#i have like one great aunt one first cousin one third cousin and her daughter my fourth cousin

[sheeple]

Miracles don’t exist | 1: The Quidditch World Cup finale

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): None this chapter [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Your first three years at Hogwarts were uneventful. As uneventful as being the daughter of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange can be.

From a very young age, you knew that your parents weren't normal people. I mean, with a mother who was convicted to Azkaban when you were just one and a father who disappeared. It was not hard to connect the dots. 

Of course, as soon as you were popped out of the womb, you were left behind at Malfoy manor in the care of the same nanny that took care of your cousin, Draco. Your mother was too busy with being a Death Eater to care about a brat. Her words exactly.

And it's not like it matters anyway. The Malfoy's are good to you, even besides the fact that you are the Dark Lord's daughter. At first, they handled you with additional care. But after a while, they saw you more as a daughter than anything else. Especially aunt Cissy, who's always fussing over you.

The first time you were genuinely terrified was during the house sorting at Hogwarts. As a precaution, your last name was changed to Black, after your mother's maiden name. Having the surname of either Riddle or Lestrange was way too dangerous.

You can still remember the whispers as your name was called. 

"A Black?" "I didn't know a Black her age still existed." "Could she be the daughter of the mass murderer?"

A sort of relief went through your body as you were sorted into Slytherin. There was no doubt, being the heir of Slytherin nonetheless. But still, the fear of disappointing a father that you've never met was all too great, even for an eleven-year-old.

That same year you got the first letter from your father. He wrote how proud he was of you for being sorted into Slytherin and that he expected big things from you. Thanks, dad, no pressure at all.

During your second year, you heard all kinds of weird whispers as you moved about the castle. It was then that you discovered that you could speak Parslemouth. The giant murder snake in the sewers was not as scary as many believed. Of course, as she was murdering muggle-borns, you felt guilty and tried to forbid her to do so. But the Basilisk couldn't help her nature.

After everything happened with the Chamber of Secrets, you went to Dumbledore and confessed everything, from your true parentage and being a Parslemouth. You cried while asking the headmaster to not expel you.

"My dear child", said Dumbledore calmly, producing a handkerchief out of thin air, "you have nothing to worry about. If I learned one thing throughout my long life, I've learned that parentage could mean nothing. If you let it mean nothing."

He did make you promise to give him every letter your father would send. You agreed without hesitating for a moment.

Third-year was uneventful. You stayed as far away from the Golden Trio as possible, knowing that Sirius Black was after Harry at the time. It proved difficult as they ─ especially Harry ─ were constantly around you. Even at remote parts of the castle, when you needed some time alone from all the stares and whispers, he seemed to find you.

You sniff, burying your face into your hands. Some sixth-year Gryffindor made you fall down a flight of stairs with a spell and scattered all your stuff around the ground. 

Suddenly, a pair of feet appear in front of you and you jump up, raising your wand in defence. Harry Potter looks at you with wide eyes and your schoolbag in his hands.

You drop your wand and turn away, wiping away a stray tear. "What do you want, Potter?" The words come out harsh, just like you see your cousin do all the time.

The boy in question shuffles awkwardly from his left foot to his right. "Are you... are you okay? I saw what happened." He holds out your bag and you take it.

You mumble out, "thanks", and you stand awkwardly across from each other. You fumble with the straps of your bag while Harry plays with his tie.

"I don't think you're like him at all", he suddenly blurts out, making you look up at him with wide eyes. "Like your dad. Sirius Black."

You stiffen. "O-oh no! Sirius isn't my dad. I'm- we're cousins... I think."

"Oh..." Harry's face heats up, obviously embarrassed.

After that rather awkward encounter, every time someone tried to trip you over or bully you, he was there to stop it. Draco was obviously not happy about it and you begged him to not tell uncle Lucious.

And that's how we arrive at your fourth year. Or, actually less than a month before the new term.

"Hey, Bowtruckle, are you awake?" Draco waves his hand in front of your face, obviously annoyed that you didn't listen to whatever he was raging about.

You snap up and turn to look at him, raising one eyebrow in annoyance. "What?"

Draco rolls his eyes and points outside the carriage. A sigh leaves your lips as you see that you've arrived at the Quidditch World Cup finale. To be completely honest, you don't care that much for Quidditch. But Draco does, and Uncle Lucius cares for your public appearance, so you were forced to go.

Climbing out of the carriage, you stretch out your arms and breath in the fresh August air. Everywhere you look are wizards from all over the world, people flying and zooming around on brooms, flags waving proudly. 

You trail behind the two Malfoy's as they strut up the steps, showing off their badges that Lucius got from the Minister proudly.

Suddenly, Lucius spots a familiar family of red-heads, a smirk forming on his face.

A sigh leaves your lips as he and Draco brag about having seats in the Minister's box. Your eyes lock with Harry's and a small smile forms on your face, raising your hand subtly to wave at him. He returns the gesture with an equally shy smile. 

Draco seems to notice whatever's going on between Harry and you and he janks at your arm, pulling you behind him. "Keep your filthy blood traitor eyes away from my cousin, Potter", he spits in Harry's direction as he pulls you along.

Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you move along to the box and take place in the far-most corner of all the seats. Ignoring the looks both Draco and uncle Lucius give you, you stare at the stadium and see the Irish and Bulgarian teams flying around.

As the match continues, and the crowd gets rowdier, you grab a pair of binoculars and look around the stadium. Most people are boring. Here and there are a couple of interesting figures, but nothing more.

Aiming the binoculars higher, you spot the Weasely family with Harry Potter, Hermoine Granger, and two others. They are having fun by the looks of it.

"You're lucky I caught you flirting with Potter instead of father", hisses Draco in a whisper, making you roll your eyes while still peering out of the binoculars.

Glaring at him, you grumble back, "I wasn't... flirting."

He looks at you incredulously before clasping his hands together and fluttering his eyelashes.

You scoff and give his shoulder a shove. "Come off it, you twat."

As you and Draco squabble a bit louder than desired, uncle Lucious snaps his attention to you. He clears his throat and you immediately break apart, cowering under his hard glare. "What... did I say?", he spats.

"Do behave", you both mumble, looking down.

Uncle Lucius gives you one last look before turning back around, resuming conversation with some ministry person. Your cousin and you both share a glance before focusing back on the game. 

The match ended with Ireland winning over Bulgaria by 170 to 160. But Draco and you don't get a chance to enjoy the festivities as uncle Lucius shoves you into a carriage.

"Why can't we stay?", you ask with a frown and produce the same puppy eyes that always work on your uncle.

Not this time, apparently. Lucius gives you a sharp look. "Because I am your uncle and I said so." Giving Draco a piercing look, he slams the carriage shut and sends it on its way.

Slumping down on the seat, you fold your arms over each other.

"You are only making things harder for yourself", muses Draco as he sits back, plucking an old Daily Prophet from the seat next to him.

You opt to ignore his remark and stare out of the window for the rest of the ride home.

Taglist: @the0doreslover​

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter scenarios #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x slytherin!reader #harry potter x riddle!reader #harry potter au #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy scenarios #draco malfoy x cousin!reader #hogwarts #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts scenario #hogwarts x reader #hogwarts x y/n #hogwarts au #slytherin!reader #riddle!reader

[tanoraqui]

i would absolutely love more of your thoughts abt Finrod and Amarie's daughters!! which daughters are closest with each other? which aspects of finrod and amarie are in each? how do each think of themselves in terms of their noldor, vanyar, and telerin heritage?

Last question first only, because the answer is backstory long. The first five grew up in the early Second Age while their family was traveling constantly, staying everywhere from Tol Eressëa to Alqualondë to Tirion to Valimar to Údoriath [Dorúiath?] (the Unfenced Land, where many Sailed & re-embodied Iathrim settled) to…anywhere and everywhere else in Aman that Elves were settling, now that the Ban was lifted and they were all invited and encouraged to move West. Because, as discussed elsewhere on my blog, Finrod was one of the few people known and respected by pretty much all factions (who’d met him; distant Avari excepted), and this sort of “let’s all find a way to fit together as amicable neighbors!” diplomacy was already a specialty of his…

And at the time, or at least, for the first few years (first couple children), Finrod was kind of re-figuring himself out, after the shock of re-embodying to find that he’d changed a lot in Middle Earth—changed from what his parents and everyone else who’d stayed behind expected of him, for sure. The natural difficulty was compounded by being the First One Back. And Amarië was more slowly reconciling/reconnecting with her family, after abruptly moving to Tirion after Finrod’s death and joining the War as Finarfin’s ADC entirely without telling them, much less waiting for anything like permission. (Her parents forbade her to follow Finrod to Middle Earth the first time, and she’d agreed because she loved her family and her home. She came to regret it, and vowed never to doubt the urging of her heart again.)

So Nolorwë through Satarissë were raised with a strong sense of…[gestures at every Elven culture in their heritage, plus several more] “this is all part of you, or it can be, and you get to choose what communities you want to be part of.” If you asked any of them what people they belong to, they’d probably say, “Oh, I’m a daughter of Finrod” and expect you to know that means “everyone everywhere all at once”—which you would, because pretty much everyone alive in the early second Age has at least experienced the friendly, roaming blond hurricane that was the growing House of Finrod.

One by one, though:

Nolorwë settles down in Valimar, with her Vanyarin kin. She’s close with her great-aunt Findis and a cousin or two on her mother’s side, as well as assorted non-relative friends. She enjoys contemplating the beauty of Ëa and debating and writing essays about its metaphysical nature.

Mingoneth spends a lot of time at sea with the Teleri and other seafaring people. She took to it not for the people so much as the challenge—she gets restless sometimes, in peaceful Aman. She likes a challenge. The sea is always challenging, especially when Ossë comes out to play.

Manatar marries an Amanyar Sindarin elf (ie, born in Aman in the Second Age of Sailed or re-embodied Sindarin parents) and settled down happily in that community. They have a big farm, three(?) children, and a lot of animals at all times.

Veryawendë finds herself happily among the dedicated craftspeople of the Noldor, where she can feel like she’s appreciated for the skill of her hands and the works of her heart, rather than the nebulous destiny hanging over her head and the long-dead heroes it’s supposed to evoke.

Satarissë is the one who keeps traveling, keeps playing itinerant diplomat and general Fixer of Problems Throughout Aman. If she’s based out of anywhere, it’s Tirion, which remains a center of politics, art, and people who enjoy games of social one-upelfship.

Then we have Thaleth and Thandeth, aka Ambalaura, who are born at the start of the Third Age, when Turgon had finally returned from Mandos and he & Elenwë and Amarië and Finrod finally did that “have kids simultaneously” thing that they’d wanted to do since they were double-dating in the Light of the Trees. Finrod and Amarië have stepped back from official business and let Satarissë take over (well, they’d stepped back several hundred years ago, then stepped back in because it was all hands on deck while Númenor with Sauron was threatening an assault and then Eru Changed the world.) Socially, Aman is much more at peace than in the early Second Age, but practically, travel is now more dangerous because the Change in the World put them closer to the edge of Void, and the boundaries grow thin in places…

So that’s what Thandeth and Thaleth grow up with, as their parents all take (back) to the road in order to give them what Finrod, Elenwë and Amarië assure Turgon is a good, healthy, energetic and multicultural upbringing. It’s more leisurely than their sisters’ childhoods, but otherwise much the same. All their older sisters—including Idril!—join them on and off, sometimes sequentially and sometimes overlapping a few at a time or all at once. They all consciously decided to treat the “twins” as younger sisters, but the age difference inevitably made them a little more like extremely beloved aunts.

The Ambalurar continue to do that for the rest of their lives—leisurely travel, visiting friends and family and beautiful places, racing for fun and hunting sometimes for food and skill, sometimes for infringing Spiders. They really would (will) get along with their quasi-namesakes among the sons of Fëanor.

Honorable mention to: [name tbd], dark-haired daughter of Idril and Tuor, born because her parents looked at Idril’s parents and aunt&uncle having belated additional children and said, “Hey, yeah, we can do that, too!” They join the traveling cavalcade at times, but mostly she grows up in her parents’ house on Tol Eressëa. I’d expect Tol Eressëa to have a fairly distinct identity of their own by then, something of a proud multicultural waystation between Mortal and Immortal lands—into which a half-elf fits just fine. I don’t know much about her as a person, but I think she works in a library, maybe even the library that grows throughout the Third Age as Elrond sends records of Middle Earth overseas.

#ask meme #kinda #the silmarillion #aman ever after #i guess i DO need to tag everyone though huh #feanor and feanor's kin #vanyar #teleri #even #peredhil

[cromcrux]

Bargaining with Fae

I had begged my mother to be here. For years I had demanded I was old enough. I had even bred a horse with the coloration style she traded to her special contact. Twice! But she would always say: “It's too dangerous my love. When you're stronger.” 

Foolishly, I thought she had meant physically strong. Standing there in the warm summer night, circled by trees older and bigger than I had known existed. The horse, I had been forbidden to name the one we planned to trade with mom’s special contact, stood placidly behind us. We had brought along a small bag of oats and cut fruit for it. It was truly beautiful, a gorgeous copper color with three white patches shaped like hearts. It might have sold for a small fortune, but my mom never sold a horse with such defining features. They were always kept for this.

“Remember what I told you?” There was a tightness in her voice I rarely heard.

I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists. “My title only. I ask what he would offer, I only accept the third offer after great deliberation.”

My mother nodded and looked at the sky. “He'll be here in a few moments. No matter who or what is with him, do not react, do not mention it unless he does so first.”

