#and i've completely worn away quite a few of the letters

[elderberries-and-honey]

𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵 "𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘦" 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥

Dear Marmee,

The bitter cold crept in slowly at first but there is no denying winter has arrived here in Wales. Everything is now covered in a sheet of white snow.

Every morning, I wake before the rooster's crow. Our friend Beth has moved in with us and she enjoys knitting very much. She has knitted me two new sweaters before Christmas has even come and they keep me much warmer than my worn-out coat from last Winter. It's a good thing too 'cause there's still much to be done on our farm, though I've made a rather decent amount of progress.

Even so, we hardly had any remaining produce leftover for ourselves after selling what I was able to salvage from our terrible blight. I won't burden you too much with our troubles but things have been rough here for us and I know Winifred is silently troubling herself over it.

You mentioned Jo is trying to get published? Please let me know how that goes for her. I think it might just inspire Winifred who is still glued to her typewriter whenever she has the time to write.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely, Lawrence

Dear Marmee,

I'm sorry to hear Jo was turned down in her quest to get published. Hopefully it won't discourage her from trying. Have you heard from Amy in Paris? How are Meg and Mr. Brooks? How does Beth like teaching piano?

Many of our animals, including the thorn in my side, Frank the Goose, passed on near the end of November. Without their eggs and milk to sell, money is tighter than ever.

Winifred has begun fretting over how we will make a good Christmas for Ozzy. So I've started working at the pub again to help us make it through the rest of winter and afford a few gifts for him. I'm struggling to come up with an idea on what to get Winifred, after all, how could I top her typewriter? If you have any ideas, please include them in your next letter.

Ozzy is doing quite well, thank you for asking. He likes to "help" me on the farm but mostly he enjoys playing in the snow with the garden shovels and trying to escape to our small pond. You would not believe the tantrums he throws when I have to wrangle him away from the edge. I can almost understand how my Father felt when I was a boy and he would paddle my bottom. The boy is like a fish the way he enjoys the water! Even bathtime seems to be his favorite part about bedtime.

It was a struggle to get him out of his crib and into a real bed but we needed to complete the transition before our new little one arrives. With Beth here to teach us patience, I can proudly declare we have finally succeeded.

Sincerely, Lawrence

Dear Marmee,

We're approaching our due date rather quickly, a little under 3 months now. Millie has been staying with Louise for the Winter (and giving her free cooking lessons) after agreeing to stay and help Winifred deliver the baby, which I'm thankful for. I know this is a huge relief for Winifred. Her last delivery was not without complications and I know she grows uneasy the closer we get.

I know Winifred believes the baby will be a girl but I have my own suspicions we will welcome another son. I'm not wholly certain I could handle another little girl after we lost Flora. Not yet, rather. The pain of losing a child never truly leaves, does it?

I did not mean to ignore your inquiry over how I'm fairing. I must keep a courageous face for my family, and consequently I've grown used to wearing my mask of gallantry. Since you so kindly asked though, I will admit that I am a little worn down as of late.

I spend long hours tending the farm and go to work even longer hours in the pub. Valerie, good hearted as she is, is not the best co-worker, often drinking herself stupid before the nights out. I suppose it's true what they say about you Irish folk.

Most of my trouble comes from myself, I suppose. I watched my father save this very farm many times over and I should want to do the same. But with every plant that refused to sprout, I found myself resentful over having ever inherited it.

I think of my wife, the writer, the poet, and how she is able to read Ozzy her stories. I think of Jackson with his pub, and his son, Patrick, who's becoming a doctor, and you with your bookshop. Even my father who provided my mother and I with food, and a roof over our heads because he cared for the farm so tenderly. All of you, with such passion.

Even if I was as passionate as my father, the farming industry is changing. All these extravagant advancements are putting farmers out of work all over. If the farm were to go under, what would I do? It's all I've ever known.

If I don't have time to write before Christmas Day - I hope you have a Merry Christmas. Send my love to your girls and wish them the same for me as well.

Sincerely, Lawrence

P.S. Don't be cross with me for the joke, I only say it in jest. The Irish could drink me under the table any day of the week and sing a merry tune whilst doing so which is rather remarkable.

next / previous / first

#lawrence is in his extensional crisis era 🙃 #also did i make it canon that Lawrence made a little resting place for frank the goose? you bet! #ts4 historical #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storystelling #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #the baudelaire legacy #1890 #winifred baudelaire #lawrence baudelaire #oscar baudelaire

[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Season 10, misc. notes

I tell a story about a salmon cannery in here.

— — — 

Does this count as my third reference to Father Mulcahy moonlighting as an exotic dancer

Of everything this sweet voiced angel could have decided to sing in the MASH 4077 in the middle of the Korean War, few would have knocked me into the last century's worth of emotions as much as ‘Molly Malone’, a song I've only ever known with shells falling outside

Well Hawkeye looks like he feels exactly the same as me about this song choice, and we’re not answering that either, huh! Wow I like this episode.

Amazing how this is COMPLETE OUTLIER behavior and yet somehow has the feel of something they do all the time. Like if you’d only started watching this show in its tenth year, you would absolutely think oh, so that’s their thing: everyone falls in love with Dr. Pierce but he carries too much private sadness to do anything about it. And your friends would be like, you're simply going to have to trust us that No.

Appropriately the WARBLING YELL I let out at discovering this is Gwen Verdon sounded like a Gwen Verdonism

WAIT. That Hawkeye & BJ moment in the Previously On did Previously Not happen in the episode!

I am so in love with how many things going on around camp they're still not laying out clearly, just running on obliqueness and inflection and vibes.

Lit gasped at this red satin outfit, Gwen

This is actually quite well played, because Hawkeye feeling like too much of a war-worn ghoul next to her can be believed, without precluding him from still flirting with nurses (...& others) after this, as they’re already covered in grave dirt, too.

I don’t know anything about this movie but it does not matter, I know that Mulcahy’s line “Oh I understand perfectly, I saw The Jazz Singer” is hilarious.

“If he keeps it up I’m going to stage a new production of Death of a Salesman.” BJ lol

David Ogden Stiers’s tongue depressor snap acting some of the sharpest shit I’ve ever seen.

I like when BJ appreciates a Charles scheme. And Charles like: [Ilana Glazer voice] I appreciate you appreciating me.

Stop, sigh, trying to top each other, and address that you’d be split up.

Thank you.

“Tell me more about, uh, ‘Montana’—does it have a city?” David HELP

Aha! Colonel Blake was already at the 4077 when Margaret and Mulcahy arrived! I keep my own personal timeline, the full actual Korean War with the MASH personal mapped onto it in the order and timing I feel emotionally correct, because I am insane, and this totally matches, hohoho. Will share at the end when it's complete.

LOVE FATHER MULCAHY BEING FROM PHILADELPHIA, YES YES YES. He would love Gritty. 🧡 God’s creature

“I understand perfectly, Padre. Being a pin-up ain’t proper for a priest.” Well. There is the motif.

SO visibly is this a new shooting season. BJ’s mustache is half the size.

Hawkeye is the appointed chaperone for all the working girls. He is taking his job seriously and just standing at the back of the line writing his letter in between flapping GIs away. Our imagined viewer who just started watching in Season 10 still doesn’t believe their friends' insistence that this is Dr. What Are You Doing Later?

Oh my god, we’re addressing monolid surgery??? Wow!

This is the bitterest episode about America, like relatable but was there like, something going on..? Hang on…. ASDLKFASKF, REAGAN. Oh my god they’re writing in the first year of Ronald Reagan after four years of Jimmy Carter. Well!!!

In the immortal words of BOB FROST

Hawkeye has essentially taken all of BJ’s emotional intelligence by this point. This is honestly the problem—it was interesting when BJ could be a counterbalance to him, observant in different ways.

Ah, BJ canonically 6’4”

“How DARE you! How dare you stand there acting like your brand of suffering is worse than anybody else’s?! Well I guess it’s the only way you can justify treating the rest of us like dirt! Well let me tell you something, Sad Sack: if the worst thing that’s happened to you is that your pretty little wife has to help pay the bills for a while, don’t come to me for sympathy. Maybe you do have the most the lose, but that’s only because you’ve got the most.” Margaret this blew my tits clean off.

BJ: “Well go on, it’s your turn.” Hawkeye, brightly: “I don’t think I can improve on that.”

Truly though this was basically BJ’s worst quality, will this kick it??!!

Oh my god Charles this Copper. Tea kettle. Fuck!

Aaaaaaaare those Hawk’s long johns, that BJ has on

“Hey give me the Classifieds, I need a job!” Igor that’s the funniest shit

Nice. Nice plot, Hall.

