mostly have incomes similar to the Bates's, and how they all collectively pretend that they can afford to be gentry. Like baking the treats for your friends yourself but pretending that your maid did it. Or pretending you have candles burning at night but actually rushing to light them when someone knocks on the door. They all find ways to save in other areas of their lives so they can maintain the trappings of gentry.

But the point is: they can afford to eat and clothe themselves and have a maid of all work, an income of 100ish pounds a year is something you can live on and they don't have to work. They are poor in comparison, not actually poor. The majority of the population of England at that time had incomes similar to or lower than the Bates and worked 12-14 hours per day for it.

Note: I have no problem with Austen not including the lower classes in her novels, that's not what she wanted to write about and that's fine. There are small pieces about the poor, like the case of Old Abdy in Emma, and there is certainly concern expressed for the poor and examinations of the best ways to address relieving poverty (compare Lady Catherine's method with Emma's!). Not every book has to be about everything, and Austen made serious points about the place of women in English society even if she "only" wrote about the upper class.

[likethe-month]

The Time Between Us

-Historical Yandere x Reader-

Yandere x Accidental Time Traveler Reader

This was so fun to write, and I have more for this particular story so I will probably post more soon.

Reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns

Warnings: Yandere/possessive behavior, outdated ideas about gender, mentions of mental health, outdated ideas about mental health,

-

You are a college student writing a history paper about big cities in America’s Gilded Age when the dusty old PC belonging to the school sends you back to 1881.

You find yourself in the same building and room, but 143 years into the past. A man walks in and is utterly shocked to see you sprawled out on the ground in your confused state.

His name is James Harrington, and he is an architect who visits the school archives room to do his work. He is of average height with dark brown hair with a matching mustache and brown eyes that seem to linger on your bare legs for extended periods of time.

He informs you that ladies usually wear a skirt, and you start to think this man has never seen a bare set of women’s legs.

Your comfortable shorts and T-shirt aren’t exactly considered “lady-like” in this day and age.

It takes a lot of convincing to convince James you’re telling the truth, and he finally believes you when you show him your smartphone.

He is absolutely buzzing with questions, and you attempt to answer as many as you can before you figure it’s time to try and find a way back to your time.

Holding the paper in front of your face, you retrace your steps back to where you were sitting when you were transported here and closed your eyes.

Back in front of the school PC, you breathed a sigh of relief. Today’s events called for a night in, so you headed back to your dorm room.

Against the more logical part of your brain telling you to stay away from the computer lab, you make the decision to return.

You still have work to do, after all!

Over the course of the week, you go back to 1881, and James is always in the room, anticipating your arrival. You both decide it would be safe for you to stay in the room and only talk to James until he can get you some proper attire.

When he does, you sneak into a restroom when James assures you no one else is around, and you change into an outfit consisting of a high-necked blouse and skirt.

James feels proud, and he tries unsuccessfully to hide the light dusting of red on his cheeks. He informs you that you look like a “proper lady.” A part of him misses the strange, unfamiliar clothing and hairstyle you don, however, and he tends to mistake your modern ways for eccentricity.

James will absolutely romanticize the differences between the two of you, viewing your confusion as innocence, and his image of you makes his stomach twist in a way he's never felt before.

Then, he lets you know that his employer is hosting a dinner for his employees. He invites you as his date, and you eagerly accept, not willing to turn down the opportunity to see a lavishly decorated house belonging a Gilded Age businessman.

On the carriage ride there, he instructed you over exactly what to say and how to behave. Having seen your fair share of historical dramas, you were only half-listening, your eyes taking in every detail of the carriage.

The dinner goes well, and you even impress your hosts with your knowledge and mannerisms.

James' boss, Mr. Whitney, pulls him aside after dinner while everyone in the parlor room is deep in their own conversations.

“She’s a unique woman, indeed, Mr. Harrington. You’d be wise to keep a girl like that in your future prospects.”

Those words seemed to change something in James. Suddenly, he looked at you in a completely different way. Initially, he was planning on trying to persuade you to stay with him in 1881. He now knew that a real man, a successful businessman like Mr. Whitney, would take away your ability to choose. James would have to keep you here.

When you finish your drink, he asks you to join him in the ballroom where the other guests are dancing, and you do so, jumping a bit when he wraps a hand around your waist without hesitation.

He whispers lowly into your ear about how glad he is that you were “sent to him” as the two of you dance.

You grimace to yourself at his words and decide then and there that it may be a good idea to stay in 2024.

When you return for the final time, you plan on taking a walk through the city with your period-appropriate clothes to take everything in one last time.

You go back to 1881 and enjoy the sights while your final moments in the past last. You return to the archives room to be met with a sight that makes your stomach drop down to your feet.

James is holding the building plan, observing it with cold, observant eyes. You’re not sure what to do here. He’s holding your only way back home in his hands, eyeing it in a very strange way…

“Hello, James,” you say carefully. “Have you had a chance to enjoy the sunshine today?”

He turns to you briefly to signal that he’s listening. “You do understand why I have to do this, don’t you?”

You freeze, feeling faint. “Do what?” you say, trying to not let your desperation show. “James, what are you doing?”

Without another word, he rips the paper in two, then into four, then six, eight, countless pieces.

It takes everything you have not to fall onto your knees. You were trapped. You were trapped in 1881.

He looks at you, but before a taunt can escape his lips, you lunge at him, a scream ripping from your throat. Hands suddenly apprehend your attack, and your held firmly in place by two policemen who seemed to come out of nowhere.

“It really is so unfortunate,” James says, sounding almost bored. “She’s gone completely mad. I’m not sure what warranted this sudden change in behavior. I’m glad I was able to contact the authorities before she hurt herself.”

“These cases of women gone into hysterics are common. She’ll receive the proper care at Somervault Mental Asylum,” one of the men says, grunting as you thrash and shriek.

“I’ll visit you soon, dearest. For now, just make sure to get better,” James says, grinning wolfishly at you once the social workers weren’t looking.

You’re hauled off to the asylum, and for just a second, you believe you really would fall into insanity.

[nyashykyunnie]

//Solo Leveling yume

Introducing: Geum Seul-ae!!! Jinwoo's silly mage girlfriend.

Trope: Strangers to Friends to Lovers.

About Seul-ae ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

Age: Same age as Jinwoo

Height: 152cm/5'0

Birthday: 04/09

Mbti: Infp

Rank: A-rank (She Reawakens to S rank later on)

Affiliation: None

Type: Mage

Title: Lady of Bloodied Petals, Her Highness of the sea

Powers: Sacred Primordial Sea, Botanokinesis

Regression ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

Job: Freelance Artist, youtube vlogger><

♡ Seul-ae is one of those cute cozy youtube vloggers who don't share their face and voice on the video. She often posts about her art process + daily diaries as well as showing off her cute outfits<3

♡ Her content is mostly: draw with me, ootd, mundane life things, cooking, walking in parks and taking pictures of flowers or anything she finds pretty

Personality ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

♡ She's a very lovely and sweet girl, though she is very insecure and anxious. Seul-ae stutters in her words a lot and gets tired of conversations easily, leading her to tend to attempt ending conversations without the other person noticing. Of course, she is still polite and very attentive, she just gets drained very very fast.

♡ At first sight, people always mistake her as cold and distant but she is actually a sunshine type of girl. She just has a poker face most of the time^^;;

♡ Seul-ae often imitates people out of fear that she would offend them. She observes how the other people act and tries her best to blend in so that she won't be bullied. Her real personality is quite eccentric in a way that she can't talk about things she loves such as whales and sharks. She often suppresses that side of her so that she can avoid being an outcast. She used to be one of those weird kids who got bullied in elementary and got shaken to the point that she became a people-pleaser. Seul-ae is only comfortable with people she is close to and most especially Jinwoo. He is her safe space.

♡ Seul-ae is not an academic achiever, she is in fact very academically challenged and only has average grades of C and D minus her art subjects. She hates studying anything except for marine life in which she can get heavy detail in.

♡ In her hunter days, Seul-ae was known as one of the kindest and most warm hunters there is. She has fans whom she often interacts with kindly and respectfully. Though she doesn't work with any guild, high ranked hunters like Choi Jong-in often invite her to assist in their raids and she helps willingly even offers to not get paid^^.

Love Story with Jinwoo ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

Their ties go way back to elementary. They have heard of each other but never really interacted. But from what Jinwoo knew, she was one of those eccentric and obnoxious girls who have such loud voices during recess. In middle school, she was known for her absolute avoidance of feminine things. In senior high where they officially meet as classmates, Jinwoo was shocked to find how much Seul-ae had changed in a not good way. She became a loner but was still polite and respectful. He even noticed her having anxious episodes and often avoided conversations with anyone. However, Seul-ae was well known for her artistic capabilities and often won in art contests, which she doesn't really seem to be proud of.

After graduating, they never met again until his E-ranked days. Seul-ae hasn't awakened yet, but when she saw how much Jinwoo suffers trying to work, she offered him what little money she had. Seul-ae often visits Jinwoo in his odd jobs outside of hunting and gives him free food to eat out of kindness. They lose touch for a bit since Jinwoo keeps disappearing. But after a year, Seul-ae became an S-ranker after experiencing double awakening who is also now well beloved, and Jinwoo followed right after her, ascending as shadow monarch this time.

Seul-ae was extremely happy to have met Jinwoo again and wouldn't stop talking to him enthusiastically which he found adorable. And eventually, the two started to date. They didn't really hide it nor did they announce it.

When Jinwoo regressed, he approached Seul-ae in senior high and courted her again before returning her memories with him.

Their trope is just sunshine x sunshine protector<3. I love this trope a lot heheh.

Their Emojis:

🐈‍⬛🫐

[push-tet]

VVBS FAMILY DECREPATION DROPED!

