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minaslittleone · 3 years

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The Sarahs as plant mums (AHS & Ratched)

Like many people I've become an avid plant mum over the course of the pandemic (much to the chagrin of those in my life who have to hear every time one of my babies sprouts a new leaf), which got me thinking - what kind of plant mum would each of the Sarahs be?

GIF: illuminated-blue

Billie-Dean Howard

Image: winterkindfotographie

Billie-Dean is much more partial to flowers than she is to caring for a whole plant. She is definitely the kind of person who always has fresh flowers in her home but also takes the time to trim and rearrange the bouquet as she places it in a vase, rather than merely unceremoniously compacting the existing arrangement into a vessel. She also definitely has a secret cut flower food recipe (passed down to her by the ghost of a Victorian housekeeper whom she met while filming a special of her show at a mansion in the UK) which keeps her cut flowers looking immaculate for a full week. If her schedule permits it, her favourite thing to do on a Sunday morning is to stroll the farmers markets and choose individual types of flowers and foliage to bring home and arrange herself from scratch. She finds the process of trimming each of the stems and finding the perfect position for each individual bloom incredibly cathartic.

Her favourite flowers are bright and cheerful. She is particularly drawn to things like tulips, gerberas and lillies, but finds softer more delicate blooms like carnations frustrating and overly dramatic, she definitely appreciates a bit of tenacity in her flowers. She also has no time for strongly scented blooms, and particularly despises the way roses seem to emit a sickly sweet odor after only a few days. Billie finds scents and perfumes in general to be quite cloying and overwhelming as smell is one of the ways she is often viscerally affected when she makes contact with ghosts. She unfortunately associates most strong smells with encounters and so sweet smelling blooms hold little appeal to her, she much prefers fresh neutral scents. The one exception is lavender which she does find soothing. After a particularly taxing week it is not uncommon for her usual bright cheerful blooms to be replaced by simple posies of lavender and rosemary as she recenters herself.

Lana Winters

Image: toms-cacti

Lana is undoubtedly a plant serial killer. Which is totally unsurprising since whenever she gets fixated on a new story she often forgets to feed herself, let alone feed and water her plants. That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate them though. She loves the way little office plants bring life and vitality to her workspace, that is until they inevitably whither and die from lack of water, or from being burried under piles of paper but that doesn't stop her trying.

Eventually Lana discovers that she and succulents are well suited. It actually makes a lot of sense when she thinks about it - they're both a little prickly on the outside (but only to protect the softness underneath) and both are stubborn to a fault. Lana is particularly fond of the slightly larger cactus she keeps on her desk (which is incidentally the first plant she managed not to kill) and often finds herself talking to him to help work through the flow of her ideas or to overcome writer's block. Spike (as she creatively named him) really is a very good listener and a talented editor to boot.

Still there are times when Lana wishes she had a greener thumb and could expand her collection beyond succulents. As much as she loves Spike and his prickly friends, she really wishes they would grow just a bit quicker so she could experience that new leaf joy even just once. She completely dissuades herself of those feelings though when she returns from a week long book tour to find a weird bump on the top of Spike. Her first thought is that after all this time she's finally managed to kill him and that she really is as terrible a plant parent as she had feared. However, those fears completely dissolved the following morning when she returned to her office to find that Spike's bump had begun to open into the beginnings of a beautiful pink flower. For a minute she could only stare on disbelief, not quite comprehending what was going on however, that quickly gave way to a giddy childlike grin when she realised that she must be doing something right. That, and her little man really did look very cute with his flower top hat.

Cordelia Goode

Image: chickadeegreen

Cordelia doesn't just have a green thumb, she has ten green fingers. She absolutely adores plants and having living things around her, especially since the greenhouse has always been her place of peace and sanctuary. She finds it incredibly cathartic pottering around the greenhouse when she gets a few spare moments away from all her duties as supreme/headmistress/mother to a house full of girls. Most of the plants she keeps in the greenhouse are solely for practical/ medicinal purposes but she does keep a few plants in her room and office which she finds soothing. She is particularly fond of philodendrons and pothos with their easy going nature and relaxed growth pattern. She loves the way they seem to make themselves at home anywhere and every time she spots new leaves unfurling it makes her smile. She tries to make an effort to see the beauty in their imperfections and use them to remind herself that everything doesn't always have to be perfect.

Since her supremacy the plants in her personal spaces have thrived unlike anything anyone has ever seen, seemingly feeding off Cordelia's magical aura. Any time any of the plants in the greenhouse are waning she will take them to her office for a few days of rehabilitation after which they will always be positively bursting with life. It is not uncommon for her to find new additions appearing in her little infirmary if Mallory or Misty have noticed that a particular plant is in need of a little TLC.

The flip side to this is that any time Cordelia over taxes herself, while she may be an expert at schooling her features and hiding it from her girls, it will show in her plants. After too many late nights dealing with running the academy or too many days spent funneling all of her energy into everyone around her (and subsequently completely neglecting herself) the plants in her office (and room) will start to lose their vibrancy as well. The first victim is usually the heartleaf philodendron on Cordelia's office bookshelf (the first plant she allowed herself to bring into the space after ascending to the supremacy) which seems to be particularly attune to her moods, especially when it is feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy sapping her magic. Conversely it's the monstera deliciosa in the corner of her office that seems to be the first to wilt when its physical stress or exhaustion plaguing the supreme. Zoe now automatically takes stock of the plants in Cordelia's office every time she enters, knowing it's the only true indication she's likely to get that the supreme herself might be in need of some TLC.