So many great bits for KELLY this episode

Wait it’s KELLYE??? Babe I’m so sorry, I’ve been spelling your name wrong this whole time!

OH HYYYYYYY. Guess who's AverBACK.

Um, love the Korean black market calling themselves Little Chicago

Really like the surrealism of the M.P.s just repeating everything Klinger says in explanation as if it’s a counterpoint

Charles takes the law road, Hawkeye & BJ lay a Wile E. Coyote trap on the other, and we'll get Klinger cleared of charges ONE way or another

Sunday Go To Court Martial Clothes

Thank god they're back in their long jackets, those blue coats were awful for me

PUSH ME INTO A SNOW BANK

Klinger in his fur coat and Potter's colonel cap is kind of completely a look. It’s giving Napoleon in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, DON’T ask me why.

Kellye in charge of the hospital!! Hell yeah

COLD! SURGERY!

Hawkeye stumbling in all bundled and immediately diving against BJ’s shoulder to leach his warmth, wohoohhhoohhhhohohh this episode said hey girlie we know what you want

Harry Morgan contemplatively sipping these giant spoonfuls of soup…..

Margaret just walking outside and screaming at the sky, woof we love it!

“Go get ‘em, slugger.” I know I say this every time, but Alan Alda loves her so much

Hawkeye, BJ, and Charles getting very drunk by wryly toasting everything they hate is staggeringly good. They’re now toasting the plague. Tone of this is ideal. It is slow, light, and the darkest thing yet. “Are you gentlemen aware of what historically caused the great plagues of Europe, are you historically aware of that?” / “Not historically no.” / “War.” Charles is drinking his gin out of a tea cup.

The clamp....oh my GOD. The best bleak drinking they’ve ever done. Holy shit, Alda.

Mulcahy: “This farmer just wandered in looking for a doctor.” Hawkeye, with BJ arm levered on his shoulder: “Well I just happen to have one on me.” Sweet Jesus I’m in love with them this season

BJ: “Do you know how to make a cow say ‘ah’?” Hawkeye: “Not without getting emotionally involved.” Kareennn I love YOU

“Margaret, even Winchester women don’t do women’s work.” Incroyable.

Ed. note: I don't have a note here, but it's because I instead spent five minutes replaying BJ chair dancing for his Charades turn and crying with shocked joy

Lieutenant Kellye Nakahara as the nurse with lines is a development I support SO much

BJ talking Hawk through how to deliver a calf over the PA system while he’s on the phone with a vet….this episode…….

God such a good Margaret ep too!! KAREN FOREVER

Margaret: “I got half a bran muffin, going cheap.” Klinger: “I got half a bottle of cheap scotch, going fast. Wanna swap?” I’m just obsessed with this script, I'm obsessed with everything. Pristine.

I would like to know how Charles S. Dubin, who has been directing nearly half the episodes the last four seasons, is this one suddenly kicking it up notch

Karen I wanna propose to you

Their like, OSHA condemned Adirondacks outside the Swamp, hahah fuck me...

What is the symbol on the door, anyway? Ed. note: update!

Lol, wait fuck this guy. THIS is what we mean by glamorizing war!!! Wow perfect textbook example, gonna take this to the bank.

I love this season. Ed. note: Now this note I don’t know what it was for precisely, but you know, now say something true and beautiful etc.

Colonel is correct, best news possible always involves eggs

Potato salad > coleslaw, Hawkeye is also correct

Everyone getting positively wanton over egg orders, god they're me fr

Random fucked up soldier: “You guys married?” Hawkeye: “Noo, it’s just that we’ve been through so much together that we look that way.” :) See, this season I believe it

Man I’ve always loved doctors in military or para-military arrangements for exactly this reason: nominally officers, but like, askew, from the general organization, so it gets kinda amorphous about what orders they can give and what orders they really follow.

Omfg if he just scrambles all these hard I’m gonna LOSE IT.

Nooo!!!!!!!!!!!

Reeeeeallly like that this is turning into this like, legal loophole question over whether a mess tent where a chaplain is delivering services qualifies as a religious sanctuary for an AWOL G.I. Really like this!!!

Fucking yes, fucking yes. Father Mulcahy lawyering this, stalls for time by saying he doesn’t feel bound by military law in this matter and the only orders he’ll defer to on this matter from from the Command Chaplain at I Corps. And until then everyone’s just holding, this tenuous diplomatic immunity but only if you stay inside these tent walls, fucking yes!!!

Oh nice, they’re sending him to Sidney, he’ll help

Gratified that the pink Henley made it through the motorcycle engine grease unscathed

That ISN’T baby Laurence Fishburne!

It is!!!!!

Oh this racist ass needs to GO

They’re gonna get him with numbers!

They’re gonna get him with entrapment?!

They’re gonna get him with subterfuge!!!

Haha at least they GOT HIM

“And listen, Margaret—good catch.”<3 sweet

“Attention: the Chinese have begun a new offensive. Command anticipates heavy casualties within the next 24 hours. This is a recording.” Beautiful stuff.

Someone mentioning the 121st evac hospital is so key to the auditory atmosphere of M*A*S*H

Wait, Sidney???!! :)))

“Chez Misérable,” BJ that’s tight

The wordless, slow, measured escalation of the three of them destroying everything in the Swamp is perfect. The cut back….GOLD.

Hmm looks like they’re cold, wonder who directed this

“These are hard times, you nestle anywhere you can,” you say, sitting aside BJ’s bunk, turning slightly into where he would be. Alda you FREAK.

Ohhh love BJ with his coat collar buttoned up tall, all soft and clean from the barbers

Charles: “I hope you manage to stay beautiful until Pierce gets back to see you.” BJ, sudden quiet dread: “Back from where?” What the Fuck!!

Sweetie you would have just had to go instead! You are back to being protective of him! AUGH, SEASON 10

Fuck fuck fuck fuck Hawkeye is sending the patients on to the 4077, fuck fuck fuck, you could send back messages

WRONG literal associations for this, please disconnect from this just slightly but not entirely so I can tell you this story: When my sister was working in Alaska at a salmon cannery one summer, she was a grader, assessing the fillets as they came down the conveyor belt and deciding if they were nice enough to be sold whole, or going to get chopped up for the cans. Sometimes, when there were fish that were so obviously banged up they were going nowhere but canned, the Filipinos, who did the filleting further up the line, would cut in a big heart. And suddenly somewhere in her hallucinatory 16 (!!) hour long days my sister would see this mangled salmon fillet with heart carved in it, and look up in surprise down the line to see the filleters all waving & beaming enthusiastically at her, and she’d gleefully hand-heart them back. They called her Lala Barbie. Barbie obviously because she’s a tall adorable blonde, and I thought Lala was a twist on her name, but it turns out it was because she usually wore an oversized bright colored sweatshirt under her cannery scrub things, and they were thinking of the Teletubby. Every part of this is like my favorite story.

Anyway, obsessed: BJ is now hearing a doctor at battalion aid has been killed. This is so delish.

You can’t just trail off thinking about BJ and find your flask to take a drink!

You can’t just skip him in your will because it’s too much!!

Father Mulcahy flashback SO cute and SUCH a thrill

Margaret only making dumb puns when she’s exhausted is hilarious, it’s amazing. It means she could be doing this all the time but is like, no I will not be doing that.

Heeyyy! Salmon :)

I knew Potter was Hawkeye Dad 2

THANK YOUUUU for the Jacques Brel reference, BJ!!! Wait hang on though, timeline check….aw babycakes, you are anachronistic, but I love it anyway!!

AAAAAHH-AHAHAHAHAAA, this soldier didn’t TELL BJ he was patched up by a doctor in a knit cap over silvery hair and silvery eyes? He can tell he was just by Hawkeye’s stitching handwriting???? I’M LAUGHING AND MY HEART’S FLIPPING AT ONCE

BJ, half-asleep: “Hey. When I wake up, remind me to give you a kiss.” Oh….my fucking god

Ohhhhhh my god and turning around Peg’s photo, that Hawkeye thinks that was to her!! The perfect tragedy-of-errors of this honestly makes me think we’re supposed to think it was to Hawkeye even more than the whole rest of their behavior this episode.

Klinger rapidly rattling off everything to do with a morning report with all the proper document names and numbers, finally “and faint if it actually gets there.”—BLESS YOU, BABY!!!!

“You’re the one who wanted to turn a man down because he had a ‘Z’ in his name.” That is SO CHARLES.

Sergeant Klinger!!! <33

Klinger, on the phone, after each thing he says has successively revealed to us his scheme that will get this giant threat discharged: “…My name? [drawing up] Sergeant Maxwell Klinger, MASH 4077.” Hawk, BJ, and Charles in the background: [spiritually if not physically saluting]

Don’t believe I’ve mentioned yet how very unbuttoned BJ has been this season

It is kinda interesting that Charles and a bit BJ are like uuhh oh, they’re gonna let Hawkeye quip to a crowd, but he’s really like, um, would kinda rather not please? Just giving you a quip as a brush-off so you’ll hopefully let me leave?