+ new familys

I also updated the family descriptions from the previous post here. Like last time, I have provided a link to the wiki for new sims to understand the reference

Albany wanted a big family, and he got it without paying attention to the growing strife from within. Meanwhile Goneril has been having a secret affair, in which she found a lifeline and a chance break free from her old beliefs in order to openly express her genuine thoughts and feelings. Will Mrs. Capp be able to go on with it or will she once again withdraw into her shell for the supposed family “stability”? And will Miranda, Hal, Desdemona and Ariel carry on the Capp pseudo-traditions, or smash the establishment to smithereens?

Antonio Monty’s emotional state and career are sinking to the bottom of a “grape juice” bottle. Will his children be able to help him recover from the loss or is he going to need the outside help? Where has Hero disappeared to? Was it an alien abduction, like how it happened to that lady in a red dress? Or does Regan Capp have something to do with it, since Hero wouldn’t stop going on about her until the day she vanished into thin air?

Regan and Cornwall had to move from the big city of Belladonna Cove back to the small Veronaville due to unsuccessful financial shenanigans. It appears that these two will have to move in with, in Cornwall’s own words, a no-good, insignificant, useless and lazy Regan’s younger brother until the duo gains the strength to start all over again.

Bianca Monty has always dreamt about children, and someone from above gave her a clear answer by leaving a young and eccentric Benvolio on her doorstep. Recently, however, the young mother has been feeling uneasy and is growing distant from her adoptive son. How does Benvolio feel about this and is he aware of the reasons behind his mother’s anxiety?

The Snout (my post) - Zhung (wiki link)

Madam Snout, a fashion photographer and designer, once belonged to an influential family of tea planters – the Zhungs. But one day Madam’s worldview took a 180 degree turn and she fled to Veronaville with her daughter in tow to start a new life away from her strict family. Things went on as usual until one day Madam’s mother, Madame Yingtai herself, appeared on her doorstep. What could be a reason for Yingtai to make a surprise visit to her “prodigal” daughter?

The Macbeth - Gloucester

“What did the wise and strict Ladya find in such a sad-sack as Erlolf?” - that is the question which has been puzzling the minds of the upper class even after Ladia’s passing. Can it be true that that stroke of lighting boosted Erlolf’s luck up to 10000%? Can luck be inherited? Ask the brothers, who need to split the inheritance and one of them needs to continue their mother’s legacy. But, all things considered, one of them wants to take MUCH MORE of what is due.

yeha sorry I haven't been particularly active here lately because I worked very hard (and studied at the same time) to FINALLY FINISHED MY PROJECT🎉🎉🎉

The process went faster thanks to my good friends

I hope this month I will be able to give a presave for download, BUT the hood is available so far only in RUS

so until the translation is ready, I will try to make more vv:bs content!

[lilimalia]

WHAT WE NEVER HAD // zhongli

SYNOPSIS... the lantern rite festival was always the most glorious season of festivity. And yet, the god of geo found no happiness in his heart roaming his nation. If only he had a person to share with him a sprinkle of the festive spirit....

CHARACTERS... zhongli/morax, childe, guizhong, streetward rambler, cloud retainer, traveller/aether, paimon,

DISCLAIMERS... angst, no comfort, female reader, short series, spoilers for Guizhong's story , lunar new year's special !

BARISTA'S INTEL... sorry to all the lumine travellers! please enjoy the first "official post" and a happy lunar new year's to those who celebrate! chúc mừng năm mới <3.

TAG LIST... @sizure , @imma-too-many-fandoms , @yle-xar

CAFE TUNE... Heather // Conan Gray !

“Paimon votes we visit Xiangling!” the giddy floating fairy cheers, bobbing up and down as her blonde-haired companion nodded in agreement.

Turning her head, her eyes landed upon the silhouette of a brunette man, his attention solely focused on the eccentric storyteller in front of him.

“Eh? Zhongli? What a pleasant surprise meeting you here!” the fairy alludes, companion following alongside as she approached the man.

“Come one, come all, allow me to forward you a special tale for this years Lantern Rite, abundant and glorious as always!” The storyteller speaks, hands motioning the pair in as his eyes begin to glow with pride.

“Listen closely now, for this tale is one you won’t ever hear anywhere else! A speciality for my audience” the man grins, winking sidewise at the blonde traveler, motioning him in for a seat alongside the brunette, who merely nods politely before redirecting his attention.

“Listen closely… for our story begins before the age of war…”

Dainty gray eyes laid upon his figure. So divine, so prim and proper, fingers grasped gracefully around a stone cup of tea as he conversed with the two ladies.

Morax he went by, god of mora, Archon of Geo. Cloud Retainer, the women with red rimmed glasses. And Guizhong, the refined goddess of dust, so elegantly did she sit, reflecting the man in front of her. His eyes gazed so… Lovingly. She held his undivided attention, lips curling into a saccharine smile irreplaceable by any.

“Y/n? Who do suppose is correct Goddess of the Forge?” she calls. Her voice so tauntingly pristine as her grey eyes shifted towards yours.

“Hm? Ah, forgive me… It seems I was dazed. Could you restate the question?” you call. Your own voice slightly breaking, pitching off into a unsettled tone.

It was so mocking. How her figure was so respected, so desirably faultless. Both in brain and brawn… Your own stained with battle scars, body tainted with the wounds of the steel, whilst hers was untouched, silk smooth, faultless. All the things you weren’t.

“Ah, no worries! I had simply inquired about your opinion on my design. Our dear Cloud Retainer here seems to think hers is superior…” Her eyes are so beautiful…

It wasn’t fair… How you both shared the same hue of gray for eyes. Yet somehow hers shined so much brighter compared to yours, so bleak and dull like iron ore.

“Hm… This design… It needs some tweaks, but I do believe that Cloud Retainer’s design is superior within this field…” you murmur, eyes gazing upon the blueprints that laid out in front of you.

“Is that so? Morax! You are righteous… Who do you believe withholds the superior model?” Guizhong questions.

Righteous?... Was she… Mocking you? Questioning your values? Your judgment?

“Upon inspection… I do believe that your design is superior Guizhong”, his eyes are so thoughtful, filled with the beautiful waterlike goldens and browns. His eyes narrow, concealing his bright colored eyes like the lakes that adorn themself atop the mountains.

Ah… As you inspect closer… It’s true his judgment is impeccable. And yours, at fault.

Guizhong giggles in glee, shiny gray eyes, the ones that were the exact same shade as your own, reflected so much pure light. Like white iron ore… in every way. She was better.

You watch as he smiles, playing along with her child like joy. His eyes bubbling with happiness, spirit so moved by her own.

He never looks at you that way… Perhaps he never will…

Cloud Retainer stands behind you, concealing her worry for your state as she watches your own hues dim down with envy, discouragement that you failed to fully tuck away.

The day Guizhong was lost. You saw as he retreated away, you saw the scars she left on him. You heard too, the cries he echoed out in the solitude of the mountains.

You watched her soul slowly slip away, body loosening at the lack of character to withhold it. You never knew what it was that plagued you with such sinful cruelty. But… watching her die, perish in front of you, your own body and mind helpless to save her. You could only feel the slightest bit of regret. Regret that you hadn’t saved her.

When you could have.

Instead you watched by the sidelines, watched as he gazed at her so lovingly, mind and body relaxed around her presence, whilst not once, did he ever glance your way.

That night… When the Goddess of Dust had perished, you fled. Fled away to the mortal realm, locked away in an Adepti contraption. War was at brew; you could feel it. You knew of the harm that would come to you when it did, the pain and hopelessness that would plague your mind if ever you were to succumb to the desires of evil divines that would ask for your aid in battle. 

Goddess of the Forge.

That was your name. Sealed away in stone.

“Many blacksmiths and warriors alike pray to the Goddess of the Forge for the finest of ores and the best of the best in the weapons they wield. Many adventures that come from this nation of Geo have commonly shared the goal of searching for where she lays… However, never found she was…” the storyteller murmurs, hand stretching out to flicker his fan as he gazed over it darkly.

“But of course! This is merely a tale! Who knows if this “Goddess of the Forge” really does exist!” He coughs awkwardly, shivering at the intense gaze that was being radiated from the brunette man in front of him.

“Indeed… What a pleasant story sir…” he mumbles, face solemn. Eye's blanking out in a distant sorrow. His mind drifting off into an unknown world.

A women walks by the station of the storyteller, gray eyes empty and uninviting. She glances at the brunette man, stuck in his own land of thought, as she hides away from view.

It’s been decades. And yet his memory haunts your every waking step. A scar on your body that will never heal yet comes back to haunt you with the acknowledgement of its story. Succumbing you into a void.

It’s so selfish. How all those years ago you could have saved her. You were there weren’t you? Just a couple fields away picking glaze lilies for him, it wasn’t her… Goddess of Dust, that you were thinking about. Not even when she had laid unmoving in front of you and all the others. Not even when the guilt recked your insides knowing you were just a few sprints away from her; could have saved her.

It was him, his milky golden eyes, his proper figure, so collected.

It was never you on his mind, always her. Always Goddess of Dust, always the prettier, shiny, ore. And perhaps it was why you had left, fleeing in agony and regret. It hurt how his eyes were only ever on hers, how they shared fleeting touches, when you were his forever best friend. Always by his side to guide him in battles and spars.

She was everything you could only dream to be...

The night you had left… You had fled to the far breeches of Liyue, residing in a self-inflicted encagement, meant to trap away the deadliest of monsters.

Whether or not he had truly cared for you, shed tears for you, you never were there to see it...

SPECIAL BREWS... Goddess of the Forge // I found that the irony in reader being the Goddess of the Forge compared to Dust which is a much lighter title compared nicely to her dynamic, I do hope I was able to highlight this aspect well... (Haha get it, irony, forge?...)

White Iron ore // Using this comparison felt very natural and more in depth, I found it easier to be able to relay the emotions of the story to the reader by using a similarity, after all, it's salt to the wound for those who have felt incompetent to someone before

BARISTA'S INQUIREMENT... none

word count. 1220

Tag list form !