Bette and Dot Tattler

Image: geopsych

Bette has always been drawn to flowers, she thinks they're terribly romantic. From bouquets of flowers from gentleman callers to sweet cottage gardens behind white picket fences, teeming with blooms of assorted colours, Bette thinks flowers are a beautiful symbol of normality. She desperately wants to have a garden or even a window box that she can tend to, however that particular desire is not entirely compatible with living in a trailer.

What she does have though is a small collection of African Violets sitting on their kitchen windowsill. They were a present from Jimmy after Bette's first performance singing in the freakshow. Though she might be completely tone deaf she is fiercely determined, so after months of practice she had finally managed to learn "dream a little dream of me" enough to hold the tune (with Dot gently humming it alongside her to keep her in pitch). A few days before Bette was due to perform Jimmy had quietly pressed a note into Dot's palm after dinner asking which type of flowers Bette preferred so that he could get her a bouquet for her first performance. Dot's heart warmed at that, seeing the man that she loved so tenderly care for her sister. Later that evening she had pressed a note back in reply that Bette loved anything pink, cheerful and romantic, however she also ached for flowers the she could keep beyond the length of time a bouquet would last. So maybe a flowering plant would be better. Jimmy of course bought both, handing Bette a beautiful posie of assorted pink coloured carnations along with a terracotta pot of African Violets. Bette had thrown her arm around Jimmy's neck and squeeled with excitement at the sight of her flowers while Dot had offered him the warmest, proudest smile as she mouthed "thank you" against the backdrop of her sister's excited ramblings.

Given how long Bette had pined for flowers and how excited she had been to receive them it is unsurprising that she is a devoted plant parent. She waters her flowers once a week like clockwork, adding water to a saucer underneath the pot and letting them drink the water up through their roots just like Paul had shown her. Apparently African Violets don't like to get their leaves wet. Bette would even go as far as to take her flowers out for some sun if she felt the conditions on their windowsill weren't right at their current campsite. Her little pot of flowers really did bring her so much joy.

Dot may not have shared her sister's passion for flowers (finding them mostly to be needless and frivolous) but in the end she was the one who responsible for the expansion of her sister's flower garden. When Paul had originally shown Bette how to care for her flowers he had also mentioned that they could be propagated which had fascinated Dot. The idea you could just take a leaf and it would grow roots and become a completely new plant was amazing to her. But convincing Bette to let her try it out for herself definitely proved to be battle. Bette certainly wasn't keen on allowing her sister to chop into her precious flowers while Dot couldn't see why her sister was being so protective, the little plant certainly had plenty of leaves to spare, especially if it could give a whole new plant. Unsurprisingly the disagreement escalated to a pair of very raised voices which is what ultimately drew Jimmy into the argument. After managing to calm down both sisters Jimmy revealed to Bette that the tiny pot plant had originally been her sister's idea because she knew how much she wanted to have flowers of her own. Dot confirmed that she does know how important the flowers are to Bette and that she would never want to hurt them, she was just excited at the possibility of being to make more of them for her sister and be able to give her the windowsill full of flowers that she had always dreamed of. Bette couldn't help but relent after that. A few months later and Dot has become quite the propagation expert, to the point where their windowsill is beggining to fill up with juvenile plants as well as fresh cuttings just beginning to take root. Bette smiles every time they catch her eye, not just at the beauty of the flowers that she spent so long pining for but also for how they symbolise her sister's love for her. While they may still bicker bitterly from time to time, Bette knows that no one will ever love her as much or as fiercely as her sister does. Dot still has no real interest in the flowers themselves. She does still find propagating rewarding, especially watching her little babies start to grow and flourish. But mostly she just enjoys watching the way they make her sister smile.

Sally McKenna

Image: jeremiahsplants

Sally is obsessed with carnivorous plants and you can't convince me otherwise. She definitely discovered them on Instagram and loves all the funny shapes and crazy colours that they come in. Sally would never be content with a plant that looks like a plant - no her plants need to look like vicious little aliens. The fact that they're natural born killers is also a nice little bonus. She loves how they subvert the natural order of things - insects should eat plants not the other way around.

When she first discovered plants online Sally got really upset that she'd never be able to go out and buy any of her own. It was Iris who mentioned that maybe she would be able to order some online - big mistake. Sally is nothing if not obsessive and her room now rivals Poison Ivy's lair with the number of plants she has crammed in there. The sheer number of babies in her collection doesn't mean that she neglects them though, no Sally is absolutely an A level obsessive plant mum - only the best for her babies. When she discovered that carnivorous plants prefer distilled water to tap water she started ordering it by the gallon, and as the best lit positions in her room started to fill up she definitely ordered grow lights so that none of her babies suffer. The grow lights also give off a slight purple glow which makes her room look like a rave which is absolutely a feature and not a bug.

Sally has also been known to go hunting for food for her babies, especially since her collection has grown and she worries there isn't enough to go around. Iris and Liz frequently find her collecting dead flies from window ledges to take back to her growing brood. She offers them to her babies with tweezers as a mother bird would to her chicks. The last time Iris had an exterminator spray the Cortez Sally accused her of trying to murder her babies with poison and absolutely ordered fruit flies online (intended for feeding pet reptiles rather than pet plants but meh) to keep her collection going until she could be absolutely sure that the offending toxins had dissipated.