I nodded, no new information but my cold terror made the reminder necessary.

I felt his presence before I saw him. Like the pressure dropping before a big storm. He simply stepped out of the air in front of us. He was just as my mother described. Not tall really, shorter than my aunt, but imposing as the trees around us. Despite his relaxed posture, everything about him from the delicate, dew-like shimmer of his fire red hair to the nearly translucent skin demanded attention. So much so that I almost missed the girl that stepped out of the air behind him. Roughly my age and piebald like my cousin's ponies. She was so beautiful I hesitated too long and my mother spoke first instead.

“Sir Fior.” She dipped her head in greeting, and I mirrored the movement.

His eyes flitted between my mother and I.

“Is this your daughter?” His voice was softer than I expected, the same tone I used around skittish horses.

“She is. She's learning the family business.”

He nodded. “Mine is as well, meet Alice.” Sir Fior gestured calmly and the girl behind him stepped forward.

She walked like she was his age and rank. I stood a little straighter and addressed her instead. “Dame Alice,” mother had always told me to venture on the side of honorifics when unsure. “I am the apprentice, and I personally chose the dame and sire for this creature. You will note the near metallic Sheen of the fur and,” I paused to get the horses attention with a small bit of fresh apple. “Three perfect heart shaped patches.” I indicated them on the horse.

“Just Alice is fine,” She didn't speak softly. Nor did she look at me, instead her full attention went to the horse. She walked right up to it and touched it's face. After a moment, she was forehead to forehead with the creature.

Something happened, like people talking in another language but with no sound. Alice, the horse, and her father. Never looking directly at one another but something passed between them.

She released the horse and turned to face me full on. She had the most beautiful brown eyes, so dark and red they nearly looked black. “I am empowered by Sir Fior to offer you one boon in exchange for this animal.”

That was off script, but I could handle it. “What would you offer for my most precious horse?” I held back a wince. I shouldn't have declared it mine.

Alice merely smirked. “For *your* horse,” she took an intimidating step closer and lowered her voice. “I would offer you a single vial of stardust.”

In for a penny, I thought. “That seems a rather poor trade for my three hearted horse.” 

She took another step closer, I had to resist the urge to step back. “For *your* three hearted horse, I offer silver shoes that will never know wear.”

I held firm. “A poor offer for so much copper.”

Her final step brought us nearly cheek to cheek and she leaned in to whisper in my ear. “For *your* bright copper, three hearted horse, I offer you one Knowledge.”

I didn't know what that meant, but my mother had always told me to take the third offer. I should take it. “I request, for my beautiful, good natured, three hearted horse, to see you again.” The whisper left my lips nearly without consent.

She gave a bright bark of laughter and flung herself backwards with a twirl. “Aha! Just as my father thought. Very well, I accept your bargain.” There was a twinkle in her brown eyes that made them glimmer briefly amber.

She held out her hand and I almost failed to take it, startled as I was. Her grip was strong, like someone who worked for a living, but this skin was soft. Looking at her more closely, she didn’t have the ethereal edge of her claimed father, but I knew her to be no less dangerous for it. I watched as she lead the horse with nothing more than a hand to it’s neck, back the way she had come, vanishing behind Sir Fior.

He bowed his head politely to my mother. “I appreciate your contacting me for such a creature, do reach out again if you have other such offerings.” His eyes flitted only briefly to me. “And feel free to bring your apprentice again. She will clearly make a fine successor.”

—

We walked back to the car in silence and made it more than halfway home before my mom spoke. Her words were soft, the tension from earlier fully dissipated.

“You didn't take her offer did you? None of them.”

Shameful heat rushed my face and I shook my head.

My mom let out a sighing laugh. “Neither did I the first time.”

#OC #creative writing #Fantasy #Faeries #fae folk

[danafinwefeaelenionfeanorian]

Feanorian Week Day Seven: Feanaro and Nerdanel

1198 YT

It was the year 1198 during the years of the trees. I was nine at the time. Mother and father made the decision to bring me to Mother's family home. So south we went. For a day we travelled. Frequently we made stops to let me explore and connect with nature.

A natural curiosity was encouraged by mother and father. Many times they would stop and show me things they learned on their adventures. Plants, rivers, trees and tales.

Memories like that remind me of the hard times I find myself in and the inability to show my daughter where I grew up. I yearn to show Tauriel everything I enjoyed before Grandfather was murdered.

One day. That is my hope. One day.

Grandpapa Mahtan was expecting us. He and Grandmama Lirre stood outside to greet our small group. I only learned years later when I visited on my own that the small arrival party was for my benefit. To not scare me before I meet my aunts and uncles.

As far as I knew. Was older than all my aunts and uncles. That was the case on father's side of the family. Findis is ten months and nineteen days younger and Nolofinwe is a year and eleven months younger than me.

When I met Grandmama for the third time in my life she asked me if I remembered her. Of course, I said yes. What else was I to say? She looked familiar. Father said we met when I was two.

Grandpapa on the other hand I know and remembered well. He was with mother when she birthed me as was Grandmama. But it was Grandpapa who stayed longer and made frequent visits to Tirion.

After we greeted each other Grandpapa lifted me into his arms. I turned back to watch Grandmama loop her arms through mother and father’s as Grandpapa walked into his house.

Grandpapa led us through the halls to his drawing room. There in that room, I met Mother's brothers and their wives. Then I had no cousins. But the glee that followed filled the room. The amount of attention I had was more than a nine-year-old could handle.

At first, I was timidly looking around at all the new people. Only after Grandpapa took me around the room and introduced me personally did I loosen up. In his warm and cuddly fashion, Grandpapa told me embarrassing and entertaining stories about his children and their wives.

That night I slept so well.

The weeks we spent at Grandpapa Mahtan’s were filled with joy, glee and pure love. Picnics, horse rides, baking with Grandmama and my first meeting with Aule. I remember feeling so small next to mother's family, then I met Aule. He made Grandpapa look tiny. And suddenly the world wasn’t so big. I was just small.

Many years followed those weeks I spent with family. Then mother's brothers started to have children and so did mother.

My brothers and I have many wonderful memories with our cousins. The same can be said with our cousins on father's side. On occasion, both sides met and chaos ensued but the good kind of chaos...

“Dana?” Tauriel, my darling daughter, pulls me out of the memory from long ago.

“Hmm?”

Tauriel’s bright red hair gleams in the moonlight. “Do you miss great-grandpapa Mahtan?”

Is it hard to miss someone you only know for a short time of your life? The short answer is yes. The long one is more complicated but still, I land on yes.

Family is family and I will miss every single one until I leave these shores.

I smile. “Every day.”

@feanorianweek

#feanaro #nerdanel #feanorian week 2023 #danafinwe feaelenion feanorian #feanor #nerdanel the wise

[austenpoppy]

The word "classism" annoys me very much

Sorry, but it's true, and that especially if you use it every time someone from the "upper class" doesn't understand something done in the "lower class". And it's even worse if your characters use it in fanfictions - please stop it.

Look, I've got a unique relationship with "class" because my two parents come from different backgrounds which are almost opposite.

My mother grew up as the third daughter of a working-class family. My grandmother was a cleaning lady who had to stop going to school at 14 because of poverty (though my great-grandmother was very strict and my great-grandfather, nice but alcoholic - my Mum describes my grandmother's background as having come out straight out of a Zola novel), though she liked to learn new words in the dictionary every night. My grandfather was a taxi driver, but he died rather young due to cancer.

My mother never had much. My grandparents sacrificed themselves so that one of my aunts got swimming lessons and my mum, music curses (she plays the accordion). They didn't own their house, which had no toilet inside, and in general had very few possessions. My grandparents wouldn't get on holidays at the same time, just so my mum and aunts could have two weeks of holidays in a small camping. My mother only had hand-me-downs, and she was the first to go to college. I'm the third, because most of my cousins didn't go either (and it's fine, they got incredibly successful at what they do and I'm super proud).

My grandparents never had much, but they shared everything they had. My mum remembers that, when she was young, my grandma would cook for the entire neighbourhood and would invite everybody to dinner and party with my mum's family. My grandma also went helping old people in retirement houses.

In my mum's family, people care most about sharing good times with their loved ones, having fun, loyalty, working hard to get where they want to be, and they value honesty greatly - which is why they're all quite blunt, even though they're sympathetic and compassionate.

And my dad ?

My dad grew up in an upper middle-class family. My grandmother was a university teacher and historian, and my grandather was a teacher in what we call "classe préparatoire'" in France, and a historian as well.

My grandfather didn't come from a particularly rich or educated family (educated meaning "having received a formal education"), but my grandmother certainly did. Her own father was the dean of a university in France, and my great-grandmother could read Latin and Ancient Greek without having to look up the dictionary (and she was a teacher in a high school).

In my father's family, you've got scientists, teachers, professors, researchers, mathematicians...My great-great-aunt is the first French woman to have entered the Académie des Sciences, and she worked with Einstein. Her father was the headmaster of the equivalent of Harvard in France.

Oh, and my dad's family owns properties, too. There's this huge house in the Alps that my family goes to every summer, that we inherited from my great-grandfather whose father owned the entire village (that's why I grew up with my second and third cousins). There's this big apartment on the Côte d'Azur. And this immense house in Normandy that was probably a monastery.

My father's family values culture and knowledge greatly, which is why sometimes the one who ends up being right in arguments is the one who's read a book or an article the other hasn't, and also why some people dismiss others' opinions if they don't think those people's input relies on sources they deem valuable (yep, that's very annoying).

They're also keen on debating everything, and honestly I love that about them, because you can have meaningful and passionate and heated discussions and then just ask what we're going to eat for dinner. They taught me nuance, and the ability to see multiple sides of an argument, see the pros and cons of some issues.

I grew up between those two worlds, between my mum's and my dad's worlds, belonging to either and neither at once.

When the two meet it's often bizarre. At my brother's communion, my dad's family was eating in a quite posh manner, quietly discussing the last books they had read, while on the other side of the room one of my uncles was running after one of my cousin's girlfriend because they were having a water fight, and the rest of my mother's family was loudly cheering and laughing.

There have been tensions sometimes, and misunderstandings. It's true that my mother's family has sometimes felt out of place in my dad's family. My great-grandmother (the one who could read Greek and Latin fluently) made my grandmother (the cleaning lady) cry one day in the house my Dad's family owns in the Alps, because my grandmother wanted to wash the curtains that she found dirty (they probably were), and my great-grandmother belittled her for it.

Many members of my father's family try to reach out to my mother's family (my late grandmother, my aunt), asking about them, praising them for their kindness and their dedication, genuinely saying they're great people. My great-aunt (that I consider my third grandmother) feels like she politically supports the working class and the underprivileged, even though my mother's family doesn't care about politics.

But sometimes, and I'd say even often, they just don't get it. They're a bit awkward in certain circumstances, they can end up being patronizing, they say things they shouldn't have, and I can see that oftentimes, even though my father's family and my mother's family are chatting amicably it feels like they're living on different planets.

But you know what ? My mother's family isn't perfect, either. They've got their own codes as well, their own ideas of what's appropriate or not, and what may seem important or normal in my father's family would be seen as ridiculous in my mother's family, or at least something they would raise their eyebrows at.

And they sometimes end up dismissing those things, because to them it's unimportant. My own mum doesn't understand why my dad hates it when things end up broken, because to her it's just objects, even when the objects in question are things my dad valued - because my mum was raised with the idea objects are just objects, while people matter much more.

She's not wrong, per say, but at the same time my dad has the right to be sad or angry, however trivial it may seem to my mother's family.

My mother had to learn how to work her way through in my father's family, but so did my dad in my mother's family - and to be fair he's somewhat closer to my mum's family than his own.

My mum and my dad had to do a lot of compromises, trying to understand how the other worked, and where they were coming from. My dad is more careful about certain expressions he uses, has stopped asking my mum to explain her reasoning behind her every word, and he's learned how to let some things go. My mum has learned to listen to my dad more about those things that seem trivial to her at first glance (like the idea that we won't be able to afford taking care of any of the properties my dad's family has, not even if we only had to pay a little portion of it), and she does certain things the way my dad wants to.

Sometimes there are still misunderstandings. I vividly remember a fight they had about a water bottle. My brother had helped himself with water without putting water in our glasses first. My dad scowled at him and told him it wasn't the done thing. My mum got angry at my dad, because what my brother did is just normal in my mum's family and she therefore felt insulted by the implications.

And the crazy thing is, many of you would say my dad was being "classist". But no one was wrong or right there.

And that's the thing. It's all about different cultures and different social codes. But for some reason, many of you think it's a sort of one-way street because you throw around words like "privilege".

You know what ? My mother's family doesn't give a flying f*ck about fancy sociological definitions, not least because they don't talk like they've come out of sociology classes. They live their lives, they've got their own problems that they solve by themselves, they stand up for themselves if the need arises, and they don't scowl at my father's family just because my father's family doesn't understand them at times - it's all right, they don't understand some things either.

Yes, sometimes my father's family was patronizing - but it was called out for what it was instead of saying "classism". And if you think my dad never got on the receiving end of things like "that's not how things are done", or "you don't get it" or "you don't know this and that", you are wrong.

The beautiful thing is that I understand both, and it gave me the possibility to think outside of my bubble.

#about me #annoying things #if i see classism one more time in fanfic i'm gonna snap

[thedaveandkimmershow]

My uncle passed away a few days ago. Tuesday, February 20. 