Oh my god are you all nuts?! He does not want this! Are you not registering this particular flavor of humor as defense mechanism??

Wait, wasn’t Plato also known for being a wrestler? Haha Mulcahy. 

Oh he doesn’t know!

They have to BUILD a defibrillator, right now!??

BJ with his feet up, creating like an entire Roman aqueduct across the Officer’s Club

How many times are they gonna make Alan Alda say “Portland, Oaregon” for me

It makes NO SENSE that Potter wouldn’t let Margaret prove her bowling skills

This bowling plot is kind of a disaster, but Charles just quietly, unobtrusively providing support to Pierce as he tries to find out why his dad is in the hospital is lovely

Very good acting from Alda

Wow, 10 years old, yeah, I’d guessed it squarely :(

Hold Please!!

Does that say.....'RADAR'S TIN CUP'? I'm gonna.. die ?? 😭

Oh, Charles….. :(

“Charles, you’ve never told me anything like this before.” “Actually, Hawkeye, I’ve never told you anything before.” And their expressions, god !

Don’t, don’t keep making me emo about Winchester & Pierce, help...

Um excuse me! What was THAT! You cut out all the running up to the patients and loading them up parts of the credits? The running????!

Just such an accurate character read that Hawkeye Pierce absolutely can’t live alone

Karen Hall is doing something I so love, which is those overlapping transitions where a character will say a line that sounds like a response to the previous line, but it’s a new scene and to someone else. Like in DS9’s ‘Trials and Tribulations’

OMG!! And now like the DS9 episode where Keiko gets Miles and Julian back together by telling them “He’ll never admit it, but…” Karen!!!

Whew thank god the credits are back to norm. Must have been a time-saving measure with how much space the network had between the ads that week?

The idea of Hawkeye having to become an indentured servant to the Army truly is rather chilling

Luckily though we have our old friends to rely on: entrapment, blackmail, and subterfuge! If they weren't so good they'd actually be so shady.

— — —

Season Viewguides

These

#M*A*S*H #M*A*S*H hours #Misc. MASH #Tarra takes notes

[enasallavellan]

Chapter 184

The group travels to Orlais to meet the noble who has offered the Amulet of the Unbound in exchange for a visit and portrait of our favorite Inquisitor.

.

They left the very next day, Annason bemoaning the lack of time for her to make Enasal a completely new elaborate dress. So, with more trepidation than it should, she took a few of the dresses Enasal hadn't worn on their last trip to Orlais. Vivienne already had her gowns but was more than happy to help Annason when she couldn't decide about one thing or another. Should she remove the lace hem and move them to the sleeves or the neckline? Should she switch the buttons or laces on one bodice to another? All the chattering and the fussing were constant reminders of what was to come - coming face to face with a noble in their own home.

"It will be alright, ma asha'lan." Solas soothed one evening as they all settled into an inn. "We'll all be right there with you."

Her legs bounced as she sat by the fire, watching the flames as she nursed her drink, "Yeah… but… still makes me nervous."

"I understand." He said, voice low.

"Just… being stuck in that dance with Gaspard and not being able to do anything about it because of stupid manners and etiquette." She wrinkled her nose, feeling a shiver at the memory.

He laid his hand on her shoulder, "I know that was frightening."

She stared down into her cup and at the ale inside. It moved in lazy circles under her anxious hands, rippling the amber liquid inside. "I hope this Duke's already married." She took a deep drink as she said it, hoping the alcohol would dull her frazzled nerves. "Granted, I doubt that means anything in Orlais, but it would be slightly more comforting if he was a bachelor."

Solas leaned back in his seat, sampling his own drink, "Hm." 

Enasal leaned forward, "Solas."

He smiled at her from the side, "Enasal?"

"He's a bachelor, isn't he?"

"So I've heard." He put his drink aside, "But I would assume he knows of your dedication to the Commander."

Enasal leaned back in her chair, "Great. Because that stopped Gaspard from groping me and all those noblewomen fluttering around the practice field and trying to flirt with Cullen." She hadn't meant for petulance to creep into her voice, but the word 'flirt' certainly gained an unintended edge.

Solas chuckled.

"Or!" Annason took her spot beside Enasal, wine in hand, "All the letters of proposal my friend receives!" 

Enasal glared at Annason before throwing back the rest of her drink.

Annason tittered, leaning her head on top of Enasal's and playfully mussing the curls with her cheek, "Some from the same ones! Over and over and over."

"But." Vivienne cut her off, "This will hardly be a grand ball. You will not need to entertain quite so many as you did in the Winter Palace."

"And with a much smaller group on both sides, we'll be able to adequately keep track of it." Solas said, "And if this Duke doesn't behave himself, he will be corrected swiftly and indisputably." 

"Within reason," Vivienne emphasized.

“Hm.” Was Solas’ response.

Vivienne's eyes glinted a bit when she looked at Solas, who promptly ignored her look of warning. With a sigh, she stood, "We have a long journey ahead of us, and I suggest we all retire soon."

Annason followed suit, reminding Enasal to not stay up too late. When she had finally gone, Enasal set down her near-empty mug, "You said you'd do something if he tried anything."

"Of course, my girl." He politely declined as one of the servers came to offer him some more wine before continuing," Without hesitation.." 

"How swiftly and… that other word-"

"Indisputably." He repeated, "It means there will be no question as to why he was corrected." 

With a slight weight lifted from her shoulders, Enasal nodded, "Like, right away?"

"Madame Vivienne believes we should extend the courtesy of allowing him to play ignorant once before more steps are taken." 

Enasal leaned over the table, voice dropping to a whisper, "Why does that sound like you're going to do as you please?"

He mirrored the gesture, "I suppose we'll just have to see."

Sleeping had come with a sudden new set of problems as they traveled. In the short time she and Cullen had shared a bed, she had grown used to his presence beside her. The slow cadence of his breath as he slept, how just before getting up for early morning drill, he would seek her out, pulling her close to him and kissing her in the pre-dawn light. Her nightmares were less realistic and fewer with him, and she knew his were the same. So, between the ache of missing Cullen and Annason sharing her tent, Enasal never slept much when they camped. Annason was absolutely petrified of every sound she heard and would shake Enasal wake throughout the night. 

"It's just an owl, Annason."

"No, that's not a wolf. It's probably a deer - the footfalls aren't right for a wolf."

"Another owl - they screech more than they do the 'who' thing."

"No, those are fireflies, not whisps… no, they're not ghosts. I know there's a lot, but they kind of follow me."

And each time, Annason would praise her knowledge and bravery, going as far as to explain every instance to the group over breakfast. "I thought it was a wolf stalking around camp! That it would pounce and eat us all at any moment." She jerked her chin up defiantly and held out her hand, "But, 'no' says my friend! To be able to tell one animal from another by the footfalls? Remarkable."

"Dalish." Enasal laughed.

Solas frowned, "Wolves are hardly anything to worry about. The likelihood of-"

"Oh, but those teeth and claws!" Annason interrupted, "Oh, to see one!"

Solas raised his eyebrows, "You're afraid a wolf will eat you… but you want to see one up close?"

"What?" Annason blanched, "No, no, no, not up close, never up close! But from a distance? Perhaps. " She sighed dreamily. "As close as that grove of trees, for instance - oh, and a hart!"

"You see Garahel all the time!" Enasal laughed.

"But a wild one!" She clasped her hands against her collarbone, looking into the distance, "Standing proudly on a hill - silhouetted by the moon!"

"A great many books you've read, haven't you?" Vivienne asked, an amused smile playing on her lips

She nodded, "Yes! Of adventures in the wilds and stories of love." She leaned on Enasal, "Although I have an exciting one right in front of me."

"Annason." Enasal sighed.

"I cannot wait until you get married!"

"Annaso-"

From her spot with some of the other guards, Voldin snorted, "Oh, he'll be a nervous wreck."

"Oh, what a wedding that will be - oh!" She reached over, tapping Enasal on the shoulder rapidly, "I wish to make your gown! Oh, can I, my friend, can I?"

"Anna-" At this point, Vivienne ad Solas were watching on in amusement. While Voldin tried to keep a straight face now that they had caught the attention of the other guards.

"Oh, and when you have children! They will be so beautiful -"

"Andraste, be merciful and make it a boy." Voldin couldn't help but add before she left to arrange the night watches., "He'd be a doormat over a daughter." 

Annason barreled on, "And can I be their 'tata'?"