Part I // Next

©-FUTURIST... Please do not plagiarize, themes are edited by me, reblogs allowed, do not repost on any other platform!!

Banner credits: @veauwa

[drconstellation]

I Know Where I'm Going

Aziraphale's Edinburgh Journey: Part 5

Episode 3 of S2 is named after a black-and-white 1945 Powell and Pressburger film, which is in turn named after an old Scottish folk song. It's a delightful film, which I'll discuss further below the cut, that strides headlong into the theme of fate vs free will, among other things.

This is the last major piece we need to tie things together, after starting this journey with The Clue in Episode 2, which lead Aziraphale to make the journey to Edinburgh in the first place.

Fate vs Free Will

I Know Where I'm Going, both the film and S2E3, is about not ending up where you expected to be, so this how Aziraphale went expecting to find the answer to one question, but found the answer to an unexpected question instead. So part of the problem we have is that while we end up getting the answers to two questions, one expected and one unexpected, I feel people really aren't recognizing the questions that raise them in the first place.

Not making sense? Let me describe the film.

Joan is a confident young (25yo) lady on her way to the (fictitious) Ilse of Kiloran to marry a rich older industrialist. This involves a journey by train then several ferries to the ultimate destination. However she gets stuck on the Isle of Mull, the penultimate stop, as the weather turns, and has to stay the night, then several days, as a bad gale blows.

She meets a fellow traveller, Torquill McNeil, a naval officer home on leave, who invites her up to one of the local mansions. Joan meets some of the delightful and slightly eccentric locals (the pack of goofy, soft wolf hounds of the Lady of the house, Catriona Potts, are a highlight of the film, imo) including a retired colonel who's into falconry who keeps going on about a lost golden eagle that he's training. (The eagle is a metaphor for Torquill, it turns out.)

We find out Torquill is actually the Laird of Kiloran, and he is renting out Kiloran to Joan's husband-to-be for money while he's off in the navy seeing the world. Torquill knows all the locals, and the locals know him, and they are all kind of bound together as one big happy family, in a way.

The next morning Torquill takes Joan to the hotel in another village to talk to her fiance via radio, as they still can't get to the other island. The fiance (who we never see) recommends visiting another house nearby. She does, and we find out they are also rich from new money, and care nothing about the locals and the local environment. And this is where we start learning there is a bit of divide between the old and the new, the rural out door life that is connected to the land, and the new wealth that cuts itself off from its surroundings and other people. And Joan is going to be a part of that - in her dream on the train, the same dream that gives us the tartan clad hills, she marries a corporation, not a person - so impersonal!

Joan is desperate to get across to Kiloran (she knows where she's going! She thinks...) After repeatedly bumping into Torquill over the next couple of days and it becoming evident there are feelings growing between them, she bribes a young local boatman to take her across to her fiance and expected marriage on Kiloran to escape this, even though the gale is still blowing strong. Torquill finds out at the last minute, and jumps into the boat with them. They get caught in a squall, and the motor cuts out. The tide drags them towards the infamous local whirlpool, and they only just escape due to Torquill's expertise.

Joan is chastened when they return to safety. That was the point of not risking the crossing in the gale in the first place, explains Torquill. They could have sent a rescue boat out if they got into trouble, but it puts more than just the rescuers at risk, it puts their families at risk, and then that extends to the whole island. Doesn't she see how the whole island is interconnected? She finally realizes how selfish she has been.

The next day dawns brightly, and the gale has finally blown out - the sea is a calm and a ferry crossing will be no trouble today. The colonel finally catches up with his golden eagle, and brings it home to roost.

Joan and Torquill say their farewells on the road, and there's a Great Big Kiss before they part and go their separate ways.

Torquill walks past the ruined castle that he is fated to be cursed if he enters as Laird of Kiloran. But he decides to risk it, and he goes in and explores the ruins, and we hear the whole story of the curse and finds that it isn't such a bad curse after all - in a metaphorical way! The next thing he hears is bagpipes - it's Joan returning up the road with the pipers that were supposed to be at her wedding. She has decided she wasn't going where she thought she was going after all and has come back to be with Torquill, her new love.

That's the basics of the story, but if you would like to watch it, I would recommend you do, as there is a lot more in it than that.

(I did watch "A Matter of Life and Death/Stairway to Heaven" before finishing this post, seeing as the book that features in it also appears in S2xE3, which is the main episode around the trip to Edinburgh, but more in relation to Gabriel's situation I think. It also deals with a character trying to escape their intended fate, but they do so by attending a formal trial and pleading their case. Other ops have reviewed the film here and here if you want to find out a bit more. I wasn't as impressed with that film, sorry to say, but I will probably watch it again to reflect on certain features and points in it relevant to GO, there is a lot. And to work out which minor character a very young Sir Richard Attenborough was playing!)

Lunatic Behaviour and Lethal Traps

Some ops have pointed out that Elspeth and Wee Morag act as parallel characters to Crowley and Aziraphale. While some would argue there are various ways to interpret this, the music indicates that Elspeth aligns with Crowley and Wee Morag with Aziraphale.

Elspeth is the one trying hard to engineer the pair's escape from the poverty trap they are in, even if it is by nefarious means. Wee Morag is the one scandalised by Elspeth's illicit actions, and concerned about doing right by Heaven. Crowley takes up Elspeth's side of the argument against Aziraphale, that its not as easy to escape poverty as one thinks (i.e. just working hard will fix things) but he also tries to warn Wee Morag that things don't work the way she thinks they do in the afterlife either.

So what's the price one pays for going down the path of body snatching as an escape from poverty? You have to get past the lethal traps of the grave guns that have been set, by not tripping the wires. And again, its the wealthy privileged ones that have the advantage.

Acting in haste was a disaster. They got split up, never to see one another again. One more body may have got them out of short term trouble, but what about the long term?

Escape is a nice dream, but a harsh reality.

Elspeth was going to use the laudanum as another form of easy escape, until Crowley prevented it, then acted as a daemonium ex machina to assist her in escaping properly good, using Aziraphale's money, as that was really the only way she was going to escape for good.*

Joan tried to escape Torquill in I Know Where I'm Going, but only cast herself and her companions into danger. If she had been more patient and less selfish, she might have had everything she wanted without suffering on the way. But that wouldn't have made as good a story then, would it? And she wouldn't have gotten to know Torquill and fallen for him, either.

If Aziraphale ran away to Alpha Centauri with Crowley, like Crowley had been urging in the present, would they be free? The inference is its unlikely, that they wouldn't be able to escape their own "poverty trap," the alarms would be raised, and the trouble they caused would be too deep to pull themselves out of. Luck hasn't been on their side so far.

The View from Above

By now we should be alert to characters trying to avoid their fate, or perhaps ending up in places they weren't intending to. Fate has a weird way of biting you on the backside, as the trope goes.

Giant Crowley did end up somewhere he wasn't intending to be, and perhaps accidentally ended up playing God and deciding Elspeth's fate. There are mentions of angels as tall as mountains, or tall as the sky in the Bible, so him ordering Aziraphale to give all his money to Elspeth while looking down at them shouldn't really be out of place for those familiar with the book. Crowley also took Elspeth's fate into his own hands when he snatched the laudanum away from her and drank it down, an action akin to absolving her of her sins.

Aziraphale also tried to change Elspeth's and Wee Morag's fate, by changing his mind about the morality of the body snatching. That didn't end up the way he hoped or expected, either.

Mr Dalrymple was of aware of two fates he could meet, he just didn't know which one it would be at the time he was s talking to Aziraphale and Crowley.

DALRYMPLE: I either end up with a knighthood or condemned as a resurrectionist and hanging from a rope.

Sadly, we find out through Aziraphale reading the pamphlet he picked up outside the pub that it was along the lines of the second one - he might not have been actually condemned for a crime, but he condemned his own conscience and then his soul.

If you would like a contrast to this, come back to S1xE2, where we approach a young Newton Pulsifer in his bedroom, about to short out the electrical works for his whole neighbourhood yet again. God is narrating at this point, and the camera view pans down from the sky...and bumps with a visible jolt and audible noise into the window frame of his bedroom. (I wasn't able to find a GIF for this.)

Newt is a Crowley-parallel, they are both on the side of free will and choosing one's destiny. This is not a place for God, the decider of Fate, to trespass. There will be no crossing of this threshold, Frances!

I would just like to take a step back here to Part 4: Judgement Day, if I may, and reconsider this view of the missing cross in the statue of Gabriel's arms:

This is the only point of view that we don't see the cross from. It's still seen from between Gabriel's and Beelzebub's shoulders, and Crowley stills see it in 1826, so it's not invisible to demons.

So I would like to ask, could the missing cross view be God's point of view?

The viewpoint is similar to the one in the Job minisode, as seen from where Aziraphale and Crowley are witnessing Job listen to the Almighty speak to him.

So, perhaps if God isn't seeing the cross, they aren't the one who has so-called Ineffable Plans for the Second Coming in mind.

Yeah, so there's the Great Plan, and the Ineffable Plan, but are they the same plan...and who is pushing so hard for the Great Plan to come to completion, then? Not Gabriel or Beelzebub, that's for sure.

66 Goat Gate

Just before we attempt to wrap things up, we should have a look at the address on the Clue, but it doesn't really tell us anything we don't already know.

We know the address of the pub in Edinburgh appears in two places, once on the record single Maggie gives to Aziraphale and once on the matchbox that held the fly. There is a difference in the way they are written, with an comma on the record, and also Goat Gate written as two words, whereas it is one word on the matchbox.

Gate was old name for a road, so one interpretation could be that it was hinting at a demon road, or an underground road (demons live in Hell, which is underground, and demons are also associated with goats) and that ties in with the resurrection and Judgement Day theme we have going on, and perhaps should alert us to the presence of at least one demon being involved with Gabriel. On the other side, a goatgate is a relatively modern term for someone who talks a load of shite, so to speak. If we use Strong's Concordance to add the 66 to it, it becomes a wild or fierce mouth. Which kind of suits the Leviathan referenced in the verse from the Book of Job. The first version then looks like a wild underground road to Hell on the way to the Second Coming (the Harrowing of Hell in the Passion, anyone?) Don't forget the number 6 is associated with Hell as well.