He died in Bali, Indonesia on what would be his final journey to the country of his birth. 

We received the news a half hour after his passing, 130ish in the morning at our home, 530ish in the afternoon some eight thousand miles away across the Pacific Ocean.

He was my mom's older brother in a family of four. My mom's older sister and her younger brother passed away twenty years ago within months of each other, leaving my mom as the last serving sibling.

My uncle was super old by the way. That's not a knock on his age, by the way. Another nine years and he would've spent a literal century having lived on this third rock from the sun.

So safe to say he lived a full life, ending, believe it or not, with the title of Great-Grandfather.

My family in Holland is my family that I sometimes think of as my mythological family. This is the part of my family that lives in The Netherlands, has lived in The Netherlands for most and all of their lives, and who probably will always live in the Netherlands.

So yeah.

Distance is a thing. I can't just point to them and declare There they are!

You pretty much have to take my word on it.

Still, I tell people about the weird connection we have with roots in our collective childhoods. I tell people about our similarity of personalities, a modern-day tell that we're from the same tribe. And I tell people that time and distance don't diminish our shared connection. Which is a helluva thing given that twenty years just filled the space between last month when we were with them... and the time before that.

Twenty years ago.

And no. It doesn't, does not, seem to diminish us or our relationships with each other.

My uncle, by the way, my mom's older brother, was a drummer. He was on the kit with bands at a young punk age so it was hard not to think of him as a pretty cool dude. We met for the first time when I was a child. I had to be younger than ten when I met he, my aunt, and their son, my cousin. Later, a daughter would come along, another cousin for me, but it was that first meeting, the family of three, at which we were introduced. At the time, I think it was the company, Phillips, that he worked for. The sound recording company. Long play records. Cassette tapes. Electronic sound equipment. I'm not sure where he was in the company or how he came to be there but professional musician was his vibe.

He was a kind man. A clever and silly man. The man for whom Kimmer 'n I got on a plane to travel the five thousand miles to his home where we spent hours of every day with him. And where I got to tell him that I love him and thanked him for being my uncle. I don't know what that last bit means, actually. After all, an uncle's an uncle. It's a label of relationship within a family.

Gotta say, though, he brought a lot of honor and, yes, a certain X-factor to the uncle gig.

In the end, as in the beginning, he made an indelible impression in my memories. One who always made me smile. And one, I'm certain, who's passing will take a while to set.

Why?

Because with friends and family I don't see often, their passing doesn't register in the same way as someone who suddenly drops out of the middle of my life. There's gonna be a part of me that naturally thinks my uncle's still there across a country and an ocean, a great-grandfather, a husband, drummer, a good man. Enjoying his life surrounded by family that moves through his home like a natural current. There's a part of me that'll assume my uncle's living his life on the other side of the world until...

Until...

Until the part of me that knows better reminds me that he has, in fact, left the building.

I miss him, though. Right now as I'm thinking about him, I miss him. Just like I miss his sister and his younger brother whose memories I keep from childhood, whose memories sometimes prevent me from remembering they're no longer with us.

It's the only benefit I can think of, this thing where my family lives so far away and years go by between those times that we see each other: my sense that they're present on this earth with me is stronger. It's a bedrock reality for me that they are simply there.

Always.

My uncle passed away a few days ago. Tuesday, February 20. 

He died in Bali, Indonesia on what would be his final journey to the country of his birth. 

It's a fitting end to the story of his life, one that was absolutely made possible by his wife, his son, and his daughter. What I'll remember is that it was a quest. A literal adventure, traveling more than a thousand miles by plane, train, and automobile just to get started, moving from the west of Indonesia all the way to the east. In a way, it was also traveling back in time, revisiting the country of my uncle's youth, back where the life as he knew it started.

It's the quest I'll remember more than anything else.

One that remains ongoing.

☺️❤️

#indonesia #holland #family #uncle #passing #my uncle #love #friendship #laughter #tears #relationships #connection #home

[journeydb]

September 2 2021 Greenwood  and Old Orchard Beach, Maine

We drove back to Bethel last night and it was wonderful to be here for one more day before I leave tomorrow to go back to Boulder.  Kathi is a gardener, too, and a really GOOD one.  I guess it’s in our blood, because Fran is, as well.  Our brothers never did much in the garden but we helped our father plant and weed and got the training that went along with the passion to GROW plants, especially flowers.  Kathi’s gardens are always a joy to behold and I have even helped her plant some.

This morning I went on a run along Twitchell Pond and the first thing I saw, at the end of Kathi’s driveway, was Ann and Dan’s cottage, where Bruce and I used to stay with Hobie when he was little. The cottage has been in Ann’s family for generations and they don’t rent it anymore because she and Dan, or other family members are now here all summer long. 

Kathi’s new dock is a great place to sit and contemplate the tranquility of the pond and listen for loons.  She has kayaks and a speed boat to take us out onto the pond whenever we feel the urge to be on the water.

I love the lily pads and flowers in the pond and the aquatic birds who swim and fish here.  It’s just the most peaceful and beautiful place!  In fact, Greenwood and Bethel feel like third homes to me after Boulder and Barcelona and I miss them a lot when I’m away from them.

It’s such a lovely run along the pond, viewing the gardens at the homes there, most of which are year-round residences, with a few summer homes mixed in.

Our cousin, Lynn, who lives outside Chicago, and is the daughter of our mother’s youngest sister, Ann, has been on a road trip for several months and has been staying with Kathi for a few weeks.  She really loves kayaking on the pond and this afternoon I joined her.

After packing up I “hit the road” and drove southeast to Old Orchard Beach, to visit our cousin, Micki, who is the oldest daughter of our Aunt Pat, our father’s older sister.  Micki and her husband, John, bought this cute little place as a summer home in a community in Old Orchard Beach last year and this is the first chance I’ve had to see them since they moved to Florida several years ago.

I like the saying on Micki’s sweatshirt and it is true, to a certain extent.  It’s well documented how swimming in the ocean can heal cuts as well as muscle aches.  In fact, our friend, Susan, in Barcelona, basically cured her frozen shoulder swimming in the Mediterranean!

It was so great to spend time with Micki and John and catch up and I was sad to take my leave but I needed to get to Boston to check into the airport hotel and prepare for the last let of my journey back to Boulder.

[i-clash-with-everything]

I am so goddamn lucky to have the parents that I have. They always try so hard to be kind and supportive to my brother and I. There've been lots of rough spots, they're far from perfect and they've fucked up a lot but they both work so hard to ensure my brother and I feel loved. I look at the parents my cousins have, that so many of my friends have, and I feel so thankful for my own mom and dad for trying not to pass along the traumas they were given by my grandparents.

Yes I have my own traumas and yes it took a long time to not just come to terms with them but to be able to talk about them, but I've been able to talk about them with my parents who inadvertently caused them. And they've apologized and have worked so hard to do better and make up for what they did wrong in the past to my brother, to me, to each other.

I'm so goddamn glad to have my family because despite our issues we still make sure to let each other know that we love each other and we're all trying to be better than we were.

#i dont really talk about this a lot #aside from the comparison between my parents and my aunts and uncles #but i fucking love my family #and weve all gotten a lot more open with each other over the last couple years #about how we feel about all sorts of stuff #and i just wish more people had better relationships with their parents or siblings #because its so nice #my younger brother has been like my best friend for forever #and my mom and dad are both so complrtely dear to me #and im so lucky to have a supportive immediate family that always tries so hard to be good and kind to each other #we dont really have a lot of family aside from each other thatre even tolerable anymore #my aunts and uncles are all pretty awful #my grandparents are dead and werent exactly stellar when they were alive #most of my cousins take after their parents in the terrible people department #i have like one great aunt one first cousin one third cousin and her daughter my fourth cousin #whom all i like #but i dont see them often #the bad ones all live round here

[wutheringmights]

I just read the newest chapter and I loved it! ♥ ♥ ♥ I was wondering if you had some hcs about the engineer that you could share?

Awww I'm glad you like it! I just spent 5 minutes trying to figure out what "HCS" meant before realizing I'm a tired idiot who can't read lol

But yeah! I got some headcanons for the engineer/Spirits I can share!

These headcanons are a mix of things I generally believe for any iteration of the Hero of Spirits and a few things exclusive to CTB. It's pretty obvious which are which.

Technically this is slight spoilers since most of this is not mentioned in-story, but Warriors is a such a self-centered asshole that I'm not sure when I can get him to explicitly ask about Spirit's backstory lol

This got super long and kind of just became me talking about Spirits's entire backstory, so enjoy:

Spirits is sixteen during the course of Spirit Tracks, mostly because that was the vibe I got from him when I first played the game (I made him younger for CTB)

He's not descendant from Wind (who I maintain disappeared instead of settling in New Hyrule); instead, he's Aryll's great grandson

His family name used to be Outset, but when everyone who originally immigrated from Outset island took on that last name, they changed it to Aryll to reflect the family matriarch

So Spirit's full name is Link Aryll, though there is a branch of his family that uses Macaryll instead

The Aryll/Macaryll family is huge; everyone has at least six aunts and uncles on all sides of the family and they can trace back how they are related to Aryll

"I'm Grandma Aryl's third son's second daughter's fifth child." -someone Spirits is related to, probably

He actually never met his great grandmother; she died before he was born.

Spirit's dad was full-blooded Lokomo while his mother was Hylian; his mother passed a few months after he was born after never truly recovering from childbirth while his father died in a fishing accident when he was eight

He went to live with an aunt and uncle who owned a general store; their relationship was polite at best. The aunt and uncle told Spirits upfront that they intended to give the store over to his cousin when he was older so Spirits needed to come up with his own life plan

Spirits didn't necessarily mind since he never wanted to work in a store for the rest of his life, but the ultimatum made it clear that they didn't care for him like a son

To this day, their relationship isn't strained and he doesn't hate them. But whenever they meet, he's overly polite; they're more acquaintances than family

He's cool with his cousin though. They have different interests so they aren't best friends, but they're okay.

Spirits also always had his spirit-sensing abilities. It's really like a sixth sense to him, as normal and automatic as seeing and hearing; he actually didn't realize this wasn't normal until he was a little older

His abilities at this point are limited to sensing vague ideas of a person's spirit (if they're light or dark, etc.), and seeing ghosts (which are really rare. You have to have a lot of power yourself to become one)

(Note: I'm not the only one who headcanons Spirits as having spirit sensing abilities; if you know who can up with the idea, please let me know so that I can tag/credit them!)

The elder of his village told him that select Lokomo had minor spirit sensing abilities, and those who did were traditionally made elders of their villages; being more of a follower than a leader, Spirits adamantly dismissed that idea and refused to be trained on how to hone his spirit senses. He also never learned any of the religion behind it

Which was a little worrisome since his abilities are way stronger than most

Besides, he's always liked trains and it's been his dream to travel around the kingdom as an engineer; being some town's elder would get in the way of that

Anyway, Spirits had to pass a written exam before being accepted as an apprentice engineer, so he's very studious and has a lot of drive (pun unintended?)

He went to live with his Uncle Niko during his apprenticeship in another town; Niko isn't related to him, but he's been a friend of the family for so long that everyone secretly thinks he's actually related to someone and they just forgot who

Niko is his real family, hands down. Those two are as thick as thieves and bring out the wild side in each other

A preteen Spirits used to think Niko was a little lame and kind of embarrassing, but now that he's older, he's all for Niko's weird old man-ness and has even picked up on some of his weird old man-ness himself

That being said, they're both disasters. Neither can clean or cook or do any kind of housekeeping and their shared house is cluttered with Niko's art projects and Spirit's half-finished tinkering

Growing up, Spirits had no idea he was related to the legendary Hero of Wind; Aryll died before he was born, but even in life she was filled with too much grief over her missing brother to discuss it often. Within the family, being related to the Hero of Wind is a rumor at best.

Of course, Niko knows but keeps it a secret from Spirits; once he got back from his LU-adventure, Wind told Niko about the curse of the Hero's Spirit. Then he went missing post-New Hyrule's founding, which really drove the terror of the curse home. Niko thought he could keep Wind's family from falling victim to it by not inadvertently encouraging them to follow in Wind's footsteps

So Niko kept it a secret

And obviously, that didn't work

Spirits' quest to save New Hyrule resulted in him realizing that he needed to embrace his Lokomo heritage and get a handle on his spirit powers; Anjean gave him a little training during his quest but afterwards he traveled around the kingdom to find as many people as he could with abilities like his

They were all really excited to teach him what they knew, especially the religious aspects of the abilities; Spirits is still not the most religious person, but he at least understands and embraces the cultural significance of what he is able to do

This is where he learned how to read a person's Spirit to get an idea of their life experiences and the kind of person they're like; he can also detect where a person is without having to put much effort into it

At Zelda's encouragement, he also got more sword training from the Castle Guard. She offered him a place among them, but he turned it down in favor of remaining an engineer. He still helps around as a swordsman when he can and will act as Zelda's body guard

Speaking of which, he and Zelda are 100% in love. Their relationship started out as puppy love but over the years as matured into a deep connection built on mutual respect

When he's working on designing new engines or parts for his trains, he occasionally brings his drafting materials to the castle gardens so that he can work alongside Zelda; sometimes she falls asleep leaning against his arm and he has to be careful not to shake her awake as he works

Whenever she need to go anywhere in the kingdom, she rides in his train and teasingly criticizes his conducting; he takes a lot of pride in his conducting, but he lets her get away with it since her critiques are objectively hilarious

He keeps a tiny pictograph of her taped to his dashboard

But there's a bit of a problem with their relationship, and it's that he doesn't know if he wants to be the prince consort or not. He does love her, but that would mean giving up being an engineer in favor of being stuck at the castle all of the time

Plus, he's doing great as an engineer; he's saving up to open his own garage that produces his own train designs

Eventually, he leaves for the War of Eras

His experiences with Warriors leaves him more sure than ever that he doesn't want to be the prince consort, resulting in him ending his relationship with Zelda shortly after he returns home

It hurts for a long time to be around her since all of his old feelings keep coming back, so he keeps his distance for a long time; it takes a few years for him to go back to hanging out with Zelda as friends

But now she's approaching marriage age, and he spends a lot of time when he's on body guard duty super jealous of these princes and ambassadors from foreign kingdoms who try to court her

But again, he knows he can't be in a relationship with her so he respectfully and silently pines over her (I'm just a sucker for pining, okay?)