"A do what now?" She asked.

"Their tata! Their tante! Oh, how you do say - Vivienne?"

She smiled over her book, "Auntie." 

"I don't know-"

"An aunt is your mother or father's sister," Vivienne explained.

Annason squealed, "Oh, Enasal, can-"

Enasal gently shook her friend, laughing, "Yes, Annason, yes. If any of that happens, you can make my dress, and I'll have the hypothetical children call you… Tata?"

She clapped her hands and laughed gleefully.

Solas stood, "We should get moving. We can enter Mantillon proper by afternoon and find a place to stay before we continue on to the chateau."

"Oh, how I long for a bed." Annason sighed.

"One of quality, I hope." Vivienne agreed, "While I have no qualms about sleeping on the ground, I do prefer a bed."

"Skyhold has spoiled me." Enasal nodded.

Solas chuckled, "It certainly has." 

"Hush you."

"Oh, she only misses the Commander." Annason teased.

"Okay, it's time to get going!" Enasal stood quickly, "No more talking - pack up!"

The following day, Annason fluttered around Enasal as she helped her into the traveling gown she had made. It still had a corset, but it was less stiff than the one she had worn to Halamshiral, and the soft blue fabric was lighter. The cloak she had given her was quite a bit more substantial, but the chilled breeze outside made its heavy warmth more than welcome. 

She couldn't help but be jealous of Solas' clothes. Annason had caved and made him more traditional elven pants but in exchange, had made a well-cut embroidered tunic and coat. 

And nobody was making him wear shoes.

"If it makes you feel any better, my girl." He commented as they got into the carriage, "Vivienne is dressed much more elaborately than you."

"Yeah, but she likes it."  

"Perhaps." He said, "But this material has so little give -" He demonstrated, bringing his shoulders forward and back, "A bit limiting from my usual range of movement." 

As the carriage pulled up, Enasal felt the nerves return. They would eat dinner with the duke later tonight, which seemed entirely too soon. She felt Solas' hand on her shoulder as he put a protective arm around her, "It will be alright." 

She nodded, and he helped her into the carriage, assisting Vivienne next - although it seemed more of a formality. Her hand barely touched Solas' as she got in, easily ascending into the carriage despite her own attire. Annason was next, all aflutter and excited about the visit, already chattering as she sat beside Enasal. Solas was in last, sitting beside Vivienne. Outside, their guard mounted their horses, and Voldin could be heard giving commands. Two in the back and two in the front, with one on either side. Voldin took her spot on the side where Enasal sat, calling out a few reminders before giving the go-ahead for the carriage to start.

"I wonder who's more mad that I'm gone." Enasal commented, "Cloudy because I'm not there to give him apples, or Garahel because he got left behind." 

"Cloudy." Annason said immediately.

Solas chucked, "I'm sure he's lost a great deal of weight already."

Enasal huffed, "Oh, you leave my horse alone."

Voldin leaned down, "I think he's technically a pony, Lady Inquisitor."

"A fat pony." Vivienne added.

Enasal tossed a rough curl out of her eyes, "Cloudy is a perfect and handsome boy."

"Didn't Master Dennet tell you to stop giving him so many treats?" Voldin asked. When Enasal went red, she laughed and sat back up in the saddle to keep watch.

When they arrived at the chateau, Enasal struggled to tell how large the entire estate was compared to the Winter Palace. The grounds seemed large and well kept, with a lake surrounded by evergreens off to the side. There were walking paths and benches, and it could have been easily mistaken for a public area. 

"Oh, how darling." Vivienne exclaimed as she looked up at the chateau, "Though it is smaller than I expected."

Enasal widened her eyes, "Small?"

Vivienne nodded, "A home one would expect of a much lesser noble." 

Solas tilted his head as he examined it, "Does he hoard what he doesn't spend or use it to better humanity, I wonder." Enasal must have had quite the face because he suddenly laughed. "You don't believe so?"

"Not really." She caught herself and sighed, "Guess I need to be checked, huh? Making assumptions, you know."

"An excellent self-observation, ma asha'lan." Solas said with an approving nod, "One must be aware of their flaws if they are to be improved on.

Funny. Even in this moment, when her nerves were frayed and her body tense, even with shoes on her feet and a corset cinching her waist - that little spark of approval made everything somehow better.

.

Read the full fic from the beginning at my A03 here!

If you’re willing and able, feel free to donate to my ko-fi or drop a tip in the jar to help me afford my many medications to keep the crazy at bay!

#Enasal Lavellan #fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fic #dragon age fanfiction #dai #dai fanfic #fai fanfiction #enasal tethras #inquisitor lavellan #Solas #Solas the Liar #Vivienne #Madame Vivienne #Annason Garette #Annason #Lieutenant Voldin

[asaarii]

If requests are open may I ask for Yone from Heartsteel crumbs? Hcs or whatever you may feel like writing?

1:00 AM ft: heartsteel!yone reader: gn wc: 925 this was supposed to be like 500 words oopsie this ap psych project is lowkey kicking my ass ngl...i've never heard of the Basal Ganglia or Tentorium Cerebelli until yesterday

His jaw is set tightly as he haphazardly tosses his phone aside, uncaring of the concerning thud his phone makes when it first makes contact with the carpeted floor. The worn-cushioned office chair does little to provide any sort of respite when he sits down, his foot bouncing rapidly as he slouches. He rests his aching temple on his fingertips whilst his eyes screwed shut, trying his best to alleviate his anger-clouded mind before he did anything stupid. 

He and his brother rarely saw eye to eye with a few of the only things they shared in common being their last name and choice of hairstyle. It was naive of him to think that Yasuo would change his mind about attending the Heartsteel debut event, but Yone couldn’t help but try to reach out to his younger brother, only to be shut down, leading to a rather heated argument between the two.

However, as he opens his eyes, he’s met with a somewhat messy desk, littered with contracts and promotional deals that he couldn’t give less of a fuck about at the moment. Even in his moment of simmering rage, he still meticulously works through the seemingly endless piles of paper despite the ache of fatigue beginning to seep into his bones.

With the debut right around the corner, he has no time for slacking off, even if it means pushing his needs aside. No matter how much he yearns for sleep, he forces his eyes awake, desperately trying to drown out his previous conversation with his brother through his workload. He shakes his head when he feels his eyes begin to droop and the grip on his pen slackens.

It’s only when the words on the paper begin to slur into an incomprehensible yet repetitive flurry does he tear his gaze away, rubbing at his pounding temple as he squints at the digital clock at his bedside.

1:00 AM, it reads; bold, bright red letters illuminating that small portion of his room. He’s too tired to even groan, too physically and emotionally exhausted to do anything else other than sigh. The only thought that grants him some peace is knowing that the other members are sound asleep right now, most probably excited about their upcoming debut.

He jolts when his door creaks open, suddenly awake and acutely aware of his surroundings. On instinct, his hand reaches for his drawer, slowly pulling out a small pocket knife he had purchased on a whim, though his blades are set just above his bed in case of any real emergency. Plus, in his defense, they make good decor.

“Yone…?” A sleep-riddled voice fills the tense silence, completely oblivious to Yone’s inner turmoil. Everything stills as silence once more envelops the room, but the man’s heart slows slightly upon realizing who had entered, tucking the pocket knife back into the confines of his desk.

He begins making his way over to you, making sure to pick up his fallen phone, wincing as the bright light of his lock screen burns his retinas. Notifications from his brother glare up at him, illuminating his terse expression. He quickly shuts his phone off, taking a breath as he pockets his phone, his full attention now on you. He’ll deal with Yasuo later.

“What are you still doing up? It’s one in the morning, [Name].” Even as he chides you, he’s gentle, leading you to his bed where you melt against him.

“Couldn’t sleep much…Was thinkin’ too much about the debut,” you mumble into his neck, allowing him to adjust the two of you into a far more comfortable position.

Ah, so that’s what this is about.

Yone hums in thought, pulling his hair free from his ponytail before once more settling beside you. You mumble something in your sleep-addled haze that he doesn’t quite catch, but goes along with anyway. You pout slightly when he doesn’t respond, pushing yourself up to your elbows, much to his confusion.

“Say it back.”

“What?” Had he been any less tired, he would have laughed.

“Yone…” You whine, poking lightly at his chest with a tired roll of your eyes. “Say. It. Back.”

“Say what back?” This time, he does laugh, the gentle sound carrying out through the otherwise silent room.

“I love you.” 

His heart stutters in his chest, all woes forgotten over a singular declaration. The stack of papers on his desk seems to disappear and the weight of his phone in his pocket vanishes as well. He smiles gently, cupping your cheek as he sits up as well. 

