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iamthenightcolormeblack · 3 years

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My Experience with Jane Austen Part 2: Reading the Books

In part one I laid out which books I read, which ones were my favorites and least favorites, and the adaptations I've seen. Now I'd like to talk about my reading experience.

Disclaimer: I’m not an expert, just a casual reader sharing some observations, feel free to correct me if I get some details wrong. Out of the books I’ve read I’m most familiar with Pride and Prejudice.

Let's face it. Reading Austen can be challenging and I understand why some people dislike Austen.

It's easy to perceive her novels as "boring" because on a surface level, not much happens. The characters are well-off people (in the upper half of society) who spend their time at home or traveling between social calls and it's easy to dismiss their conflicts as "first world issues." Settings are often indoors, reflecting how "confined and unvarying" the lives of the rich (especially women) were. The plots often move forward through dialogue or conversations rather than big dramatic events. The focus on marriage can also make the stories feel like antiquated relics of the past and can be hard to relate to.

The writing style is also different. There isn't much dialogue at times because Austen slips in lots of very subtle commentary or prefers to describe a character's external appearance or characteristics. Often big events like proposals are described briefly after they happen rather than during, which can make the story feel rather "dry." The books are narrated in third person and sometimes there is unreliable narration (Pride and Prejudice) where we get characters' multiple points of view, but all narrated in the third person as to give each one credibility and prove that it's hard to trust others. Austen's writing style means that readers have to fill in the blanks with their imagination. For example, she doesn't give exact physical descriptions of her characters, often relying on general characteristics like "tall," "handsome," or "amiable." In my previous reviews of Pride and Prejudice adaptations, I explored that intentional ambiguity as a big reason why the character of Mr. Darcy is alluring--because the reader forms a personal connection with the character by sketching his portrait alongside Elizabeth. The characters (their physical appearance and some of their motivations) are purposely mysterious and while it gives the reader lots of opportunities for engaging with the text, without historical/literary context for "filling in the blanks" it's easy to see the characters as stiff mannequins in strange clothing rather than human beings.

Austen as a romance writer: Her romances don't always match up with our perception of what a romance should be. Some people start Austen expecting intense emotions and outbursts of passion but become disappointed when presented with formal courting and stately dances instead. Emotions are often veiled behind dialogue and for a first-time reader it can be challenging to see a romance developing. Most of the time readers have to rely on the clues given by Austen (descriptions of characters "blushing," looking "pale," or losing their composure) to detect the stirrings of love, but on a first reading it's difficult to do so when one's trying to figure out the plot and the characters. Finally, the dialogue can't always be taken literally; lots of people, including me, were disturbed when Mr. Knightley said he loved Emma since she was 13, but it was actually a joke made in response to something she said.

Her books are products of their time, and I sure am not an expert in Regency era economics or social norms. Sometimes the implications of certain actions can be lost on a reader if they don't know about the social norms of the time (I had no idea that Darcy following Elizabeth around, alone, on her favorite walk at Rosings was a sign of his love for her). Differences in social class are also very subtle and while one can generalize the characters as all "well-off" people, they are separated by many levels of hierarchy and their ideas about social position and status affect how they interact with others outside of their station. Darcy looks down upon those whom he perceives to be below him, and while Emma wants to make an advantageous match for Harriet, Harriet's lower social position means that Emma's schemes are not likely to work.

Because of the unique quirks within the novels, the reader is required to go beyond the surface level of plot and appearance and read between the lines to understand character motivations and actions. Without historical context (Regency era society having little social mobility, women having few legal rights and needing to make good marriages to secure material comfort) or literary context (the Enlightenment, 18th century Gothic novels referred to in Northanger Abbey, the birth of the novel, early Romantic writers just to name a bit) reading between the lines is nearly impossible.

So why do we read Austen? Below are my personal reasons.

The novels feature female heroines that have dignity and self-respect. It's significant that the stories focus on women who are trying to live according to their own values and speaking their own minds rather than acquiescing to societal dictates. Elizabeth Bennet is revolutionary in part because she wants a marriage based on mutual admiration and respect between two partners who know each other well, rather than an economic arrangement for a home. One could go on forever about how Austen is a feminist, but, the characters don't act like modern day feminists--they are still people of their time. However, it's easy to assume "feminist" heroines have to have "aggressive" characteristics (rebelling, fighting, defiance) in order to be labeled as "feminist." Importantly, Austen's women are allowed to be vulnerable (they cry or struggle with their emotions) without that being a shameful thing. We also see different types of personalities celebrated: Jane Bennet, who is kind to everyone, is seen in a positive light rather than shamed for seeing good in everyone. Anne Elliot, who is regarded as "old," becomes more beautiful as she gets older and has a second chance of love. Emma Woodhouse is spoiled yet confident and assertive and "not likely to be well-loved" (paraphrase of Austen's commentary on Emma). Fanny Price is a shy person but still achieves her happy ending. Her heroines are real people who have flaws and get opportunities to learn and grow so that they can make their aspirations reality.

A unique take on the universal conflict of humans versus society: Austen's characters are bound by social norms of etiquette as well as a value system that idolizes wealth and connections above all else. Persuasion is a great story in part because it focuses on how Anne Elliot learns to follow her heart and avoid being "persuaded" by others (and by society) to follow a path that will not make her happy. She's had to live with the regret of following the well-intentioned but harmful advice of others (Austen notes that Lady Russell values social connections too highly) over her own feelings and judgment, nearly losing her chance to be with Wentworth. The romances are significant in that they reinforce the dignity and self-respect of the female heroines. To a certain extent, Austen's stories are realistic in that marriage is necessary for material well-being in a patriarchal society that provides few ways for women to provide for themselves. But most importantly, she also sees marriage as a means of affirming self-respect and dignity of the women. It's one of the few parts of their lives over which they have any control because they get to choose whom they marry (for the most part, unless the marriage is arranged). Their wish to marry for love is revolutionary because they dare to aspire for something more than wealth. They want their future partners to be their equals, someone who they can love and respect (or be totally honest with them) and who will provide the same in return. This line from Emma (the 2020 movie adaptation) sums it up: "I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Fame I do not want. Fortune I do not want. Consequence I do not want."

The difference between outward appearances and inner character is a fascinating theme that appears in several Austen novels, most notably Pride and Prejudice, where Wickham and Darcy are foils of each other ("one has got all the goodness, the other all the appearance of it"). A lot of the villains in Austen's novels are those who deceive others about their motivations or lie for their own advantage. A common trait these villains all have is that they have a charming outward appearance that masks their true natures; they don't look ugly nor are they unpleasant (ex. Wickham having great social skills, Willoughby following the trope of the knight rescuing Marianne as the damsel in distress but leaving behind many broken hearts, Mr. Elliott being charming and knowing exactly what to say and how to act but actually a swindler). In contrast, the "good" characters are honest, even at the cost of social displeasure, use manners/etiquette to show respect rather than deceive people, and act selflessly to prove their worth (actions speak louder than words). It can be summed up this way: "don't judge a book by its cover."

Psychology: Austen very effectively described hindsight bias when sarcastically commenting on how the village of Meryton turned on Wickham after the elopement with Lydia, when previously they regarded him as an "angel of light." She also understands how easy it is to manipulate peoples' minds through confirmation bias (Wickham telling Elizabeth all the dirt about Darcy, which she eagerly takes because she hates Darcy so much). She also knows that emotions can override people's judgment: "angry people are not always wise." It's fun seeing how her people are social animals who make flawed judgments based on first impressions/emotions.

The secondary characters: Mr. Collins the clergyman is the most famous and he's so funny because of his arrogance in spite of his low social position (he keeps worshiping Lady Catherine instead of respecting God). Another great one is Sir Walter Elliott, a nobleman who is vain and constantly checks himself in the mirror (the most obvious social criticism). Also Austen understood how women insult each other: through passive aggression (ex. Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst talking negatively about Elizabeth behind her back). Austen's female bullies use their talent and "good breeding" to intimidate or shame others.

The romance (no explanation needed): "You pierce my soul. I am half-agony, half-hope. I have loved none but you." I love how the couples learn about each other through many spirited conversations and become slowly fascinated with each other until they realize they are in love and then have a conflict between formality and their growing passion...or they fall back in love with each other...or they are friends who slowly realize that they are more than friends...okay I'll stop talking nonsense I've been trying so hard to be semi-scholarly

Tags: @talkaustentome @austengivesmeserotonin @austengeek @princesssarisa @appleinducedsleep @colonelfitzwilliams

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faroreswinds · 3 years

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I was looking at that support science video about Edelgard by Faerghast and I found some interesting comments I wanted to share.

In relation to a comment about Korea not liking Edelgard:

One Korean user explained it was because Edelgard's reasoning for starting the war reminded people of past events, because Korea has a history of Imperialism. But I'm not active in the Korean 3H fandom so I can't say how true or false that is.

In the JP fandom the general consensus is that she's popular as a waifu but that's about it. They don't care much for her motives, beliefs, or actions, they seem to agree that she's wrong. And it's not even "she's right in her own mind" they just say that she's wrong. They see her as a villain. The only CYL that matters is the first one, and even that had botting, and the last two CYL were the worst. I thought that maybe Marianne truly won in her own merit, but then a user admitted that he botted her, and at the beginning I didn't think it was true until her character actually got into the game and her banner did poorly. I know that that gatekeeper was better. JP players were pissed off with the results.

FEdelgard is not helping her popularity at all. Claude has reasonable units, Dimitri has reasonable units, Edelgard's they go out their way to make her meta and throw game balance right out the window. So I know people (read FEH whales) who've never played 3H but hate her because they feel the feh devs are trying too hard with her.

I know the Korean thing is true, but I wonder if the Japanese thing is true? I don’t run in any JP circles in the fandom so I don’t know.

The Imperialism angle has definitely affected her like / dislike in countries - I hear the same thing from a lot of European friends too. Which, there may be a whole thesis that can be written about connections between previous history of Imperialism / "Are we the good guys spreading good values?" versus "My country got invaded and we didn't forget" but - I'm not really the one to do it as that's a little too deep into Real Life there.

WRT Japanese fandom - most of them have been playing FE for a long time and are used to the tropes methinks, and FE4 is still held up as a gem over there so the Edelgard == Arvis is probably more apparent. There's a lot of cultural connotations that maybe didn't get translated over either but it is what it is.

And then:

Also a lot of countries who used to practice Imperialism don't really like her because a lot of them learned quite a while ago that the people they conquered neither wanted nor needed them there. As the personal and societal stories of the people who were conquered came out and became easily available to the public sentiment towards Imperialism has become negative, especially after WWII. So the fact that Edelgard's rhetoric is so similar to the imperialist rhetoric makes people wary of her.

The jp version also didn't shy away from treating Edelgard like a villain and IS hasn't been shy to about it either. It's when Treehouse gets added to the mix that things become muddled. For instance in the va stream for the English va the Treehouse interviewer called Dimitri a villain, and Edelgard the hero. Yeah the popularity of games like Genealogy, made people aware that even if Edelgard herself has good intentions it doesn't justify her actions. In fact, a common complaint from jp fans was that her ending was happy. They felt like Byleth in CF didn't earn it and that the devs chickened out of giving Edelgard a bad end.

That would be interesting if true, if the JP fandom echoes the same complaints as many English speaking fans.

#3h discourse #edelgard discourse #youtube comments

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

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LOVE IS LIKE - Books and Babes

PART 1 Books and Babes | PART 2 >

Summary: As he travels home to London with his assistant Leah, Henry recalls some moments from his past, including breakups, ladies and that one book that keeps getting into trouble.

Word count: 2.566

The song: Sweet - Love Is Like Oxygen

Disclaimer: mentions of one-night-stands, breakups, bullying, hopeless love and weed smoking. Other than that it’s pretty much just comedic fluff

LOVE IS LIKE... books and babes

‘Love is like oxy-gen,

You get too much,

you get too high..’

Henry mimed along with the music in his earpods, shuffling forward as the line of businessmen moved to the gate that would transport him to the plane taking him back to London Heathrow.

‘Not enough and you're gonna die--’

A short jab in his ribs made him look down at the glowing pink cheeks of his PA. She’d had to make a run for it.

‘Love gets you high-.’

With a quick fumble Henry killed the music, as he was greeted by one heavily panting Leah who pushed his lost book back in his large hands.

‘Found it.’ She smiled with another few long puffs, sweet sweat beading down her brow.

‘Leahhh.’ Henry sighed and shook his head with a laugh. ‘You know you didn’t have to do THAT.’

She chuckled. ‘And have you bother me all flight? Ohhh no, none of that.’

‘Like I’m such a pain.’ Henry winked, shuffling forward now the line before him was slowly funnelling down the long white tunnel into the plane.

‘Sometimes..’ Leah gave him a playfully chastising look before starting to quickly dig down her bag to find her ticket and passport.

‘Piers?’

Henry wanted to knock on his brother’s bedroom door, but halted, hearing something peculiar arising from the small confinement his oldest brother was hiding out in. Was that a..girl he heard giggling? Putting his ear flat against the rough oak wood, he listened more closely.

‘Do you like that?’ He heard his brother ask. The girl giggled again.

‘Stop it! Hahaha. Piers! Stop it!’

Henry felt his muscles tighten and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Was that Ellie? The blond girl that lived a street away? And was Piers...hurting her? His older brother truly was strange now he had full on hit puberty. Frowning, Henry looked down the hallway, his ears now picking up the sound of feet climbing up the stairs.

‘Did you call him for dinner yet?’ Marianne puffed out as she dragged a full basket of dirty laundry up the narrow steps, her face not managing to poke out over the large pile. Henry quickly straightened up and swallowed.

‘Eh..’ With a sharp knock he finally rapped on his brother’s door. ‘Piers! Dinner!’

Inside he could hear the panicked kerfuffle of what may have very well been clothing zipped up, but again Henry couldn’t be sure as he looked back at his mother who now lowered the basket in her arms. One conspicuously raised eyebrow from her was all it took to burn his cheeks a bright pink.