Piecing the Elephant Together

There is a famous parable about a group of blind men meeting an elephant for the first time. They each go up and touch a different part of the huge beast, and subsequently give a different description for each part of it, but collectively they can't describe it properly as a whole.

That's kind of how we tend to look at Good Omens - its such a huge, complicated beast of a story, with each of us picking out one strand to analyze that might be our specialty, but we don't necessarily have all the other pieces nearby to aid our understanding as to why it was placed there or what it is doing and how that aids the purpose of the story.

To sum things up:

Aziraphale's trip to Edinburgh in the Bentley is a parallel to Crowley and Muriel going to Heaven together to find out about Gabriel, but Aziraphale is actually going to Edinburgh to find out about Beelzebub (he just doesn't realize it.)

Gabriel was there in the pub, and met with a "Mason" in a regular black-coloured suit that the barman was used to seeing Masons dressed in, because he noted that Gabriel's light grey suit was different.

We are shown many clues to the looming Second Coming

We see parallel scenes to S1, which at the same time sets upparallels for S3, which are about starting Armageddon. Again.

We also gain a lot of interlinked information for other parts of S2, and parts that link up with S1 and maybe S3, such as:

Aziraphale's main parallel in S2 is Beelzebub, with Maggie a parallel blend of the two of them.

Mr Dalrymple shows us that something needs to be cut out to save the innocent, but we also need to learn what it is before we can do that.

Elspeth and Wee Morag show us that running away is not as simple an option as it seems, its more a fatal trap than anything.

The Masonic symbols appearing in S2 remind us that life and death is a cycle, but also sometimes thoughts need to be turned around.

Aziraphale thought he knew where he was going, but he didn't really; fate gave him answers that he wasn't expecting. Did he ask the right questions?

There is not just a single purpose for Aziraphale to go to Edinburgh, there were several.

I also think Aziraphale didn't have enough time to stop and think about it, or talk it through with Crowley. They both had to leap from one thing to another until it was too late.

I was going to finish this off with that quote about history repeating itself until you learn from your mistakes or something, but then I found this one:

*Slaps this beast on the backside to move it along so it can go roam free in the wilderness.*

*This is actually something that is well researched but not well known, and is called the Success Paradox. You can watch a good explanation of it by one of my favourite science vloggers Veratisium here. Women are probably most aware of it intuitively, because of inherit sexism in our patriarchal society, but it also exists in the attitude "if you work hard you can make anything happen." What most people don't realize is how much luck factors into their success. Lucky they were born into a wealthy family. Lucky they met the right person on the right day. Lucky they were chosen over another etc. Before you argue otherwise, do stop and think about it.

The other posts in this series can be found here:

Part 1: Detective Aziraphale Part 2: Aziraphale-Beelzebub Parallels Part 3: Stocktaking in the Basement Part 4: Judgement Day

[duskstargazer]

[1923]

As time went on, the other engines came and went, some engines whistled cheerfully, offering a smile in an otherwise bleak existence, some laughing, cruelly teasing him for the state he’d ended up in, and some just looked the other way, as if refusing to acknowledge him all together.

But one engine was different. A small blue tender engine - quite possibly the smallest on the main line - would always find time - when she could, given how busy the railway seemed to be - and visit him.

“And so I told him, ‘you can either put up with it, or you can do me one better, and go find yourself a workshop that’ll work these kinds of wonders - provided they’ll take you in!”

Henry chuckled. Lady Abigail Regaby, named after Lord Fredrick’s youngest daughter, was quite the character. She’d been much more playful and mischievous in her youth, but at times the eccentric snark would still work its way through. Frederick, their railway’s no.1, had not taken kindly to her rebuild, something she still held over him from time to time.

A lot of the time, Abigail would tell stories of “the old railways” when she visited. Sometimes they would just talk about their working life. Henry felt that he, in a strange way, related to her. Being a stand-out from the railway, and never being able to show her full potential. She had overcome this when she was sent back for a rebuild that transformed her into a tender engine. Now she could run the entire distance of the Wellsworth branch line on a single trip, and not have to run with her tanks at half capacity and take on more water halfway.

Lady Abigail told the rest of her story, and she and Henry chatted for a while, until the moon began to crest the hills in the distance. She would then have to return to Wellsworth, lest Albert worry himself sick about her.

[lovelynim]

I saw you wrote for chilluc once and i wanted to ask for the "tools/toys" prompt with lee diluc, if possible

also congratulations for reach the 500 followers milestone!! you deserve it all and much more!

Dangerous Collection

Genshin Impact - Childe x Diluc

[500 Followers Milestone Event - "Tools/Toys"]

A/N: Sooo, i got this 2 requests with ChilLuc for the event and decided to focus on the first one, but I added some bits of prompt into it, heheh

Summary: Childe is giving Diluc a tour through his house and decides to show his collection of weapons, but one particular object catches the couple's attention.

Word count: 1641 words

This wasn’t the first time Diluc visited a wealthy home, but, still, this was at a totally different level from whatever the nobles at Mondstat were up to. Tartaglia - or “Childe”, as he would present himself - would constantly tell him to not worry about the bill or the price of some gift whenever they hung out, so the redheaded assumed he was, well, rich.

Rich was an understatement.

“I hope you don’t think I'm trying to make it up for something else,” Childe said cockly, feeling his ego being fed by Diluc’s expressions of awe and surprise whenever they walked into a new room of his stupidly huge house.

The other man sighed, trying to ignore the second meaning hidden in those words. Shaking his head, he gave the ginger a slight smile. “The only thing I’m thinking about is if you ever feel lonely at a place this big,” he teased as he continued to walk, admiring the rather luxurious furniture.

“Nah,” Childe scoffed, following his partner around, “There are some people that help me take care of it and… you’ve been coming over more often, I don’t get lonely at all ~” Childe mused, catching Diluc off guard with a sudden hug from behind. The ginger rested his chin on the other’s shoulder, amusing himself as he watched Diluc shiver and his cheeks turn into a faint pink.

Before the silence completely surrounded them, Childe clicked his tongue, letting go of the other man and taking a few steps ahead. “Wait, there is one more room I want to show you,” the enthusiasm in his voice was clear as he reached out for Diluc’s hand with a smile on his face.

Being nearly dragged across the stupidly large hallway, Diluc tried to keep up with the fatui’s pace, “c-can’t you slow down a little?” He chuckled, following the man around his house. 

A couple steps ahead, the ginger stopped in front of some kind of fancy door. It seemed a little heavier than the others in the house and, when Diluc looked at the lock, it was sturdier and thicker as well.

“Tartaglia,” Diluc muttered, staring at the door knob and feeling the ominous aura that seemed to come from behind that door.

“Yes?”

“What’s in there?”

Childe smirked, placing his hand on the knob and looking over his shoulder. “Nothing much… just my collection ~” And with a move of his wrist, he pushed the door open. “Ladies and handsome men first,” he muttered as Diluc walked by, making the redhead roll his eyes.

Inside the room, different shelves, racks and stands held… weapons. Thousands - maybe more - of them. Bows, spears, swords, knives - all kinds of deadly devices displayed in some kind of exposition.

“I-is this your collection? Weapons?” Diluc said, taking some slow steps deep inside the room. “There is probably enough weaponry here to start a war, Tartaglia,” he continued, turning back to the man standing on the door.

The ginger smiled, gently caressing the sharp edge of a spear that was near him. “Most of those are dull already. As I said, it’s just my collection, not my personal arsenal,” he smiled, noticing how the others continued to look around.

Diluc was no expert, but he could tell how some of those were way older than they looked - especially some old editions of the Knights of Favonius’s weapons. Rich people were really… eccentric, he thought. 

While letting his eyes wander over the weapons displayed nearby, Diluc found one in particular that caught his attention.

“Tartaglia,” he called, looking back to the ginger, who quickly sprinted over him.

“Yes?”

“What’s… that weapon for?” The redhead pointed out towards one of the shelves, directly towards a feather duster. The harbinger blinked a few times, looking to his partner before looking back at the object. Was he for real? Or was he just fooling around? He knew Diluc could be a little dense sometimes, but that…

One of the servants that worked on the house must’ve left that after cleaning the room, which was a reasonable excuse, but to mistake it for some kind of weapon? Tartaglia let out an audible chuckle, amused by the other’s obliviousness. “Don’t you recognize it, ‘Luc?”

The comment made his cheek turn into a shade of red clone to the one of his hair, crossing his arms in annoyance and looking away. “I-it looks just like a duster to me, but you have all the kind of stuff in here so…”

Childe rolled his eyes. Well, he was not that dense, after all, but there was still some room to mess with him. The ginger walked over the shelf, picking up the feather duster. “So you really don’t know it,” he muttered, turning back to Diluc as he used the wand part to lightly tap on his hand. “This is one of the most dangerous weapons I have in here.”

The seriousness in his voice made Diluc shiver. Childe didn’t seem to be kidding about it, and that only made him even more curious about that “weapon”. It looked so harmless, just like any other duster, maybe it was some kind of disguise to its actual power?

Childe’s smile grew wider when the other seemed to take the bait. So innocent… “Want me to show you how it works?” 

“R-right now?” Diluc gasped, snapping back from his trance, “but isn’t it dangerous?”

“Did you forget who I am? There is no weapon in Teyvat that I didn’t mast-”

“Except bows.”

Childe’s eyebrow twitched, letting out a disappointed sigh while Diluc let out a small laugh at him. “Fine, almost no weapon in Teyvat that I didn’t master. So, do you want me to show it to you or not?”

“Hmm,” Diluc pretended to wonder, trying to make some suspense. He knew how much Childe loved to show himself out and brag about his combat skills - which seemed to be the case this time - so it was a simple matter if he was going to entertain him or not. “I don’t kno-”

“Oh please, don’t be a killjoy, will you?”