It goes without saying that Sally has a separate plant Instagram account which she updates on nearly a daily basis with photos of new growth or just progress on her collection. She definitely has a great eye for plant photography and for making her babies come to life on the screen. One of her favourite things to do is film feeding videos with her largest Venus Flytrap "Fang" (who incidentally has his own Instagram account: @Fangstagram). Watching plants move so quickly will never get old to Sally and she has definitely been known to tease some of her smaller flytraps into snapping shut just for her enjoyment. She tries not tease them too much though, they are her babies after all.

Audrey Tindall

Image: savannahs-succulent-garden

Like Lana, Audrey is another serial plant killer, but for complete different reasons. Audrey, bless her, kills her plants with far too much kindness (and water). She so desperately wants a house full of the beautiful lush plants she sees all over Instagram so she tries her darnedest to be the best plant parent ever. Her problem is that every time she sees leaves starting to yellow or wilt she assumes it must be from lack of water (rather than the fact that their roots are already rotting from far too much).

Initially she fell into the trap of picking up plants she thought looked cute on Instagram or in the garden centre, without really knowing much about caring for them. Needless to say this didn't end well (multiple times). She thought she had cracked it when discovered the subset of house plants refered to as "hard to kill". Unfortunately, most of those plants are very resistant to neglect but not to Audrey's smothering type of plant parenting. Finally she discovered peace lillies which do actually like to have wet feet and appreciate all of her affection. She's slowly collecting other spathiphyllums in all shapes and sizes now that she's feels confident she's got the hang of them. She gets so excited every time one of them grows a new leaf or flowers - such a proud plant mum.

Now that she's growing a little more confident with at least a subset of house plants she will occasionally post photos to her Instagram. She's still pretty insecure about her plant parent abilities though and it doesn't help that she will occasionally get haters telling her she's doing it all completely wrong. She tries not to let them get to her but sometimes they really do get her down - all she wanted to do was share the joy that her plant babies bring her and she's doing her best to do right by them. After one particularly brutal bout of trolling it's actually Sally who defends her. Audrey has been following Sally's plantstagram since she first started getting interested in plants so the fact that Sally even acknowledged her kinda blows her mind. Sally tells people in no uncertain terms to back off Audrey or she will set her carnivorous babies on them. The two strike up a fast friendship after this and through Sally's guidance Audrey eventually begins to grow more confident as a plant mum. For her birthday Sally definitely sends Audrey her first baby Venus Flytrap with the absolute insistence that it be named "Audrey II".

Ally Mayfair-Richards

Image: swordsintheforest

Ally has never really seen the appeal of house plants nor does she have the time (or the headspace) to look after them. She does however have a fully stocked herb garden growing in window boxes in the kitchen to have everything within easy reach for cooking. She also loves the fresh clean smell of the basil and rosemary wafting through the house on the breeze if she leaves the windows open, particularly if it has rained. She may even admit that she's beginning to see the appeal of having the greenery around the place from an aesthetic standpoint as well.

Given how busy Ally is juggling being a senator, running a restaurant and being a single mum (plus whatever wink wink nudge nudge cult stuff she's up to on the side) it's not really surprising that it's Ozzie who's taken to caring for the herb garden most of the time. He's always been such an inquisitive kid and Ally loves watching the way his face lights up over simple things like flowers and new growth. Ozzie is particularly obsessed with propagation and there is always at least a handfull of his experiments on the windowsill. Whether it's an avocado seed he's trying to get to sprout or basil cuttings he's trying to root, he always has some new scheme in the works. Ally usually just smiles and ruffles his hair (so proud and glad that she has such an amazing and we'll rounded kid after everything that he's been through). As long as he leaves her enough basil to make pesto with, she's happy for him to play to his heart's content.

Wilhemina Venable

Image: leafyleafs

Plants have never been of any interest to Wilhemina, she considers them to be unnecessary sources of dirt and clutter. They serve no practical purpose so she has no time for them. At least until she becomes the somewhat unwilling recipient of one. As far as office secret Santa presents go, she supposes, the lilac coloured orchid is actually quite inoffensive. However she can't shake the feeling that it must have been bought for her as some kind of challenge, that someone at Kineros is secretly watching to see how quickly she will kill it because someone like the imperious Ms Venable is obviously incapable of the kindness or tenderness necessary to keep something as beautiful and delicate as an orchid. What she doesn't know is that it was actually from Mutt, because while he is usually too coked out of his mind to show it, he is actually quite fond of her. And he knows her well enough to know that she would never accept a gift from him directly so each Christmas he rigs the office Secret Santa to get her name so he can her something (and also partly because he doesn't trust some of the interns not to get her something crude on a dare given the anonymous nature of the gift). He also knows her well enough to realise that she would appreciate the elegant beauty (and obviously the colour) of the orchid but would never cede to the frivolity of buying something like it for herself.

Despite the good intentions of the gift, Wilhemina can not fathom the idea that it was genuinely meant for her enjoyment. Obviously someone is toying with her but she will not be beaten. Wilhemina Venable may not know the first thing about orchids but she will be damned if whoever gave her the wretched thing manages to get a laugh out of it at her expense. So she learns. Mina is nothing if not fiercely independent and resourceful so she scours the internet for information on orchid care and reads everything she can find. And of course she succeeds (because anything else would be unacceptable to her).