‘I wasn’t listening!’ He squeaked, though Marianne knew better.

‘Sure you did sweetie.’ She winked at him then tilted her head in the direction of Piers’ room. ‘Piers honey, don’t forget about what me and dad told you!’

With a swift swing the door was pulled open and one both terribly embarrassed and terribly annoyed Piers appeared in the door opening. ‘FUCK mom! Did you really have to --’

‘Language young man! ..Especially in front of ladies.’ Marianne looked over the shoulder of her lanky teen son to find the shy expression of one equally embarrassed Ellie.

‘Hello Mrs. Cavill...’ She squeaked before noticing the fiercely blushing young boy next to Marianne. ‘..Henry.’

Henry felt his chubby cheeks burn even more. Oh why was he like this with girls?

‘This is not working out...It’s not you, it’s me...’ Her words swam in the back of his head, tumbling around like his brain had turned on the dirty laundry setting of his conscience. Henry felt nauseated, tired and utterly empty as he lay here on the couch of his friend, his hands folded over the phone on his chest. He had thought she was the one. Starry eyed and hair black as night. That smile throwing him off whenever he saw it. She was still the one, right? Why oh why did she not want to work through this? Why did this have to be the end? Why did she have to decide for him how to feel about all this? Why not put in the darn fucking work?!

Looking to his right he heard the soft snoring of the puppy they had adopted only months ago. His body was all disproportionate with his floppy ears and oversized lanky paws. Henry sighed. At least he still had Kal.

‘Welcome Mr. Cavill and thank you for travelling with us.’ The pretty asian lady handed him back his boarding pass with a smile that was near inappropriately close to a flirt. Henry didn’t mind though. Mind a kind smile his large paw retrieved the most used book in his life: his passport, and stepped to the side as they checked Leah’s boarding pass as well. Leah did not receive that same flirtatious look, the asian lady barely offering Leah a glance as her eyes already roved on to the next business man who stepped in line.

Leah raised an eyebrow at him and Henry couldn’t help but offer his dear PA an even wider smile to compensate. ‘What’s the matter with you today?’ She asked, chuckling as her legs moved past him to start their way down the white tunnel of led lights and muffled blue carpet.

‘Absolutely nothing dear Leah.’ Henry smiled. Most women came and went in his life, but at least Leah was here to stay. Like Kal she was one of the few who were true friends to him.

In for it through thick and thin.

‘So what do you think of King Pellenore?’ Young Henry shuffled a little closer to the girl who was sitting on the other edge of the school yard bench. Rosy cheeked and hunched over in his hand-me-down blazer he eyed the sweet red haired girl that seemed to share his fascination with reading. They had worked together on a group project a week ago and he couldn’t help but be interested in her.

Finally she looked up, Anne, her brown eyes skittishly skimming over him before both their ears picked up the sound of a bunch of classmates laughing. Laughing at them. Him. With a small “o” on her mouth the girl quickly grabbed her belongings and rushed inside, leaving Henry alone on the bench, his hands nervously picking at his backpack as the other kids threw him some mean comments.

Fat Cavill. Nerd. Sissy. Fool!

Was he really such a failure with girls?

‘Kal! OH NO...KAL! Give that back!....naughtyyyy.’ Bent through his cracking knees Henry tried to reach for the book that his dog had snatched from the coffee table. But the pup was quick. With a cheeky side eye he glanced at Henry before sprinting down to the hallway, nails tapping on the slippery tile floor. He was near full grown now, but had antics in abundance - and sharp teeth to grab anything and everything he could drag around. Shoes, socks and his new favourite: books.

Chasing after the Akita, Henry followed him down to the kitchen; the home thankfully anything but large and with a few large steps he had managed to chase the dog into a corner, hands grabbing him by the collar before he pried the slimy book from his maw. ‘Oh well would you look at that..’ Henry sighed and tried to swipe some of the doggy drool off the leather bound cover. He had started to read King Arthur again, but his dog was clearly just as little a fan as his old classmates had been. Though of course the dog was not really being mean: he just thought it was time to go out, play, run, chase squirrels!

‘You are one cheeky bugger, you know that?’ Henry looked down at the Akita who sat down, looking up at him with big puppy eyes. It was hard to stay mad at him for long.

‘You sure you’re okay with this?’ Charlie settled down in the comfy hotel deck chair, the Californian sun burning down on their heads.

‘Why of course! I mean, I’ll still tease you like any good older brother. But you LOVE her you big Sissywat. Of course you’re going to marry her.’

‘Haa…’ Charlie sighed and looked at the pool where some women were lounging on sunbeds. ‘..well I guess here’s to the last days as a truly single man?’

Henry raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. ‘I really don’t get how people think you’re still single before the ring’s on the finger.’ He sniffled as Charlie shrugged.

‘It’s just a saying, Hen.’

‘Well single or not, you better take good care of her, will you?’

‘Of course! Each and every day, with every make-up stain on my blouse and every cold foot giving me first degree freeze burns beneath the bed sheets.’ Charlie clinked his beer with Henry’s.

‘For better or worse!’ The brothers laughed.

‘Don’t want to stay for breakfast?’ Henry sat up to see his late-night ladylove squeeze herself back into her skinny jeans. Her round butt cheeks didn’t seem to cooperate and he had to resist from pulling her back into the bed so he could convince her to stay.

‘No, thanks.’ She inhaled deeply so she could zip up the tight jean fabric.

‘Will I see you again?’ Henry internally scolded himself for sounding so insecure.

The woman shot him a confused look. ‘I don’t think I’ll be in London any day soon. It was fun though. Hey,’ She crawled up onto the bed and Henry rolled onto his back in hope she’d at least give him a kiss, her body folding over him. ‘ah there it is.’ With a swift hand movement she retrieved her bra from behind his pillow. ‘Gotta go, my cab is here.’ She pushed herself back off the bed and grabbed her bag. With one last glance and smile she was out the door. ‘Bye Superman!’

Henry felt his heart sink. Oh Henry you fool!

‘OH CRAP!’ The woman in the business class chair next to Henry shot up from her seat, hands pulling a book away from what appeared to be a fallen over drink. ‘Shitshitshit.’ She quickly bit her lip and anxiously started to look around for something to wipe down the mess. Henry killed the music in his ear.

‘Love is like.. --’

‘Oh dammit.’ She scrunched up her nose as she realised how much of the juice had fallen over her book; it was just about ruined, pages soaking up the berry purple colour.

‘Here.!’ Henry sat up and quickly grabbed some tissues from his travel bag; having a slightly messy dog taught you to always be prepared.

‘Thanks.’ The woman breathed, some staff now also joining in to help clean the mess and put the book on a tray before it’d contaminate anything else. It took a good minute before it was all cleaned and gone, the brown haired banana-sock-wearing business woman settling down in her chair with a sigh.

‘You alright?’ Henry asked. It was the first words they shared after a whole hour of flight, her attention first having been preoccupied with her laptop or..reading, which now seemed out of the question.

‘Yea..yea..’ She shook her head and looked at Henry. Mediterranean turquoise eyes hidden behind thick glasses, her low brown-haired ponytail slightly disheveled after being smushed into the seat.

‘Was it a good book?’

‘Yea..just some..old timer. Good ol’ ..King Arthur.’ She hushed the last words as if she felt awkward about admitting she was reading a children’s book.

Henry blinked for a moment as he looked at her, his brain short circuiting before he turned to rummage through his bags again.

‘Oh am I..Is there something on my face?’ She grabbed for her glasses and took them off to look at them with squinting eyes.

‘No no, please. Eh..’ Henry raised the chewed and mauled, but ever loved copy he had bought himself all those years ago. ‘..just..coincidence I guess.’ He reached out his rendition of King Arthur and His Knights to her.

‘Well have you there. Leather bound too!’

‘And absolutely destroyed, also. I think these books just ..beg..to be harmed haha.’

‘You have a dog? Or..’ She pushed her glasses back on her nose and let her finger trace over the large indents.. ‘..bear..perhaps?’

Henry laughed. ‘No no. Just a dog. A large one. But, deep inside still very much a sweet pup.’

‘Apologies.’ A flight attendant halted as the glassed woman turned to look up. ‘We are seeing to the drying of your book. Though I’m afraid we do not have anything to get the stain out.. -’

‘Oh, that’s quite alright. Please.’

‘Could we perhaps offer you a new refreshment?’

‘Some wine would be great. WHITE wine..’ The woman grinned. ‘..less chance of stains.’

The flight attendant nodded, before Henry quickly interjected. ‘I’ll have one as well.’

‘Chardonnay, Sauvignon?’

The woman turned to Henry and with a dapper smile he picked their choosing.

‘You just gotta be yourself man.’ Henry’s skinny, beanie-hatted friend spoke, inhaling the saturating smoke of his Red Dragon joint. The whole room was some kind of blue, bean bags scattered around the Californian apartment, people lounging and chilling in their daze.

Henry inhaled deeply and felt the wooze of a broken heart and drugs fight an odd battle inside his heavy chest. He felt both extremely relaxed and extremely wrong for being here; shouldn’t he be trying his best to get her back?

‘What if I never find anyone to be with me?’ The chubby boy inside him spoke, unsure blue eyes peering out at the ceiling that seemed to move and dance before him. The whole world had slowed down, but his mind tried its best to keep going.

‘Hey,’ His friend struggled up from his beanbag, making Henry fall to his side. ‘you’re a good guy mate. You hear me? You’re a GOOD guy. And if you’d be gay I’d totally..totally do you.’ His friend burst into a fit of giggles before he cleared his throat and shook his head to clear his mind. ‘No, but really. Don’t change for the girl, ever. Yea? You’re such a good guy.’

Henry wondered if this is what Kal felt like.

Good boy! Good boy!

‘Where’s your book?’ Leah had to speed up to keep up with the light long steps of Henry as they moved through the long airport hall for their connecting flight. Henry smiled and looked over his shoulder.

‘Who said it again? If you love something, let it go?’

Leah frowned and with a few more fast steps got in line with him. ‘You are a handful! You know that Cavill? I ran my lungs out to--’

‘Leah. It’s fine. I gave it to someone who I’m sure will love it even more than I could ever.’

Leah puffed and, from the way her cheeks already burned, Henry decided to slow his pace.

‘And if she doesn’t appreciate it, I can always buy a new one.’

‘She? Did I miss something?’ Leah hoisted up the bag on her shoulder and shook her head. ‘You and your romantic antics.’

‘Incorrigible Cavill.’ Henry mimicked her voice, before smiling down at her. Leah rolled her eyes.

‘You said it first!’

‘One very high man once told me I just have to be myself. So that’s what I’ll do. And who knows..’ he hinted at a Valentine’s day poster they passed by. ‘..Love is like oxygen!’

Go to PART 2 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14

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#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #valentine #love is like #love is in the air #tinge of angst and sadness #the sweet #kal #aunt leah

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daretosnoop · 3 years

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Chapter 8: The Cemetery Scavenger Hunt

Sorry for this being so late. extra long in exhange!

Chapter 8:

Nancy walked to the model table and peered around.

“Who do you think your uncle’s last denizen was? And where were they buried?”

“Don’t know about you, but I think we should check that big book of records over there,” Henry said pointing to a podium with a large book resting on it.

They went over to the book and opened it. The book was old with records dating back to the eighteen-hundreds. There were hundreds of buried people with their name and burial location recorded. Alongside each name was also the name of the Bolet in charge of the burial.

“If this is historical, go to the end and we’ll find the people your uncle buried,” Nancy said.

Henry flipped to the end and in the last entry, they saw the name of Tammy Tassleman and the location of Terra Siesta. Bruno’s signature was there and Henry brushed his thumb across the name. Nancy went back to the model and looked up the location.

“It’s the top right spot, towards the end of the burial grounds”.

She dashed out of the room with Henry right on her heels. When they got to the double doors, Henry hesitated.

“It’s raining,” he said.

“So?”

“So? We’ll get wet”.

Nancy shrugged. “If it bothers you get an umbrella. My trench coat is good enough”.

“And if the paper gets wet?”

Henry had a point and Nancy waited till he came back wearing a coat and holding an umbrella.

“Sorry, there’s only one”.

“Either way, I wouldn’t be able to hold it with my paper and notebook”.

They headed out towards Terra Siesta and went to Tammy Tassleman’s grave. On the grave, the engraving read, “Plagued deep with problems to a T”.

“Great, that tells us nothing,” Henry muttered.

Nancy thought over it. This was a way to inform Henry about his family and since they were starting with the most recent member, the engraving must be referring to Bruno. But, Bruno must have known that Henry would know nothing about him or his problems. So what were they looking for?

“What does he mean by T?” Nancy muttered.

“Generally, when people get stressed, this area,” Henry said drawing a line down from his forehead to his nose. “And this area,” he drew a line across his eyebrows, “get oily from the stress”.

“I don’t think your uncle was into beauty routines”.

“No,” Henry said slowly, then leaned towards the grave and pointed to the name. “But the mark creates a T. So it’s a matter of which T. Tammy or Tassleman?”

“How do we determine that?”

“Guess, I guess”.

Saying so, Henry moved his finger across the first T. A loud clicking noise came and the name Tammy dropped down to reveal an eyeball and a letter labeled ‘Henry’.

“Did I just desecrate a grave?” Henry whispered, eyes wide.

“Um, it might be fake?”

Henry yanked the eyeball and letter and quickly attached the name back.

“Sorry Tassleman,” he muttered and both he and Nancy hurried away.

They went back to the double door and stood on the threshold, each leaning on opposite sides. Nancy watched the rain while Henry read the letter aloud.

Henry,

This is your uncle Bruno. You must not remember me. You must hate me. I haven’t been a good uncle. You must have lots of questions too. Well, let’s start with the easiest one. You can recognize me from the portrait in the living room. I’m the one dressed in military uniform holding a hat. It’s a younger picture of me, but I still look the same, just with wrinkles and white hair. You must be wondering why I treated you the way I did. The truth is complicated, and hard. I didn’t know if you inherited the Bolet trait. Didn’t even know what to tell you if you did. And your parents. I’m so sorry Henry. Please forgive me. No, don’t forgive me. I deserve your anger. I’ve spent most of my life running away from you.