Okay, more random headcanons that are a little less sad

Spirits likes super spicy food, but since he can't cook to save his own life, he just eats whatever he can get his hands on

He's super dirty all of the time, just the epitome of scrappy; there's always a smear of oil somewhere on his person

He actually really hates bathing and only keeps his curly hair in check to comply with train safety regulations

He's really polite and a little shy, but once he loosens up, he gets talkative and personable

He's also very contemplative; he likes conducting so much because he gets to spend long stretches of time alone with nothing but his thoughts

His trauma/stress response is to shut down; he goes quiet, loses energy, and sleeps for longer periods of time

He tends to gravitate towards socializing with people who are older than him, which gets him labeled as being no fun by his peers (despite having someone as cooky as Niko for a uncle)

Post-adventure, his best friend is Linebeck III. They're drinking buddies. Neither can really explain why they even like hanging out as much as they do

(I just like the idea of Linebeck accidentally getting attached to one kid and his whole bloodline getting forever tangled with Wind's; they're bros for multiple lifetimes)

Not only is Spirits good at designing and building new machinery, but he's great at tinkering; he can fix almost anything and will buy broken things on purpose just to have something to fix

No one really knows he's a hero; he doesn't like the attention and, at his request, Zelda did her best to keep his involvement with Malladus a secret

Because not many common people know about his adventure and records of New Hyrule are very rare, he's considered in Warrior's time to be a forgotten hero; some scholars believe that a Hero of Spirits may have once existed, but if he did, no one really knows who he was or what he did to serve the bloodline of Hylia

#god this got long but i hope you like reading them anon! #I just have a lot of thoughts about spirits #so many thoughts #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu #lu headcanon #lu spirits #loz st #legend of zelda #spirit tracks link #zelink #ask #anonymous #me rambling #lu ctb #loz

[redux-iterum]

If it's such a poorly-kept secret that Clan mollies will mate with loners to preserve genetic diversity, and it's already tacitly approved by the Clans to do so, then why wouldn't the code just do away with the rule that forbids mating with outsiders, and give the queens the ability to go about their business without the need for secrecy/shame? It seems kinda reductive.

It is reductive, from an outsider's perspective. If they were sensible, most say, the Clans wouldn't give a shit about where fathers come from. Breed between Clans, they say! Breed with kittypets and loners! Who cares? You get more of that "genetic diversity" you weird-ass warriors won't shut the fuck up about! We all mate with whoever the hell we want and it's a great time! Why can't you do the same?

We've discussed before that breeding between Clans can result in trouble for the kits, but we haven't talked about the logistics behind the fathers and mothers. There's a couple things to keep in mind when we talk about abolishing this particular law.

The first is that it's a very old law. That doesn't mean that old laws need to be kept always and forever, but the law came into place because fights were being started over the end results of breeding between Clans. Outsiders such as loners may not pick a fight over their children, but they may, and they have, causing unnecessary injuries and drama (along with some asshole lingering by the border for weeks, trying to find a way to sneak in and steal his babies). Not to mention that members of a kemera, in the past, have also risen up and tried to get kits or the mother to come with them wherever they were going. Those fights were more trouble than the loners, obviously.

Ever since the law of loyalty was set in place, situations like those have gone down a lot, just because queens are being pickier about who they want to father their litters. They're more likely to pick someone in their Clan (which is the ideal here), or a cat who, thanks to the rumors about the Clans not fucking around, is just cruising by for a pump-and-dump without having to worry about some molly coming after him demanding that he help her raise children he doesn't want. The law existing promotes queens being careful and loner fathers being more ideal donors, which is extremely important for a society like the Clans.

The second thing is the risk of attachment. A queen nowadays only breeds with loners if she so chooses. She doesn't become mates with them. That is an extremely important difference. Affairs between Clans are almost always romantic situations that may turn physical. A loner, hopefully, is purely concerned with the physical to begin with, and so is the queen. They get it done and over with. However, if queens are allowed to openly associate with loners, one may become fond of a loner after hanging out with him a while (since, remember, she doesn't have to be afraid of someone seeing her with him). She may fall in love with him and decide to leave the Clans to be with him.

That means two things: no future warriors from her, and, because of that, the loss of one gene pool in the Clans. One can argue that she could have a sister or brother that will have kids, but the return is that she also could not. Plus, remember that cats die all the time before making it to warriorhood, or become seers, or are barren. There is no promise that her sister or brother's litter will continue the tree if she doesn't. If a perfectly healthy adult molly leaves with promising kits that technically should be in her Clan, that could be waving goodbye to a genetically viable family line.

The third thing is, strangely enough, possible inbreeding. Loners are widespread, sure, as are intact kittypets. But the thing is that they don't keep track of their families beyond their parents, siblings and kids. They could mate with a cousin and have no idea, and the fucked up thing is that some of them don't care. They want to mate, and this chick's technically not that closely related (she's not your sister or mother or daughter, after all), so it's fine. The family tree of the loners in the Houses and Aulmir is a bit-ass tangle of roots that I bid you good luck in your quest to try and unknot.

The Clans are extremely unique among cats in that they actually keep track of their bloodlines, and do it quite well. They know their grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, children, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren (and the children of their nephews and nieces, if they're particularly bright). That is a crazy long list of family terms for cats to know! Not many others even bother learning the words for "cousins" (ramche for females, ermach for males, if you want to know). Some even accuse the Clans of just making them up. They didn't, for the record, but that should show you how foreign such a series of ideas is.

The point is that with a Clan cat as your baby-daddy, you can easily go to the matriarch and ask if you two are related, and she'll know. You prevent incest so easily! With a loner, who the hell knows who his parents are? They might be cousins! They might be grandparent-and-grandchild! The loner's not going to know! He doesn't care! None of them care!

And because they don't, the knotted-up individuals in the Aulmir and Houses are going to sneer at the Clans and not bother with them, because they'll get a molly pestering them with questions about who their family is. Traveling loners, on the other hand, or a member of a wandering kemera that has families from all over the place, are likely to have an answer a warrior is looking for: "Well, my mother was a kittypet days away from here, and my father was a traveling cat like me". Is that a full explanation of his family tree? No. But he's from far away, almost 100% guaranteeing that he has clean blood that can be introduced into the Clans. It's a good deal. Again, that carefulness.

This got long. The point is that the law does have a purpose in protecting Clan cleanliness, even if mollies are (silently) known to sneak off once in a while and return without a word, then smell pregnant a week or so later. That loophole and the law itself work together, in an odd way, and keep things nice and concentrated.

#ask #anonymous #genetics #queens #kits #loners #i speak #readmore #textwall #hope you enjoyed this longass answer #interesting questions

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part V. (Harry Styles)

happy sunday loves!! part 5 is here, buckle up bc we are getting down to business here!! thank you so much for the nice feedbacks, it’s always so moving and inspiring to read your thoughts, so please keep them coming! even if it’s just some gibberish rambling, those are the best haha! now let’s jump right into part 5, we are heading into the christmas mood and im so excited for yall to read this part!! enjoy!

word count: 6.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

By the time November nears its end you officially become a couple with Marcus. It happens gradually, two more dates follow your first one, and then on the third one you agree to test the waters of the possibilities between the two of you exclusively. 

Marcus is a great guy. He is funny, caring and smart, always listens to you and cares for even the smallest details about you when you’re talking. He is great company and never fails to make you feel appreciated and wanted. Exactly what you’ve been looking for in a guy, Rosa really hit the nail on the head this time. 

You easily fall into a habit with him. Fridays are for date nights, sometimes you go for little trips outside the city on Sundays and he never misses a chance to send you flowers throughout the week. He is just the type of guy that’s always there to cheer you up with something whenever the days start to weigh down on your shoulders. 

You even have dinner together with Rosa and Steven one Saturday evening, Rosa keeps giving you those ‘I told you so’ eyes whenever Marcus kisses you shortly or places his hand to your waist. You mostly just roll your eyes at her, not wanting to make a big deal out of the two of you, but Rosa knows how long you’ve been trying to find someone. 

What’s a surprising turn is that you start seeing Harry more. Intentionally. You have no idea how it happens, but it does and you’re not mad about it. Some days you grab lunch together whenever he is in the neighborhood, some days you go shopping with him when his sister doesn’t have the time. Harry is a problematic shopper, he takes a long time to decide on clothes so usually you are the one that forces him to choose and finish before all shops close. 

When he has had a rough week and you happened to call him for whatever reason, the two of you agree to meet up for drinks at his place, then end up playing UNO for hours, slowly emptying out two bottles of wine.

It’s starting to get harder to imagine what it was like when things weren’t like this with him. When you were getting anxiety from just the thought of seeing him or having to talk to him. It’s like the both of you are showing a different version of yourselves to each other and you have to admit you enjoy being friends with him. 

He keeps his habit of teasing you and making jokes about you though, but you don’t mind it. He is not doing it in a mean way with the attempt to piss you off, but to make you laugh and start a playful war where you both throw insults at each other until one of you runs out of it and just starts laughing. You feel a kind of dynamic building between you and him that has a way better effect on you than the continuous killing you were doing before.

You can tell Rosa is thankful for the change as well. Whenever she sees you interact with Harry without making a grimace or have that face that screams how badly you want to hit him, she is relieved that she has one less thing to worry about and Valerie will have two amazing godparents who even like each other.

Christmas is always a big parade in your family. Your mom and your aunts always want to celebrate together so in the past few years it has become a tradition to rent a place out that has enough space for the whole extended family and spend three days there from the 23rd to the 25th. This year your dad found a huge cabin in the woods with ten bedrooms and seven bathrooms, just the perfect size for you all. It’s gonna be your parents, Rosa and Steven with Valerie, Aunt Monica, Aunt Teresa with Uncle Andrew, your cousin Etta, her husband Joe and their two kids, your other cousin Lily with her husband Jeremy and their daughter, and lastly you and Harry.  Though your mom urged you to invite Marcus along as well, he could join you for longer than a dinner, since he was already set to fly home to his family.

“You sure he can’t stay for at least the first night?” you mom asks on the phone one evening. You’re stirring the sauce in the pan. holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder so you have both of your hands free.

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s fine, he can come for dinner and then leave later.”

“I get it, but it would have been fun if he stayed,” she sighs, clearly disappointed that she couldn’t change what’s already set. If you’re being honest you don’t mind that Marcus is not staying for the night. You haven’t been dating for that long, you feel like it would be a little uncomfortable to have him there the whole time. A dinner is perfectly fine as a starter, since he hasn’t met anyone else from your family other than Rosa and Steven.

“Anyway,” she sighs moving on, “Have you figured it out how you’re gonna get there?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll tag along with someone.”

“Well, I think you should ask Harry. Everyone else is pretty packed already. Rosa and Steven won’t have any extra space with Valerie this year.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. These past years Rosa always offered you a ride for the holidays, but even when they brought her over for just one night their car was jam-packed. No way you’re gonna fit in there so you are left with Harry since Marcus can only come in the afternoon.

“Sure, I’ll ask him.”

You shoot him a text that day and he replies right away that you’re welcomed in his car, though he won’t be able to take you back since he is leaving early in the morning on the 25th since he is flying back to the UK to his family. It’s fine, you think, you’ll just probably just tag along with aunt Monica back to the city, she always gets her a car for these occasions. Though it’s not your ideal option, she is not the best partner for rides, because she is a fan of smoking in the car, but you don’t have much of a choice. 

“I’ll call you when I leave, okay?” Marcus tells you on the morning of the 23rd. It’s early, barely seven, but he is up because he needs to work a little today and you are finishing up packing since Harry will be here in an hour to pick you up.

“Sure. Drive safe,” you huff sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at your suitcase that’s still not closed, clothes are sticking out on the side and you’re sure you’ll have to sit on it to pull the zipper.

“See you later,” Marcus says before you end the call. 

It’s rather comical how you try to close the suitcase but you only care about the fact that you eventually succeed. Only minutes before eight you are packed and ready so when you get Harry’s text that he is outside you can leave right away.

Seeing you with your big suitcase he hops out of the car and rushes to help you.

“How long are you planning to stay, Y/N?” he chuckles lifting the bag up and you just shrug your shoulders with a smirk. You’ve alway been a heavy packer, no need to try to cover it up.

Harry throws your stuff into the back of the car as you take the passenger seat. His phone is hooked to the car, a playlist of his own playing gently through the speakers and you’re surprised to catch on the Christmas feeling in the songs.

“Are you in the spirit?” you ask when he gets into the car.

“Like to set the mood ahead,” he chuckles starting the car and off you go. 