After six months her little orchid is still alive and thriving in her office and privately she would have to admit that she has grown quite attached to it. Compared to other plants she finds it to be quite neat and tidy, and there is something elegant and refined about its arching growth habit which she finds quite beautiful. Over the course of her research she has of course come across the tremendous variety of orchids available. She of course is drawn to all of the different tones of purple blooms but also finds herself unexpectedly drawn to some of the darker, more gothic varieties. She tries to tell herself that it is merely an aesthetic appreciation, that they hold no actual allure to her, but she keeps finding herself drawn back to them. She almost buys herself one on *so many* occasions but the idea of doing something so frivolous just for her own pleasure and enjoyment is so terrifying to her that she always chickens out. Eventually she caves though, buying an indigo coloured orchid on sale at the grocery store, abruptly rushing home with it before she can change her mind again. She spends the entire rest of the day second guessing the decision but the next morning when she opens her eyes to the delicate purple blooms tenderly placed on her night stand she can't help the gentle smile it brings to her face or the warmth that settles in her chest.

After that her collection slowly grows. She still struggles with buying things for herself simply for pleasure but she is getting better, and the sick guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach seems to appear less and less each time she does it. So her collection of orchids grows, mostly including those with particularly dark blooms or interesting and unusual shapes (though there are definitely a couple of lilac and lavender coloured blooms in there as well). She also begins to expand to other dark leaved plants as well, like certain begonias and definitely a ZZ raven. Like with the orchids, all of her new acquisitions are thoroughly researched and she is determined to succeed in their care.

Mutt will sometimes catch her glance fondly at her little desk orchid as he passes her office. He is genuinely glad to have given her something that seems to bring her such contentment. If only he knew the true extent of the gift he had given her.

Mildred Ratched

Image: bidoctor

Mildred has no idea about plants of any kind. Or at least she didn't before Gwen. Her childhood certainly wasn't filled with simple pleasures like planting flowers or playing in a vegetable patch, and any indoor plants or flower arrangements were merely things she was forbidden to touch and harshly punished if she damaged. So inevitably these things inspired a far greater degree of anxiety and tension in Mildred than they did joy or contentment.

But Gwen loves gardening. She had memories as a young child of helping her father in their backyard, returning of an evening covered in mud, much to her mother's dismay. Gwen's strong nurturing nature made her a very capable gardener and she derived a great sense of contentment from it. On some level Mildred wished she could help Gwen as she pottered through their garden of a weekend but she wouldn't have a clue where to start. In fact, the nasty voice in Mildred's head whispered, she would be so much better off without you, you'll just ruin everything, you're far too useless to be of any help. So as Gwen worked Mildred would watch, pretending to pay attention to her novel but really trying to find the pattern and reason to Gwen's actions so that maybe, someday, she wouldn't be quite so useless.

Mildred did, however, enjoy accompanying Gwen to the nursery when she went to collect supplies for their garden. Mildred may not have the faintest idea what any of the plants were called or how to care for them but she did find it peaceful to walk through the rows upon rows of different shades of green. She was continually fascinated by how many different shapes, sizes and colours they seemed to come in. Sometimes Gwen would catch her staring curiously at a particular plant but Mildred would always decline when Gwen offered that they could take it home with them.

One particular Saturday in spring Gwen found Mildred tenderly righting a small yellow marigold which had been knocked over by other nursery-goers as they riffled through the display to choose the brightest and most beautiful blooms. The poor little plant was somewhat lopsided and some of its leaves were slightly crushed from where it had lain, still there were the beginnings of golden yellow petals starting to peak from within the confines of its buds. Gwen watched as Mildred delicately unkinked the worst of the damaged leaves, fingers ghosting over the flowers that had yet to bloom. This time when Gwen suggested that they take the battered little plant home with them Mildred suddenly became very interested in a thread dangling from the cuff of her blouse as she muttered "Wouldn't it be easier to just choose one that isn't crushed? One without so much damage?". Gwen gently reached out, linking her pinkie with Mildred's, cursing that anything more would have been unacceptable in public. She gently squeezed Mildred's slender finger in her own until her gaze lifted to meet Gwendolyn's. "Never" she breathed. "The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all". She felt her throat tighten and eyes begin to burn as she watched Mildred's eyes begin to glisten and that *damn* dimple on her chin begin to quiver. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea of how to look after it", Mildred's gaze dropping again to the poor bruised little plant. Gwen squeezed their intertwined fingers once more, coaxing Mildred's eyes to meet her own. "I can show you, if you'd like?" Mildred's teeth began to worry her bottom lip as she considered. "What if I can't? What if I kill it?" "Sweetheart, you won't and I'll be there with you every step of the way. We can do it together." Mildred seemed to consider this offer, turning back to gaze tenderly at their little friend, before meeting Gwen's eyes. "Ok" she murmured, "together".

After that, every time Mildred and Gwen returned to the nursery Mildred would inevitably leave with a battered looking plant that she was determined to rehabilitate. Gwen, true to her word, patiently guided Mildred through the basics of plant care and Mildred, unsurprisingly, quickly became very proficient. Her tiny, dextrous fingers, used to dealing with needles and surgical instruments, were incredibly adept at staking and repositioning bent and battered plants as she helped them to heal. Soon enough, one end of their porch became entirely dedicated to Mildred's patients, so much so that Gwen began affectionately referring to it as Mildred's ward. And in spite of her initial fears Mildred had become quite the proficient gardener, with her little rag-tag bunch of plants, all twisted and pointing in slightly odd directions, forming the most beautiful and beloved garden Gwendolyn had ever seen.