The truth is, only a Bolet who can hear the spirits can teach another. Everyone else had to find ways to support the family while the spiritual Bolets focused on their skills. I went into the military at a young age because, well, because I was jealous and angry at your father. I was ashamed of being older yet not having the trait. It was a long time ago, but I’m still paying for that shame. From the military I went to dental school and made a life for myself. Since I didn’t know what side you would fall into, I just provided you with the path I went into. I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted. How could it be?

Henry wanted to crumple the note. It was just sobs and guilt! If his uncle was truly sorry, then he should have done something about it. He should have talked to Henry, told them the truth, anything. Not send him on some mindless treasure hunt! He wouldn’t even be doing this if it wasn’t for Nancy. He looked up and saw Nancy staring calmly at him.

“What’s the next clue?” he asked.

Nancy looked down at her paper. “It just says, your mother always complained of your father’s blank”.

They went back to the funeral book and looked under the names Claude Bolet had signed on. Scrolling through each name, Nancy stopped when she reached the name Constance Norring.

“Sounds like constant snoring, which fits I guess,” she said.

Henry peered over to the name and saw the burial ground.

“Crowing Crypts, I know where it is, let’s go”.

They rushed back out to the cemetery and took a sharp right once they entered. They found Constance Norring’s name and read the epitaph, “Love birds from beginning to end”. The grave had birds around the name. Nancy touched each bird until she felt one with a button. She pushed it and the name plate shifted to the right and another eye and letter were found. Nancy grabbed both and handed the letter to Henry. This time Henry didn’t even wait. He tore open the letter and began to read aloud.

Claude Bolet and Marianne Prett. These were your parents. Claude was my younger brother and I adored him. He was so shy and quiet. He loved to help others. Mother was worried that he was too sensitive, but I didn’t care. Claude was bullied a lot and grew more reserved. He was easily pushed into doing things he didn’t like. By then, I was in military school and my initial perspective had changed. Like mother, I also grew worried about Claude. Luckily, he met your mother. She was an arborist, loved to spend her time outdoors in the woods away from people. She was the complete opposite of Claude, but they made room for each other’s idiosyncrasies. As per tradition, Claude focused on the burial grounds and spirits while Marianne supported them. Marianne didn’t fully understand the existence of spirits, but she knew that it was important to Claude which was enough for her to support him. They were very happy, even more when you were born. Claude would spend all day with you, carrying you around the cemetery while he worked. People were worried about bringing a baby to funeral homes, but Claude and Marianne didn’t care. You were a Bolet and you were being cared for. Their accident. I’m so sorry Henry. I blame myself. If I hadn’t—Claude was so kind about it. I’m so sorry.

Henry’s voice warbled by the end of the sentence. He was going to cry. He was going to cry in front of Nancy Drew, again. He never cried this much in front of anybody, not even Summer. There were no rooms for tears in boarding school, military school, and people didn’t care in university. And he never felt comfortable crying in front of Summer, though she never said he couldn’t. He noticed something white through his watery eyes and saw that Nancy was handing him a tissue. He took it and she turned and walked away. When he felt a little better, Henry started to walk only to realize that Nancy hadn’t gone far herself. She just moved out of his vicinity. He quickly covered her with the umbrella. She looked up and smile at him, then pulled out a chocolate bar.

“Helps every time,” she said as she snapped the bar in half and gave it to Henry. They stood there under the umbrella, watching the rain and eating half-melted warm chocolate.

“Look at us. We desecrated two graves and are now eating chocolate, in a cemetery, in the dark. We are inviting a haunting,” Henry grumbled.

“Are they coming?”

Henry nodded. He didn’t know when the whispers—though it would be more appropriate to call them spirits now—started to come again, but they were roaming around him once again.

“They’re not saying anything of importance though, just the same words over and over again”.

“What are they?”

“Skull, man, find, hidden, her,” Henry paused, concentrating on what he heard. “They’re also saying some new stuff. Help and food”.

“Skull could mean Dr. Buford. Man could be any man. Find could be the Whisperer. Hidden could be the Whisperer too. And her could mean Renee,” Nancy suggested then shrugged. It was a shot in the dark but if those spirits were aware of what was going on, then it could be that they were trying to tell Henry as best they could.

“And what would help and food mean?”

“Help could be them trying to ask for help or tell us their trying to help. Food,” Nancy laughed. “Maybe they’re just hungry or can detect your hunger!”.

“We didn’t have dinner did we?”

“We just had chocolate”.

“That’s not dinner!”

Nancy shrugged again. Henry looked hard at her then asked, “Nancy, how often do you skip meals?”

“Look, when you’re on a deadline, you don’t always have time to eat”.

Henry pulled Nancy‘s arm and started to walk back to the manor. “Nothing doing, we’re eating”.

“But the graves! At least let’s check the next clue,” Nancy cried as she stumbled after him.

“Nothing doing private. I know you. You’ll just take the clue and carry on, forgetting to eat.” He looked back at her. “We can’t have our prime detective fainting because she forgot to eat”.

They went back to the kitchen and discussed their clues over Renee’s rice and beans.

“The next clue is,” Nancy started after dinner, “Your grandmother, Esme, took pride in your grandfather who was never too early or too late”. They were standing in front of the big records book again. Henry flipped through the pages, finding his grandmother’s name ‘Esme Bolet’.

“Never too early, never too late,” he muttered. He stopped and pointed to a name in the book.

“Justin Thyme! Sorrow Park,” Henry exclaimed and hurried out the door. Nancy kept up with him and they dashed past the gardens, past a gnarly crooked tree, past the Bolet mausoleum, and finally reached a plain gate labeled sorrow park. They entered the burial ground and searched for Justin Thyme. Nancy found it, called over to Henry, and began to read the epitaph.

“One too firm, the other too loose. Together they were just”.

There were thyme leaves all around the nameplate and Henry felt around till he found the button. A whirring sound came and, once again the name plate came away revealing another letter and eyeball.

Henry,

Esme Bolet and Dariel Abero were your grandparents. Your grandfather, Dariel, was very old fashioned, came from an old family too. He was a business tycoon, always investing into metal and electricity. Very calculated. Very stern. For him, life was a series of calculations. So when he married your grandmother, everyone thought it was for the name. The Abero’s had more money, but no history or legacy like the Bolet family. Your grandmother was the complete opposite of your grandfather. She invested into people, stories, and assistance. She had to as the carrier of the Bolet legacy. She hesitated in accepting your grandfather’s proposal because any person who marries into the Bolet family needs to believe and support what we do—especially those who carry the Bolet duties. Esme wasn’t sure that Dariel supported her. But your grandfather fell hard and fast for your grandmother, and even though his family opposed the marriage, they had no say saying as he was the one who brought wealth to the family. When your grandmother finally told your grandfather of who she was and what she does, he just blinked, nodded, and asked to be included for the next time she went out to work. Though he could never help her, he always tried to with his inventions. They are everywhere in the manor. They cared for us, but did not always have a lot of time for us. You can see a picture of your grandmother in the living room. She’s dressed in red and is holding a puppy. That puppy became my best friend.

Henry looked up and saw Nancy scrolling through her phone. She held up a picture to his face.

“I think this is a dog Bruno was talking about. Bess found it when she snooped through Zeke’s”.

The dog looked to be a Labrador retriever. It was sitting beside a young boy who smiled in front.

“It must have been taken before my dad was born,” Henry said, then sighed. He stood there in silence watching the rain with a hand placed behind his neck.

“What’s the next one?” he asked after a while.

“There’s only one more. It’s just a name, Alisson Bolet”.

“So that would put us with nine eyeballs. Not much. We still need sixteen more”.

Henry straightened his back then nodded at Nancy to lead the way back to the record book. Once inside, Henry started to flip the pages to Allison Bolet.

“She was all dressed up with no place to go”.

“Manny Kinn,” Henry said, immediately finding the answer and the burial ground. “Writhing Roots, let’s go”.

They retraced their steps and went left from the crooked tree. There they saw the entrance to Writhing Roots and a set of fancy mini mausoleums. Manny Kinn’s grave was right at the entrance.

“Man has many roles, but few purposes,” Nancy read aloud. “Kind of a dismal way to end this game”.

There were no designs around the nameplate, so Henry felt around. Eventually, he pushed the nameplate and heard a whirring sound as the nameplate fell down. He reached in and grabbed the eyeball and letter.

“I’m guessing the automation was done by your grandfather?”

“Probably,” Henry said as he opened the letter.

This is the last letter Henry,

I’ve told you what I know about the Bolets, namely me, your parents, and grandparents. There were others, but I’m afraid we Bolets don’t seem to keep records of our own existence as much as the city does. I’ve only gleaned a little about our history with spirits. Our legacy is shrouded in mystery by now, but the only detail that remains strong with each generation is that every whisperer needs a listener, and well, I guess the Bolet’s have always been very good at listening.

We don’t know how we got this ability, no doubt others have similar abilities. Some say it can be learned, others argue that to learn the skill is to have an impure form from which consequences are inevitable. I’ve seen people from both groups, as well as those who lost themselves in the spirits. That is the one thing I can teach you Henry—be careful. Too much time around the spirits can make you lose yourself. That’s what happened to your great grandmother, Allison. The spirits do their best to help you but they do not realize the toll it takes on our bodies and mind. I never saw my grandmother, and mother never talked much about it beyond cautioning us to always keep one step in the present.

This is all to say Henry, that nothing of what you’ve learned should impact your future. Don’t trap yourself down to expectations no one has of you. Don’t live thinking someone is going to applaud you. Don’t live in the past, and don’t live for the future. I’ve made both these mistakes and look at how pitifully I’m trying to resolve the issues its caused. If you hate me, don’t think I did this in an attempt to make you like me. I’ve made far too many mistakes, crossed far too many lines, for such a childish thought to occur.

You can sell this house, the cemetery, your inheritance. You can do whatever you want Henry, because it’s your life and after all the mistakes I made from living mine trying to appease others, I’m ending this letter by giving you the ability to choose whatever you want.

You can never disappoint ghosts,

Bruno Bolet

Henry sighed. The scavenger hunt felt useless. All that work, just to be told to make his own decisions. He looked at Nancy and saw that she too looked miffed at what the letter had said. They stood in the cemetery as rain pelted down on the umbrella and the humidity caused their shirts to cling to their back. Suddenly, Henry felt tired. He wanted to just go to bed. Maybe his uncle was right. Forget the whole Bolet mess, deal with the assets, then high-tail it out of there. And go where exactly? Aside from the graduation ceremony, Henry had technically finished school. He had nothing keeping him at the college town. He looked around the cemetery. There was nothing awaiting him here either. There were the voices, but they said nothing new, and for once, Henry did not want them to be around him.

“Should we go and feed Iggy,” Nancy asked cutting through his thoughts.

Right. He forgot about Iggy. Despite his drowsed state, Henry nodded and they began to move towards the garden. Once there, Henry made a detour towards the left-hand side. A small dirt path existed and led towards a lone loquat tree.

“Iggy likes loquats. Almost forgot they were here,” he said to Nancy as they both crouched down.

Nancy plucked one loquat, put it in her pocket, and got up. Henry looked up at her confused.

“You’re taking just one?”

“It would be rude to take more”.

Henry looked her incredulously. “As opposed to inviting yourself over, snooping through my desk, asking personal questions, eavesdropping, and suspecting people of murder?”

“Hey, you offered to let me stay,” Nancy exclaimed.

“So you’re not denying that you were being rude”.

“Okay okay, I get carried away, sometimes”.

Henry just rolled his eyes and plucked a few more loquats. He got up and handed them over to Nancy.

“There, now you’re not being rude, and I just saved us a trip from going up and down the secret study”.

They went back up to the secret study and placed a loquat by the open duct.

“Here Iggy, Iggy, Iggy,” Nancy sang. “We’ve got a nice treat for you”.

“Iguana’s understand English?” he teased then yawned. “What a discovery I’ve made today”.

Nancy elbowed him, but before she could say anything, they heard a soft slap-slap-slap and a head appeared. Iggy.

Nancy shot Henry an I-told-you-do face before fishing through her bag. She pulled out the envelope and was about to hand it over to Iggy, when Henry stopped her.

“Wait, Iggy steals paper. If we give this to him, he’ll just take it thinking it’s for him”.

Henry then nodded to a small brown wardrobe.

“Last time we were here, I noticed that wardrobe. Inside there are outfits. I think my uncle meant this when he said he’d been training Iggy to retrieve letters”.

Nancy looked up at him confused.

“Think about it,” Henry said. “Who retrieves mail?”

“The mailman”. Nancy then looked towards the wardrobe as realization dawned on her.

“Oh, don’t tell me we have to dress Iggy up as a mailman?” she asked, but Henry had already opened the wardrobe. Sure enough, there were different outfits hanging on little hangers. It looked like a doll’s house.

Henry took out the mailman ensemble and turned towards Nancy.

“Ready to dress an Iguana?”

Nancy just held out her hand and Henry gave her half the clothes. They were expecting Iggy to squirm, move about, even bite them. But the iguana just kept still as they put on the costume. It wasn’t much. Just a blue mailman hat, tie, and a little black bag to hold the mail. Nancy couldn’t help it, she snapped a picture of Iggy.

“This is ridiculous,” Henry said as they watched Iggy. But the iguana seemed to know what to do because he went back into the vents and came back with a letter. Nancy took it as Henry fed Iggy another loquat and scratched his head. Iggy closed his eyes in contentment as Nancy read aloud.

MILO Research and Technology.

Dear Mr. Bolet:

I have completed my review of the data gleaned from the tests I ran last Tuesday on the crystalline replica of the human skull which you and Ms. Amande brought in. What follows is the simple answer regarding its authenticity which the two of you requested.

My analysis showed that the skull, while made of remarkably pure crystal, was cared using modern instruments. In layman’s terms, the skull is a fake.