Diluc chuckled, smiling while Childe pouted at his teasing. “Very well… show me how it works, then.”

His eyes sparkled as the redhead finally said the words he wanted to hear. Barely able to hold the mischievous intentions inside any longer. Quickly wrapping his arm around Diluc’s chest, the ginger pulled him closer in a swift move, making the redhead gasp in surprise.

“W-what are you doing?” He tried to protest as Childe held his wrists together with one hand, attempting to squirm off the other’s grip with no avail.

“Didn’t you ask for a demonstration, hm?” The other said cockly, using his free hand to slowly rail Diluc’s shirt up, exposing his bare midriff. With a half confused, half embarrassed look, the redhead tried to understand what all that was about. “Let me show how deadly this ‘weapon’ can be, ‘Luc”

“W-wait- ahah! T-Tahahartaglia!” Diluc gasped, pressing his eyes shut as the first giggles burst through his lips. With his free hand, Childe used the feather duster to gently caress Diluc’s exposed skin, covering those sensitive spots with the ticklish and gentle touch.

Keeping the redhead firmly in place and his hands out of the way, Childe chuckled along, alternating between quick strokes and slow traces, letting the feathers do their job and amusing himself with Diluc’s laughter. “Isn’t it great? Some may call it a merciless tool, but I find it to be such an amazing weapon…” He talked into the other’s ear, letting his breath tease his sensitive ear, finding adorable the way Diluc tried to scrunch up his shoulders to protect himself.

He should have predicted something like this, it hurt his pride to think he let himself fall for such a stupid explanation. Of course it was just a feather duster, not some kind of ancient weapon. “E-ehehenough nohohonsense!”

“Nonsense? Is that what you have to say about my collection, ‘Luc? I’m offended…” Childe mused, pulling his partner into an even tighter hug as he nuzzled against his cheek, showering him with brief kisses as the feathers were making him laugh his head off. “If you apologize… Maybe I can show you some mercy, what do you say?” 

“F-fihihine!” Diluc gasped when the feathers trailed over his stomach, trying to suck it in to avoid the soft caresses. “I’m sohohorry!”

“For what?”

“F-fohohor- agh, stahahAhahap!” He shook his head, his knees wanting to give him and drop his body to the floor, but Childe was putting up some effort in keeping him in place, leaving him no room to run to. “F-for cahahalling it nohohonsenseheh!”

“Hmmm… and what do you have to say about my weapon? ~” Childe continued, not wanting to spoil the fun just yet.

“T-Tartahahglia! Plehehease!” Diluc cried, throwing his head back in a fit of laughter as the ginger used the feathers on his side.

“Come on,” the other replied, grinning as he kissed Diluc’s cheek again before slowly sliding his lips close to his ear. “You can give it at least one compliment, right? You can do it… or are you that ticklish, ‘Luc?”

Those words sent a shiver down the redhead’s back. His cheeks burned in a bright shade of red - an adorable one, if you asked Childe - and he had no option but to submit. “N-nohohoh! I-it’s great! Ahaha, okahahay?!”

“Alright, alright… I’ll let you slide off this one easily,” Childe said, lowering the feathers, but keeping Diluc’s wrists held together. 

“A-ahah… a-aren’t you going to l-let me go?” 

“So soon, ‘Luc?” Childe grinned like a predator staring at his prey, leaning his face close to Diluc’s - close enough to feel the heat from his blushing cheeks - brushing his lips against his. “I’m not quite done with you…”

“W-what do yo- aHAha, T-TartaHAHaglia!! NohOHOH!””

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

The Mistmantle Chronicles by M. I. McAllister

On a night of riding stars, a tiny squirrel is found abandoned and close to death on a distant beach. Adopted and raised by a kindly, eccentric squirrel, Urchin has no idea of his powerful destiny or of the way he will influence the island of Mistmantle.

The rule of the good King Brushen and Queen Spindle is threatened by an evil plot from within the court. When their young prince is found murdered, the isle is thrown into turmoil. Behind the scenes, the wicked Lord Husk and Lady Aspen are determined to take control. But to underestimate the power of the islanders and the ancient prophecies is a big mistake...

Larklight by Philip Reeve

Arthur (Art) Mumby and his irritating sister Myrtle live with their father in the huge and rambling house, Larklight, travelling through space on a remote orbit far beyond the Moon. One ordinary sort of morning they receive a correspondence informing them that a gentleman is on his way to visit, a Mr Webster. Visitors to Larklight are rare if not unique, and a frenzy of preparation ensues. But it is entirely the wrong sort of preparation, as they discover when their guest arrives, and a Dreadful and Terrifying (and Marvellous) adventure begins. It takes them to the furthest reaches of Known Space, where they must battle the evil First Ones in a desperate attempt to save each other - and the Universe.

La Quete d'Ewilan by Pierre Bottero

Quand Camille vit le poids lourd qui fonçait droit sur elle, elle se figea au milieu de la chaussée. Son irrépressible curiosité l'empêcha de fermer les yeux et elle n'eut pas le temps de crier... Non, elle se retrouva couchée à plat ventre dans une forêt inconnue plantée d'arbres immenses.

- Te voici donc, Ewilan. Nous t'avons longtemps cherchée, mes frères et moi, afin d'achever ce qui avait été commencé, mais tu étais introuvable...

Adventure by Enid Blyton

For Philip, Dinah, Lucy-Ann and Jack, the holiday in Cornwall is everything they'd hope for - until they begin to realize that something very sinister is taking place on the mysterious Isle of Gloom.

But they're not prepared for the dangerous adventure that awaits them in the abandoned copper mines and secret tunnels beneath the sea.

Just William by Richmal Crompton

Whether it's trying to arrange a marriage for his sister or taking a job as a boot boy as step one in his grand plan to run away, Just William manages to cause chaos wherever he goes.

Storybound by Marissa Burt

In the land of Story, children go to school to learn to be characters: a perfect Hero, a trusty Sidekick, even the most dastardly Villain. They take classes on Outdoor Experiential Questing and Backstory, while adults search for full-time character work in stories written just for them.

In our world, twelve-year-old Una Fairchild has always felt invisible. But all that changes when she stumbles upon a mysterious book buried deep in the basement of her school library, opens the cover, and suddenly finds herself transported to the magical land of Story.

But Story is not a perfect fairy tale. Una’s new friend Peter warns her about the grave danger she could face if anyone discovers her true identity. The devious Tale Keeper watches her every move. And there are whispers of a deadly secret that seems to revolve around Una herself....

The Cooper Kids Adventures by Frank E. Peretti

When teenagers Jay and Lila Cooper and their archaeologist father travel to Nepur, an uninviting land of deserts and danger, they must search to uncover the truth behind an ancient legend. Locals claim that inside a dark cavern called the Dragon's Throat is a forbidden Door that brings certain death to anyone who tries to open it.

Armed with the knowledge that God is more powerful than any legend or curse, Jay and Lila plunge down into the Dragon's Throat, determined to find out what awaits them on the other side of the Door. This daring tale will have you on the edge of your seat.

Nim by Wendy Orr

A girl. An iguana. An island. And e-mail. Meet Nim–a modern-day Robinson Crusoe! She can chop down bananas with a machete, climb tall palm trees, and start a fire with a piece of glass. So she’s not afraid when her scientist dad sails off to study plankton for three days, leaving her alone on their island. Besides, it’s not as if no one’s looking after her–she’s got a sea lion to mother her and an iguana for comic relief. She also has an interesting new e-mail pal. But when her father’s cell-phone calls stop coming and disaster seems near, Nim has to be stronger and braver than she’s ever been before.

And she’ll need all her friends to help her.

The Dragonfly Pool by Eva Ibbotson

Tally Hamilton is furious to hear she is being sent from London to a horrid, stuffy boarding school in the countryside. And all because of the stupid war. But Delderton Hall is a far more" "unusual and " interesting" place than Tally ever imagined, and she soon falls in love with its eccentric staff and pupils. Now she's even organizing an exciting school trip to the kingdom of Bergania . . . although Tally never expected to meet the "prince."

Prince Karil hates his life at the palace and he is only truly happy when he escapes to the dragonfly pool, a remote spot in the forests of Bergania. Then Karil meets a feisty English girl who brings the promise of adventure. But his country is under threat, and the prince soon looks to his new friend Tally for survival as well as friendship . . .

Mandie by Lois Gladys Leppard

Mandie Shaw, almost a teenager, is certain God no longer loves her as she watches her father being lowered into his grave. Mandie's move into a neighbor family's home, when her mother remarries, does not soften her grief. Her only comfort is the promise from her father's faithful Cherokee friend, Uncle Ned, to watch out for her and be a friend. Will Mandie be able to escape her new and nearly intolerable home situation? Will she find her long-lost family? Will the mysterious key unlock the door to the secret tunnel and her own family's history?

[sunnyhvnny]

Hiya! Could I please request some headcanons for a reader being in a throuple with Aegon and Helaena please? 

I picture this to be super chaotic and loving for some reason lol.

Truth be told, looking back on the whole situation, you had no idea how it happened.

One day you were playing with your siblings in the Riverlands and suddenly your father was calling you inside and informed you that you were to be sent to King's Landing to be a Lady-In-Waiting for Princess Helaena.

It was a frightening experience at first, leaving the only home you knew to basically be a companion to someone you didn't know.

Every frightening thought crosses your mind as you made the journey to King's Landing. What if people made fun of you for not being from King's Landing? You had heard your older sister say that the people there were snobs. What if princess Helaena was mean or boring? You'd still have to spend time with her and pretend you liked her.

Luckily, after you arrived, it didn't take long for you to bond with the young princess. The other Ladies thought both you and the princess were strange but were too afraid to say it to Helaena's face.

In your first year as a Lady-In Waiting, you learned more about bugs and creatures than you ever thought possible. You were covered in dirt more often than not and would stay late in the princess quarters talking and telling stories.