Ridiculous to think about it, but it’s actually the first time you sit in the same car with Harry or see him drive even. The way you two used to be was not quite ideal to have you locked up in such a small place as a car. But now you have nothing against spending the almost hour long drive with him. 

“Can you pull out the navigation when I leave the highway? I’m not sure where exactly I need to head,” he asks you, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him and nodding you open the app on your phone so his can keep on playing the music without the voice of the navigation interrupting it. 

“Excited to spend your first Christmas with us?” you ask. Though Harry was there at several family events, it’s his first Christmas since becoming Valerie’s godfather. 

“I am,” he chuckles, nodding, hands gripping the wheel gently. He is a natural driver, easily working the car, the kind you feel completely safe next to. As Baby It’s Cold Outside comes on a smile stretches across your lips as you start gently bop your head to the song. “I’ve heard crazy stuff about Christmases at your family,” he adds glancing in your way for a second.

“Like what?”

“I remember when Steven told me about his first Christmas with your family. You remember that?”

Searching in your memories you tried to remember when was the first time Rosa brought Steven along. They dated for two years before they got married so it’s been about five years since then, but as you think hard the memory of that specific year pops into your head making you laugh as you nod.

“Oh, yes. The year Aunt Monica almost burned the Airbnb down,” you sigh grinning at the memory. She brought some special kind of cigars that year that were told to be curiosities from somewhere fancy, but they ended up the literal worst quality, flaming bits were falling out them all the time when she would smoke one, almost making the rug catch on fire wherever she went. Best thing is that she was already drunk on the liquor so she didn’t even notice, there was always a person on Aunt Monica duty, following her around, making sure nothing burnt down. 

“Steven said he had a moment when he thought about bailing,” Harry tells you and you gasp, because that’s new information.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but like only for a split second after your dad walked in on him naked in the bathroom. That was kind of the last straw. Luckily Rosa could convince him to stay. Guess it all worked out at the end.” Harry smiles as he stares ahead of him.

You can’t imagine a version where Rosa and Steven don’t end up together. They met through a mutual friend not long after Rosa had a nasty breakup with her scumbag ex. Steven was there to put her back together and be her partner as she found herself again. The change and positive impact he had on her could be seen every day and you were so thankful to him for helping your sister find her way out of such a dark place in her life. It didn’t take them too long to start dating and he proposed a little more than a year later. You still remember how Rosa was screaming in the phone when she called you that evening telling you that Steven proposed. They are quite literally a match made in heaven. It’s been your goal in life to find this person in your life though you haven’t had much luck with men so far. Ironically, if you were in a room with every man you were ever involved with in any kind of way, Harry would be the only one you’d want to talk with. If you had to make this exact same choice just months ago you would have chosen to run out screaming. 

“Maybe this year it’s your turn to get horrified from us,” you laugh, sinking down a little in your seat as you adjust the seat belt. You’re still quite far away from the cabin, you might as well make yourself comfortable. 

“I think there’s not much that I haven’t witnessed yet. I was walked in on at the bathroom once too, but it was your cousin, Etta.”

“When did that happen?” you ask with a heartfelt laugh.

“I think it was last summer at one of your nieces’ birthday party. Luckily everything was already tucked away when she basically barged in.”

“She didn’t miss much,” you tease him with a smirk and your witty comment catches him by surprise.

“Are you saying my dick is not imposing enough to be worthy of peeking?” he asks with raised eyebrows and you’re happy he is driving. His intimidating look would already burn right into your skin by now, but he is forced to watch the road instead. 

“I mean, if you want to put it that way…” you continue, but a laugh escapes your lips.

“Take that back, Y/N,” he orders, sneaking a hard look at you before turning back ahead, but you can see the small smile hiding on his lips. 

“Or what?”

“Or you might find yourself in a war you don’t want to be involved in,” he warns you, but his words don’t quite have the effect on you he wanted. Because in a heartbeat you find yourself feeling… excited? Thrilled? Even curious about his means behind his words. 

“Wouldn’t want to lie, so…” Pretending like you’re sorry you shrug your shoulders as Harry gives you a look that makes your stomach churn. Now either you are gonna have some fun teasing each other or… you just threw yourself into the arms of the Devil himself. Either way, you’re certain Harry won’t leave it in that.

Turning your head to your window you can’t keep your smile contained as you think of the fact that how big of a lie it was. Harry is surely not a guy who should ever worry about any aspect of his manhood. You’re talking from experience. 

***

The cabin is absolutely gorgeous, just the perfect place for a cozy family holiday. Hidden from the busy roads with a secure gate and tall trees on both sides, the back of it is facing a majestic view of the valley and the evergreen covered hill in the distance. With an interior straight from the pages of a magazine, you need just a few moments to adjust to your surroundings upon arriving.

“I saved a nice room for you, Harry!” your mother gushes the moment she sees the two of you walk through the front door. You huff in annoyance.

“And what about me?” 

Harry chuckles giving you a smug grin. “Guess you’re just second after me.”

“It’s his first Christmas with us, he deserves the better room,” your mom shushes at you, making your eyes roll instantly. It’s still hard to believe Harry has this kind of charm over most people.

After greeting everyone who is already there, your dad, Aunt Teresa and Etta with her family, your mom walks the two of you down one of the hallways that leads to several bedrooms. She stops at the last door with an excited grin on her face as she opens it revealing the bedroom behind it. 

You instantly understand why she thought this is the best one. The view is absolutely breathtaking, the gentle noon light is flowing into the room through the floor to ceiling windows, the king sized bed facing them so when you wake up in the morning the first thing you see is the endless sea of evergreens on the side of the hill. Not to mention the room has its own bathroom, not many of the other rooms are blessed with that. There’s a spacious shower that has enough space for at least three people in there and it’s one of those fancy ones that can make you feel like you’re having a shower in the middle of a jungle, mood lights and bluetooth speakers attached to it.

“No fucking way Harry is getting this room!” you gasp as you look around, taking in the luxure your mother is willing to hand over to him.

“Jealous, much?” he smirks, throwing his sports bag to the bed already ruining the neatly made sheets. He does not deserve this.

“Mom!” you huff turning to her, but she has made her mind up already.

“Your room is nice too, don’t worry Honey. Let Harry have this one!”

“I really can’t believe you are taking his side,” you grumble under your breath, folding your arms on your chest as you take one last look at the stunning view. 

“Come on, Y/N. He is a guest!”

“He is not! You said it yourself he is family now!” you retort and Harry just laughs behind you, so you shoot him a murderous look over your shoulder, that just fuels his entertainment.

“Don’t be silly. Your room is the second one on the right from here,” she smiles at you. “We are gonna take a walk around once everyone arrives, so get settled by then!” she informs you before walking out. 

“Hey,” Harry’s soft voice makes you turn around. “You can have the room if you want.”

Your eyebrows rise at the kind gesture, it’s very not like him, even now in your friendly state, so it’s quite odd that he is willing to switch rooms with you.

“No need,” you shake your head grabbing the handle of your suitcase that you abandoned at the door.

“You sure? It doesn’t matter where I’m sleeping, really.”

“I’m not gonna deal with my mother’s scolding if she finds out I took your room, so you can totally stay.” 

Harry chuckles as you head out, but stop at the door to have one last word with him. “Though I might occupy your bathroom, that shower looks nice.”

“All yours,” he grins before you walk out.

***

By 11 am everyone arrives and the once quiet cabin is now buzzing from life, children running around, Valerie’s babbling shoots through the spacious living area where Rosa set her crib up, your mother is already making preparations for dinner while most of the men are circled around the pool table having a beer since no one has to drive for the rest of the day. 

“When is Marcus arriving?” Rosa asks, eyes on Valerie who is absolutely destroying something that once were an elephant maybe, but she’s been ruthless with the poor animal, chewing and throwing it around all the time, so it’s not just a grey, fuzzy mess.

“Sometime before dinner. He has some work to finish,” you tell her pulling your legs under yourself on the comfy couch.

“And explain again, why isn’t he staying for the night?” she turns to you with a puzzled look.

“Because he is going home to his family early in the morning tomorrow.”

“Okay, but he could have just left from here, didn’t he?”

“It’s… complicated. It’s better if he just goes back home tonight and then leaves from there in the morning.”

What you leave out of the whole explanation is that you didn’t really invite him to stay the night as well. Sounds horrible and ridiculous but you didn’t think you’d have felt comfortable with him staying. You’ve been dating for only barely more than a month and though things are going well, you felt like starting with just a dinner would be a better idea. Marcus didn’t question why you didn’t offer him to stay, it seemed like he was fine with just coming and then going after dinner. 

Does this make you a bad girlfriend? Maybe, but you value your comfort and feelings more than to ruin your favorite holiday with your family. 

Just as you mom said, once everyone is settled in their rooms for the upcoming three days, the whole gang dresses up to have a walk around taking the welcoming little path that runs around the cabin and is smooth enough for Valerie’s carriage as well. Your nieces and nephew are quick to surround Harry and nag him to join them at the front, exploring the woods surrounding the path. It seems like he doesn’t mind it and gladly takes part in the adventure, also secretly looking after them so their parents can have a break and enjoy the stroll in hopes the walk tires the kids out enough that they’ll willingly go to bed in the evening instead of whining to stay up late. 

You’re walking with Etta next to you as she tells you about Hannah’s latest dance competition when you spot that Harry and Oliver, your nephew, Etta’s other kid are suspiciously whispering around pointing in your direction. At last Olly nods and runs up to you showing a quite thick piece of wood into your hand. You look down at him confused.

“Thank you?” you tell him a little unsure what it’s all about.

“I found it in a bush, I want to take it home. Harry said you’ll keep it for me because you have a good hand for thick and hard sticks.”

You almost choke on your own breath, as Olly just carelessly runs back ahead to join his sister. You immediately look over to Etta in fear that she heard what Harry told Oliver, but luckily she was talking with Joe turning back, not really paying attention to the conversation you just had with her son. If she did, Harry probably wouldn’t live by now.

Speaking of the devil, you look in his way and that annoying, smug grin is right there as he nods in your way saluting before he shows his hands into his pockets and turns back around to catch up with the kids. 

That disgusting piece of shit really went into the depth of teaching something secretly dirty to your nephew as a way of payback for your comment in the car earlier. He surely wasn't just joking when he said you’d pay for what you said. And you have a feeling he is just getting started. 

***

Aunt Monica is like a legend in your family. She is the oldest between your mom and her sisters, already in her sixties, but in the heart she still feels like she has just turned twenty. She never married, but had several men in her life, love affairs, short flings, but none of them lasted for more than a year. 

“Why would I settle when there’s so many fish in the sea?” she once told you, her iconic Chanel sunglasses sat on her nose as she sipped on her martini. 

She has worked many jobs throughout her life, she was once a dancer, she waited tables and even worked as a TV host at one point in the ‘80s. She was the true free spirit of the family, her sisters often questioned her sanity, but you think there’s nothing wrong with how she lived her life, enjoying it to the last bit. In the early ‘90s she was seeing a millionaire, probably the only man she would have given her lifestyle up for. Unfortunately, they never married, the man passed away due to his heart problems, however, since he had little to zero family he left basically everything to Aunt Monica. Money, house, cars, business, everything. Being the smart woman that she is, she handed over the business into professional hands but she is still the owner, so the money is still flowing even though she could have lived happily on the money she inherited without ever having to work a day. 

She seems a little odd in your family, but she has always been a loving aunt to you, a caring sister and she never fails to take care of her loved ones. She is the one to pay for all these Christmas getaways, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to stay in places this nice.

“What’s all the money for if I don’t spend it on my family?” she always says when someone questions if she is fine with paying for everything. Your mom and Teresa have tried to convince her to let them at least pay for part of it but she wouldn’t even listen to them. 

She likes to have her own, sometimes odd ways in life. She definitely has a drinking problem, but not in a dangerous way. You have never seen her completely wasted, she just likes to keep things buzzing and always have a drink on her whenever she needs the extra fun. Because of her past she has the greatest stories about meeting famous people back in the days or how soldiers used to try to win her over when she was just a teenager.

“Oh, those things happened,” your mom told you when one day you questioned if you could believe all the crazy stories Aunt Monica tells you. “She was like… the star of the show. Used to hate living in her shadow, but I can’t blame her for enjoying life and doing the things I was too afraid to do myself.”

Now you’re sitting in the sunroom that faces the amazing view behind the cabin, the Christmas tree is standing tall in the corner, beautifully decorated in white and beige. Valerie is snuggled up to your chest as you gently rub her back and you listen to Aunt Monica tell you about how a literal captain once proposed to her after just three days of knowing each other.

“He was a gentleman, but a beast in the bed, Y/N. I’m telling you, men in uniform are just a different level of satisfaction.”

She sighs deep, taking a sip from her margarita that’s definitely not her first drink, and you just laugh nodding.

“He was begging for me to go to Italy with him.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Who said I didn’t?” she asks with a pretentious hurt look turning to you and you just laugh. You should have known the story would go this way. “I accepted the offer, only turned down his proposal when we sailed off and then we parted as soon as I stepped onto the land of Italy. Broke his heart into pieces, but I was too busy enjoying the Italian summer.”

Harry comes in and hands you a bottle filled with juice that probably Rosa sent for Valerie.

“Thank you,” you smile at him shortly as you adjust the little girl in your arms and hand her the bottle.

“Young boy, have you ever proposed to someone?” Aunt Monica asks Harry who stops in his way as he was already about to head out, but now he walks back to the sofa where she is sitting.