“I love you, too.” He kisses you gently, as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he’s a tad too rough. No longer is he the producer for the up-and-coming band, Heartsteel, or the overbearing older brother.

He’s just Yone.

You always had this effect on him, making him forget all his troubles by simply being you, and he’ll be damned should he ever take such a precious gift for granted.

In another life, pleasant nights like these are few and far between, littered with danger and little to no respite. Yet in that life (or death, if you want to be precise), you still remain a constant to Yone, still alleviating his stress, still offering him kisses and hugs when everything becomes too much, and, most importantly of all, still being with him.

Though neither you nor Yone knows or cares about this supposed other life, the bond still remains. In this life, and the next…and the next…and the next.

©asarii 2023 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site

#league of legends—・❥ #league of legends #lol #league of legends x reader #yone x reader #heartsteel yone #heartsteel yone x reader #yone lol #yone league of legends #heartsteel x reader

[rein-ette]

If you still fancy a drabble prompt, I've always seen Canada and England having a very warm and comfortable relationship- if it interests you, maybe a prompt could be one going to the other for advice about something?

It does indeed interest me, thank you for the prompt! I've had a bunch of Mattie-Arthur scenarios swimming around in my mind for a long time, so I'm glad to have a chance to put one of them down on paper. As always, this was supposed to be a "drabble" but magically lengthened itself the more I thought about it -- I don't think drabbles are supposed to have historical notes.

"Come in."

Matthew shifted his pile of papers to his other arm and pushed through the door of Arthur's office. Inside, the fading afternoon light illuminated the rich mahogony floor and danced on the spines of the hundreds of books that lined each wall. Remembering the excitement he felt when he was first allowed to peruse these shelves, Matthew couldn't help but smile softly to himself.

Arthur himself sat at his desk, one ankle propped up on his knee as he stared idly out the window. Matthew could just barely see a white trim of bandages that peeked out from underneath his collar. That dimmed his smile. It had been more than two years now since the war had ended in Europe, but Arthur still looked as gaunt as he did during the days when engines still roared over London and — though Matthew had not thought it possible — even more exhausted. The worn smile Arthur offered him said as much, and Matthew pushed away a twinge of guilt.

Arthur jerked his chin at the seat in front of his desk and Matthew sat, stacking his documents in a neat pile in front of him. Instead of immediately going through them, however, he gazed worriedly at his old guardian.

"How are you feeling?"

Arthur sighed and shifted in his seat, dropping his leg and turning to face Matthew. He stared at the ancient, ink-stained wood of his desk for a while, and Matthew could almost see the warring emotions on Arthur's face as his desire to be honest fought with his lingering instinct to conceal and protect Matthew from the worries that plagued him. But because they were past such pretenses, he finally murmured, "Tired."

Matthew hummed sympathetically in response. There wasn't much he could do or say to change that, and he expected the reports he brought would only exhaust Arthur further. So he merely asked, "Are you remembering to apply the salve twice a day?"

Matthew flushed a little when Arthur rolled his eyes at him good-naturedly, realizing he was fussing like Arthur was his child, instead of the other way around. Thankfully, Arthur spared him further embarrasment by only answering a tad dryly that yes, he was actually capable of following simple instructions. Matthew mumbled out a reply before deciding that he might as well get on with what he was actually here for, knowing Arthur had never been one for small talk. Clearing his throat, he slid the top half of his stack of papers across the desk.

"They sent you a copy of Lord Mountbatten's plan, I think with annotations, though I haven't gone through the whole thing. And this part is the proposal for the national flag. Also," he pulled a cream letter from the pile and passed that over as well, "India asked that you be there personally, in August," he finished.

Arthur hummed and rifled through the papers. Matthew couldn't quite read his expression. After a few moments, he stacked them again and placed them to the side, with the letter on top. "Thanks. I'll go through them later."

Matthew nodded. "And here I just summarized the letters and stuff from the others. I've left them back in the box, in case you wanted to read them yourself. There's not too much going on really. That you don't already know."

"Yes. Thank you. This is a great help, Matthew, truly."

"You're welcome," Matthew murmured, and watched Arthur scan the notes before setting them aside as well. His eyes traced the shadows underneath the other nation's eyes, before dropping back down to the cotton bandages around his neck. He wondered if Arthur was sleeping at all.

"Is there anything else I can do? I'm heading back to Ottawa next week, but if you need me to take over some stuff for a bit, I can stay longer —"

"No, no, it's fine," Arthur cut him off. "Like I said, I'm just a little tired, that's all. But all this," he waved a hand at the documents , "isn't anything new."

Matthew frowned. "Isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, I know the paperwork isn't new, but, these," he drew a breath, "reforms, and the war, of course. That's — I mean. No one's, you know, had to deal with that, before."

Arthur frowned, and traced a finger along the edge of his desk, before sighing, "No, I guess not." He turned again to look out the window behind him. After several long moments, he said, quietly, "But it's not entirely unexpected, either. I just—" The corner of his lips jerked down, and for a moment it seemed as if he was almost in pain. He drew in a breath, and said, "It's just. Difficult. That's all. To—but." He stopped again, grimaced, as if at his own ineloquence. Finally, he said, slowly, as carefully as if he was embroidering the words onto the air between them, "The world is changing. Let us not stand in the way, lest they make us out to be fools."

Watching him struggle, Matthew found himself at a loss as well. Never had he imagined that Arthur — sharp-tongued, quick-witted Arthur, who could neither be bullied nor silenced, who could quote from more books than Matthew had ever read — would be scrambling for words. But then, as he watched Arthur's shoulders curve in towards himself like Matthew had seen a thousand times before in another stubborn, sandy-haired nation who also seemed to have endless words but never quite the right ones, he knew what he needed to do.

Smiling again, Matthew stood, drawing on Arthur's arm so he would turn to face him and said, "I think you need a hug."

Unnecessarily Long Notes are Unnecessarily Long

I didn't state the specific setting of this scene, but the timing of the historical events mentioned means it has to have been sometime between June and August of 1947. Despite the fact that Mattie says "not much is going on", my lord, a lot was going on in 1947; hence why Artie is doing his best impression of the walking dead. Besides the Indian and Pakistan independence movement, officially achieved in August 1947 which is alluded to (Mountbatten, or 3 June Plan, was the precursor to the Indian Independence Act of 1947), Europe was also going through complete social upheaval. To mention just a couple highlights: Germany was in such ruin it was said to have returned to the Roman ages, Britain was rationing harder than ever despite the war having ended, and of course Mr. Truman and Mr. Stalin were gearing up for the Great Showdown. A quote I like which captures the feeling of the time is from H.G. Wells: "[where] other civilizations rolled and crumbled down, the European civilization was, as it were, blown up." [quoted by Tony Judt, Postwar]. Also directly concerning Arthur was the issue of Palestine, which as we all know was and is contentious, to say the very least.

Arthur's attitude to decolonisation is...complicated. Clearly I went with a softer view here, but certainly not all (or even many) British held the view in 1947 that the Empire should be decolonized at all. Hence Arthur during this time was probably a raging hypocrite and, if he wasn't already, at least 50% psychologically unstable. However, I allowed Arthur a little dignity here, in part because he's 2000 years old and as such should have a tiny more perspective than us humans, and also because the weakness of the Empire was much more evident to those in government and the army. Even if it wasn't popular opinion yet, anyone with half a braincell could see that every day Britian didn't decolonize was costing them more than they could afford. Additionally, Britain did decolonise much, much faster than all the other powers and in a relatively peaceful and orderly manner, though what ensued in the countries they left behind was neither. I should also add that Matthew is not the most objective of narrators either -- Canada, despite being a former colony, was still strongly Anglophilic, especially right after WWII. Still, I hope ya'll won't begrudge Arthur a hug.

#hws england #hws canada #fic #ask #rainbowfruitpastilles #needcake i'm working on urs next #ngl urs is kinda hard #but thats what practice is about #in the meantime send more asks :D #this is fun #fun times with the commonwealth

[halfway-happyyy]

Love Like This

AN: Basically you’re stuck in quarantine and you’re reflecting on the things that make Alexander who he is. Oh, you’ve also got some pretty fantastic news for him.

Cotton candy clouds of fluff.

“Saturday nights used to look a hell of a lot different than this one, didn't they?”

Where once there were movie premiers to attend, award shows to be embarrassingly proud at, cocktails to be sipped, friends to laugh with… you are at home for the foreseeable future.

Alexander glances up from his phone to beam at you. “Maybe so. But this happens to be one of the better Saturday evenings I've had.”

“Yeah? And why is that?”

Alexander shrugs. “I'm with my best friend.”