Your friendship developed into something more just a little bit before she was to marry her brother, Aegon. You stayed later in her rooms and holding her hand as the both of you ran throughout the gardens had turned into idly playing with her fingers as she kissed your knuckles.

You’re so enamored with the princess that you almost forget about everyone else around you. When you’re with her it’s just the two of you but now that you’re a bit older you have to be careful about how the two of you might appear to the other ladies-in-waiting, for they love to gossip and the rest of the court.

No one seems to catch on, well at least you think. Aegon has had his eye on you since you arrived and had noticed you growing closer with his sister-wife.

He saw the way Helaena looked at you and once, accidentally caught the two of you sharing a soft and sweet kiss. At first, he thought that the jealousy in his chest was because Helaena got you all to herself but he realizes that he wants to be a part of whatever the two of you have.

Aegon slowly tries to integrate into your life. It would have been easier if he was closer to Helaena, his wife and sister, but he wasn’t. However, he learned the best time for him to catch the two of you together without the other ladies following, is when you are playing with the twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys.

You love spending time with Helaena’s twins. They’re sweet and eccentric and always have smiles with missing teeth for you when you come by. Jaehaerys is like a peacock you once saw in Highgarden, he preens under attention and will show you everything he has (even though you’ve seen it already). His twin sister is a much more delicate soul and will often climb on yours or her mother’s lap and bury her face in her neck and watch as the people move about the room.

It doesn’t escape your notice when Prince Aegon joins the two of you on your visits to the nursery or when the two of you take the children out to play in the gardens.

It takes a moment for him to change his attitude towards Helaena, because even now that he does want her, an insult is always teasing on the tip of his tongue. It becomes easier for him, though, and he becomes kinder and more attentive.

You aren’t possessive over Helaena. You had realized that you loved her a while ago but knew that she was someone you could not fully lay claim to so it makes you happy when Aegon will say something and she’ll smile in return or when she inclines her head for him to kiss her on the forehead, which he does with a chuckle.

Eventually, the three of you start spending time together outside of seeing their children.

After Helaena’s nameday celebration, you and Aegon drag her down to the city for some fun. You and Aegon have gone before in secret and thought it was the perfect place for Helaena to finally let loose.

The first stop is a tavern that has quickly become your favorite. Aegon, of course, disagrees and says that there are better taverns in flea bottom but you want to ease Helaena into it tonight.

Despite your planning, neither you nor Aegon expected Helaena to be giggling and hiccuping after two cups of ale. You almost lose her when a group of traveling musicians dances down the street playing their music and Helaena immediately runs out to join them.

You look at Aegon with exasperation but he’s only smiling. He has never seen his sister so carefree and especially not around him. Eventually, the two of you decide to split up to find the princess.

After she is found by Aegon (he finds her in the Blue Pearl where a whore he used to visit frequently is giving her tea and nodding along to the princess ramble) the two of you bring her back to the castle.

You all fall into Helaena’s large bed after the long and eventful night and none of you expect anything to happen. That is until your eyes start to flutter close as sleep starts to take you, and you feel light wet kisses on your collarbone. You open your eyes and see Helaena’s large eyes looking up at you as she kisses all the skin that is available to her.

You look over at Aegon who is looking at his wife and her lady-in-waiting with a red face and a hardness in his trousers. He meets your eyes and you can see the hunger in his eyes.

You have never been able to deny your princess anything and as of late, it’s becoming hard to deny your prince of anything either.

When the other girl nips at your collarbone, you lose any semblance of restraint you have and kiss her back just as hungrily. You don’t remember how long it took you to strip the both of you but all you’re aware of is your lips on Helaena’s neck and fingers deep in her wet cunt and she pants and moans.

Aegon sits off to the side and watches the two of you. He fists his cock lazily as he watches his wife spread her legs for someone else to eat her out. It’s only when Helaena is brought to her first orgasm that Aegon joins.

He moves the two of you around like it’s nothing. Vaguely in the back of your head, you realize he has probably done this before but you ignore that thought when you look down and Helaena is between your legs and biting at your thighs and Aegon is behind Helaena, rubbing his cock between her folds.

The rest of the night is spent like that until you all fall asleep tangled together.

Things are just a little different after that night. What was hinted at is now explicit. When you hold the princess's hand it is no longer under the guise of friendship and when Aegon kisses the both of you on the cheek when he comes to join the two of you, you no longer deny the feelings you all share.

Each night is spent together. Most nights things turn hot and heavy but other nights you are all comfortable being in each other's company.

It only takes two moons to pass for Helaena to announce to you and her husband that she is with child again. You jump up to hug her immediately but Aegon looks up at her, pale in the face until you snatch him by the collar and pull him into the hug.

It’s after the princess begins to swell with the babe that you begin to think that she’s enjoying this way too much. You and Aegon wait on her hand and foot, refusing the help of any of the servants.

When you come back from sneaking off to the city, after hunting down a specific candy that Helaena had when she wound up in that brothel, you swipe the goblet of wine from Aegon’s hand with a sigh and down it as your princess happily eats the candy while rubbing her stomach.

Aegon laughs after you drain the contents of the goblet and jokingly tells you that perhaps he wasn’t the one to put the babe inside her because you’re the one that is acting more like the father.

This of course ends with you smacking him upside the head.

Despite knowing that Helaena is pregnant and that a child is coming, it still surprises you and Aegon when she starts her labors. Aegon runs throughout the castle to your chambers to inform you that Helaena has been calling for you and wrapped in a nightgown, you and Aegon rush to the princess.

The midwives and maesters allow you in, as you’re her lady-in-waiting, but Aegon is left outside. You want to argue it but when you see Helaena double over with a groan you go to her immediately.

The entire time you don’t let go of her hand. When she cries and begs for it to end you reassure her it’ll be over soon and that she’ll have a new babe for her efforts. When she asks about Aegon and if he is here this time, you tell her he is pacing holes in the corridor outside of the room.

Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, a little boy with silver tufts of hair and a scrunched up face is born. Aegon is let into the room immediately and ignores everybody until he is beside Helaena and their new child.

You look at the little family and feel a pit in your stomach.

The three of you had your fun but was it more than that? They are a family and you are just a companion, a lady-in-waiting from the Riverlands.

Aegon is the first to see you try to leave the room. He calls for you and when you turn back he’s beaming as he waves you over. You walk over hesitantly and look down at the small bundle.

“You didn’t think we’d get rid of you now, did you? You’re a part of this family.” Aegon nudges you as he takes the babe from Helaena’s arms and places him in your arms. “Meet Maelor.”

[pollenallergie]

the favourite

Word Count: 4k

Description: Ralph checks in on his favourite maid.

A/N: as always, all credit for Ralph’s canon surname goes to @mypoisonedvine!! <3

CW/TW: nothing to see here, just good ole fashion comfort fic. some brief mentions of vomiting/stomach issues, but that’s all. just good ole wholesome fluff. reader is referred to as a woman, and she/her pronouns are occasionally used to refer to her… i’m sorryyyy i really meant to make this more gender-neutral, but there was some wording that sounded really clunky when written to be gender neutral, and i couldn’t find out how to get around it, so i caved. i’m sorry :/

Ralph paces outside the maids’ quarters, fretting about what sort of state you must be in. He’s not seen you all day, and that, in and of itself, is quite unusual.

From the moment he’d noticed that you were missing at breakfast, he’d begun to worry. However, his anxiety only increased tenfold when he’d overheard a couple of the other servants discussing how you’d fallen ill in the late, late hours of last night. Now that Ralph knows the true reason for your sudden absence, he debates whether he should pay a visit to the maids’ quarters to check in on you.

On the one hand, he cares for you deeply, probably more than a man should care about one of his maids, and wants to support you in your time of need. However, on the other hand, Ralph is quite squeamish and he worries that he will not be able to handle seeing you in such a compromised state. Or, rather, he fears that any reaction he may have to your sickly plight will only make things worse for you.

“Ralph,” his sister, Victoria, shouts from the other room, “Would you stop pacing? I can hear your feet pitter-pattering, it’s driving me mad! And you’re creating a draft,” she scolds him harshly.

“R-right, of course,” he stutters, now forced to make a choice. Shall he go in and check on you or should he simply wait for you to come out on your own, once you’ve recovered?

Suddenly, it occurs to Ralph that you may never recover, that this mysterious ailment may well be fatal. Should that be the case, then Ralph would lose you forever. That thought stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It’s decided then, Ralph thinks, I must go check on her.

So, he peeks down the hall, ensuring Victoria is far enough away that she won’t notice him sneaking into your room. Once he’s confirmed to himself that his sister is too far from him to be aware of his clandestine activities, Ralph slowly and quietly opens the door to your rooms, calling out your name to ensure that he won’t startle you.

“It’s me, Ralph. Are you decent?” He inquires politely.

“Yes,” you hum out pathetically as one of your cold hands snakes under your duvet to gently cradle your aching stomach. At this point, you can’t tell if your chills are the result of the frosty winter weather that roars on just outside the thin glass of your bedroom window or of the illness you’d awoken with last night.

At the sound of your pitiful tone, Ralph swiftly enters your room and softly shuts the door behind him. He then promptly makes his way over to you before coming to kneel at your bedside, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Oh, dove, what’s happened to you?” Ralph asks frantically with his eyes flitting back and forth as he takes in your sallow appearance. Your heart thrums at the term of endearment he’s used.

Perhaps it should be concerning that one of your employers has invaded your space, the only comfort you are owed as a domestic servant, this realm of so-called privacy that you share with two other young ladies and one very pious older lady. Not to mention that he’s referred to you in such an inappropriate manner. However, you’ve come to expect such behaviour from Ralph, who has never much bothered with upholding social customs.

Surprisingly, he frequently pays even less mind to cultural standards than his twin sister, Victoria, a woman known far and wide for her eccentricities. Victoria, for example, certainly doesn’t make a habit of fraternising with the help beyond the typical daily exchanges that take place in the home. Ralph, however, is quite chummy with all of the staff of the Penbury House.