“No, not yet,” he shakes his head.

“And how do you think you would if the time came?”

You watch Harry think to himself at the odd and quite random question. It’s not really something you would have ever asked him, but now that there’s the chance to hear his answer you are listening curiously. 

“Depends on the woman I’m proposing to,” he replies after a few seconds.

“How would you propose to Y/N?”

Your eyes widen as you turn to your aunt with shock all over your face. You definitely didn’t want yourself dragged into this.

“Aunt Monica, that’s--”

“Shush! I’m just asking theoretically. Wanna hear his answer.”

Harry’s eyes wander over to your sitting figure on the sofa as he leans onto the back of the one in front of him. You can feel the heat crawling up on your neck to your cheeks under his burning look and you just know he enjoys how nervous you got from this simple question that wasn’t even asked from you. 

Licking his lips he moves his eyes from you over to Aunt Monica who is still waiting for his answer.

“Something romantic, but not too grandiose, I know she doesn’t like being in the center of the attention that much. Maybe…” Tapping on his chin you listen to his words and without even realizing you hold your breath. “Maybe on a hike with a nice view. She would be admiring the view when I get down on one knee and as she turns around I pop the lid on the box.”

What bugs you is that it’s an awfully accurate description of how you’d imagined your proposal. He was right about many aspects, like how you don’t like being in the center of attention. No idea how he nailed so easily, but he did. 

Glancing down you pretend to be busy with Valerie who is still peacefully drinking her juice, eyes wandering around the room relentlessly.

“So you really look to satisfy her deepest fantasies, careful about even the smallest details. Women appreciate it,” Aunt Monica nods, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable she just made you feel.

“Thank you, I do like to satisfy women,” Harry cheekily answers with a smirk, eyes locking with yours for a moment as Aunt Monica lets out a laugh at the dirty comment. Before you could bite your tongue a retort slips out of your mouth.

“What a shame you don’t always succeed.”

Harry’s eyes turn from playful to dark pretty quickly and you enjoy the victory over him. Your comment in the car earlier already wounded his manhood, now it’s another stab right into his… crotch. It’s the least he deserves after what he taught poor Olly.

“That I don’t believe. He seems like an absolute pleaser.” Aunt Monica winks in Harry’s way who just smiles at her shyly, but you can tell your comment is still bugging him. 

“I think Y/N knows that too herself, am I right?” He tilts his head to the side and you stand your ground with holding his gaze and not looking away.

“Don’t be so sure about that,” you simply say, just when you hear your mom calling out for you. “Would you take her please?” you innocently ask walking up to Harry, holding Valerie out for him. You can tell he is looking for a witty comeback, but he has nothing just yet, so he is stuck with keeping his mouth shut as he takes baby Valerie from you. You gift him with a sweet, but definitely spikey smile before leaving him there with Aunt Monica. 

***

Dinner is already almost ready, you’re helping your mom and Aunt Teresa in the kitchen with the finishing touches, Joe and Harry packing out the wine bottles from the rack Jeremy brought them in, the two of them examining the bottles with such professionalism you almost believe they have the slightest idea about what to look for in a good wine. 

“Should we open some red or white ones for tonight’s dinner?” Joe asks your mom who is the master chef when it comes to the dinner.

“Red would suit better,” she answers. “Are they sweet?”

“Some, yeah,” Harry nods holding up a bottle and checking the label.

“Great. Monica loves that too,” Teresa chuckles as she adds some salt to the mashed potato. 

“And Y/N too,” Harry adds, not even looking up, but he successfully attracts your mom’s attention with his comment.

“She does?” Harry looks up and sees your boiling anger plastered all over your face, so of course he chooses to take it further.

“Oh, yeah. She can drink like a gallon. Wine drunk Y/N is like a whole different person.”

“I told you so many times not to get drunk, Y/N. It’s not too ladylike. When was the last time you saw her drunk?”

“There were plenty of occasions,” Harry exaggerates and you could kill him right there. “Though last time it was the tequila that got her wildin’.”

That damned smirk of his is making your hands curl into fists and for a moment you tell yourself it’s okay to punch him in front of your mother even if she’ll probably disown you for such behavior. 

“Y/N! I have told you a million times that you need to know where your limits lie!” she huffs shaking her head at you while you clench your jaw. Back at it with the lessons about getting drunk. She’ll never get over it, not even when you’ll be forty. Why does it matter to her so much? Sometimes she is the one to get you started, but then she gives you the dirtiest looks when you have one too many. She should just get used to it now. 

“She surely likes to have fun when she has had a few drinks,” Harry continues smugly. “Remember how much fun you had at Rosa and Steven’s wedding?”

“Oh, God! I remember how drunk you were that evening, I could have killed you!” your mother growls and you roll your eyes at her.

“It wasn’t that bad. There were a lot more people who got way more wasted than me,” you try to defend yourself folding your arms on your chest. 

“That doesn’t change that you were too,” she says with a hard look. Great, now she is mad at you for something that happened literally years ago. Kudos to Harry for ruining her mood.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Harry adds and you look in his way with suspicion. “She was a delight when it was time to get her to bed.”

Your mouth almost hangs open, but it seems like you’re the only one understanding what he really meant by that. Luckily, beside you and him, Rosa and Steven are the only people who knows what happened between you and Harry that night, so it’s no surprise no one else catches on the hint.

“You were the one who took her up to her room? Sorry if she was a burden,” your mother sighs and right at that moment you wish the floor would just open up and you could disappear forever. Harry’s satisfied grin is the evidence that he just won another round of this nasty war.

Just as you open your mouth to try and move the conversation to another field you see a pair of headlights pull up to the driveway. Everyone turns to the window as Marcus’ car parks down last in the line. As you step away from the counter you see the confusion in Harry’s eyes about the new guest.

“Oh, amazing! He is here!” your mom cheers, seemingly instantly forgetting about how she was dragging you just a minute ago.

“Who’s here?” you hear Harry ask, but you’re already out of there, heading to the front door to greet Marcus.

Just as you walk out into the cold evening air you see him get out with a warm smile on his lips. You wait for him at the door, arms wrapped around yourself and as he reaches you he places a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Hey, how was the drive?” you ask him.

“It was fine. I didn’t arrive too late, right?”

“No, we were just about to set the table. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

He takes your hand in his as the two of you walk inside, all eyes immediately turning your way at the arrival of your boyfriend.

“Everyone, I want you all to meet my boyfriend, Marcus. He is staying for dinner.”

Your family members walk up to the two of you, shaking hands and introducing themselves to Marcus who smiles at everyone politely, trying his best to remember all the names and information that’s thrown at him all of a sudden. Everyone seems delighted to have him for dinner, the kids instantly make him promise he’ll play a card game with them after dinner and he happily says yes to the invitation. 

You can tell your mom is proud that finally both of her daughters are spending Christmas with a man by their side and you’re almost certain your dad took a liking to Marcus the moment he mentioned he is into fishing.

Everyone seems excited and happy for Marcus, there’s just one face that doesn’t fit in the line of joyful smiles. Harry stands quite far from the two of you and only gets closer when he shakes hands with Marcus. His cocky grin is long gone from his face as he keeps his hard look on your boyfriend who is chatting with everyone. Standing next to Marcus, your hand still holding his, your eyes lock with Harry’s and there’s an unknown, burning feeling in your gut when his hard gaze holds yours. The sudden change and cold act gets you wondering what’s really going on in his mind. He is the first one to look away and you watch him walk into the kitchen and disappear from your sight before you force a smile on your lips and turn back to Marcus.

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[losingitinjersey]

Oh hai there!  We’ve just been off in our own little summer world of wake, play, eat, sleep repeat!  Thank you to the kind anon for checking in on me today.  If you don’t mind, I’ll give an update here rather than answering the ask.

In the past 2.5 weeks since my last post, here are a few highlights worth mentioning:

Kevin officially started his intern year of residency!  Which means he’s been at the hospital more than at home and his first stretch of shifts were all night shifts so he’d leave at 8:30 p.m. and get home around 10 a.m. then sleep until 8 p.m. the next day and do it all again.  We only saw him for maybe two 15 minute blocks, once in the morning and once at night. This has been extra hard given that he was at home with us non-stop for months prior to this.  

I had the week of July 5th off work!  Have I mentioned lately how much I love my job?? SO MUCH. 

During the week off erp and I met up with @nannyturnedmama and her little one!  We went to the zoo in 95 degree humid heat!  Thankfully she was extremely conscientious of my very pregnant overheated self and we had such a great time!  

I’ve started making cold brew!  But that’s only because I accidentally ordered a bag of ground decaf coffee instead of whole bean and I wanted to put it to good use.  It’s strange to me that the cold brew process is all done outside of the fridge.  Room temperature water mixed with grinds left out on the counter for 24 hours? No cold necessary. Weird.  

Making the most of my inclination for laziness while still wanting to be a good wife and provide meals for my husband, I signed up for Factor75 meal delivery service!  We cancelled Hello Fresh a few months ago because that was way too effort intensive for my liking.  I chose Factor due to the fact they have a great variety of keto options and it’s all ready to go meals!  While I’m not currently keto, Kevin is, and I do plan on getting back to keto quickly after baby August is born.  We’re now on our second week of meals and, I’ve gotta say, we’re really happy with it!!  The meals taste great and they’re ready in four minutes (two minutes in the microwave and two minutes of rest).  My only complaint is I want more after I finish eating, but that’s always the case with me unless I eat to uncomfortable levels.  

During the end of my week off work, Kevin also had a few days off so we decided to drive to North Carolina to visit my aunt, uncle, cousins and their kids!  We try to see them at least once a year since moving out to VA but obviously that didn’t happen last year due to covid.  It was SO FUN introducing erp to them all!  And, amazingly, my shy babe did SO well!  She loved being with my cousin’s 12 and 14 year old daughters and I loved letting them follow her around keeping her safe!  I actually got to kick back and put my feet up during non-nap times!  So this is what it’s like living near family?!  Sign me up!  

It’s CRAZY to me that I’m 35 weeks pregnant with baby August (who I think I’m going to start shortening to just August, Aug or Auggie. Which, obviously, is just a tumblr nickname and won’t be her actual name. Erp and Aug? Are we fans?)  

Knowing that I gave birth to erp at 37w0d is making my brain insane knowing I could possibly have less than two weeks left of this pregnancy.  But, this time, I actually packed a hospital bag!  I even pulled out my breast pump and got that ready to go to the hospital, too.  I had quite the time remembering how it all works though, apparently I blocked out that part of my life.  In fact, I’ve blocked out most of how to care for a newborn so I’m really glad my mom (retired NICU nurse) will be here in two weeks to help me navigate the first few weeks with August.  

Given that I now live in a three-story townhouse, where I sleep on the third floor and the nursery is on the second floor, I’m thinking of putting the pack and play in my bedroom so I can easily care for and nurse August without having to climb down/up stairs while still recovering from delivery.  As such, that means I should get a comfortable chair for the room, right?  Right now there’s nowhere to sit other than the bed and it’s a tall bed without any back support so the idea of nursing in bed sounds challenging at best.  But I’d also hate to waste money and buy a chair for just a few weeks/months before transitioning August to her crib in erp’s room?  But it wouldn’t be a waste if it’s helpful.  Also, the chairs I’m looking at would be around $150 which seems like a worthwhile investment if it makes my life easier for any period of time.  

As much as I haven’t been great at keeping this space update of late, I PROMISE I’ll keep you posted as soon as I go into labor!  There’s no way I’d let you miss out on all that action as it’s happening :)  

#please don't reblog #momblr #18 months #pregblr #35 weeks #factor75

[melzula]

hi ! i don’t know if this counts as a whole prompt, but could i request some iroh ii ? maybe their reunion when kya’s daughter went back with bumi to the fire nation and their whole reunion to wedding story ?

a/n: I just did the reunion part of this because it would be hard to cram the whole timeline into one piece aha but nonetheless enjoy!

*based off of these hc’s

The cool breeze of the ocean air does little to calm your nerves as you fidget with the beads that wrap themselves neatly around your wrist and stare out into the open water. The Fire Nation docks are fast approaching, and you foolishly wonder if everything will be the same as it was when you left it behind all those years ago. You wonder if he is still the same, fearing for a moment that perhaps he has forgotten you after being apart for so long, but you don’t have time to dwell on your anxieties when a firm clap on your shoulder breaks you from your thoughts.

“Why the long face, kiddo?” Your Uncle Bumi grins. “I thought you’d be happier to be back here.”

“I am,” you reassure him, “it’s just I’m a little nervous is all. I haven’t been here in so long...”

“Well I’m sure the royals will be happy to see you,” he says. “You were Lord Zuko’s star student after all, and General Iroh is always asking about you.”

“He is?” You gasp, doing your best to quell the excitement that bubbles up inside of you at the news. You always brushed off your infatuation with the General as a silly childhood crush, but if that were the case then the mere mention of him shouldn’t have made you as cheerful as it did.

“Of course! Why do you think I brought you out here with me? Some good old nostalgia would be perfect for you!”

“Uncle,” you say with a pointed look. Bumi grins sheepishly.

“You could use a friend, y/n. And so could Iroh.”

You don’t get the chance to argue or insist that you’re fine, that you’re perfectly okay with the fact that your best friend is your Gran Gran, as the ship pulls into the docks and Fire Nation guards arrive to escort you to the palace. None of them are familiar to you, most of the men you’d known as a child having retired by now, but they still greet you with the same kindness as always, a perk of being the Avatar’s granddaughter and the Commander’s niece.