#sarah paulson #lana winters #cordelia goode #bette and dot tattler #sally mckenna #billie dean howard #audrey tindall #ally mayfair richards #wilhemina venable #ahs #mildred ratched #ratched #ryan murphy #plant mum

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saphyhowl · 3 years

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Own Story

Ok so I finally got the courage to write my story. I was a bit afraid to post it but I still got through with it. I have no idea how to protect my writing so I hope I can figure out where to regularly post it and not be afraid that someone will take it. Although I doubt my story is that great. I just want to protect it because I am like a mother hen.

Here it goes... Please tell me how you like it, leave a comment or a like, I will be forever grateful to you :3 Also please please please don’t pay attention to my bad spelling. It’s a story I wrote by hand in french and translated it here. I am no translator so there will be mistakes. It’s not a final version, it’s an ongoing work. If you feel like stuff is missing that’s normal I am still working on lots of aspects, but don’t hesitate to let me know what you think might be crucial to you to understand the story.

I have a very low self esteem when it comes to my own work. It took me a very long time to get where I am today. I am not trying to get pity or anything, I am just putting you in a context so you understant that all this is historical for me and I hope we can celebrate that historic moment together.

*****************************************************

He should have felt it during the morning, when he woke up. The crispy air from the night still hung in his bedroom, rendering it impossible for him to fall back asleep. Nothing pleased him today. No urgent letters for him. Everything was calm. Although Cynan enjoyed the calm routine that had settled in his life, he could not help to feel as if he should act to prevent what seemed to him an upcoming storm.

After seven years of conquest and negotiation, his friend Meanas could ascend the throne officially. He could finally hold a coronation ceremony without any fear of revolution. Cynan had organized everything with the help of the other members of the counsel. The invitations were sent and had been answered. The preparation had already begun, all was well. After seven years of constant uproar, Cynan almost worshipped the calm and order that had finally settled in and so did Meanas.

As he sat at his desk, basking it this holy stillness, he read utterly slowly the law document he needed to approve. This was part of the many tasks Cynan, advisor of the future king. He should have sensed it in this moment as well, when the sun finally can warm one enough, hinting that the season of spring was approaching. He should have known that as the sweetest and mild season of the year was nearing, his life would enter a season of bitter regret.

***

“If my heart could run, then it would have already passed the coach that was meant to bring me to him.

I am of an impatient nature.

I play the scene out in my mind, like an actress before her performance.

How delectable it is just to imagine their faces when I finally reveal myself in front of them.

I could appear here and there. I could keep him as the last person I meet.

I could hide until the very end and wait until the coronation. Then, I would make the most vibrant of appearances.

Oh no, even better! I could visit him first. That would stir the glowing embers of our past and hint towards a possible story for us. Whatever that story would hold, that I would decide depending on my mood.

So many possibilities lie out there and only a few can be chose as I have only one life.

However, my emotions should not lead me astray and distract me from my true goal.

I did not return to revive past passions. I came here to set this place on fire, to start a new era.

Seven years of preparation and now everything will play out.

But to open the festivities, I must first get my hands on an invitation,”

The coach came to a halt in front of a mansion. Zelina descended and took in the view of the garden before walking towards the entrance, where a quite surprised butler awaited her.

***

Her arrival could not be compared to a thunderstorm. The situation occurred way too fast for Cynan to be overwhelmed. His butler announced her and when she entered his office her aura invaded the room like a rising tide. Cynan had been too dulled out from his peaceful day to prepare himself mentally to face the young woman in front of him.

Two old friends meeting again for the first time.

“You still have an awful taste. Your curtains are a disgrace,” Zelina said as she scanned the room visibly bored.

Silence.

“After all this time, I would have thought you had developed a more luxurious taste,” she added.

Zelina took one step forward and then another. She walked idly in the room with a candid expression.

“What is the reason for your visit... Madam?” Cynan asked.

Zelina suddenly turned her head towards Cynan and her golden eyes squinted with hatred.

“Madam…” she repeated.

Cynan did not react.

“Meanas’ coronation. Would that be a pleasing enough reason for you, Sir?” Zelina finally answered.

“King Meanas,” Cynan corrected.

“My apologies,” Zelina said as she bowed down excessively.

Zelina refused to refer to Meanas as a king.

“Lady Zelina, you are not invited to this joyous event,” Cynan stated.

Zelina smiles causing Cynan to doubt his capacity to stay unfazed for long.

“Oh but I do know that,” she said.

Zelina sat in the chair in front of Cynan’s desk and started playing with her fan. Cynan examined her and slowly he shifted into contemplation. That smile of her, her voice, her gesture, they were all familiar to him. Thousand memories rise again in his mind. He is tempted to dive into them and daydream. As he battled against the temptation of reminiscence, he did not notice Zelina looking at him as well. However, she was not reminiscing, she was waiting for the right timing.

“I simply came as a friend.. An old friend. One cannot forget a friend who did so much,” she added.

Zelina placed her hand on the table in an attempt to draw closer to Cynan. He stared at her hands. She was still wearing her many bracelets.

“And I mean, you know…” Zelina hesitated.

Cynan raised an eyebrow as he noticed her false bashfulness.

“Say, was it intentional to choose only one emissary for the South?” she asked.

Zelina had found the right moment and had struck with her words. She knew his weakness, Cynan was a skilled warrior and noble but not a tactician.

“Lady Zelina, this should not be of concern for you,” Cynan answered.