Though, recently you’ve become his favourite, most likely because you indulge his odd little whims more than the others and more than you probably should. Although, now you’re hardly in the right state to properly accommodate such spontaneity.

“My stomach,” you pathetically whimper your response as you look up at him with sorrowful, glassy eyes.

Ralph feels his heart break at the sight. Only then does he notice the empty bin positioned precariously by your bed, and he begins to feel a nervousness flutter about in his belly.

“Are you- Have you gotten sick?” He asks, his voice having gone up an octave from all of his worrying.

You nod before attempting to provide verbal confirmation, only to then be cut off by a sharp, cramping pain shooting through your abdomen. You wince at the horrid feeling, causing Ralph to frown.

“Is it painful?” He asks softly.

“Yes,” you whimper out, an unintentionally adorable pout taking over your features.

You cannot help but feel ashamed. A member of the household staff should never make their discomfort known to their employers, even if your master did ask you directly. Perhaps, if anyone overheard you, you can simply blame it on your fever-addled mind. Certainly that seems reasonable, right?

You’ve heard of men at war having delusions of grandeur as a result of incredibly high fevers, caused by infected wounds, warping their minds. Certainly then it must be reasonable to suspect that your mild fever is at fault for your current inability to properly think things through before you say them aloud.

Oblivious to your mental plight, Ralph lifts his hand to rest near your temple, the tips of his fingers gently stroking the damp, wispy strands at your hairline as he coos, “Oh, poppet, I shall call for a doctor at once.” It’s a comforting touch accompanied by words that speak of a kindness someone like you simply will never deserve from someone like him, you are well aware of that, yet you cannot help but lean into the touch all the same.

“I’ll be alright, my lord,” you reply, giving your polite, indirect refusal.

Ralph tsks in disapproval, “Sweetling, you know that I will not know peace until you’ve recovered. Please, let me help you,” he begs sweetly.

You sigh, your resolve swiftly melting under the heat of the pleading gaze that his coffee brown eyes fix you with.

“Thank you, my lord,” you say, simultaneously accepting his aid and articulating your gratitude for it while your lips curl up into a small, shy smile.

In turn, he rewards your reluctant acceptance with a big, beaming grin. He then gingerly takes one of your clammy hands, the only one which is not currently cradling your aching stomach, into one of his own before placing a chaste kiss to the back of it.

“Rest up, dove. I’ll be back shortly,” Ralph informs you giddily, oddly excited by the prospect of caring for you. He then swiftly departs, rushing off to ring up their local physician.

Only an hour or so later, you're suddenly awoken by the sound of the door to your quarters opening with an eerie creak. You huff and roll over without opening your eyes, presuming it to be one of the other maids.

“Darling, I have returned,” Someone calls out in a singsong tone as they enter your room, “I apologise for being away for so long. You would not believe how difficult it was to get in touch with our family’s physician.”

“Ralph?” You ask, momentarily forgetting your manners due to the lingering exhaustion, as you roll over and open your bleary eyes to look at the person.

“Yes, ‘tis I,” he confirms theatrically, just as energetic and campy as ever, as he sets down a glass of water and a cup of tea on your night stand.

Ralph then gracelessly plops down on your bed, a canvas bag filled with various bits and bobs still loosely tucked into the crook of his elbow as he comes to sit just by where your feet rest under the blankets.

“Oh, how I do love it when you simply call me by my name,” he remarks cheerfully as he gently boops your nose.

“It’s improper,” you grumble, “I should always refer to you by your title.”

“Perhaps it is, but I love it all the same,” Ralph replies, still sporting his cheerful smile as he busies himself with setting out all of the things he’s brought with him on top of the wooden trunk that sits near the foot of your tiny bed.

Now that Ralph thinks about it, he really should arrange for you to get a bigger bed, maybe he should arrange for all the staff to get bigger beds; he can’t imagine these are very comfortable. You’re a grown woman, a lovely, amazing, kind, unfairly beautiful grown woman, you deserve to sleep in a bed befitting a grown adult.

“Now,” Ralph begins to explain once he’s arranged everything to his liking, “It would seem that Dr. Wycoff has already stepped out for the day, so he won’t be able to come until tomorrow morning. However, you needn’t fret, for I had one of our footmen go out and fetch you some things that might ease your discomfort, at least until we can get you proper medical attention.”

“My lor-” you attempt to interject, most likely to remind Ralph that his fretting over you is both completely unnecessary and entirely inappropriate, though the attempt is in vain as your master continues with his ramblings.

“Now, let’s see, I’ve got some ginger tea to help calm your stomach, a hot water bottle for the cramping, a glass of cold water with some mint leaves in it, a couple pieces of toast, and a collection of poetry that I can read to you. What shall we start with first?” He asks eagerly, looking at you with those wide, kind eyes of his. There’s a spark of determination present in his warm gaze and it lets you know that any further attempts you make to refuse his care, whether they’re for propriety’s sake or otherwise, will be futile.

You huff out a breath, the sound of it is something between a humorous chuckle and resigned sigh, before smiling up at him fondly.

“Perhaps we could start with the hot water bottle and maybe the book of poems as well,” you suggest.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but, somehow, his smile seems to become even bigger and brighter than before. “Marvelous idea, poppet,” He says sweetly as he grabs the hot water bottle.

Rather than simply handing the item to you, as you initially expect, Ralph simply lifts the linens away from you, revealing your form to him, so that he can place the hot water bottle on your aching stomach himself. The moment he registers that you’re in your nightdress — your white cotton nightdress, which is surprisingly thin and not doing much to conceal your form from him — he realises his mistake.

Ralph gingerly, yet hastily places the hot water bottle on your stomach, his fingertips able to feel the warmth of your skin through your nightdress as he does so. His cheeks and the tips of his ears burn with a warm blush as he aids you. Ralph then promptly rights the linens back in place so that you’re properly covered, before swiftly rising to his feet, turning away and attempting to disguise his flusteredness by clearing his throat.

“I apologise,” he exhales a shaky breath, still refusing to look at you, “for erm- well- I only meant to help. It was not my intention to erm- to violate you. I would never want to dis-”

“My lord, it’s quite alright.”

“-respect you or to- to, erm, to dishonour you.”

“You haven’t, my lord,” you attempt to interject, though it seems nothing you say will halt his spiraling.

Oh, well, drastic times call for drastic measures.

“It was certainly not my intention to force myself onto you or to, erm, to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. Truly, I only meant to help you, to care for you, because, well, I think I might l-”

“Ralph,” you interrupt.

The sound of his own name finally captures his attention as he turns to face you once more, mostly out of shock; you hardly ever call him by his first name, despite the fact that he’s made it very obvious that he wishes you would only ever refer to him by his first name, his name, not the name held by his father and his sister and every other Penbury who’s not him.

You reach out to gently grasp one of his hands in one of your own, clammy, hands. “It’s alright.”

He looks down at your intertwined hands, then back at your face, focusing on your eyes which look up at him so kindly, and then down to your lips which are curled into a soft, shy smile, one that, in his wildest dreams, he lets himself believe you reserve only for him.

“It is?” He asks, his tone still wavering with worry.

“Yes,” you reassure him before patting the spot he once sat in, silently encouraging him to sit back down, to be near you again.

Ralph obliges your wordless request and hesitantly lowers himself to sit back down on the edge of your bed.

He’s quiet still, too quiet, especially considering that neither of the Penbury twins are ever quiet. You worry that he’s still lost in his own mind, panicking about propriety, much like you always are. You don’t like seeing him worry.

“My lord, I do believe you promised to read some poems to me,” you remind him, not truly wanting to boss him around, but rather wanting to give him something to focus on other than his recent misstep.

“R-right, right, of course, I, erm,” he pauses to clear his throat, looking down at his hands as he wrings them together, deciding whether he should speak the next words allowed given how he’s already disregarded your boundaries today. Ultimately, he sighs and decides to take the risk.

“I’ll, erm- I’ll read them to you but only,” he whispers before pausing briefly to let out a shaky breath, “only if you promise to stop referring to me as ‘my lord’ when we’re alone. I’d,” he pauses once more, summoning the courage needed to speak his next words aloud, “I’d much rather you call me Ralph when it’s just the two of us.”

He’s told you this many times before and you’ve never been outright offended, but still, he worries.

Although, you’ve recently, within the last few minutes, called him Ralph all on your own, making that the second time that you’ve referred to him by his name today. Twice is certainly the most you’ve ever called him by his name in a day as you almost never refer to him as anything but ‘my lord’ when addressing him directly and ‘Lord Penbury’ when referring to him in conversations with the other household staff members; conversations he really shouldn’t eavesdrop on, but that he always does, at least, when you’re a part of them.

Certainly your seemingly waning hesitance to call him by his name must be a good sign, right?

You reply, “Maybe I shall call you Ralphie.”

It’s a joke, one that shouldn’t be said aloud, one that you didn’t properly think over before you said it aloud, one that has entirely too much truth behind it, one that really wouldn’t seem like a joke at all if not for your humorous tone. Ralph certainly doesn’t seem to think it a joke.

He smiles brightly, some of that characteristic Penbury enthusiasm returning to him in that moment, as he genuinely replies, “I would love that, sweetling.”

“Now,” Ralph continues, “as for the poems, this book is from my own personal collection. It’s the selected poems of John Keats. He’s one of my favourites. It’s a shame tuberculosis took him so young. Thankfully you don’t have tuberculosis, or, at least, I’ve got no reason to think that you do. I believe tuberculosis is the one with all the coughing, and you haven’t a cough, just an upset stomach, right, darling?” He rambles as he digs the book out of his bag and then thumbs through it in search of his favourite poem.

“Right,” you confirm, “no coughing.”