Again, thank you for allowing Milo Research and Technology to serve you.

Sincerely,

Chas Milo

Henry looked at Nancy. “So the skull’s a fake?”

Nancy didn’t reply. She just stared hard at the letter and Henry guessed she was deep in thought. So much for the book and scavenger hunt. His uncle must have really lost it to think Henry would have been able to piece together this kooky mess. It was ludicrous, stupid, a waste of time, and to be honest, Bruno’s words did nothing by confirm a deep seeded feeling in Henry. He tried to talk to Nancy again.

“I’m guessing my uncle wrote all this before he got the letter from Chas Milo. Must have died from reading the letter, seeing how he bet everything on this skull,” Henry said and crossed his hands.

Slowly, Nancy looked up at him. He expected anger, embarrassment, even shame, but all he saw was confusion and a hint of fear.

“Henry,” Nancy began slowly. “Don’t you think it’s odd that your uncle would include his housekeeper in such an affair?”

Henry shrugged. “Maybe she was just there as support?”

Nancy shook her head. “Chase Milo said that Bruno and Renee brought the skull in, that means Renee knows about the skull. If she was there as support, she would have known, at the very least, that the skull was for you. And if she knew that, then why didn’t she give it to you directly?”

“Chas Milo said the skull was a fake, maybe uncle Bruno tossed it out and told Renee to forget about it?”

Nancy shook her head again. “No, Dr. Buford mentioned that Bruno was reading a letter when he got the heart attack”. She shook the letter she was holding. “A letter Iggy stole. The date is also close to when your uncle died, which means, that Bruno didn’t know beforehand, which means that Renee wouldn’t have known at all seeing as Iggy stole the letter before anyone else could read it”.

Henry paused, Nancy had a point. Scratch that, she was right. He was astounded by her observation and ability to trace and connect the small details.

“Looks like we’ll have to talk to Renee tomorrow”

Nancy nodded then rubbed her eyes and yawned.

“Exhausted?”

Nancy nodded.

“Go get some sleep”.

Nancy nodded again but didn’t move and Henry saw that she had fallen asleep while still standing. He quickly opened the exit and ushered Nancy out the door into his room. He then opened the door to the main hall and led Nancy to her room. Luckily, she woke up enough to nod in thanks and go into her room. Once Nancy was inside, Henry felt his body ready to collapse onto the floor. He managed to drag his feet back into his room and flop onto the bed. He quickly checked his phone and through blurry eyes, saw red notifications. He put his phone done, turned his back to it, and succumbed to sleep.

#Legend of the Crystal Skull #cry #nancy drew #henry bolet

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years

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How they act around their crush: GD edition

[This one’s for @glass-grapes. I saw your submission and am completely psyched that you love my blog! I know that I’ve only recently had it kick-off with a few posts, but I have been wanting to start one of these since January. Hope this is to your liking! (p.s I didn’t know if I should do pre or post time skip, so I did a little dabbling into both]

Claude:

We all know Claude here is both a go-getter and a tease

If he finds you interesting then there’s no reason for him to hide it. A battle of wits never hurt anyone, and boy do you two fight well

He is s a s s y. If you’re chatting with some other students he might stick his nose into the conversation to toy with you. It’s all in good fun, right? Just a little mini-game on his way to achieving bigger things

That’s what he tells himself

Some days he finds you a bit too alluring, and can’t help being self conscious of the other people around

Fiddles with his braid when you throw him for a loop

Will pay extra special attention to you in battle, and makes excuses to the prof. for why you should be near him. He really is a snake

Post-Timeskip he hides his bias even more. Not enough to fool his close comrades, but enough to avoid you receiving any extra attention from the enemy

Sometimes slips items in your room to distract from the stress. Tea, a new blanket, etc.

During the five year gap he keeps track of your whereabouts. After Garreg Mache fell he decided that his dream would take priority as planned, but also believed that one day you would be at his side

Wasn’t surprised at all to see you at the reunion, but that familiar urge to tug his hair returned too

Judith and Nader have already heard about you prior to your meeting. Much to his dismay they view his buried feelings as open range comedy

Lorenz:

We all know how Lorenz acts when he finds someone of interest. The guy is a huge flirt which causes the professor wayyy too much stress

He’s not as in-tune with his sense of romance as you would think. In the early stages he’ll treat you the same as all the other ladies: a potential partner for house Gloucester.

Date offerings, frilly words, gifts, acts of kindness. Ah tis but the duty of a noble, yes?

No.

One day he lets that stubborn side of his personality slip out, and you come back at him with just as much fire. He becomes so angered after it, but somehow hearing the words from you hurt more than if someone else were to say them

That’s when he knows that he’s in deep, and from then on he treats you more gently. He’ll watch his tongue around other women, and sets his sights on only you. His mannerisms are the same as before, but now he tries to learn more about you as a person vs. just the cold hard statistics

He’s a blusher. He has a naturally light pigmentation so it shows.

After the time-skip he’ll watch you like a hawke. Do you like his new hair cut? Surly it’s an improvement from before sorry bro it’s not

Sets his dignity aside to request that you be given a hexlock shield during battle, or placed near him. Claude won’t let him live it down

Ignatz:

He m i g h t avoid you, but please don’t take it the wrong way. That’s just how he is, you know?

Young Ignatz isn’t that confident in himself. You’re...well ‘you’. And he’s...well, ‘him’

Oddly enough he confides in HIlda of all people. It originally began with wanting to see if she was still on stable duty with him, but ended up with him working and her talking

When you’re nearby he chooses not to speak unless spoken to. If you didn’t know his tells he’d come off cold, but one look at his hands wringing together just proves he was nervous

Byleth puts you two on cooking duty together: que panic. He legit grovels at their feet to pick someone else. They don’t, and that evening he sketches a wonderful picture of you sifting through different seasonings

On your birthday he struggles to give you the gift he prepared. It ends up with Lionie giving you it while he watches from afar.

When you’re older he is much more verbal with his opinions

More often than not he lets those honey-coated words slip out, which usually end up with him excusing himself quickly

Invites you to join him during downtime at least once a week. Every day could be his last, and goddess forbid yours. He wants to spend time with you even if he isn’t the most graceful companion never mind that he’s a smooth-talking mofo

Raphael:

If there’s one thing Raphael is good at, it’s showing that he cares

The boy is a giant muscular teddybear. He will carry your things, he will spar with you, he will eat anything you cook without complaint, and he will hug you; hard.

Unlike everyone else he’s pretty open with his feelings. Life is short, you know?

If you make him particularly bashful he’ll laugh loudly. More so to cover up his own embarrassment than because he finds the situation actually humorous

Adopts this habit of constantly asking if you need anything. The guy loves to dote on people, and lookie here you’re the perfect target

Remembers all important dates like a pro. On your birthday he drops a gift right on your desk first thing in the morning

Goddess forbid anyone gives you trouble. Without the smile on his face he looks the murder type, and the guy uses it to his advantage. He will happily escort you anywhere you need to go

Once his sister is settled he might honestly stick with you during that five year gap. He’s made his feelings painfully obvious, and you haven’t chased him off. Why not stick around?

Hilda:

Yo she’s clingy

She knows you have to be a catch and a half to steal her heart, so who knows who else that you’ve smooth talked

Just like everyone else she’ll still get you to do her bidding...but, maybe a smidge less

She feels guilty, but won’t show it

Hilda will do all in her power to not let the news reach her family. The last thing she needs is Holst sending her more letters, or worse: showing up at the monastery

Y’all she will don her best perfume for you. She will push all her work onto Cyril and drag you to have lunch with her. This is normal Hilda behavior so she has no reason to be shy

Will flirt openly and proudly. If you recuperate she’ll go gossip to Marianne about how you’re ‘totally smitten’ with her

Post-skip she’s not much different. Most of her time is spent doing what she can for the cause, but when you see each other she’s more bold.

Like always she doesn’t like to have expectations pushed onto her. She does have one for herself though, and it’s to stay by your side.

Marianne:

During the academy years she tends to admire from afar

Her favorite memories are of when the professor signed you both up for choir practice. She loves your voice, and it was a time where there wasn’t any pressure for conversation

As time passes she’ll become less adverse to talking. Quiet greetings will be whispered when you cross paths, and occasionally you two have lunch together

Marianne is not as reserved as people assume her to be. She’s just had a rough time, and if you take things slow with her then she’ll gradually have a stronger presence in your life. She hopes that this comes true for you two

Eye contact hasn’t always been her forte. She does try to maintain it with you though

Her feelings remain at a stalemate through most of the academy days. Only when she bypass’ some more personal-issues does she let her emotions go free

About halfway through the war period she changes. Her stance is more vertical, and she becomes the one to take initiative in your relationship

She’ll still blush upon any physical contact, and in some cases she’ll lose her breath when you talk. Don’t take the momentary silence as a bad thing, she’s okay.

Occasionally she’ll be restless and unable to sleep, worrying about the future she now has in her grasp. You might find her scouring for a cup of chamomile late in the night

Lysithea:

She’ll deny herself immediately. For Lysithea the future is an anomaly. One of which that no amount of studying or research can uncover.

It’s painfully obvious that there’s a spark between you two. Anyone can see it, and Hilda has pestered her many times regarding confessing

If the situation was a bit different, she would. Lysithea is no push over, but she also doesn’t want to invest time into something that will bear no fruition

She keeps her cool around you for the most part...or at least until you’re out of hearing distance

Then she completely loses composure. Did someone say clammy hands? Because hers get slicker than lorenz’s hair gel

Leads to stress eating, not gonna lie. There are many late night trips to the mess hall, and many angry cooks over the missing sweets

Times are different post-timeskip though. She’s a bit more reluctant to let these feelings go

Occasionally there’s some open flirting on her part. If you recuperate then it becomes more frequent and less forced. The sassy banter between you two becomes the deer’s free entertainment

Leonie:

She’s commonly been viewed as ‘one of the guys,’ for her personality. So she’s very insecure about getting friend zoned

It’s not like she was actively searching for romance. It just happened, you know? One day something just struck a chord

She never took the time to picture sharing a life with someone. Most of her life has been spent worrying about her village, or working hard to attain some kind of recognition from the Captian

For a split second she considers going to Byleth for some advice. Now isn’t the time for school-girl crushes. Now is the time to be forging a path to the future

Decides to completely ignore the ache she feels when you’re nearby. Just...lets it go.

She’ll put hella distance between you two. The only time she’ll initiate contact is during sparring

After the timeskip she stays this way too. Well, until HIlda calls her out on her bullsh*t (if you haven’t noticed from all these. Hilda is a perceptive little cookie)

Just like anyone she’ll go through the moral dilemma of deciding to confess or not. She instead chooses to just let her feelings do as they please, and if something happens then it happens

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candlelight27 · 4 years

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Chapter 2: Reach For My Hand

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: Objetification (?), anxiety attack, curse words

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4562

AO3: Reach For My Hand

A/N: Sorry it took too long. My writing process is unpredictable. Besides, it was a boring chapter at first and I think I managed to make it interesting? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you have suggestions, requests, theories or whatever leave a comment of come talk to me on tumblr - same username.

Your first week of university had passed all at once. Time flew between jotting down notes, going back and forth, meeting all your new teachers and, overall, trying to survive. Thankfully, Lysithea had shared all her notes with you, so you weren’t that lost – since Claude was keen on gossiping with you in the middle of lessons…

…And since Sylvain proved himself to be a huge distraction. And an active one, in fact.

The ominous day Byleth paired you with him, Sylvain had approached you after class. Hands in his pockets, his chest a little puffed and a glamorous grin on his face, he had the perfect pose to be on the cover of a teenage magazine. And with his casual tone, he nonchalantly asked you for your number..

“We better stay in touch to finish the project”, he added. Your heart skipped a beat – or two or three – and you nodded. You hoped that excitement would go unnoticed. There was the slightest shyness in his voice, but you discarded the thought. It was absurd to consider you’d awaken even the smallest amount of insecurity in him, regarding the fact that he was the embodiment of confidence.

“Sure”, you smiled and grabbed a pen. Sylvain stopped you muttering a ‘wait’ and took out his phone. He opened a tab for a new contact.

“Here, write your number.” You took it and started writing. Then, it hit you that Sylvain actually knew how you were called. He had edited the blank space, where you saw all the letters that spelt your name standing triumphantly. He even had added a heart emoji next to it. So, even if he had never acknowledged your existence, he was aware of it.

“Write me whenever you feel like it,” he said with a wink. Your name rolling out of his lips was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

As he went away and followed Mercedes out of the classroom, Claude rose his eyebrows.

“Well, that went better than expected. Our plan is running smoothly,” he hit you with his elbow.

“Your plan, Claude. I never agreed to it,” you sighed, while he just chuckled and let it be.

But that wasn’t the end of the phone matter. Not at all.

The next day you met your new teacher, Catherine. She was interesting, and she made her lessons about the Evolution of Warfare quite enjoyable – which was itself a great deed, in your opinion. However, there was a downside, and it was that the blonde woman talked your ears off with her millions of tales that weren’t that interesting and definitely not exam material.

It was early and you were barely awake when you felt the light vibration of a message on your mobile phone. Who could be at that hour? You looked next to you. Marianne was as still as a corpse, Claude was probably asleep and Lysithea was fiercely taking notes, so it was not any of them trying to be discreet. Ingrid would never use her phone during a lesson, so she was ruled out too.

With caution, you unlocked the screen of your phone and placed it on your lap.

Unknown 09:45: Are you bored too?

Did Dorothea change her number again?

You 09:46: Who are you?

Unknown 09:46: Look right 😊

You did. And you came across Sylvain waving at you. You saved his number quicker than you’d like to admit.

You 09:48: Good morning, Sylvain

You 09:48: And yes, I’m bored to death

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a smile gracing Sylvain’s countenance, and you felt like a schoolgirl all over again.

Sylvain 09:49: Is Claude asleep? For real?

You 09:50: Most likely…

And that was the beginning of your academic doom.