“I have to prepare for the meeting,” your uncle says as you reach the front gates and are permitted entry to the palace, “but if you want to head off and look for some old friends or even just explore your old playing grounds go right ahead.”

“Good look with the meeting, Uncle Bumi,” you reply before gifting the man a kiss on the cheek and parting ways with him for now.

You find yourself wandering into the gardens, admiring the blooming fire lilies and enjoying the refreshing breeze that blows cooly against your face as you reminisce on the memories you hold in this very spot. If you look hard enough you can almost see yourself sitting underneath the shade of the tree with Zuko and his grandson studying fire bending scrolls and enjoying cups of tea. Life had been so quiet and simple then, so peaceful. Maybe Bumi was right about needing a friend; you’d never felt lonelier in your entire life than you did now looking upon old childhood memories.

“Y/n?” A voice calls almost hesitantly, void of the confidence he’d always held, and despite the fact that your heart catches in your throat at the sound of his voice you will yourself to turn around and face the man you never stopped thinking about.

You can’t help the way your mouth hangs agape at the sight of him; he’d always been a good looking boy, but over the years Iroh had grown into the handsomest man you’d ever seen. He was beautiful with his strong jaw and shimmering gold irises, and despite how much he’d changed over the years he still held that same boyish grin you’d taken comfort in many times before.

“Iroh,” you finally say, heat crawling up your neck as you smile shyly. He’s rushing towards you in an instant, pulling you into his chest for a tight hug and laughing with pure unadulterated joy.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he admits with a sheepish grin, hands resting on your shoulders as he pulls away and looks you in the eyes. You don’t know it, but he’s just as taken back by your beauty. He was used to seeing you running around in your pigtails with your wide smile and a few teeth missing; you were absolutely radiant, your features maturing with the time that had passed, but your eyes still held that same twinkle they always did.

“It’s so good to you, old friend,” you say, smiling fondly as you rest a hand upon his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“So have I,” he replies, and you don’t miss the way he seems to melt into your touch. “I have a meeting to attend to, but perhaps you’d like to accompany me to dinner tonight? I want to hear about all of your adventures.”

“Dinner sounds lovely.”

“Perfect,” Iroh grins, “I’ll see you then.”

He parts from you then with a kiss on the cheek, leaving you with a dazed smile alone in the gardens as you watch him walk into the palace.

“We’re having dinner,” you murmur quietly to yourself, an excited smile pulling at your lips as you rush towards your assigned quarters to prepare.

~~~

“A date with the General, huh?”

“It’s not a date, Uncle Bumi,” you remind him as you sit before the vanity and slip on your favorite pair of earrings, a pair your mother had bought for you once during your travels, “it’s just dinner.”

“Sounds like a date to me,” he teases with a knowing grin. “You know, I always had a feeling about you two.”

“You said the same thing about Uncle Tenzin and Aunt Lin,” you retort only for Bumi to grimace.

“I never said it was a good feeling.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug nonchalantly. “We’re just two old friends who want to catch up with each other.”

Oh, but it actually is a very big deal for you. You can’t remember the last time anyone has taken you out to dinner or the last time you had actually dressed yourself up for someone else, and frankly you don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s Iroh, after all, your childhood friend, why should you be nervous?

“Oh, I’ll walk you out!” Your Uncle exclaims excitedly once you put the finishing touches on your ensamble, and before you can even get up from your chair Bumi is yanking you onto your feet and dragging you out of the room towards the front gates where Iroh is presumably waiting for you. “I only wish your mother were here to see this!”

“Uncle,” you groan in quiet embarrassment, “you seem more excited than I am.”

“What? That’s nonsense!” Bumi scoffs. “Can’t I just appreciate the romanticism that comes with seeing old friends?”

“I see you’re a poet much like your father,” a third voice intrudes, a smiling Iroh startling both you and your uncle. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, not at all!” Bumi says before you can so much as open your mouth to reply. “In fact I was just leaving. You kids have fun! Oh, and uh, bring her back home safe and sound and all that protective Uncle junk I’m supposed to say.”

“Of course, Commander,” he says with a slight laugh before turning to you. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” you smile, making sure to give your Uncle a chaste kiss to the cheek before taking Iroh’s outstretched and following him out the front gates. Your Uncle watches your retreating forms with a faint smile and a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Phase one of my matchmaking plan is complete.”

~~~

The royal plaza is beautiful at night. Lanterns hang from the skies and bathe the streets in their golden hue. The restaurants and shops are bustling with customers as lovers, families, and friends all spend their evenings out on the town. No one seems to notice your presence— Iroh had insisted that no guards were needed to escort you both— and for that you are grateful.

“Hungry for anything in particular? I know you were especially fond of dumplings when we were children,” Iroh notes with a chuckle.

“I’d love anything spicy. As much as I enjoy sea prunes and seal jerky, nothing in the south really has that same kick to it that Fire Nation food has.”

“I know the perfect place,” Iroh says, and you have to fight against the way your stomach seems to summersault when he takes your hand in his own and weaves you through the streets.

You end up in a quiet little restaurant together where the food is fresh and the hostess is the sweetest little old lady you’ve ever met, though she brings you way more food than you ordered. You’re eager to scarf down the spicy noodles and steaming buns, so eager in fact that you don’t notice the love stricken way in which Iroh watches you practically inhale your food.

“How’s your family?” He asks behind his cup of tea.

“Good. Gran Gran has been training the new Avatar and my mother helps where she can. My Uncle Tenzin and Aunt Pema just had a new baby not too long ago, a son named Meelo.”

���That’s amazing,” Iroh smiles, “congratulations on your new cousin.”

“Thank you. Our family is certainly growing,” you say with a slight laugh. “And how are things with you and your family?”

“I have to admit, I haven’t really been home much to know,” Iroh chuckles. “This visit is also my first time back in a while. Mother is a gracious ruler and the people love her, my sister is still living her quiet life with her husband out on the farm, and my grandfather comes back and forth all the time. Everyone seems to be happy.”

“And are you happy?”

“I like to think so. I’m the youngest General in the United Forces which is a great accomplishment, and I’m having dinner with a friend I thought I’d never see again, so yes, I’m very happy,” he notes with a wink. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his slyness, a small huff blowing past your nose.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you tease.

“Really, y/n,” Iroh says, all features void of his previous humor as they morph into a more tender nature. He reaches across the table and rests a hand across your own, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ve missed you, and I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me too,” you admit with a tiny smile. “It’s been hard without you, friend.”

“Friend,” Iroh repeats with a small sigh, but his smile never falters. He pays for your meal and offers you his arm to guide you back to the palace; you talk about old memories and new ones, your adventures during your time apart, and your excitement to create new ones together. You’ve never been happier, and for the first time in a long time the loneliness that normally gnaws at your spirit is nowhere to be found.

“Can you find your room okay?” Iroh asks as you reach the front doors of the palace.

“I can,” you nod with a smile. “I’m actually staying in the room I had when I was a kid.”

“Go figure,” he laughs softly before gracing you with a sweet smile. “Thank you for accompanying me to dinner tonight. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“You will.”

“Good. I look forward to it,” Iroh says. “Sleep well, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Iroh,” you utter with a small smile, making sure to gift him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing inside. Stunned, the General stands frozen in place with a dazed smile on his face. He hasn’t felt this way about anyone in such a long time, hadn’t felt such genuine excitement and joy, and he had to admit that it somewhat intimidated him. He’d always seen you as the girl he’d grown up with, the one he’d spent his time with stealing desserts from the kitchen and running through the hallways, but now...

“Spirits,” Iroh exclaims with a breathless laugh. “I think I’m in love.”

In the gardens sits the trio of adults who watch the scene unfold before them, knowing looks exchanged among them as they sip their tea and watch Iroh disappear into the palace.

“They make a handsome pair, don’t they?” Zuko notes offhandedly to his daughter. “I give them a month.”

“A month?” Bumi snorts. “No way! Three weeks maybe, but not a month.”

“I have more faith in my son than that,” Izumi says with the shake of her head. “One week.”

“One week?!” The Commander exclaims with a laugh. “Oh, you’re on!”

“Betting over the love life of my grandson and my former student was not how I pictured spending my retirement,” Zuko sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he considers his grandson courting the granddaughter of his best friend. Life has a funny way of working out sometimes.

And it was going to work out for you and Iroh.

| iroh/atla tags: @nataliahaslosthershit @zukh03s @rainteslerrrr @simpinforsukka |

#iroh ll #general iroh #iroh #general iroh x reader #general iroh imagine #iroh ll x reader #iroh ll imagine #iroh x reader #iroh imagine #kya #kya x daughter!reader #bumi #bumi x reader #the legend of korra #lok #lok x reader #lok imagine #atla #request

[prorevenge]

My Grandmother Put Greedy Preachers In Their Places .... Twice .... Even After She Died

TL/DR - My grandmother generously served her "Bible Believing Christian" church for almost 50 years, without asking anything in return. But when she became elderly, disabled and homebound, her church acted like she did not exist - until she was in hospice care and literally on her deathbed, when that church showed a sudden interest in telling Grandma to, "Remember your church in your will". She waited until exactly the right moment, in front of exactly the right audience, to expose these greedy assholes for what they were.....twice.

My grandmother was a member of a large conservative "Bible Believing" church for her entire adult life. This church, which I'll call BigWhiteChurch, was a member of a large Evangelical denomination. BigWhiteChurch was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible Belt of the Deep South of the USA.

Grandma was very active in BigWhiteChurch. She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours, taught Youth Bible Study on Sunday nights and was very active in supporting Home Missions, as well as helping with other youth programs. She always tithed, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings.

Grandma's greatest talent was making other people feel important. I've seen this first-hand many times. Although I belonged to a different church, I often visited with Grandma, and when I did, I usually went to BigWhiteChurch functions with her. I've seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of BigWhiteChurch Youth, a task which took over 2 hours, even in the church's large kitchen. Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high-school student leader for, "Doing such a great job of organizing the Prayer Breakfast".

I remember that, on a BigWhiteChurch youth retreat at a rural Church Camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials, that one of the Assistant Pastors (whom I'll call AssPastor) had forgotten and asked her to get, in time for our morning program the next day. His boss, the Senior Pastor (I'll call him PompousPastor), never found out that AssPastor had screwed up or that Grandma had fixed it for him. AssPastor never even thanked Grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it. She said that she didn't mind at all; she told me her reward would be that those materials, "Would help children find Jesus".

Grandma's service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73, when she broke her back in a car accident. Afterwards, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day.

During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored.

Near the end, when she was in home hospice care, she decided to plan her own funeral. She and my Grandpa called her church and asked for the Senior Pastor, PompousPastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and Grandpa wanted to be held at the church.

PompousPastor was too busy, but AssPastor stopped by a few days later. According to my Grandpa, here's what happened at that meeting, with my Grandma literally on her deathbed:

Grandma, Grandpa and AssPastor discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then AssPastor started pressuring her to, "Lay up your treasure in Heaven" by, "Remembering your church in your will".

Grandpa told him firmly that, "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will."

They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then AssPastor steered the conversation back to Grandma's will, with liberal injections of how badly "her" church needed "her support".

Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to Grandma about her will or the church's financial needs, because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain. AssPastor would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church's financial needs, heavenly rewards, "Where your treasure is your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34), etc.

My Grandma started crying.

To put this into context, Grandma was more than a "Steel Magnolia". She was "Titanium Coated With Diamond Wrapped In Kevlar". She rarely ever cried, and never EVER cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly that she would never walk again, nor during the following 6 months in futile rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news. She would cry to console others, "Weep with those who weep". But nobody - not Grandpa, not her daughter (my mom), nor any of my uncles or Grandma's siblings - ever remembered her crying for herself.

My Grandma was sobbing uncontrollably.

Grandpa, a retired steelworker, ex-Marine Sergeant and Korean War combat veteran, physically grabbed AssPastor and "escorted" him out of their house, not too gently.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Grandma lived another 6 months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, Grandma passed away and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not BigWhiteChurch. PompousPastor and AssPastor were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no "Professional Christians", from BigWhiteChurch, at the service at all, not even in the audience.

To start the service, Grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, "Some of you may have heard that I dis-invited PompousPastor and AssPastor from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones. Also, my wife asked me to exclude them."

"This funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an "open microphone" funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today. I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don't have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so."

There were about a hundred people at the funeral service; at least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone. The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns.

Afterwards, dozens of people told my Grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that, "Funerals are better without preachers anyway", or something similar.

REMEMBERING HER PASTORS AND HER CHURCH IN HER WILL: THE ONE-TWO PUNCH

A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in Grandma's will. Although Grandma and Grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my Mom, "That makes it easier for us to respect each other's turf", and because their lawyer had recommended it. Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house in a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50+ years, and had worked hard and lived modestly. But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg.

Of course, there is no legal requirement for anyone to attend "The Reading Of The Will", or to even have a "Reading". Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct.

But "The Reading Of The Will" was a tradition in our family because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together. We never had "Family Reunions". They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc., so that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts & uncles who were Grandma's and Grandpa's siblings and in-laws.

With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members' wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value, but were the departed family member's way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time.

As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by Grandpa, that Grandma's will contained some "surprises".

The "Reading" was held in a conference room at a lawyer's office. Unsurprisingly, the attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles and many of the grandchildren.