“Many southern families were quite shocked and felt offended,” Zelina added.

“I thought you came as a friend Zelina,”

“And it is as a friend, Cynan, that I inquire about this issue!”

Cynan sighed and Zelina took it as a sign to continue.

“You know much the merchants' families take pride in their origins. I tried to explain to them that there must have been a reason to send only one emissary. And that you, Cynan, would have chosen the emissary as impartially as possible,”

Cynan remained silent. Her way with words had gotten more skilled after all those years. Sadly for him, there was no impartiality coming from him. Meanas had wished to choose one emissary to demonstrate that under his reign the South was meant to be one unified province. Despite all the tribes in the South, only one person would represent the South. The emissary, chosen from one of the most influential families, would then be promoted to Governor of the South. This would allow Meanas to have one sole correspondent in political and economic matters regarding the South. However, Cynan had no intention in sharing this intention with Zelina, who was herself from an affluent family from the South. However, her family belonged to another tribe. Cynan never investigated further the intrications between the southern tribes. Now that Zelina had returned, he realized how foolish that had been.

Zelina stood up to leave Cynan to his thoughts.

“Why did he not invite me, Cynan?” she asked.

Cynan did not answer nor did he accompany her. The question floated in the air unanswered.

Through his office windows, he caught a glimpse of her crossing the gardens. She passed by a lilac bush. She stopped in her tracks, turned and contemplated the bare branches, noticing the growing flower buds. Cynan continued to observe her as she took off again. His gaze returned towards the lilac bush. With the mild season approaching the bush would bloom again.

***7 years ago***

“Gardening really?” Zelina asked as she had stopped on the path leading towards the mansion. She made her umbrella twirl as she thought about what Cynan had just shared with her.

Cynan carressed the lilacs and smiled lost in his thoughts.

“There is nothing more beautiful than helping mother nature in her creations,” he explained.

Zelina shrugged her shoulders unimpressed by his wise words.

“If I weren’t a noble then I would have become a farmer. However since I am a noble, I have to satisfy myself with mere gardening,” Cynan continued explaining.

Zelina twirled her umbrella once more and peered at him through the laces.

“If I were not a noble, I would not exist as I am before you. I have used over and over again all the privileges that have come with my status to build myself. I clung myself to anything a noble like me could get their hands on. Wishing to escape this world that created me would be idiotic and would turn my life into something insignificant, where I could not be the fully fledge me,”

Cynan listened to her attentively and did not respond immediately.

“I did not know you had such strong opinions about your title. Our aspirations vary a lot,” He finally said.

“And yet we somehow get along,” Zelina added.

A smirk appeared on her face.

“If I ever find myself in dire need of a gardener, I know to whom I can turn to. I’ll make sure to order my lilacs with you,” Zelina said as she made her way back towards the mansion twirling her umbrella.

Cynan bowed excessively. “You are too kind Madam,” he whispered.

***Back to the present. In Zelina’s coach***

“He called me Madam. How monstrous! Poor soul, he does not know what awaits him. Ugh, now I must wait for all of this to stir and boil. Let my words sink in. I must get under his skin. If only Cynan would have more spark then I would not have to wait so much. The day Cynan bursts will be one to remember. I must ensure to be the one to wake the dragon sleeping in him. But that would be only a collateral benefit from what I truly intend to achieve.

#own writing #my story

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imagine-loki · 6 years

Text

Mr. Laufeyson's Ward

TITLE: Mr. Laufeyson’s Ward

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 18

AUTHOR: goddessofmischief

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are living in the late 1800’s and your parents pass away due to a tragic accident. Leaving you an orphan, you are sent to a miserable orphanage. Then, a mysterious and harsh man named Loki visits the orphanage and takes you on as his ward. He brings you to his crumbling mansion in the English countryside, where you face his cruel intentions, and eventually discover that you care for him much more than you’d like to admit.

RATING: T

NOTES: This unexpected chapter shall probably come as a surprise to most of you. I have been super busy: applying to grad schools, getting into my preferred one, and beginning my studies. I can’t say that my updates shall be regularly posted from now on (which they never were any way), but here is something to dissipate the ongoing silence since I last posted… 7 months ago. Wow. I really am sorry for the delay, but thank you so much for sticking around. Enjoy! ♥︎

I began to take notice of a change in Loki shortly after my eighteenth birthday.

At first they were little things that I did not initially question, such as the way in which Loki would fall into a sort of trance while I was talking to him, his index finger brushing his upper lip in deep contemplation. Or how I would find him in the morning sleeping soundly at the desk in his study, his head resting on a plethora of mighty volumes: a clear sign that he had never retired to his room the previous night.

On one particular morning, I padded quietly over to him to gaze over his shoulder at the books he had been reading and found that all of them were filled with peculiar diagrams and archaic runes that were completely indiscernible to me. One diagram stood out to me though: it was that of a man being transfigured in some way. The illustrated figure on the page seemed to be in mid-transformation and the diagram was not unlike Michelangelo’s Vitruvian Man.

I then turned my head slightly to analyze another book placed next to it but instead came face-to-face with Loki. I gasped, and he answered with a soft, amused chuckle. “Well aren’t you a nosy little mouse.” He muttered in a raspy, just-awoken tone, as his hands quickly took my waist and settled me onto his lap. I gave out a squeak, which caused him to laugh even more. I calmed down as his arms wrapped tenderly about me, and he rested his head beside mine, inhaling deeply. The relaxing scent of his bergamot and sandalwood based cologne enveloped me in a warm cocoon. “You never pass up the opportunity of getting your head stuck in a book, hm?” He asked, placing a kiss on the top of my head.