It turned out that Sylvain was a compulsive text-writer. He wasn’t shy about sending you millions of messages at any time. And you, foolish as always, responded every last one of them. Against your will, as you typed on your phone, butterflies flied around your stomach.

The first days, he limited your interactions strictly to Catherine’s lessons and breaks. But as the week progressed, you found yourself going to sleep a little later just to share a few more words with the infamous flirter.

You two didn’t have meaningful conversations at all. You talked about high school, books, films, you shared jokes and silly occurrences… Yet it made you feel that an already existing connection tying you with Sylvain was awakening. It was absurd, to think there was a bond that had been formed before between both of you, but you couldn’t cast aside that sensation. Like a distant memory of a dream you once had. Like the primal needs our bodies feel. You felt there was something that linked you with him, and it was ancient and significant.

When Claude discovered what you and Sylvain were up, he was delighted.

“Don’t you realize that’s just what we needed for our plan?”, he opened his eyes and leaned in closer, so your classmates wouldn’t hear him.

“Again, your plan, Claude”, you shook your head. “And you seem to be making it up as it goes.”

“Well, that’s my charm, darling,” he laughed, and went on playing with his phone. You threw him your best deadpan look.

With so many distractions, the weekend arrived in the blink of an eye. It was rather cloudy when you woke up, and late, because it was Saturday and you didn’t have any obligation. You rolled in bed, throwing away your blanket and yawning.

Then, you heard a thud next to you. It was your phone. You remembered you had been talking with Sylvain when you fell asleep. You deliberated if maybe it wasn’t better to ignore him for a day. You were starting to get your hopes up, and you wanted to avoid another disappointment. But as if your hands moved on their own, you opened the conversation to see what you had missed.

Sylvain 01:13: What do you mean you HAVEN’T seen Loog and the Maiden of Wind???

You 01:15: ??

You 01:15: What’s wrong?

Sylvain 01:17: It’s Ingrid’s favourite film!

Sylvain 01:18: More like, she loved complaining about how they got all the scenes from the book wrong

Sylvain 01:18: Still she made me watch it like 1819341973 times

You 01:19: She wanted me to watch it

You 01:20: I just happen to have really good excuses 😉

Sylvain 01:25: Well you are going to watch it with me

You 01:26: Why would I?

Sylvain 01:27: It’s called solidarity

You 01:27: I don’t have that

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: ☹

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: Please, suffer with me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: C’mon I promise I’ll be good, I won’t bite you

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: Unless you ask me 😉😉😉

(Unread) Sylvain 01:35: So I’m going to believe that you’re asleep and are not in fact ignoring me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:34: Good night, princess <3

You sighed and got up. What were you getting yourself into? And what were you trying to achieve? ‘Don’t implicate yourself too much’, has said Claude, but you were already in too deep. But your friend probably knew as much and was plotting something entirely different.

Ignoring your best judgment, you started typing.

You 09:53: Good morning!

Goddess, you felt stupid.

“Good morning”, greeted Ingrid when you left your room. “I got some pastries for breakfast.”

“Nice.”

You sat next to her and started to munch on the first sweet piece you found. The television filled the room with a comforting background noise. You were half listening the weather and the news. Your phone suddenly beeped, indicating you had a new text message. You looked at the screen with discretion and unlocked it with an unbothered appearance, trusting Ingrid wouldn’t ask questions.

Sylvain 10:01: I unilaterally decided we’re watching the film today, princess

You couldn’t hide your expression, and Ingrid looked your way.

“Who are you texting?”, she tried to use a teasing tone. “I’ve never seen you so hooked on your phone. Is it Claude?”

There was no use in lying, so you’d answer thruthfully. You could even get some intel about Sylvain without revealing your game if you played your cards well.

“Oh, no. It’s Sylvain?” You feigned disinterest.

“Is he bothering you? I could scare him off,” she offered, with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What? Don’t do it.” A small and nervous laughter escaped your mouth at the idea.

“Don’t tell me he’s done it”, Ingrid said, and she rested her head on her hands, her attention focused on you.

“What has he done?”

“Charming you!”, she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ingrid, I was paired with him for some project. That’s all,” you assured her.

“Well, just don’t fall for him. He can be very disgusting sometimes. He’s a good friend, but he’s not a good boyfriend.” She hummed. “As far as I know, of course.”

“Don’t worry,” you smiled, appeasing, “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s weird, though. He never texts anyone on his own accord. He always says it’s a waste of time.”

“It’s for the project. No biggie,” you affirmed, yet you knew you’d have to keep in mind that fact.

“Ah, that must be it,” Ingrid shrugged. “He may be always chasing skirts, but he’s very diligent with academic matters.”

You 10:15: I have a better idea

You 10:16: Let’s go to the library and start Byleth’s project

You weren’t ready for watching a film with him. In the best-case scenario, you’d faint like Bernadetta on your high school days.

Sylvain 10:17: The library? In this era of technology?

You 10:17: Yes.

Sylvain 10:18: Okay, fine

Sylvain 10:19: You are right, old-fashioned university professors love their bibliographies filled with books :/

Sylvain 10:19: But you owe me one film

You 10:19: … we’ll see.

You 10:19: Let’s meet at the library at 6 p.m.

“I’m going to the library with Sylvain today,” you commented to Ingrid.

“Do you mind if I invite Ashe over?”

Well, you weren’t expecting that. You noted mentally to compare notes with Dorothea, because now you didn’t have any doubt that there was something going on between her and Ashe. Never ever had she invited a guy before that wasn’t Felix, Sylvain, or Dimitri.

“Oh, yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind,” you encouraged her.

“Cool!”

You were getting ready, mulling over what you were going to wear. You didn’t want to try too hard, this wasn’t a date, but nevertheless you wanted to look good – despite the fact that if anyone ever asked you, you’d completely refuse that thought had crossed your mind. It was absurd, but denial helped you to keep going.

As you struggled to decide, you heard Ingrid biding you goodbye and the door being closed. You supposed she was going to meet Ashe and bring him to your place. You grinned to yourself. Immediately after, your phone started ringing. It was Dorothea. She had a distinctive melody that she sang herself for you. What on earth could have made her call you? She was the queen of voice messages.

“Yes?”, you began.

“You better tell me what the fuck is happening!”, she yelled with her usual dramatic twist.

“What is happening?” You were quite confused and tried to go over all the things she could be referring to.

“Don’t play dumb. First, Ingrid is all starry-eyed when she talks about Ashe and now you have a date with Sylvain? Is the water in your apartment poisoned?” You wondered how she found out, but Dorothea had a sixth sense for love affairs.

“Well, Ingrid is the one with an actual date,” you pointed to divert her attention. “I’m just going to the library because-”

“Because a project? Why does it sound so familiar? Ah, yes, it’s what I told my parents when I was going to make out with a classmate in high school. And don’t distract me throwing Ingrid to the wolves.”

“What do you want of me?”, you exclaimed out of frustration.

“A confession!”

“Who are you? Seteth?” You could hear Dorothea’s sweet laugh at your joke.

“How could I be so stupid? Your crush has been Sylvain all these years!”, she was creating a fuss on the other side of the phone. “I’m not going to lie, I didn’t expect that, not in the least.”

“You are assuming way too much.”

“Shut up! I guess Sylvain is a whole reason himself to keep it a secret, but you should have told me.” Dorothea made a pause. “My poor baby suffering all those years in silence! Aunty Dorothea is here to comfort you!”

“Quit the joking. Now tell me what I should wear for my not-a-date”, you said indignantly.

“Oh, right. Do you recall the Red Canyon? You definitely should put on that thing you wore. It will catch his eye, but it doesn’t seem way too elaborated.”

“Thank you, Dorothea, you are a genius. Are you reading my mind?”

“Really? I can see right through you”, she giggled. “You haven’t changed. And I would you why you are so worried about your clothes when it’s not a date, but you’d just mutter any excuse and ignore me altogether.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Now, inform me of you not-a-date with Sylvain when you’re finished right away, okay?”, she finished with her motherly intonation.

“Fine, fine! Goodbye, I have to go now!” You saw the time and it was really late.

You got dressed in a hurry and grabbed your laptop, some notebooks and a couple of pens.

By the time you arrived at the library, Sylvain was already there. He was looking around, his bag grabbed laid causally on his back, hold by the handle with his strong fist. His other hand was resting in his pocket.

While his appearance was laid back, you were a bundle of nerves. As soon as your gaze found him, you felt a knot form in your gut. You denied that the young man could have that kind of effect on you, but the evidence was overwhelming. Why did it have to be so difficult in person? It had been so easy when you didn’t have to see his face – so handsome it was unnerving. You were the opposite you had been on your telematic conversations, far from your calm, charming and charismatic charade.

He was wearing a simple long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. It was a mystery for you why he didn’t opt for a modelling career. You forcibly reminded yourself that despite his beauty, he was a Don Juan, totally uninterested in you. You chanted Claude’s words ‘see what happens, don’t implicate yourself too much’ as you approached him.

Suddenly, his tan eyes focused on you as he recognized your figure, so you composed yourself the best you could. His lovely lips displayed a soft smile.

“Hey, Sylvain”, you greeted with an affected amiability. Still, you were tense.

“Hello there, princess.” He winked at you. “It’s nice to see you outside the classroom.”

“Yes, it’s refreshing,” you nodded.

You entered the big building with Sylvain at your side. Neither of you said anything, justifying yourself in the mandatory silence of a library. Some girls giggled as you walked past them, pointing at you two. And you noticed Sylvain looked a bit annoyed. The next thing you noticed was your teacher Catherine distracting the black-haired librarian with her nonstop chatter.

You turned your head to comment something to him, but he grinned, and you forgot your words. You simpered back, and he seemed content with that.

At last, you were in the ‘working-group’ area. The library itself was almost empty – but Dorothea told you it would be filled to the brim during finals week. There were some students chatting and taking notes, but not too many since most of the would be probably going to bars, pubs, and discos. And it was right then when it hit you that Sylvain was not in some sort of date or in a quest to gain the favours of a pretty girl.

So far, you had detected two oddities in his behaviour. Texting and spending a Saturday evening in the library. And the common factor was you.

“Where should we start?”, asked Sylvain as he took a seat, startling you since you were absorbed in your thoughts. You mimicked him and made up your mind.

“Let me thing”, you said. At the same time, you took your laptop from your bag and turned it on. “Since we have to talk about the early history of Faerghus… maybe we can cover the foundation first?”, you suggested. Sylvain had a notebook and a pencil and started scribbling an outline of the project. “We’ll need… a biography of Loog. Or two. And a history book about the 8th century.” You peeked his handwriting. It was neat, with small letters. His S’s had an characteristic flourish.

“I have a good book on the Crescent Moon War, which is also a theme featured in our project”, he said, staring at his sheet. “Well... it’s Miklan’s”, Sylvain grimaced as he added that part, “but I can borrow it.”

“That’d be great.”

“Do you know what’d be great?”, he looked at you. “Watching Loog and the Maiden of Wind! I don’t know what you have against films. It would have been a perfect way to spend our Saturday.”

“Again?”, you laughed.

“It’s for research purposes. No fishy business here.” He placed the palm of his hand over his chest. “Scout’s honour.”

“If I accept will you focus on out project?”, you bit your lip.

“Yes! I promise.”

“Okay. How about we watch it once we’re finished?”

“It’s a deal.” He winked again, looking satisfied with himself. Then, he stood up. “I’ll look for the books we need. In the meantime, you can search on the Internet some good articles on the controversies of Loog’s biography.”

At the moment he vanished, you breathed deeply to calm your heart, since you could almost hear it thudding in your chest. This meeting had been more awkward than you had expected, at least on your part. You wondered if Sylvain was feeling it too, the rusty mechanism of two people who knew each other but had never held a whole conversation in real life.

And all the same… It didn’t feel bad, being next to Sylvain. It was great, even if you were on edge. If you didn’t know it was impossible, you’d describe that sensation as familiar. A déjà vu of some sort, as though you had gone over this stage with Sylvain a million of times and every time your pulse shot up.

You tried to concentrate on looking for articles. You found a couple of them that could be useful, singed under big names of the field that would increase the credibility of your work.

You were absentminded during the rest of your search, trying to figure out how to be natural in your next conversation with Sylvain. You were a little insecure, even when Sylvain seemed to be comfortable with you. Your head was full of what ifs.

“I got our books!”, Sylvain announced cheerful, interrupting your worry.

He sat again next to you. And you swore he was closer than he was before. You could feel the heat emanating from him, warming your arm. And you could hear him breathing. His scent reached you. He had used just deodorant, which along with his natural smell was intoxicating. His shoulder bumped into yours in what looked like a premeditated manner.

“We could split the work. Maybe we could work together on the main structure and the final draft, and work on the information on our own…”, you said as you tried to concentrate on the pile of history volumes rather than any matter related to Sylvain. Otherwise you’d forget how to speak.

“That seems fair.”

Sylvain made himself comfortable, resting his chin on the hand opposite to you. This way he had a perfect view of what you were writing on your computer – and your face, but you refused to believe he was that interested in you. He was invading your personal space in every way and he didn’t care.

“What do you prefer?”, you asked, all professional. You weren’t going to move away.

“I don’t mind, love,” he shrugged. “What do you prefer?”

“Sylvain, we are a team. You should give your opinion.” He remained silent and you dared to turn your head away from the screen of your laptop. He was smiling, but his eyes were half-close, as if figuring out what you were thinking. “Sylvain?”

“Ah, yes.” He blinked. “We’re a team.” He stopped, savouring the word. “I’ll take the Crescent War Moon in that case.”

He then wrote a couple of lines on his notebook. You could see he was writing down a list of ideas on bullet points. You did the same on a sheet of paper you had on you. After a couple of seconds, he talked again.

“Thanks for taking into consideration my preferences,” he placed his arm around the back of your chair.

“Why wouldn’t I?”, you questioned seriously. You were at total lost with him, so you leant in closer. You couldn’t care less, you were just playing his game. He acknowledged it, because you could see him narrowing his eyes at your movement.