We were all surprised, however, to see PompousPastor and AssPastor from BigWhiteChurch. They informed us that Grandma's lawyer had told them that Grandma's will had bequests not only for BigWhiteChurch, but also for them personally.

Maybe it was just our imagination; but my siblings, cousins and I couldn't help noticing that these Preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at Grandma's generosity.

Grandma had a large family, so a sizeable number of beneficiaries were named in her will. The lawyer's conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room. Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space.

There was barely space for all of us. Grandma's lawyer suggested that PompousPastor and AssPastor sit in chairs which were in the front of the room, next to himself. Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two Preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else. Although the Preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely, and practically impossible for them to leave the packed-to-more-than-overflowing room before the entire meeting was over, because they were farthest from the room's single door, and there were almost two dozen people standing or sitting between them and their only path to escape.

The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents, their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren and several local charities received nice, but not extravagant, amounts of money. Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives.

Grandpa was first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value. Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece and nephew received a little more, then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, etc.

Bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor were (almost) the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in Grandma's largess.

When Grandma's lawyer got to the BigWhiteChurch and Preachers' part of the will, he said, "This is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor, Ms [Grandma's name] requested that I read the following statement to everyone present."

He opened a letter that was written in Grandma's own handwriting...

"For the past 10 years, NOT ONE person from BigWhiteChurch has ever called me, come to visit me or sent me a note to tell me that they cared about me. Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years. But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn't exist."

"I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited PompousPastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral."

"This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and Pastor, whom I still loved dearly even though they had made it clear that they did not love me. If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time. And I know they loved to hear PompousPastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me.

But PompousPastor couldn't find the time to visit me, or even call me to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. AssPastor came by my house, but he didn't want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to, 'Remember his church in my will'. That's all. Just, 'Remember his church in my will'".

"It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The VERY last time."

"AssPastor did not know it when he visited me, but Grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include a double tithe - TWENTY PERCENT - of my ENTIRE ESTATE, for what was now my former ... FORMER ... church ... BigWhiteChurch.

This amount was [named the amount - an enormous shitload of money - generating muffled "wows" from many of her heirs, including me].

"But I got to feeling badly that we had not personally remembered such nice people as PompousPastor and AssPastor. So I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount of money that I left to BigWhiteChurch to match all of the love that they have showed to me during the last 10 years of my life, when I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work my ass off for them, for free, like I had done for almost half a century."

"That is her entire written statement", the lawyer said. "Now let's get back to the bequests in the will."

"Bequest to AssPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to PompousPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to BigWhiteChurch: One Cent".

The PompousPastor and AssPastor sat there looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novacaine into their jaws.

Every one of Grandma's family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew Grandma. We knew she wasn't finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a one-two punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn't want to miss it.

"There is one last bequest," the lawyer continued, "For a charity called ...", which he named and I'll call "BlackCharity", then he paused before naming the amount....

Most of us had no idea what BlackCharity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that PompousPastor and AssPastor knew BlackCharity very well. Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock, dread and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, "This bequest goes to The Demonic Baby Eaters to buy extra large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal".

Every eye in the room was now fixated on PompousPastor and AssPastor.

The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of Grandma's and Grandpa's sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more....

If we had been able to read PompousPastor's and AssPastor's minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces. BlackCharity was sponsored by a large Black church just a few miles from BigWhiteChurch. They ran a free food/clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of pre-cooked meals for homebound seniors, legal aid, and other social services.

A long time ago, BigWhiteChurch, which was (and still is) 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to BlackCharity. Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because BlackCharity was practicing "The Social Gospel", while BigWhiteChurch was preaching "The True Gospel". BigWhiteChurch even sued to try to get some of their money back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands.

But, this being The Deep South, everyone knew the real reason why BigWhiteChurch, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black charity: "Those n****** were getting uppity and not staying in their place". Grandma and Grandpa had seriously considered leaving BigWhiteChurch at that time. But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone, but maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle of racism. Grandma used to tell us, "My church is my Mission Field". We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she died.

Since then, Grandma and Grandpa had secretly sent a portion of their "Tithe" to BlackCharity every month.

Most of Grandma's family, including me, didn't find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended.

But PompousPastor and AssPastor obviously understood what Grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the Deep South, as Grandma, Grandpa, PompousPastor and AssPastor had, you would understand.

To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them. It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned their bigotry and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying, "These Black human beings, whom you hate, disrespect and have mistreated, are better people than you are. So they deserve my money more than you do".

Having allowed time for everyone to observe PompousPastor and AssPastor while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black charity, and how they AND their church had treated our Grandma...

The lawyer said, "The amount is...."

Then he named the EXACT SAME AMOUNT that Grandma had named in her handwritten letter, the huge amount of money that would have gone to BigWhiteChurch if she had not changed her will.

(source) story by (/u/BamaFan4Jesus)

#prorevenge #by /u/BamaFan4Jesus #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[vivian24l]

DamiraeWeek2021

Day One: Family/In-laws

The Second Wayne Reunion

Damian tapped his fingers against the wheel.

“Anxious?” asked Raven.

“You know how last year turned out. I was surprised Father agreed to another reunion this year.”

One year ago, Dick had come up with the idea of having a family reunion. He had invited the whole Wayne family together under one roof once again. The results of the party didn’t end so well. Dick clearly wanted to make the reunions annual, because he once again invited everyone.

Damian took another left. They had to drive across Gotham to reach Wayne Manor. After getting married, he and Raven bought a stretch of land on the other side of Gotham. Together they designed their house and hired people to build it.

Damian let out a sigh. “That bastard, Grayson.”

“Language,” said Raven.

He glanced at the rear view mirror. Their daughter, Rashida, was asleep in the back. Although, she could be pretending. Rashida is an intelligent child, more mature than her actual age. However, she does tend to do dangerous things.

They pulled up at Wayne Manor at long last. Rashida woke up instantly.

“We're here!” she announced. The five year old got out of their car immediately to stretch her legs.

“Rae! Watch this!” shouted Mar’i. She flew up into the sky while Rae watched from the ground. Mar’i shot a green starbolt at a low cloud. The cloud lit up in green light before evaporating into thin air.

“Impressive,” commented Rae. She joined her cousin in the air. The two girls turned the clouds green and purple.

Sitting in deck chairs, Raven and Koriand’r watched the kids flying around.

“Did you teach her that?” questioned Raven.

Kori let out a laugh. “Of course not, Mar’i and Jacob discovered it. Speaking of Jacob, where is he?”

It was Raven’s turn to laugh. “I saw him with Jackson, they were building something out of Legos. How do you not know what your son is doing?”

“I’ve been very busy lately,” Kori defended herself.

“Hey sisters! Mind if I join you?” Stephanie didn’t wait for an answer, she took a seat in a chair across from Kori. “Cass and Babs will be here with the food in a few minutes.”

“Is Valkyrie joining us this year?” asked Kori.

“She sure is! Val better not drop out last minute,” said the blonde. “I can’t believe Dick allowed her to skip last year. I mean, like seriously? This is a family reunion and therefore Val can not be missing out.”

“She was on a mission,” said Raven. “Then again, you can’t blame her, this family can be quite a handful.”

“Makes me wonder how we are able to put up with them,” joked Stephanie.

-

“How’s the cooking going?” asked Raven.

Damian turned around to face his wife. “Fairly well,” he answered.

Raven nodded. She took in the scene. Pots and pans were on the stove. A large bowl of lettuce sat on the counter. Nearby stood a container of tofu, waiting to be opened.

“Where’s Richard? I thought he’d be cooking as well,” said Raven.

Damian let out a “tt”. He stirred the soup inside a large pot. “Grayson left an hour ago, he said something about napkins.”

“You do know that not everyone here is vegetarian, correct?” questioned Raven as she noticed that there wasn’t a single speck of meat in any of the dishes.

“I also know that they will have to pay for making me cook a meal for twenty people.”

“21, actually,” corrected Raven. “Valkyrie’s running late.”

“And there I thought she would skip like last year.”

Raven grabbed a spare apron. “I suppose it’s up to me to save everyone from eating tofu turkey tonight.”

“How heroic.”

-

“Mother? Father?” called Rashida.

“We’re in the kitchen, ibna,” answered Damian.

“What are you making?” Rashida stood on the tip of her toes and watched as Raven mixed together the stuffing for the turkey.

“Dinner. Would you like to help, love?” asked Raven.

“Actually I can not,” said Rashida.

“And why is that?”

“Mar’i and I are in need of some pots. We’re going to make popcorn the old fashioned way! But instead of making a fire, we’ll be heating it with our powers,” explained Rashida..

“Is anyone supervising you?” asked Damian.

“Of course, Uncle Jason’s helping us.” Rashida pulled a large pot out of the cabinet. “This will do perfectly,” she said. “Good luck on your cooking!”

“Should I be concerned that Jason is overseeing their popcorn-making?” asked Damian.

“You should have some faith in him,” said Raven.

-

“I think we’re done here,” said Raven.

Damian nodded. “This should be enough food for the whole family, including leftovers for everyone to take home.”

They have made a total of twelve different dishes, two-thirds of which are plant-based. Raven have also made five different types of pastries for dessert.

They left the kitchen to join the rest of the family in the living room. Selina was reading a book to her grandchildren. Rashida, however, was not with her cousins, she was throwing knives with her uncle. They took turns throwing from different positions, each time getting bullseye on the target board.

“Why couldn’t our daughter have some non-violent interests,” sighed Raven.

Damian smiled. “She’s the granddaughter of the first Batman and Trigon, and great granddaughter of Ra’s Al Ghul. And I should add that her adoptive grandfather also happens to be Superman. So I would say that throwing a few knives is perfectly fine.”

“I just want her to have a childhood full of peace and innocence, unlike ours,” Raven murmured.

“She is habibti, she is.” Damian held his wife close. They seated themselves on the couch and silently watched the scene before them.

The peace in the room could not be contained for long. Dick burst through the door holding a large bag.

“Guess what I got?” he sang.

Rashida didn’t even spare her uncle a glance. “A bag full of games,” she answered.

“Uh, yeah. Great guess, Rae,” stuttered Dick. It still intrigued him how she knew what was inside. Well she is her parents’ daughter.

Dick laid out the contents on the table. There was a wide variety of games from classic card games to Twister.

The doorbell rang as soon as he took out the last game.

“That must be Val!” Kori rose to answer the door.

A minute later, the said woman arrived in the room. She could’ve been a younger version of Cassandra, except her features are more sharp. The youngest of the Wayne siblings, Valkyrie was adopted at the age of thirteen. That was ten years ago.

She came just like her oldest adoptive brother, holding a large bag. All the kids, including Rashida, ran over to see what was inside.

“Alright, settle down first,” Valkyrie said. She pulled out four colorfully wrapped boxes and handed one to each of the kids.

Mar’i opened her box and gasped in surprise. “Thank you so much Aunt Val! They’re beautiful.” The twelve year old has received silver bracelets, similar to her mother’s, but with detailed markings on them.

When Jackson opened his box, his jaw dropped. Inside was a Build-Your-Own 3-Dimensional Holographic Projector. “Thank you Aunt Val!” said the eight year old.

Jacob’s gift was eight limited edition action figurines. “How did you-? How is this-?” The boy was so shocked to see eight expensive figurines, that were probably worth a hundred dollars each, in front of him.

“I have my ways, little one,” answered Valkyrie.

“Thank you so much,” he said, giving Valkyrie a big hug.

“Your welcome, and please I’d like some personal space.”

Rashida slowly opened her box. Inside was a white cloak. The fabric was quite unusual. It was soft, stretchy, thin, and light. Yet the fabric also felt strong, and sturdy. The bright ruby glowed in the golden clasp. Unlike Raven’s cloak, this one had sleeves. The hems and cuffs of the cloak were embroidered with intricate designs. Rashida slipped on the cloak, it fitted perfectly. “Thank you, Aunt Valkyrie,” said the five year old.

“There are no gifts for your siblings? Wow, how kind of you,” spoke up Jason.

Valkyrie smiled. “Of course not, only ones for the kids,” she pulled out two more boxes, “and the parents.”

Selina and Bruce gave her their thanks then  proceeded to open their gift. Silent received a full set of cat themed jewelry, while Bruce received a grey tie.

“I actually needed a new tie,” he said.

#damirae week 2021 #damirae #damian wayne #ravenroth #damian x raven #demonbirds #rashidawayne #batfam

[butterflies-dragons]

Eugénie Grandet and Sansa Stark

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

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

Eugenié Grandet is a book that Sansa Stark would love:

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

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

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

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

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

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

It could all be just a coincidence, of course.

FAIR WARNING : EUGÉNIE GRANDET SPOILERS

Saumur / The North & Winterfell

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

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

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

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

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

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

—The World of Ice and Fire - The North

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Sewing and Embroidery

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Underestimated

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

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

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

Romantics

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

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

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

Dressing well as a weapon

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

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

Complimenting someone's name

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

Kissing Cousins

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

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

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

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

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

“Then my heart will be always there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strained relationship with their fathers

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard IV

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

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

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

Melancholic Beauty

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

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

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

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

Love's kisses / Lover's kisses

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

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

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

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

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

No one will ever marry me for love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walnut Tree / Heart Tree

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

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

“Do you love me?” she said.

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

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

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

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

“Then my heart will be always there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn I

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

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

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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

A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

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

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Agency, richness, power... And loneliness

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

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

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

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

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

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Eugénie Grandet

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

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

So, there is hope.

The end.

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

#sansa stark #jonsa #eugénie grandet #honoré de balzac