My curiosity got the best of me as I posed a question for him. “What are those runes, Loki?” He paused, before closing the book that was directly before him: the one that I had questioned. “They belong to an ancient language. One that is only used by a civilization that is highly dissimilar to yours - I mean, ours.” He quickly corrected himself, and I knew that he had hoped this had gone unnoticed by me, but it did not. Was this society the one that he belonged to? The one that he had returned to on account of a threatening war? The one that he was keeping hidden from me?

Something was consuming his thoughts, and I intended to find out just what it was.

In the meantime, I was continuing my visits to the Blythe’s farm. Agnes and her parents were getting on splendidly, and on those days of my visits, I would assist them with the farm work while wearing my orphanage uniform and an apron. As I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty, even though Agnes continuously urged me that it was not proper for a ‘lady’ to get herself involved in such proceedings, I happily tended to whatever needed to be done. They also had assistance on most days from Benjamin, the hired farmhand - who Agnes had developed a deep affection for that had yet to be requited.

Loki, who seemed busier than he had ever been before, even persuaded me to accept the Blythe’s invitation to stay for supper on most nights. As it was summer and the days were much longer, it was still light outside when it was time for me to mount Arabella and return to Heathcote. Even though I took great pleasure in the simple comforts of Agnes’ home, as well as Mrs Blythe’s savoury meals, I was slightly saddened by the notion that Loki was attempting to push me away, and that he had more important matters to tend to.

As I didn’t want to be considered a nuisance in the eyes of my future husband, upon returning home I would convey Arabella to Dickon in the stables and then hurry up to my room, not bothering to take my bonnet and light cloak off until I was once inside. And then, I would wait. For any sort of call that would indicate that I was sought by Loki. That I was wanted. But nothing would come.

I refused to shed a tear, even when one evening I opened up the cherished book of poems that Loki had composed for me and traced my fingers over his fine handwriting. Even when I cradled the single carnation in the palm of my hand: the one flower that had been the first to bloom in our garden. I had cried too often ever since I had come to Heathcote and had, in countless instances, let down my guard. I had to be strong, and self-reliant, once again.

Upon safely storing the book away into one of my desk compartments, I noticed a peculiar movement of light out the window closest to me, as I had forgotten to draw close the curtains earlier that night. It had been a transitory flicker at first, but then I noticed it again out of the corner of my eye. It had shifted slightly more upwards this time but was still clearly observable from my viewpoint. I trained my eye to outside the window before finally detecting where it had come from. The tower in the far wing of the house. I had only been in this wing on that day that I assisted Elsie with her task of cleaning those neglected rooms, which had turned out to be just a cruel assignment from Loki, as no one had stepped foot inside them since then.

Mabel, who was seated on a tufted velvet pillow on a chair nearby, gave out a soft whine, and I reached out my hand to comfort her - not allowing my eyes to leave the appointed spot through the window.

There it was again. The silhouetted individual carrying the candlestick passed by another window at the uppermost part of the tower staircase, before the light finally escaped from my view and was seen no more. I closed the drapes with surrender, and unable to keep my eyes open for long, I found my feet and crawled inside my bed, drifting to sleep at once due to my exhaustion from all the farm work I had done earlier that day.

The following night and many nights after that, the light going up that winding staircase was seen time and time again, usually just before midnight. I decided to question Loki about it one morning at breakfast, which was usually the only time I saw him as Mrs Cunningham provided me with a packed lunch to bring with me to the farm and I never encountered him upon my return in the evenings.

He did not usually act indifferently to me, as you might think, reader, but was instead most doting and attentive. But on this morning, his demeanour had altered when I raised a question. “I wish to ask you something, sir.” “What troubles you, my darling?” He asked while buttering his toast. His green eyes steadily looked at me from across the table, which situated amongst the sumptuous array of breakfast foods was an exquisite crystal vase filled with white lilies from the garden. As I met his intense gaze I slightly tensed up, but immediately found this reaction to be foolish and stoically proceeded. “Is the tower in the wing opposite from mine currently in use?”

Before replying to my question he languidly took a bite of his toast and regarded the front page of the newspaper that was, as customary, positioned beside his plate. It was as though he had been expecting this question all this time, for he was not startled by it in the least. “Tower? What tower?” He replied, his eyes still on today’s headlines. “I believe you know exactly which tower I am referring to.” I folded my arms across my chest in frustration. He shook his head in opposition. “No, I do not, Victoria. The only tower I know of has been locked up for years.” With this he took a final bite of his toast, leaving the crust on the toile patterned dish before him. “Well, I best be going. I have got a lot of reading to do. Please give my warmest regards to Agnes and her family this morning.” He touched my shoulder as he walked past my chair and then departed for his study, which he would lock himself inside for most of the day unless he had a meeting with one of his tenants.

We no longer kissed, nor did we embrace. He only acknowledged me with platonic gestures, and these signs of fatherlike affection, if you were to even classify them as such, led me to believe that nothing had transpired to alter our relationship. It made me feel that I was still just his ward.

¨¨¨°º0º°¨¨¨

Time passed, as it always does. I slipped into a state of deep melancholy, yet nobody suspected any change in my feelings, for I had become an expert at disgusting them. I acted before others as though a veil of happiness was permanently shrouded over me.