It’s currently late into the evening and a soft rain patters gently against the glass kitchen windows. Alexander's just finished his second glass of chardonnay and he's leant over the gleaming marble counter top, phone clutched in his hand. He's tired tonight; keeps squinting down at the content on his phone and letting out long yawns every few minutes. As you take in all six foot four of his frame, from the unkempt quarantine hair and the five o’clock (almost six now) shadow forming on his face, to the worn sweatpants hanging low on his hips… you reflect silently on the things you know to be certain about the elder Swede before you.

The first thing that comes to mind is his complete adoration for his family. It never ceases to make you feel suddenly warm and fuzzy inside just thinking of it. He frequently tells you how excited he is to get the two of you back to Sweden when this is all over- “Just you and I and the rest of the family on our little island.” Last night he spent over two hours happily talking to Gustaf while he nursed a couple of his favourite beers. This morning you both had the pleasure of having facetime pancakes with his mother, the memory of it causes you to smile softly to yourself.

“Whatcha smiling about over there, kid?” Alexander pipes up.

“Your mum,” and your heart sings as you watch the grin bloom across his face.

The next thing is his intense love of coffee. Being someone who travels more than the average person, he has become quite the caffeine connoisseur. There is actually a cupboard in the corner of the kitchen dedicated to bags of exotic beans he's found along his travels and it isn't uncommon for the first thing you hear in the morning to be the muffled whir of his ever-coveted machine in the corner next to the spice rack.

“What on earth is that?”

“What's what, kid?”

You gestured to the pile of expensive looking metal beneath the kitchen window.

“That… thing.”

Alexander scoffed in mild offence. “That thing, is my new baby. That thing roasts coffee beans like hot damn. Starbucks could never,” He hissed under his breath.

You're pretty sure you could write a book of all of things you know to be true about him. That he loves nothing more sometimes than to stroll anonymously around the city. That he'll spend an entire day pouring through a book if it's good enough. That there is a small wooden box next to your bed that is chock-full of hand written love letters from him. Some are written on airplane napkins in his slightly shaky, but still signature scrawl and some are on luxuriously thick paper purchased from a stationery shop in Siena. You know and adore the way his accent thickens when he's had a little too much to drink. (He's definitely been guilty of forgetting that your Swedish is still quite rusty, yet attempting to launch into full-on conversations with you regardless of that fact.) Or the way his cerulean gaze lightens or darkens depending on his mood.

Alexander sighs tiredly and hoists his arms high above his head in a stretch. He yawns and pockets the phone in his pants. “I'm going to start getting ready for bed, kid. You coming?”

His bedtime routine varies from night to night. Some nights he starts out reading; could be a novel someone's suggested to him or a script he's been sent. Whatever it is, his brain has a habit of running away on him from time to time and settling into a good chapter is a sure-fire way to have him sleepy within the hour. Some nights he's intent on making you feel amazing; he'll spend hours between your legs, taking his sweet time. Other nights, particularly if he's just been home after a long shoot, he simply holds you close to him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you kid.”

It's a mantra he only whispers when he's missed you more than he can say.

“Yeah baby. I'll be up in a few minutes.”

You drain what's left of your tea and make sure everything's turned off in the kitchen. Alexander is perched on his side of the bed when you enter the room. You marvel at the way his back muscles ripple and flex in the low lamplight as he stretches before bed. You’ve told him numerous times in the past how beautiful he is, but most of the time he just laughs it off.

“Couldn't hold a candle to you, kid.”

You pad over to the bed to undress, trying in vain to ignore the sudden prickle of nerves in your belly. Alexander is already waiting for you, arms outstretched for you to fall into. You settle into him as you have thousands of times before, and each time never fails to feel like coming home. You know his scent; a heady mix of body wash, cologne and sweat. You have memorized the sound of his heartbeat and the way it makes you feel when it beats against your shoulder blade. “Saturday nights are about to look a lot different than they do now, Alex.”

One thing, and maybe it’s the thing that stands out the most to you, is how much Alexander loves children. He's always had a way with them; they flock to him in droves. Your heart thrums in your chest when you think of the first time he got to meet his baby niece, or the hundreds of facetimes he’s had with his younger brothers. It's possible that this has everything to do with him being the elder brother of seven other siblings, but he's simply just a natural with them. Where his patience often lacks with adults, he never fails to make time for kids and it's never been a secret he's tried to hide. In fact, it was one of the first things he revealed about himself when you first began seeing him.

“I'd love a big family in the future. That seems like the ultimate dream, doesn't it? Waking up every morning to the sound of tiny, barefoot pitter-patters?”

You couldn't deny the way his glassy blue orbs lit up like a Christmas tree at the mere mention of his own family someday.

“I know I'm going to be a father someday. I don't doubt that it's going to be difficult and terrifying beyond all measure but I do know that it’s going to be the most important role of my life… and I really just can't wait for it.”

Alexander somehow knows exactly what you mean without further elaboration. He sits up straight in bed and pats your arm twice so you can follow suit. Instinctively, his large, warm hands travel to the bump that is mere months away from making an appearance in your belly. He swallows hard and clears his throat, you notice the way his lips quiver ever so slightly before he asks, “Are we?”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch tears brim in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah Alex, we are.”

He tilts his head back and, you doubt you'll ever forget the sound of his laugh or the way the tears roll down his cheeks in unbelievably happy streams. After a while he drops his head to your belly and proceeds to pepper dozens of kisses over the expanse of your exposed skin. He stays like that for what feels like hours; and when he finally gazes back up at you, he's beaming so wide he puts sunshine to shame. 

“Can't wait to tell the family, kid.”

#and the entirety of the next day would be spent on the phone #lots of happy tears #multiple questions for bill #he'd be the best papa #no one can change my damn mind #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard fanfic #fanfic #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard fluff #alexander skarsgard drabble #drabble #writing #oneshot #alex sstuff #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgård

[bitchfitch]

Copper artfight resource

big soft boy. if a cup of spicy hot chocolate was a massive apex predator/ obligate carnivore.

mikely stabbed him the first time they met and he fell in love Instantly.

an excerpt:

Death crept through the lavish halls of a rich man's home. Old cracked paint flaked beside sun faded tapestries and over well worn wood floors. The raged leather soles of of his boots softly thumping along with the creaking of old wood that accompanied his every step. He found the room easily, following the sound of a fading cough and short not quite gasping breaths that failed to draw enough air. 

He ducked through the door and the dying man greeted him with age hazed eyes and a broad grin.

"Copper!" his exclamation carried joy even if his lungs couldn't support more than a creaking whisper, "Bastard, it's so good to see you again," he stopped to catch his breath, his eyes closing as he did so,

"And you as well," Copper returned the smile as he sat in the chair beside the bed, "But to be honest I'm a touch surprised, both that you can see anything through those cataracts, and that you would… Appreciate my presence," 

The rich man chuckled, "Not many people have hair that color, even fewer are as tall as you. I may not be able to see much, but I can still see that,"

"I suppose you're right," Copper huffs with a hand going to his dark red mess of a mane "Still, you must remember the terms of our deal and what my presence means for you now?"

"I do," he nods, "I'm going to die tonight, going to see Min again," 

"Min?"

"My wife," he smiles as he speaks of her even as his words become more labored, "That quill you gave me, I wrote a letter to the girl I had fallen in love with when we were young. I didn't know she couldn't read, so she had to get someone else to read it to her, but when she'd heard what I wrote she came all the way into the valley to slap me and call me an idiot," he laughs, "Told me we should've eloped when we were both still fresh, before she'd found another man to call her own,

I'd not even thought that she'd have gone on like that. It made sense, she could have, and did, do so much better than me. But luck of lucks saw that husband of hers dead not long after. I felt bad for being so happy, but I couldn't stop smiling when she and I married,

That quill- You, gave me the happiest life I could have imagined. I'm glad to pay my end of the deal now, because it means I get to see her again,"

"It's a rare treat to find someone with no regrets, thank you for your story," Copper smiles softly, genuine and warm,

"Oh, I've got regrets," the rich man say "Many, but I don't care to dwell on them, not now… or… Well, one, there's one,"

"Hmm?"

"Min and I, we had a fight right before… She was so mad at me last time I saw her. Do you think she still is?"

"I don't know, but you will have plenty of time to make it up to her soon,"

"Yeah, yeah that's true… It's close now is it?"

"Moments if I had to guess," Copper shrugs, "The clot in your lung is migrating and will soon block off blood flow to the area completely. After that happens you won't be able to get enough air and will… fall asleep, then you will suffocate over a few minutes. It won't be the most pleasant of deaths, but it won't hurt badly," he simplified things greatly, not caring for the slight inaccuracies so long as they helped keep the rich man calm and peaceful in these final moments.