He hums at that, offering mere acknowledgment as he’s already moved onto another subject entirely. Usually you’re one of the only ones who’s able to keep up with him in conversation, whenever you’re actually afforded the opportunity to indulge him in it without getting caught by the housekeeper, the woman in charge of you and all the other female servants. However, today it’s difficult to keep up with his rapidly shifting focuses, likely due to your current state of ill health.

“Are you familiar with his work?” Ralph asks suddenly.

“Hmm?” You question, too lost in your own thoughts to remember who he’s talking about.

“John Keats. Are you familiar with any of his poems?” He asks again, not at all bothered by the fact that you seem to have lost focus for a moment there.

One thing you’ve learned in your time working here at the Penbury estate is that the younger of the two Penbury twins is exceedingly patient, whilst the elder is exceedingly short-tempered.

“I’m afraid not, erm,” you heistate before calling him by his desired nickname, still reluctant to let go of propriety, “Ralphie,” you reply, giving in to the temptation to please him, to make him happy by calling him something far more personal than his title.

It’s the first time you’ve actually used that nickname when addressing him and the sound of it sets fireworks alight in his chest.

“Oh, how dreadful! I suppose we shall start with the classics then, yes? This one is called ‘You Say You Love’ and it’s easily one of my favourites of all the poems I’ve ever read,” Ralph explains before leaning in close to tap your nose with an audible ‘boop’ before assuring you, in a tone that’s much like the one he uses when he’s cooing lovingly, “you’re going to positively adore it, sweetling, I’m certain of it.”

He sits up again, opening the book to the correct page before suddenly remembering the tea he’d had the kitchen staff prepare for you.

“Sweetling,” Ralph calls out to you.

“Yes, Ralphie?” He can’t help but smile at the sound of your sweet voice uttering his preferred nickname, this time noticeably less tentative than before.

“Do remember to drink your tea before it goes cold, my lo- my dear,” he clears his throat out of embarrassment before reaffirming, “erm, j-just dear. Dearest, even!”

She’s not yours, Ralph, you blasted fool! He harshly reminds himself.

You bravely rest one of your hands atop his own, knowing he needs the comforting touch to ground him and help him avoid another spiral. “I will,” you assure him.

“R-right, erm,” he clears his throat, “let us begin.”

You hum your approval as you reach over to carefully grab the cup of tea from where it sits on the trunk by your bed. Ralph can’t help but smile as he watches you take a sip, all while still clutching the hot water bottle to your tummy.

“You say that you love,” he begins, immediately channeling the energy of a romantic poet, like John Keats, waxing poetic about unrequited love, “but with a voice chaster than a nun’s…”

You sit back, resting against your thin, floppy pillow, sipping your ginger tea whilst you listen to him recite one of his favourite poems in a tone of voice so soft and intimate, that it begins to lull you to sleep.

It’s not long before you’re sound asleep, but, even then, Ralph doesn’t stop reading his poems; mostly because he’s so engrossed in the works of his favourite poet that he fails to notice that you’ve fallen asleep.

Once he does notice, however, he sets his book aside so that can help get you settled. He carefully eases the cup of tea out of your clutches, lest you spill it on yourself in your sleep, and sets it aside. He takes great care in gently tucking you in, careful not to wake you as he makes sure you’re sufficiently covered by your bed linens.

Thanks to your lack of consciousness, Ralph even finds the courage to lean forward and press a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead. Though, he soon realizes that might have been a mistake as your forehead is very sweaty, no doubt thanks to your fever, and now your now-cold perspiration is on his lips. He grimaces at the gross feeling as he harshly wipes your sweat off of his lips with the sleeve of shirt. He also indulges in a sip of your tea, just to make sure that your sweat is well and truly gone.

“I shall remain right here as you sleep, sweetling. I won’t leave your side, not for a moment,” Ralph reassures your sleeping form.

He makes good on his word, sitting at your side and watching you sleep, memorising the slope of your nose and the roundness of your cheeks, reading poem after poem to you even though you aren’t awake to hear them.

Ralph even replaces your hot water bottle when it goes cold, handing it off to Langley — who’s been dutifully waiting outside the door to the maids’ chambers ever since he discovered his master was in there — so that he can have the kitchen staff rewarm it for you. He still blushes and flusters when he lifts the linens to take the now useless water bottle from you, he still feels wildly guilty about crossing any boundaries, even though you’re in too deep of a sleep to notice. Ralph even finishes your tea before it goes cold and then has Langley order the kitchen staff to prepare some more for you.

Speaking of dear Langley, the Penburys’ head butler whose current, steadfast presence by the door to the maids’ quarters, a place he’s never been posted outside of before, gives away Ralph’s presence in your room to anyone and everyone who walks by.

Luckily for Ralph, Victoria would never set foot in what she colloquially refers to as the “Help Hall,” a hallway lined with doors that lead to the various rooms the staff of the townhouse reside in.

Still, he can’t imagine that the women with whom you share your room are at all happy to have their master lingering in their space. So, when the evening draws to a close, and he hears the murmurs of other staff members going off to their rooms in that same hallway, Ralph reluctantly leaves your side to avoid causing any offense to the other maids, who’ve never been anything but kind to him.

Nevertheless, before he leaves, Ralph places another soft kiss on your forehead, and this time, he has the forethought to use his handkerchief to wipe away most of the sweat before he presses his lips there. He holds his lips there a bit longer than last time, hoping that, even in your sleep, you can feel the warmth of his affections pouring through the gesture.

When Ralph pulls away, he whispers to your sleeping form, “Unfortunately, I must take my leave now, but I will return tomorrow morning so that I may continue to look after you in your time of need. I shall return every day until you are well again, dear heart, this much I promise, and you must know that a Penbury always keeps their promises,” Ralph pauses, his brows furrowing as he thinks over his words, “Or, at least, I always keep my promises. If memory serves me correctly, I’ve not broken a promise yet, and I most certainly do not intend to start doing so now.”

Suddenly, Ralph sighs; it's a solemn, dejected sound that perfectly conveys his reluctance to leave your side. His eyes rake over your sleeping form once more, hoping to memorize the sight of you in the hopes that you might appear in his dreams tonight.

“I know you cannot hear me right now, sweetling, and m-maybe that is for the best, but,” Ralph trails off, interrupting himself to take a deep, calming breath. He then uses his handkerchief to wipe off some of the sweat on your cheek before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss there. When Ralph pulls away, he moves just slightly so that his lips hover near your ear, and then softly whispers, “I love you.”

[herrscherofmagic]

so a fun little concept just popped into my mind this morning: ZZZ versions of the Honkai 3rd Part 2 cast!

and the more I thought about it the more I realized how incredibly well all of these characters fit into the setting of New Eridu (explanation + text in the image is provided below)

Senadina ...???

Entropy A White Star Institute researcher who specializes on researching Hollow Zero. Has a serious case of amnesia but clearly remembers somebody important to her named "Senadina" and fervently believes that Senadina is lost in Hollow Zero

Helia New Eridu Public Security (N.E.P.S.) officer and childhood friend of Coralie. Also friends with Entropy after assisting her with a case in the Hollows. A passionate law enforcement officer, though she often turns a blind eye to the activities of well-meaning Proxies.

Coralie An independent researcher and Proxy, as well as childhood friend of Helia. Has an amicable relationship with the White Star Institute thanks to Entropy and Chenxue. Rival of Ajita, and proudly proclaims that she, "Dark Lord Coralie", will one day surpass even Phaethon.

Chenxue Senior researcher of the White Star Institute, Entropy's mentor, and a supposedly "former" Proxy. Friends with Ajita despite their differences in research philosophy.

Songque Profesional scammer "street merchant" with a side business of fortune-telling and a passion for acting. Became friends with Tsavorae in their late-teens when they both lived on the streets, and remains acquainted with her. She's come up with over half a dozen origin stories, but the most popular rumor suggests that she is from the Outer Ring.

Thelema Nutrimescu Business magnate and noble lady. Despite being an intimidating and imposing figure, she engages in a significant amount of philanthropy on the low. Somehow became acquainted with Songque, and frequently visits Songque's local theatre undercover and attends her performances.

Baiji A nobleman, born into a life of wealth and with a notable public presence. Has an ambiguous but long-standing connection with Thelema, as well as more subtle ties with individuals such as Litost and Ajita. He also cares deeply for his sickly younger sister Baili, despite his own poor health, and donates a tremendous amount of his fortune towards medical research.

Tsavorae A senior investigator of the Hollow Investigative Association (H.I.A.). She and her long-time partner Scudder are part of a small but prestigious group of HIA investigators known as Lantern, though because Tsavorae stands out even amongst this elite group, she's often been referred to as "Lantern" herself.

Serapeum A young girl who frequents the theatre that Songque performs at, and who has become an anonymous yet popular writer online. A passionate bookworm with a curious mind, and is cared for by Songque and her friends.

Litost A retired Proxy who has mysterious ties with Baiji. Though he now lives a simple life alongside his dog Duonigue, there are rumors in the darkest corners of the Inter-Knot that Litost still ventures into the Hollows, and that he wields a power beyond the capabilities of known science and technology. Of course, these rumors are exactly that: rumors... right?

Ajita An eccentric independent researcher and inventor. She was once part of the White Star Institute but left to pursue her own research with greater freedom. Retains a connection with Chenxue and through her has become acquainted with Entropy, Helia, and Coralie, the last of whom she has quickly developed a competitive relationship with. Ajita also collaborates with Thelema and Baiji on projects kept far away from prying eyes.

[cameronfodder]

Miss Maul was an eccentric old lady that lived in the wilds of Galar giving first aid to the wild pokemon that would come across her doorstep. A businessman came to offer her money to move, she declined and would continue to do so until she mysteriously fell ill and died. The wilderness around her home was bulldozed but years later a lone Misdrevious would haunt the vacinity destroying any form of contemporary technology. She now records her music on the old record technology that emerged during her lifetime. This is the only legal way to listen to her music. It is said people who pirate her music digitally become cursed and receive a visit from her.