“Let’s say some people is not as nice.”

You didn’t answer. What could have you said? It was not what you were expecting him to reply.

Breaking the bubble that you both had formed around you, two girls appeared out of nowhere. They were the ones you had seen before when you entered the building. Instinctively, you distanced yourself from the redhead.

“Sylvain?”, one of them started. They both were wearing fake grins.

“Do I know you?”, Sylvain asked, showing a bit of discomfort.

“Of course? We had a date in summer!”, the girl continued. She hadn’t taken the hint. “So, my friend and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight, go to a bar, then you could come to our apartment, you know…”

You opened your eyes in surprise at the girl’s forwardness. And judging by Sylvain’s astonishment, he wasn’t expecting either such a direct and shameless offer. Did Sylvain have to deal with that too often? It made you feel uneasy. Of course, Ingrid would say he’d deserve it, because he had cultivated his reputation himself, but every part was so wrong. The way they talked to him as if he was a piece of meat, they way they looked at him.

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer, darling,” he talked in his most conciliatory voice.

“What? Really?”, said the other friend, huffing. “You said he’d agree.”

“Well, I’m working on a project with my friend, so… I’m quite busy.”

“I can’t believe you are rejecting us, Sylvain,” she made a disgusted face. “Anyways, your choice. Enjoy your new girlfriend, but I guess it will last like one week before you can find someone better.” Then, they turned around, looking behind a few times and gossiping.

“What the hell?”, you wondered, bewildered.

“Just my routine”, he sighed.

“We can continue another day, Sylvain”, you tested the waters. You sensed something was wrong and that he wanted to go home, and you had the feeling that he wouldn’t admit it by himself. “It’s getting late anyways.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. Let’s go” He put the piece of paper inside one of the pages of a volume he was going to take. “We can meet other day to put everything together.”

“Of course.” You started putting away your things back in your bag. Sylvain was no longer smiling.

“Can you pass me that book?”, he pointed at the red one you had on your side.

You took it and offered it to him. He extended his hand, and when he placed his fingers around it, they brushed yours. Your heart started to beat fast.

Yet before you could make sense of the occurrence, a stabbing pain stroke you. It felt like a spear had pierced through you, right below your chest. It was so real, so shocking, tears started to form on your eyes. You felt blood coming out, but when you looked for it, there was nothing there. The pain was beginning to expand, a wildfire burning your torso.

You put your palm where you felt the pain, unable to breathe. Suddenly, Sylvain realised something was wrong. You were opening your mouth to take in oxygen, but it was in vain.

“What’s happening?”, he could be shouting your name, but you couldn’t listen because the only thing you heard was a rush on your ears.

He grabbed your arm, but it only made it worse. It made all those strange phenomena more sharp and real. You whispered a faint ‘let me go’, and Sylvain moved away immediately. His steps were so fast he hit the chair and it fell down.

All of a sudden, when his skin wasn’t in contact with yours, everything subsided.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain asked, alarmed. You hadn’t seen him that serious in all your life.

“Yes. I…”, you didn’t finish the sentence. Instead you recovered your breath slowly.

“Stop making so much noise! And don’t break the furniture!”, a kid appeared from behind one of the bookcases. His hair was dark brown, and he wielded a broom that he used to threaten. You felt a little embarrassed, so you muttered an apology before grabbing your things and almost running to the exit. Sylvain followed you closely.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain repeated once you were on the street. As far as you could tell, he was concerned, but more than worry, his eyes displayed suspicion and curiosity.

“Yes. It’s nothing, I just had a problem breathing… maybe it was the dust”, you brushed it off.

“It might have been an anxiety attack. Some people have a lot during their first year at university”, he noted. His smile came back, reassuring. It was incredible how his demeanour could change so quickly. “What a day, huh?”, he laughed. “We should meet again soon. I had fun despite everything.”

“Despite the awkwardness too?”, you replied, both playful and too exhausted from the experience to second-guess your interactions with him.

“What do you mean? That was the best part!”

“C’mon Sylvain!” You denied with your head.

“I don’t know, okay? It just felt nice. You make good company.” He was staring off inro space, and you hoped in the most obscure part of your heart that he was being honest.

“Oh, and you realize that now?”, you teased.

“Better late than never,” your classmate added.

“I suppose.”

Step by step you started walking in the same direction. You were in silence. Each of you had much to make sense of. You weren’t paying attention to the time, until you reached a familiar crossing.

“I’m going this way”, you said as you signalled your direction.

“I’m happy we got paired up in class,” he stated. He was just as handsome as when you met him, but he had a sadder air.

“Me too. See you later, Sylvain.”

“See you.” He stood there, watching you disappear into a corner. Then, he talked to himself. “What a day…”

#sylvain x reader #sylvain jose gautier x reader #sylvain jose gautier #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #reader insert #sylvain x female reader #Female reader #college au

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Post Timeskip Hugs from the Resident Hugmeister. Golden Deer Hugstravaganza

Comrades in arms. Friends til the end. Bestest best friends that ever friended. The Golden Deer are a strange bunch. They did not know each other before coming here. All from different backgrounds, different experiences leading them all to the same place, it is like destiny calls them together. At first it is a bumpy road, the bumps bringing them closer together as a team. They grow up together over the year having classes together. Learning to fight, learning to kill, figuring out how to survive and cope with the sadness that fighting and now war brings.

The reunion is fun except for the fighting. Cleanup keeps everyone’s hands and minds busy. Once things settle down a bit and everyone settles into a routine, that’s when reality hits everyone. Instead of learning and classes, it is now war council meetings and practicing to become stronger. No more pranks or kidding around. Everything is serious, the situation dire. When did the norm become walking past someone hiding in a corner crying to themselves? The only laughter one can recall is from the enemy attackers, laughing at you in your nightmares.

You find Hilda alone in the Golden Deer classroom, sitting in front of the low fire, her arms pulling her knees close to her chest.

“Hey Hils.” You greet her then sit down next to her. “You look like some company would do you good.”

“I never wanted any of this war. It is so scary and terrifying. I had to beg my brother to let me come and still had to sneak out when it was time. “

“I’m glad you came”, you begin. “We need you. The Deer would not be the same without you. Claude would be a wreck without you, you’re his right hand gal!”

“True, Claude can’t function without me.” Her lips turn up at the corner a bit.

“And who else can design battle armor that is also fashionably fantastic?”

“Only me.” Her smile gets a bit bigger

“And when you completely decimate the enemy, whose battle cry inspires us to go on toward the win?” You grin at her, rubbing her back.

“Hilda! Hilda!” she says giggling.

“That’s my gal!” you grin holding your arms wide open to give her a hearty strong hug.

You stroll along the monastery grounds and run in to Lorenz looking over the rose bushes.

“Sir Lorenz.” You call out as you bow towards him.

“Hmpf.” He sniffs.

“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea and a chat. There is nothing like a steaming hot cup of Bergamot to bring an air of calm to a stressful day.”

“Finally, someone understands the importance of tea!” Lorenz huffs.

You both head to the kitchens and work together to prepare the tea. Using a basic tea service, the presentation is quite lackluster, however the tea smells quite delicious.

“I understand your father gave you a difficult time before you joined us. Let me personally thank you for your strong beliefs and determination in joining us.” You nod, raising your teacup toward him as a salute.

Lorenz frowns. “My father is a competent leader and has managed the territory well, however when it comes to the support of the alliance and the war, that is where our opinions differ. “

“I am happy that you have become your own man.” You begin. “We do need your opinions. Claude may at times think of you as a thorn in his side, but he needs you. We must think of all ways to solve the many problems this war brings. You have great knowledge and don’t shy away from bringing up contrary points. Claude may not say it, but he does appreciate it.”

Lorenz visibly flusters. “I am taken aback. I thought you all felt I was purely a nuisance.”

“No. You may be prickly, or lets say as thorny as your favorite roses, but there is also much beauty and other things to be gained when you get past the thorns.”

You are both smiling warmly as you drain your teacups.

Standing before him, you request a hug and he is eager to accommodate you. You hold him until he gives a pleasant sigh.

As you walk past the training grounds you hear battle cries that definitely sound like Raphael. You walk in and wait for him to finish working out.

“Hi Raph. How are you doing.” You ask

“Pretty good. After being apart for five years you would think it would take longer to get used to it but I’m right back into the thick of fighting again. I did keep busy fighting bandits at home, so I kept my muscles growing.” He proudly displays a few muscles for your review.

“You sure have. Isn’t it hard leaving your little sister behind?” You ask.

“Funny you should say that but before I knew it, she grew up right before my eyes!” Raph muses. “She’s quite the young lady now. I think she nearly pushed me out the door when it was time to go. She said something about my being a good big brother but making it hard for her to date. I mean, I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to meet the guys and see if they were strong. Hah.”

You grin at the huge muscled man. “Raphael, you are so amazing! Never change.” You walk up to him and give him a bear hug, he hugs you back until you tap him on the shoulder, then he lets go so you can breathe again.

In the stables Marianne is tending to Dorte. You call out greetings before slowly entering the room. The woman is not nearly as shy as she had been in the past. Sitting on a pile of straw you watch her for a bit.

“Marianne, I am so happy that you are here with us again.” You smile.

The soft spoken woman returns the smile. “I am happy to be here. I cannot imagine abandoning my friends after all they have done for me.“

“I feel the same.” You nod “You worked so hard keeping us alive. Can I give you a hug to show how grateful I am that you’re here?”

“Of course.” She answers softly.

Her hug may be soft and gentle, but it is filled with a warmth that fills you with happiness.

Leonie is in the kitchen cooking up a big pot of stew. Just as she puts down the ladle, you have snuck up from behind her and grab her around the waist.

“Sneak hugs!!” You call out as she gasps then laughs.

“You’re lucky I didn’t smack you with the ladle.” The redhead grins.

“Why’d you think I waited til you put it down to attack? I know you are fierce in battle.” You chuckle.

Heading out through the dining hall you wander by the dorms. You notice a bit of light coming from Ignatz’ room.

“Knock Knock!” You say as you knock on his door.

“Oh, come in! I was just cleaning.” The talented young man is organizing his paints and brushes.

“May I interrupt you for a hug, perchance?” You grin peeking into his room.

“Of course! I always have time for those!” he chirps happily, holding his arms wide open. You dive into them, giving him a warm squishy hug that spins him half around, making you both chuckle. Waving goodbye, you head for your next recipient.

Claude is lying on his back on the porch, his feet towards the Professor’s door as he looks out into the stars twinkling in the sky. Byleth sits on the edge of the porch with her feet hanging off. As you walk up they both greet you.

“What’s up? It is starting to get late.” Byleth mentions.

“Does there have to be anything going on for me to hand out a few hugs to my favorite leaders?” You grin happily. “I must keep your comfort and reassurance levels as high as everyone else.”

Byleth already has her arms spread wide open for her hug which you gently weave yourself into giving her warm hugs and a gentle “mmmm” as you nuzzle your nose into her neck. Once you know for certain she has relaxed a bit you slowly loose your grip on her.

“Your turn, Claude.” You say to your fearless leader, yet he still lies on his back looking up at you.

“Too late, I’ve already turned into soup. I’m just a puddle on the walkway.” Claude grins.

You walk up to him, picking up his arm, as soon as you let go, it falls back onto his body then slides to the wooden planks.

“Did you hear the splash? I’m soup.” He smirks.

You put the back of your hand to your forehead in mock sorrow. “Whatever shall I do? My leader has withered away and is now soup. Ahh, I may have an idea…a good thing to go with soup is bread. I can dip it in the soup and not lose a drop!” You snicker as you sit on his stomach, holding him down while you first poke him like you are dipping bread in his chest, then you start tickling him.

Claude struggles to sit up and knock you off of him. “Hey! Wait! No fair. How am I to know that soup is ticklish. Get off!” He hollers and laughs as you two roll along the porch, only stopping when he nearly falls off. You both can hear Byleth giggling watching you two idiots roll around.

“I knew that the tickle spell would make Claude congeal back into himself. Now give me my hug you brat!” You laugh and pull him in for a mighty squishing hug as he laughs. It’s good to bring a smile or a laugh to your bestest friends.

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fire emblem three houses #golden deer

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indigowallbreaker · 3 years

Note

hello indigo!

kiss prompt 32 for claudeleth please?

we got lots of tests and the fluff is much needed

thanks in advance! <3

(can always count on you for an excuse to write Claude <3 good luck on tests!!)

32. Kiss at dawn

The meeting went late. Or early, depending on who you asked. Claude held his chin in his hand, eyes on the window as Lorenz’s voice washed over him. The sky outside was steadily growing brighter. Birds had begun chirping hours ago. And they were still no closer to have a set strategy for Fort Merceus.

“Lorenz, you’ve said that three times now,” Lysithea snapped.

Claude looked around at her voice. Sheepishly, Lorenz pursed his lips, avoid everyone’s stares. This was getting them no where. Across the table, Claude caught Byleth’s gaze and cocked his head.

They nodded and cleared their throat. “That concludes this meeting. Get some rest, everyone, and we’ll talk again tomorrow afternoon.”

“You mean later today,” Leonie grumbled with a glare at the window.

“Is it really okay to stop now?” Ignatz shifted through his notes. “There’s a lot of details we haven’t gone over...”

Beside him, Raphael gave an almighty snore that made Marianne giggle. Hilda stood up and put her hands on her hips. “That settles it. Let’s go get our beauty sleep! If I have to stare at this maps much longer I’m going to start dreaming of this stupid fort.”

There were mumbles of agreement as the others got to their feet. Maps were rolled up, yawns were passed around, someone woke up Raphael, and Claude stretched his arms above his head, ready to pass out for a few hours before breakfast.

The only one who hadn’t moved was Professor Byleth. “Let’s go, Teach,” Claude called. The Golden Deer stopped just shy of the doorway, all eyes on the Professor.

“You all go ahead,” they said, not looking up from their notes. “I have a few more things I want to check.”