But it was not easy for me to remain nonplussed when Loki was before me. Because when I was with him, all of those happy moments came back to me. They were replayed in my mind as though I was watching them through the stereographic viewer we once looked at together: when one memory disappeared from view, it wasn’t long until another one was set into place.

On a hot morning in early July, I was picking strawberries in the far corner of the Blythe’s property. They had been planted earlier in the year by a farmer at an adjacent farm, who had been paid by Loki to maintain the fields until a new tenant could be found. Agnes was tending to a nearby row, while her parents had started at the opposite corner.

Agnes was not foolish. She could always see right through me and knew that something had changed just about a week after my birthday.

“Any signs of improvement?” She asked me, as she plucked a ripe strawberry off of a nearby vine and placed it into her basket. I shook my head as I also continued to add more of the fruit to my growing batch. “No, there have been none.” A strong gust of wind then came that practically blew my straw hat off of my head, but I quickly caught it and tugged it firmly back down. She sighed dramatically. “What is wrong with men? One minute they shower you with fancy gifts and an adorable puppy, and the next they decide to ignore you completely!” She articulated this in a fiery whisper so her parents couldn’t overhear the content of our conversation, but then she showed remorse by kneeling beside me and taking both of my hands in hers. “I’m sorry, Vic… but the wedding is a little less than two months away, which leaves plenty of time for things to fall back into place.” “Yes, perhaps you are right. Thank you.” I gently squeezed her hands to show my gratitude for her words before returning to my work. I didn’t wish to dwell on the matter for too long. To lighten up the conversation, I returned to a subject that was sure to make Agnes blush. “So how is it going with Benj-” “SHHH,” She hushed at once. “He’s just over there!”

She was right. I had initially thought that he was not working today, for I hadn’t seen him earlier. But he was tending to the farm animals, in his fresh, unsoiled clothes, as if was still early in the morning, and wearing his trusted bowler cap. His golden hair stood out against the black matted felt of his hat and his blue eyes attentively regarded each of the chickens that were situated in the pen before him. “He’ll come around soon,” I remarked, after which we fell into a fit of laughter that only ceased when he looked over at us a gave us a friendly wave, in which he then smiled tenderly at Agnes in particular. She smiled back sweetly before returning to her strawberries. “Perhaps you might even be wed before me!” I added in a whisper. A small mound of dirt was inconspicuously flicked onto my skirt in response.

After our day’s work, and a tasty supper, I shared my gratitude for the Agnes and her family’s hospitality. Before going to collect Arabella in the stable, they presented me with a wrapped bundle of strawberries to take back home with me, which I securely placed in my small carpet bag that attached to Arabella’s saddle. Arabella was well taken care of by Mr Blythe and Benjamin throughout the day and received many carrots and bales of hay to feed on. Benjamin had just briefly groomed and saddled her moments before I was set to head out. She always whinnied when I approached. “Hey there Arabella, ready to go home?” Another neigh from her prompted me to lead her outside before I mounted and urged Arabella forward in a canter. Going down the dirt path, I then turned right towards the road that led me back towards Heathcote.

Night had yet to descend, but the skies had turned overcast: a clear sign of an oncoming storm. The powerful moorland winds rushed past my face, disheveling my pinned up hair and singing a harsh cacophony into my ears. And then there was a distinct call from my right.

“Miss! Miss! Please help!” I immediately pulled on the reigns, bringing Arabella to a sharp halt. After looking briefly around, I detected a figure lying down amongst a nearby plot of heather, which was now in full bloom. From my viewpoint, I could see that it was a heavy set man settled hopelessly on the ground, a few feet away from the road. He let out a cry of agony before he continued to speak, his voice was in a thick Yorkshire dialect. “Miss, I’m injured! Please help me to the village. My horse ran off after I fell.”

I quickly got down from Arabella while commanding her to stay in her place. I hastily went over to where the man was lying and inquired about what had happened. “My horse got startled when he spotted an adder on the road and I have twisted my ankle.” I got down on my knees to examine his injury, but then things became all a blur.

The man took me by my shoulders and threw me backwards. He then swiftly took his small pistol out of his pocket and shot a round into the sky to frighten Arabella. She ran off pell-mell down the road, leaving me deserted and without any means of returning home. But my thoughts were only momentarily positioned on this, for something else was happening. An excessive force was pushing me down onto the grouse, as a hand was fumbling to pull up my skirts. “Mhm, it looks like my days of planning for this moment shall finally pay off. It became like clockwork eventually. You have always been quite punctual.”

I screamed as loud as I could and began to squirm excessively underneath him as I finally knew what his true intent was. But my scream could only be heard for a second, as a large, sweaty palm was clamped over my mouth. With a sharp tilt of my head, I evaded his hand just enough to allow me to bite down forcefully on his index finger. He yelped as he shook his hand in pain and from my position I could see that I had drawn blood. However, he did not withdraw his body weight from on top of me. “You little bitch!” He shouted bitterly. He then fumbled for the pistol in his pocket and aimed it towards me. “Don’t make me use this on you!” He warned.

I immediately froze and shut my eyes closed in fright, cowering my head down towards my chest. “Loki…” I desperately whispered to myself, but the man had overheard me. He laughed maliciously at my pitiful call for help. “He can’t help you out here, sweetie. No one can.”

A husky, menacing voice answered with a growl. “You’re wrong, Lawrence.”

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 18 #goddessofmischief #mr. laufeysons ward

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