"Any final requests?" Copper cocks his head,

"I think… yeah, I think I want to be alone for this. Thank you," 

"Of course. Rest well then, and may your sleep bring great growth" Copper stood from his seat, the blessing leaving him without thought as the rich man closed his eyes a smile still tugging on his old, withered face.

The door to the rich man's room shut with a light thud as Copper drifted down the halls, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He rarely visited the dying, usually he only came to the deceased caught between their death's and their afterlives to guide them across, and this was why. He knew where the clot was, it would only take a moment and a little bit of concentration to break it up enough that the rich man's body would be able to handle it on it's own. Sure, doing so would probably only buy him a few more bed bound days, a week maybe, but healers can rarely be trusted to leave the sick and dying to the whims of nature and he was no different. 

He wandered through the empty halls decorated with treasures that, do to a single deal made half a century ago, would soon be his, and found his way into a shrine room. Shelves upon shelves of precious jewls and metals, fine fabrics and sculptures filled the room. Though the alter beneath the stained glass window held only sea glass and shells that glittered from around a poorly made tapestry that depicted a stormy ocean.

The threads were too loose in some places too tight in others and there were places where it was clear the weaver ran out of one color and had attempted to dye more only for it to come out just wrong enough to be noticed. It was clearly made by inexperienced hands and now stood displayed still in it's loom in the place of honor on this shrine. Pride in its existence radiated from it and that made it stunning despite it's flaws. 

Distantly, he felt the rich man die, quietly and peacefully.

One of Copper's aspects would guide him across and later while Copper slept he'd dream of the conversation that aspect and the rich man would have, and he would dream of the conversations his other, near innumerable, aspects would have, and have had, and have been having with every other human who has crossed into his domain since he last slept. Then he would wake, and forget almost everything said during those conversations as they meld together into a messy but beautiful tapestry. All the threads visible and traceable in their places but ultimately he saw it not for the individuals, but the grander thing they made together.

He picked at the stones and shells scattered on one of the shelves, his dulled claws scraping against the rough surface. He should probably go find someone to deal with the body…

The soft creaking protest of a floor board that no longer fit in it's place being tread on called from behind him. Copper turned, curious to who or what would be intruding on this moment, but he was left slack jawed with a greeting trapped behind his lips as he saw the man.

Surrounded by gold and silver and precious gems that glittered in the low moonlight that flowed through the windows, this man outshone them all. He was tall for a human, coming up to just below Copper's collar bones, with broad, strong looking shoulders. His sharp features highlighted by the silver light caressing his warm tan skin and haloed by that same light echoing through the broken strands of bleach blonde hair that fell from his neat bun to frame his narrow face.

Light agitation turned to wonder and awesrrucked silence as Copper struggled for a second to find words, but once again those words died when he met the man's eyes, they were probably a deep brown but the low light turned them onyx. His gaze was sturdy, not cold or calculating, not bored. Determined but practiced.

The strange, beutiful, human man wore the expression of a butcher or a slaughterer, he did not draw perverse pleasure or joy from what came next. He was so obviously merely doing a job as he moved faster than Copper's confusion addled mind could react to that that alone struck more fear into Copper's core than if the man were hissing and snapping with rage.

The ice hot cut of an iron blade dug past the flesh between his ribs and into his chest even as he recoiled. On pure instinct he growled an awful rumbling sound that made the butcher- the hunter, flinch as Copper managed to stumble away, nearly falling to one knee as his own lung struggled to inflate. He could feel his magic burning along the wound as it tried, and failed to pull it closed. His hand going to his bloodied side in a vain attempt of staunching the flow. 

The hunter advanced, cautious and silent, his blade, slicked with Copper's own viscous black blood, raised as he followed the retreating god.

Copper hissed as his back collided with a shelf, cornered he pulled his attentions together just enough to attempt to teleport away, only to feel his magic jolt painfully within him as it failed completely.

The hunter advanced, already readying another swing.

In that moment Copper forced himself to focus on the warm summer night air, on the flickering candles and the heat of the hunter's body, most seals could be overpowered, he just needs to rush it hard enough. 

Heat leaves the room, the hunter stumbles with a pained gasp as the heat leaves him too. Copper doesn't see if the hunter falls because the seal gives as he uses all of that stolen energy to burst against it.

He drops to his knees on the cold stone floor of the cave he calls home. His blood singing through magic seared veins, his hands shaking as he braces one against the floor below him as his world swims, both from blood loss and the disorientation that always came with pushing his power that hard,

He struggles with his wound, gasping with effort as his magic finally starts working again. The wound tieing itself closed beneath his palm, a thick black scar forming as he comes down from the mountain top high of fearing for his life for the very first time since before the advent of this universe.

Copper slumps against the water-carved wall of his home, his head falling back against it with a deep buzz running beneath his skin, and he Laughs, deep and hearty and Alive in a way he has not felt in centuries.

---

A day passed, and Copper's wound still ached every time he bent wrong, sending a pang through his chest as his heart picked up at the memory that accompanied it. Truly, he could only go a few moments without thinking of the death dealing adonis that had, very litteraly, struck him to his very heart. He needed to find the man again, to see if a second meeting would make his blood race the way the first had.

Perhaps he would even find out why he'd been attacked, but if Copper was being honest with himself, he didn't care to know. The Hunter was a mystery, and like many mysteries, he was one that could be enjoyed as is, and did not need unraveling quite yet. Still, Copper couldn't wait around for fate to bless him with a second chance meeting. He needed to find The Hunter on his own, and that meant doing a little investigating.

The moment Copper had had time to rest he laid in his bed and let his consciousness drift to the aspect that could interact with the grand tapestry. The Hunter had not hesitated for even a moment, had not flinched at spilling blood, and so there was no denying that he was experienced. That, perhaps, killing was something that either came easy to him or that he was very well practiced in the art of it.

The hunter was young, maybe mid twenties to early thirties, which narrowed his search, and the location narrowed it further. That valley was a hard month long trek through ice capped mountains from the next nearest settlement. The Hunter probably lived and prowled within its confines.

Copper focused on the last ten years worth of threads from that area that ended in white knots, the tragic, violent deaths. This would be where he found what he would need.

Going by date he gently tugged the ends through the weave so that he could examine them closer. He was careful to not pull anything more than an hours worth at a time, dreading upsetting the careful balance of the fabric and the places of the souls that he examined within it. It took a few tries, a few years worth of deaths until he found the first one that he could catch a glimpse of The Hunter from. 

And oh how Copper dreaded what he saw. Five years before he'd met the man, an older boy, maybe sixteen with sharp, fearful and wild, onyx eyes and short, jagged ink black hair cried with blood stained hands, one still holding a blade, the same one Copper would become familiar with, it was still slick with the red of human blood as the boy stumbled back against the wall as the man he'd just killed gasped his last breath.

Copper found the conversation he'd had with that spirit, a man who'd heard screaming from within a home. He'd gone to help only to be found by the Chief's boy before he could find the source of the screams. Copper had reassured him, had praised him for his bravery, had not paid enough attention. He'd guided the kind man to his afterlife while the chief's boy who would become The Hunter silently wept beside the man's body, struggling against the tears as someone called out for him. 

Tucking the tread back into place with one hand and pulling another free with the other. He grimaced when he realized it was merely a visitor's thread. Someone from Copper's own home universe who'd come into this one for one reason or another only to find their end here.

The visitor's soul had not been theirs to keep stored away amongst those of their creations and so had already been returned home. Where it would have dissipated into the background energy to eventually become the fuel for something new. No life was stored in this thread, it was merely a place holder.

Copper found more threads like that in his search, nearly twenty pale threads all from the last few years lined side by side. Tragic human deaths surrounding them but none of those human deaths involved The Hunter. That was odd, very few places in his tapestry looked so strange and knotted, and most patches that did were of wars and disasters not… whatever this was.

If he had been tangible in that moment he would've been nipping at his claws as he tried to piece together what something so strange could mean. But no answers came to him.

He found the next, and most recent, human victim of The Hunter, a man now, still too young, but undeniably a man by Copper's math, cold and stoney eyed, tangled bleached hair and a badly bruised and swelling jaw. Copper would have been surprised if The Hunter didn't have a few cracked or missing teeth from the injury, the mandible itself might be broken, a serious wound that needs setting and cleaning imeaditly. Copper's mind supplied him with the diagnosis without him meaning to think of it, so focused was he on that wrecked face and the lack of answers it presented that his mind tried to give him what few answers it could, even if those answers were worthless.

The woman The Hunter had killed had sat silent and glaring at The Hunter who silently watched her die,  his blade dripping with her blood. She'd not spoken a word to Copper. Fuming as she stormed through the gate without any guidance from him.

He wished he had insisted on actually speaking to her, on finding the answers. The iron eyed Hunter was a far cry from that sobbing boy, and yet they shared a thread.