“I bet it could wait.” Claude approached to look over their shoulder. It looked like data on all the more formidable soldiers in their army, a breakdown of skills and weapons. Each page was densely packed. Claude clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that could definitely wait.”

Byleth pushed his head away. “I want to get it done now.”

“You should sleep now.”

“I don’t--”

“Oh come on, Professor!” Lysithea stepped forward, arms crossed and glare murderous. “If you stay up to work, we will all have to stay up. And no good plan can come out of a group of people running on no sleep!”

Byleth frowned and looked between their notes and their students. Their blinks were sluggish. That wouldn’t do. Claude put a hand on their shoulder. “Don’t make little Lysithea stay up like this, Teach. It’s way past her bedtime. She’ll be cranky tomorrow.”

Lysithea’s glare turned on Claude, but Lorenz stepped between them. “It is past all of our bedtimes,” he said. “You must know how dire a situation is for me to agree with Claude. Please leave with us, Professor. We have done all we can tonight.”

With a final longing look at the papers, Byleth nodded. “Fine. Give me a moment.” Claude flashed a grin at the other Deer as Byleth gathered their things. In truth, Claude had been tempted to stay awake as well. Go over details and get a better look at the map on his own. But Lysithea was right-- nothing they did now would be all that useful.

Byleth stood, notes in hand, and Claude followed them towards the exit. Outside, the sky had turned pink in preparation for sunrise. Byleth stopped and stared out the window. Claude stopped too-- but he only had eyes for Byleth.

Dawn light warmed Byleth’s pale cheeks, almost turning them pink. A soft smile curved their lips that Claude couldn’t help but echo. It was a sight he would have gladly drunk for hours.

Instead, Claude tapped Byleth on the cheek to draw their attention. “Time to go.” He pecked at their lips and began gently pushing them towards the door.

The gravity of his actions hit Claude as soon as he saw seven slack jaws aimed at him. If he weren’t so tired he might have been embarrassed. As it was, Claude held his head high as he guided Byleth out of the room.

Whispering among themselves, more lively than they had been minutes ago, the rest of the Deer followed them out.

(kiss prompts!)

#claude von riegan #byleth eisner #claudeleth #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #kiss prompts #dont you hate when youre so sleepy you have to kiss your army leader #hope this keeps your spirits up!

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strawberryybird · 3 years

Text

ok ok half a leonie pinelli nonbinary gender fic. lets go lets go lets post vulnerable gender thoughts on the internet

oh god like i would love love love to write a fic about Leonie’s relationship to gender and how one of the things keeping them in the closet is their (stupid, in post-war hindsight) rivalry with Byleth, and how it would look so.. juvenile if they said sod the gender binary, just like byleth had quietly done all their life. Like, Leonie just heaps responsibility and inheritance onto their own shoulders, wanting to make their village proud, wanting to surpass Jeralt the Bladebreaker, wanting the equal-footing relationship with byleth that neither of them knew how to forge. And now, in the settling dust of the world they fought for, they have no idea how to live a life without the weight of other people’s expectations. When the rest of the deers are going on about freedom and new world order, Leonie’s stood there, wedged between Ignatz and Hilda, wondering if it’s worth saving the things they hold most dear - Jeralt, Byleth, the memory of her village. What of their past self is worth carrying forward? What part of themself does Leonie even want to keep in this brave new world? The war had been over for 3 whole months. It would be terribly selfish to think of the war as a spark of self-reflection, but Leonie had never pretended to be altruistic like that.

so here’s a little of that: warning for posthumous outing of gender questioning.

Leonie snags Ignatz after the meeting broke up, and they potter on up to the third floor balcony to watch the sun set.

She shares a bottle of good wine with himon the balcony, sun already half-sunk over the horizon. They talk about everything that isn’t the war, and then, once they get the second, nicer, wine open, they talk about the war. Because it had been three whole months, and yet it had only been three months. Far too much time to be breaking into cold sweats in the middle of the night and not enough time to have fully scrubbed Nemesis’ blood out from under her fingernails. Too short a time to be so self-centred in discussing the war, there would be time for self-indulgence later, and long enough that the construction of new world was already well under way. Stuck in this half-risen morning, cranking the wheel to reopen the stage curtain and start the second act.

They buried Dorothea’s body in a city that never appreciated her, and says as much out loud. Ignatz poured them both another glass of wine and clinked the glasses together.

“I thought we had put the toasts to rest as well?” Leonie leaned back on the stone to catch his eye.

He shrugged, his smile still a little soft after the war. “I think it’s how she’d like to be remembered, really. I’ve nearly finished her painting.”

Leonie drew a knee up to rest her wine on. The sunlight was dimming like a campfire without the familiar crackling in her ears, only the whip of the wind. “Ingrid, as well, then. She liked all that honour and tradition. A toast in her name seems like a way to remember her.”

“She wanted to be a knight, didn’t she?” Ignatz adjusted his glasses. “I wondered if she ever did change her pronouns.”

“What?”

“We used to talk about gender presentation, from time to time. Mostly in the greenhouse, it was one of the few times our lives crossed over.” He shifted and crossed his legs, the stone was getting pretty cold underneath them. “It wasn’t much, I don’t think, but I wanted her to have someone in her corner if she ever did want to..” He took another sip of wine. “- to present herself in a way that she wanted, or preferred, at least. We were lucky to have the Professor in our corners.”

Leonie washed down the sudden brick of envy in her throat with alcohol.

“Do you mean Ingrid was...” She tailed off, searching for something that wouldn’t sound like a desperate confessional. “Like you?” She tilted her head at him, in a bit of a clumsy question.

“It’s not polite of me to say this since she’s dead, but now there’s no one else alive to know this about her. She wasn’t sure, really. We spoke about a lot of things, but she never did make any announcements. I was too shy to suggest I use different pronouns for her, and looking back now I don’t think she would have ever asked me to. But we spoke a lot about it, especially right before..”

“Before the war.” Leonie filled in the gap.

Ignatz drank more wine.

The sun lingered in the far corner of the balcony, a brilliant orange puddle on the stone.

Leonie poured them both another glass.

“This afternoon.” She began. “With everyone talking about being better people. I was thinking - ”

Ignatz’s smile grew sharp again, and she punched his shoulder.

“I’m not sure I want to be who I was before the war. She wasn’t very nice, was young Leonie. Don’t look at me like that,” Leonie caught the glint behind his glasses, “I’m glad I was her, she got me through a war. But if Lorenz and Marianne are being better versions of who they are..” Leonie’s throat caught on itself again.

“I liked her.” Ignatz said, without looking at her. “She taught me a lot, and even if she wasn’t nice, she was kind to me.”

Leonie didn’t know what to do with that.

“Why did you tell me about Ingrid?” She asked instead.

The evening wind whistled through the carved stone rim of the balcony, not quite chilling after the scorching hot day. Ignatz shifted again, knees up to his chest.

“I didn’t say it to burden you further.” He said at last. “You already have Captain Jeralt, and Dorothea, and Ashe, and your village.” His hand nudged against hers on the floor. “You understood them more than the rest of us would. I know Hilda and Dorothea were friends, before, but you had different friendships with her. I wanted to give you Ingrid. Like you have your necklace, maybe. This world seems very new, now the war is over, but nothing really is. All those landscapes I used to paint had been seen before I drew them, and they’ll exist after me, too. I wanted to tell you about Ingrid so you could have that history, if you wanted. So you had something to inherit, or look back on. Like footsteps.

“I miss our school days, and who we thought we all were.” Ingnatz curled his knuckles in Leonie’s own. “But I’m glad we’re here now. Maybe Claude and the wine has gone my head, a little, but I think I believe him when he said we can be who we are in earnest, now.”

The catch in Ignatz’ voice was far more convincing to them than any of Claude’s charismatic speeches. Leonie grabbed his hand properly, both of them calloused and worn in the same way. It would be nice, to be themself, but Leonie hadn’t been nice before the war, and wasn’t sure if they even knew how to be. The world was being called brave and new, in all the grandstanding speeches made around the war council tables, and Leonie knew how to do that. The war had taught them how to be brave, if nothing else, and now Ignatz had said there was nothing truly new about them. It was something to be only new in yourself. They didn’t need to be as brave. The sun long set below the hillside, and Leonie held on tight.

#god this is dramatic. gotta love a bit of self indulgence.#ok i accidentally wrote a fic.#tw for poor trans etiquette #leonie and ignatz have gender feelings on a balcony with wine #i have a lot of feelings about leonie and gender. most of which i do not want to put on display for tumblr dotte comme #so uh have this? i'm sorry if its in very poor taste.#it certainly wasnt intended to be #okokokokok im going to post this intensely personal bit of unedited tumblr text post fic. here we go.#bird does fics. idk what my tag is.

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peterxwade24 · 4 years

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BWYD Chapter 18

“I guess I’m the Guardian now.”

Marinette, with her hair up in pigtails tied off with a pink and a blue ribbon, sat in her English class surrounded by her brothers. She rolled her eyes as she continued writing her English essay, for her 10th grade English class in Gotham, listening to their teacher, Mr. Devereaux, drone on about whatever it was the rest of the class was learning. She sneakily looked at what her brothers were doing, Damian was actually sketching the scene outside the window while Colin was actually silently playing an online video game. A soft smile spread across her face as she looked back at her essay, which was her book report on Kate DiCamillo’s “The Tale of Despereaux”, and she continued typing.

It was a scant five minutes later, twenty minutes until they were dismissed from English, that her Skype started ringing. She looked up as the entire class turned to look at her and Mr. Devereaux rose an eyebrow angrily. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer it?”

Marinette sheepishly nodded and, with a look akin to pain on her face, she pressed the accept call button. Harley’s face appeared on Marinette’s screen and a loud, excited gasp sounded. “So that’s where that shirt went! Tiny Wayne! You could have asked and I would have given you whatever you wanted!”

“Harley. Now isn’t really the best time. I’m sitt-” Marinette started, the shirt (Harley’s “Daddy’s Little Monster” shirt) slid off of one of Marinette’s thin shoulders, revealing a green tank top underneath, and drawing Harley’s attention.

“Did you borrow clothes from Selina too? Or just Pam and I?” Harley cut her off, not noticing the looks of glee on Damian and Colin’s faces. “Because if it’s just Pam and I then we are so holding this over her head. She may be your father’s fiancee but you love Pam and I more.” Harley was about to speak again when Mr. Devereaux cleared his throat in the background.

“Excuse me. But, who do you think you are? Disrupting my class like that for a measly social call.”

Marinette secretly rolled her eyes, pressing her lips together into a tight line. “As I was trying to say earlier. Now isn’t really a great time. I can call you back later. Okay?”

Harley nodded, and with a dramatic sigh, waved at Marinette. “I’ll talk to you later Tiny Wayne.” She blew a kiss before ending the call.

“Detention after school Miss Wayne.” Mr. Devereaux called as he walked back up to the board.

Marinette rolled her eyes and decided then and there, she’d just turn in all of the work she did for the American equivalent of this class that night, so she could piss him off.

---

Marinette hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, a soft brown faux leather computer bag she thinks may have originally belonged to her Ubaba but she’d borrowed it from Tim-Tam, as she walked out of the school. She frowned, putting her earbuds in her ears as she scrolled through her Spotify library. She tapped the fingers of her right hand against her thigh as she walked down the sidewalk before she paused, her finger hovering over the album cover for “Beetlejuice (Original Broadway Cast Recording)”. A smile erased the frown on her face and she clicked on it. The beginning chords to “Prologue: Invisible” flowed through her earbuds and Marinette began humming along.

She let her feet take her wherever her destination was, knowing she’d have to either be at a park or in her bedroom to call Harley back, but she didn’t want to go home yet. She listened to the soundtrack, “Prologue: Invisible” easily giving way to “The Whole Being Dead Thing” as she walked through Paris. She looked up when she arrived in front of a door, a small smile spreading across her face when she realized she’d walked to Master Fu’s massage parlor. She paused her music, ten seconds into “Ready Set, Not Yet”, as she opened the door. She pulled her earbuds out as she stepped in, taking a deep breath as the scent of tea (a pleasant mix of jasmine and oolong) washed over her.

“Ah. Marinetta. It’s so good to see you.” Master Fu’s calming voice washed over her, relaxing her even further, from where he was standing behind the counter. “Give me a moment and I’ll join you in the other room.”

Marinette bowed, slipping her shoes off and walking across the tatami mat covered floor to the other room. She sat down on the floor on one side of the table, Tikki flying out to join her. She rubbed Tikki’s head with a single finger, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence, as they waited for Master Fu to walk into the room.

Master Fu walked in a few minutes later, Wayzz flying over to join Tikki on the table in front of Marinette. “I tried to visit you while you were on Spring Break.”

Marinette looked down sheepishly, a shy smile on her face. “My apologies Master Fu. My family and I returned to Gotham for the entire break, there was much to do in Gotham and many people to appease.”

Master Fu nodded, a smile on his face. “That is quite alright Marinetta.” He grabbed Marinette’s left hand in his right and, using his left hand, pushed the turtle Miraculous onto her wrist. The turtle Miraculous shifted shape, becoming a much more slender version of itself with a soft brown faux leather strap holding the tiny delicate jade turtle charm on her wrist. “After much deliberation, it has been decided that you shall be my successor.”

Marinette looked up into Master Fu’s eyes. “What about Chat Noir? He doesn’t have any training.”

Master Fu looked at Marinette and softly patted the back of her hand. “Then train him Marinetta.” He smiled and pressed an affectionate kiss to Marinette’s cheek. “I am a tired old man who has made his mistakes. You have so many options in front of you, so many choices. I trust you’ll make the right decisions. Which is why I, Wang Fu, entrust the Guardianship of the Box of Miracles to you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Wayne. I have trained you to the best of my abilities and trust your judgement. I’m sorry Marinetta.” Master Fu collapsed onto the table, his eyes rolling back in his head as the Miraculous magic swarmed over him and erased his memories.

Marinette let the tears stream down her face as she gently put down Master Fu’s hand. She stood up and walked to the gramophone, where she knew the Box of Miracles was hidden, and looked to its left. She looked at the phone number there as she pulled out her phone.