More visitors, more tragedy, and no more answers came from the grand tapestry. 

He needed to return to that valley, surely if tragedy struck this often they'd welcome a healer? Even if they didn't, the Oracle made her home at the very center, and while Copper tried to avoid his sister's emissaries, The Oracle would be able to tell him what he needed if all else failed. Besides, her daughter was such a cute little thing, it would be a joy to hold a chubby baby again. Would the daughter still be a baby? maybe she was toddling about already, having her first little prophecies as she explored the world she would be entrusted to protect.

Oh Copper couldn't wait to visit.

[lucienladamned]

Memories

This is a short story I wrote for my character, Alois. In this writing he looks upon his keepsakes and reminisces about the good... and the bad of his past

~♡~

 It was the first Middas of the new year. Alois had his head buried in his hands, blinking back tears. If only he hadn't forced Qadir to leave early… Maybe he would still be alive then…

A knock came upon the door and a second later quickly opened. “Listener,” cooed the jester, “Must you really sit in here all day? Let's kill someone!” He hopped inside the door and gingerly closed it behind him, approaching the desk of the Sanctuaries leader. “You're looking a bit down, Listener,” he soon observed, “Shall I tell a joke?”

Alois raised his head and shook it. “No, Cicero, please just grab me something to eat. I must keep waiting for the night mother to speak to me once more.” The old elf’s eyebrows scrunched together tightly, his eyes goaded Cicero into leaving him be.

 “Ah, maybe some other time then, Listener! I do know you used to love slaughtering those milk maidens,” Cicero said as he left the Listener to his own thoughts by quickly leaving the room.

Alois pushed his chair out and stood up, then brushing off his robes from the charcoal shavings. Making his way towards his personal chest, he looked around his living quarters. How had it even come to this? Living alone, bitter, and in the freezing stones of Dawnstar… He knelt down in front of his chest and carefully opened it, looking down at the assortment of random objects and nic-naks inside.

Reaching down he brought out a beaded necklace. Big, blue and black beads hanging on a fraying string… some of their colors were even fading. Damn, he could remember when he got this like yesterday.

         ~◇~

“Papa, papa,” mused the young dark elf, “You're back!” He ran up and jumped up into his father's arms along with his two brothers as his mother watched. “What did you bring us? Did you bring us some sweet rolls?” The young boy, around ten to be exact, seemed to be brimming with joy at the sight of his father.

The old man smiled back down at his boys. “No,” he said, “but I have got you boys some taffy.” He reached into his knapsack and brought out a long candy and handed it to the boys. “Now you three share now. Go and play, Papa is tired.”

 The three brothers ran off to go play. “Wait, Alois? Come outside after dinner. It's important,” the old man croaked, taking off his hat and scratching his balding head.

“Yes, Papa,” replied the oldest, his back turned to him and fixated on the candy. He was paying no attention to his pops… which wasn't out of the ordinary for the three boys.

After dinner the old man went out and sat down on the porch steps, drinking out of his mead bottle little by little. He was looking out on the setting Ashland sun, silently sending a prayer to Azura… Then his oldest child bounded outside.

“Papa, what going on?” The child say down next down to his father, his feet swinging back and forth slightly. “Is everything alright?”

 His father sighed and wrenched his eyes away from the sun. “Yes, Alois. Everything is okay,” he said softly, looking over at his son. His eyes were tired and worn out, almost like old leather. “I just wanted to talk to you.” Pulling a long, beaded necklace out of his pocket, he held it up to the purple sun. “You see here, boy? This is precious. Was your grandfather's, and his father's before him,” he started, the worn out necklace twisting and dancing in front of the pair. “It ain't worth much, Alois, but it's precious. And it's yours, sunny boy. I hope you understand.”

Everything had gone through one ear and out the other. He had just nodded along through the whole thing. He wasn't much more than an oblivious child after all. “Yes, Papa. I understand,” he said bluntly as the beads were handed to him and lay in his hands. “I'll take good care of it.” The young boy didn't know it now, but this necklace will come to mean the world to him in a few years.

                                ~◇~

 Alois shook his head to shoo the memory away. No. It was too hard to think about it… about his family. He sighed and carefully placed the necklace back into its place, searching for something new to bring out. He pulled out his… lute.

           ~◇~

The young adult of an elf was standing on the street corner in Vivec City, playing desperately on his lute and sang a traditional Dunmer tune. The man just barely had enough to eat… nothing to rest his head in an tonight, however. Damn it… These damned entitled Dunmer … He just wanted to rest well for one night, for Boethiah’s sake! He shook his head and finished his last chord before sinking against the wall and resting his life in his lap, defeated.

From a block away, a young red guard caravan leader heard the beautiful playing of a lute. “Say, who do you reckon is playing that,” he said, amazed.

“Don't pay any attention to it. It's just that poor sod, Alois. Doesn't know when to stop his damned playing. Quite an annoyance if you ask me.”

Qadir had heard enough and was already walking away to find this ‘Alois.’ Sounded like a damned good player to him. He had just turned the corner when the Dunmer had sunken down. Pushing his dreads behind his ear and quickly putting them up, he made a quick game plan.

Qadir took a deep breath and approached the down right poor elf with his chest puffed out. “Ah, was that you playing,” he tried to say as smooth as possible. It worked for most of the persons he was up against anyways. That's why he was a merchant after all! Yet, his words came out a little lighter than usual. “I thought it was absolutely beautiful. I'm Qadir. Pronounced KUH-deer. Nice to meet you. Want to go for drinks tonight? All on me.” He flashed the elf a wide grin and held out his hand.

 This was just for a night, right? Turns out that Qadir stayed much longer than anticipated…

    ~◇~

The old man snapped back to reality and wiped his eyes. Damn that red guard… making him fall in love like that. He shook his head and placed the instrument back down, instead pulling out a small wedding band.

          ~◇~

“Come on! Come with me,” the dark elf urged, tightly grasping the other mans hands in his. “Leave the market place, we can start our own stand, Qadir!”

 It was pouring rain out in the dark of the Morrowind city. They were both just 40 years old at the time of course. Both confused. Both soaking wet from the horrid weather.

 “Come with me! We'll start our own farm! We'll be happy,” he urged, slipping his hands out of the others. “Q-Qadir look, please,” he begged, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a plain, gold band. “Qadir I love you.”

 Qadir stood there in complete shock. Leave the city? Start their own farm? It was absurd. Impossible even. “W-Wait, Alois think about this! A farm, a farm?” His eyes laid down upon the band in the others hand and opened his mouth to speak once more before closing it. Had he really saved up… for a farm? For him? “L...Let us do this. We'll Leave tomorrow afternoon.”

 Alois nearly cried out in relief as he slid the ring onto his man’s ring finger. “We'll elope, my darling! Mara will love us either way!”

           ~◇~

The old man wiped the tears streaming down his face. Was that really the last time he was… happy? God he missed it, he missed Qadir so fucking much. He yelled out in frustration and threw the ring to the bottom of his chest. He was fucking angry. Angry at the tribunal! Angry at those fucking bandits! Angry… angry with himself. He took a shaky breath before bringing out one last thing… Qadir’s head garb.

            ~◇~

“I'll see you soon, honey,” cooed Qadir, leaning down and kissing his husband on their doorstep. “I'll be safe. I promise,” was his last words to Alois before waving and departing for the road with their weekly goods.

Alois had anxiously waited for his husbands return, constantly staying out to tend their farm much too late into the night and nearly never sleeping. It had been about a week… Qadir should be coming home soon! By the eight! He couldn't wait…

 There was a quiet knock on the door. Alois quickly sprung from his chair to answer it. “Qadir, baby you're finally home-!” But it wasn't his love.

“I, er, I've got something to deliver. A notice of… death. Of your housemate Qadir.” The courier handed the elf the thick envelope. “Oh, and sorry for your loss.”

 Alois was left in shock as he just nodded, closing the door in front of him. Dead? He couldn't be. He was completely fazed as he sat down and tore open the letter.

 It truly was a death certificate… and a small note of condolences.. and somehow, the only thing that was left on Qadir was his headscarf… and it was in the envelope with it.

He threw the papers at his feet and clutched the scarf in his hands, staring down at it in complete shock. He was alone… again. He broke out into tears and sobbed into the scarf. Damn the eight! Damn their fucking plans!

  ~◇~

Alois hadn't realised he was sobbing into his sleeve in reality, crumpled in a pitiful position, the last thing of his husbands clutched in his hands. By Sithis he missed him so much.

“Listener? Perhaps now you need a jest? Or a story?”

#tes #story #my story #writing #my writing #short story #oc #oc fic #oc fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #my fic #my fanfiction #angst