“Hey, is this Marianne? This is, a friend of a friend. Wang Fu, Master Fu, has collapsed on his table and I think it's time you and he got to just be together.”

---

Marinette walked into the apartment, the gramophone held tightly in her arms as the tears continued to stream down her face. Her brothers took one look at her before looking at the new bracelet on her arm. Their expressions softened as she walked through the living room to her bedroom. She set the gramophone on her bedside table, her tears staining her usually rosy cheeks.

“I guess I’m the Guardian now.”

@dast218 @toodaloo-kangaroo @amayakans @crazylittlemunchkin @marinettepotterandplagg

#maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc #ml crossover #mlb crossover #bruce wayne's youngest daughter

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years

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MOLLY PREWETT is TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD and the JUNIOR UNDERSECRETARY to THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC at THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. She looks remarkably like LILLY DREESEN considers herself aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. She is currently OPEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

The Prewett House is an established name in the wizarding community and this comes with high expectations and status. LUELLA married ADGER PREWETT when they were only twenty-one and soon after, the nurturing and kind Molly Prewett was adopted. The Prewett Estate contained a modest but elaborate mansion, a small garden and a quaint greenhouse. Adger Prewett worked in the ministry as the captain of the accidental magic reversal squad whilst Luella Prewett ran a healer shop in Diagon Alley. Molly grew up lavishly, and even when her mother gave birth to twins, a gene that seemed to run through the Prewett family as Adger had a twin himself, there was enough wealth to go around. Being part of The Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Prewetts were often invited to grand parties hosted by the House of Black, which Adger and Luella politely accepted. This often left Molly at home to care for her younger brothers, FABIAN and GIDEON which she did not mind at all as her brothers had become her best friends and found herself to be quite nurturing. As they all got older, they were soon invited to attend such events at their parent’s side and met many other prestigious houses along with their heirs, such as EVAN ROSIER and MARIANNE MACMILLAN. At first, Molly was shy and retracted, she wasn’t used to unfamiliar faces and she couldn’t read others as well as she could read her brothers, she wasn’t sure what was expected of her. Soon, however, thanks to the kindness of her new friends, she opened up and discovered that many of them were either going to be attending Hogwarts or had already completed their first year.

Knowing that there would be familiar faces when she would attend Hogwarts eased her nerves as the summer came to an end and her first day at Hogwarts grew nearer. She had become very comfortable in the Prewett Mansion, she knew every nook and cranny, she knew when her brothers were lying or when they were up to no good. She was used to falling asleep to the Tales of Beedle and Bard and waking up to the sunlight streaming into her cosy room. She wasn’t ready to leave that all behind to move into an old castle, a new room and to be surrounded by an ocean of people that she didn’t know at all. However, as much as this scared her, she couldn’t help but also feel enticed by the idea. A chance to really learn how to use her magic, a chance to explore who she really was without having to worry about what her brothers were getting up too and a chance to build greater connections with her new friends. Molly was soon sorted into Hufflepuff House and was greeted with open arms by the rest of her house, becoming best friends with fellow Hufflepuffs, NATAN DIGGORY and AYA FAWCETT. She grew to love Hogwarts and studied hard, her best subjects being charms and herbology, which was mostly due to her mother’s childhood teaching of different medicinal herbs and magical plants. This, however, did not stop her from knowing how to party, especially when her mischievous brothers were the ones hosting. As she grew older she surrounded herself with people she was proud to call her friends. Molly settled into quite a large friendship group consisting of a gaggle of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and fellow Hufflepuffs.

Molly was the mum friend, constantly trying to bake and cure her friend’s hangovers as they lovingly accepted to tried to bat her away. It was through this group and sly introduction from her best friend, she met Aya’s childhood friend ARTHUR WEASLEY. A funny boy who liked Muggle things, Molly became quite taken with him and the pair quickly began dating, becoming quite the item in their little group of friends. Little did Molly know that these connections she formed would last so much longer than Hogwarts and grow into friendships she couldn’t have even imagined. After Hogwarts, Molly had grown into a very talented and confident witch, a very different person compared to her younger shy self. She didn’t really have a career plan in mind, she dabbled in the idea of taking over the healer shop from her mother one day as that was her summer job and she adored helping others and listening to the mystical and sometimes horrific stories of how her patients had obtained their injuries. However, Molly began to crave more, help more, and to be more. Arthur suggested she worked in the ministry and when the position for junior undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, MILLICENT BAGNOLD opened, she pounced at the opportunity. After an interview and an intensive aptitude test, Molly was awarded the position. She was extremely excited about the opportunity and took the job very seriously. She began to work closely under THIEBAUT LESTRANGE, who was her lovely yet stern mentor. The position allowed Molly to sit in many official ministry meetings and attend multiple VIP ministry events.

Her work consumed her and she really enjoyed it, she loved being part of something bigger that had the power to change the wizarding world into something better, a safer and inclusive place for all. Molly knew that not everyone shared her perspective, but she instantly bonded with those that did. As the years passed, the shadows within the Ministry seemed to grow darker and the cracks in the shimmering marble only seemed to deepen. The meetings that Molly attended adopted a sombre tone as reports of mysterious killings gradually increased and pressure was placed on the ministry to take greater action. The dark circles under Thiebaut’s eyes indicated how weary the powerful man had become and Molly couldn’t imagine how the Minister must have felt. Press conferences took negative turns out of nowhere and gossips such as RITA SKEETER seemed to find their way into the ministry like an annoying leak during a storm. Molly felt the pressure herself and was loaded with more and more paperwork, Thiebaut often handing off his own work onto Molly so that he could handle more pressing issues. Molly didn’t mind this at all and knew that if she hoped to be the senior undersecretary someday she’d need to learn how to cope with it all. Her work life put pressure on her home life and she began to lose contact with her brothers and parents. She stopped attending family dinners and the famous Fabian-Gideon parties at the Prewett mansion, she politely declined dinner invitations and after-work martinis.

Her close friends constantly checked up on her, either bringing her a fresh cup of coffee or insisting on having lunch. If it weren’t for Arthur, who was stubbornly supportive and insisted on breaks, she would have probably burnt herself out. Molly was ambitious and dedicated and had given her all to the job. She still strongly believed in the current ministry staff and her own vision of creating a better world for all. Her relationship with Arthur was one of the only constants in her life and she adored him with her whole heart. When he proposed she accepted without hesitation. Her life felt washed anew, and although she knew she’d spend the rest of her life with Arthur, she was ready to start this new stage of life with him. However, not everyone was as supportive of their engagement. Whilst Fabian and Gideon were ecstatic, her parents were not. They had tolerated her fantasy of being in a relationship with someone from a blood traitor family but had hoped she’d find enlightenment and move on. The engagement was a step too far, and it was promptly announced that she was no longer their daughter. Molly didn’t know if they acted out of anger or if her decision had truly made them lose love for her, but she was too proud and sure of herself to beg them to change their mind. The two took out a loan from Gringott’s and purchased a plot of land in the countryside with a single, small Tudor homestead located just off the banks of a picturesque river. She adored it and couldn’t help envision what a family would look like growing up there. The home was small but they could always add onto it assured Arthur and Molly adored the idea.

The newly-engaged pair began to host dinner parties in their new home and spent countless nights under the stars enjoying a picnic with friends or stargazing together. Although the attacks got worse and murmurs of a war began to float around and echo through the Ministry, Molly now had a magical place of her own to escape too. It wasn’t until a small dinner party with Fabian, Gideon and their friends LAUREL LINWOOD and TRYSTAN WARRINGTON that Molly had heard about the Order of the Phoenix. Her brothers admitted that they had recently joined and Arthur along with Alice and Frank filled her in with the fact that they too, were part of the order. Molly was taken aback by the information and that her fiance was in a secret society that seemed to be taking the law into its own hands. At first, she felt lied to and betrayed by Arthur, but once they had explained what the order was and who had orchestrated the idea, she found herself more accepting of the concept. She did, however, believe that the ministry was truly doing it’s best and that through their hard work, they were the best chance the wizarding community had against fighting a rising dark wizard and preventing a chaotic war. She politely declined their request to join the Order but agreed to keep an eye and ear out for any information that could keep Arthur, her brothers and best friends safe. She also vowed to herself that if she caught wind of any corruption within the ministry that she would stop at nothing to get to the bottom of it. Molly Prewett may be kind, nurturing and dedicated but she was also loyal and fierce, a woman to reckon with.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality → Up to Roleplayer

Relationship Status → Engaged to Arthur Weasley

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Hufflepuff)

Societies → TBD

Family → Adger Prewett (father), Luella Prewett (mother), Gideon Prewett (brother), Fabian Prewett (brother)

Connections → Arthur Weasley (fiancé/best friend), Aya Fawcett (best friend), Natan Diggory (best friend), Mafalda Hopkirk (close friend), Daisy Hookum (close friend), Keira Grey (close friend), Jennifer Vane (close friend), Laurel Linwood (close friend), Trystan Warrington (close friend), Constance Song (close friend), Giva Patil (colleague/friend), Amos Diggory (friend), Natasha DuPont (boss), Millicent Bagnold (boss)

Future Information → Future Member of the Order of the Pheonix, Wife of Arthur Weasley, Mother of William, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ronald and Ginevera Weasley

MOLLY PREWETT IS A LEVEL 7 WITCH.

#molly prewett #marauders era #marauders rpg #marauders rp #neutral #ministry #minister for magic and support staff #magic #lilly dreesen #open #open witch #open neutral

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junie-bugg · 4 years

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Prospects and Propriety - Chapter Two

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQbx-OkfN-M

(If you want to listen to this song on Spotify it's called Symphony No.5 in C Sharp Minor: 4. Adagietto (Sehr Iangsam))

Word Count: 3125

Chapter Two

Prim and I have the next day off of lessons. We’ve been homeschooled ever since we came to live with Haymitch, but the weekends are saved purely for whatever we see fit to fill them with. For me, that’s mostly hunting and being out in the woods, unless the weather is bad, and sometimes not even then.

If I decide to stay at home I usually lounge around with a book and see what Prim is up to. It’s mostly knitting, dress-up, or playing with the ugly cat Haymitch let her keep a few years back. Prim named him Buttercup, claiming that his matted, ruddy coat matched the bright yellow of the flowers she so adored. I had wanted to drown the thing in a bucket when we caught him stealing scraps from the kitchen, but Haymitch had laughed, even picked the thing up by the scruff of his neck and shook him around.

“Look at this little guy, sweetheart. He’s a survivor. We can’t kill him!” He had placed the dirty, mewling kitten into Prim’s arms and the thing had hissed at me. I was worried he’d give Prim some kind of disease but he never did. I don’t feel gratitude towards him though. Only suspicion. It could still happen.

When I want to be alone I go to my greenhouse. Really it’s Prim’s and my greenhouse, but ever since she found maggots in the compost pile nearly two years ago, she hasn’t stepped foot in there. The greenhouse is small, maybe a third the size of my bedroom, but it’s peaceful. Especially when it storms and I can hear every hollow beat of the raindrops on its glass roof. It’s situated on the edge of the grounds by the tree line that morphs into the large forested hill behind Victor Greene, Haymitch’s estate. Over the years I’ve planted herbs and flowers and medicinal plants I’ve found on my journeys into the woods. The plants do well here in the rows of dark soil I’ve fortified with compost and fertilizer. The whole place smells of earthy rot and there’s something about how sunlight scatters lazily through the frosted windows that calms me. There’s a nook on the far side of the greenhouse, past all the plants, where I’ve scattered some quilts and pillows on a wide triangular window ledge. It’s a perfect place to read or sleep. Or sing.

This is the only place where I let myself sing. I don’t even do it in the woods, always afraid someone else taking a stroll will hear me or that I’ll scare away game. Ever since Prim and I were placed under Haymitch’s care, really ever since our dad died, I refuse to sing in front of others. Maybe it’s because I’m shy and I don’t like people listening to my voice swelling and breaking on the high notes. Or maybe I’m lying to myself and I don’t sing in front of others because it’s too painful to remember a time when my life was filled with music. Mountain aires and lullabies and love songs, all sung by my father. I guess I don’t like breaking apart when there’s an audience. But when I’m alone I can shatter beneath the notes for a time, before I’m needed back up at the house.

Today, however, instead of knitting or playing hide and seek in the gardens, Prim has informed me she wants to walk to the village. “You need new ribbons for the ball!” She squeaks as I button up her light pink dress from behind. We have servants available who help us dress or bathe or brush our hair but I always like helping Prim myself. She looks like a tiny little princess with her frilly dress and her curls pulled back with a pearl white ribbon. In contrast, I look plain in a forest green frock and my light brown shawl.

“I told you, Prim. I’m not going.” I struggle with the last button. Prim has been going through a growth spurt and soon she’ll be too big for this dress. I feel sad, watching my little sister growing up so fast.

“I heard Mrs. Winthrop and Ms. Trinket talking and they said you had to go,” She’s grinning so hard I can see the slight gap between her two front teeth. “Because Mr. Hawthorne is going to be there.”

Ah, yes. My supposed husband-to-be. So even Prim has heard about Ms. Trinkets’ ridiculous arrangements. A man with that much money has his pick of the litter when it comes to choosing brides. I’m not ugly, but I’m no exquisite beauty either. Not like some of the girls I see around Whitley. I have no fortune of my own, really no status either besides being Haymitch’s ward and that will go up in smoke the second he dies. Most likely Mr. Hawthorne will look right through me and move on. But the news that I’m being forced to attend the public ball worries me. The whole village will be there. Including him. The baker’s boy.

Maybe some new ribbons aren’t such a bad idea.

We turn down an offer for the carriage and instead walk along the main road into Whitley. My boots have barely brushed the cobblestone sidewalks when Prim is dragging me into the seamstresses’ shop. The dressmaker, Cinna Ludgate, and the tailor, I think her name is Portia Peever, both turn to welcome us. Prim tells Mr. Ludgate about my need for new ribbons and in a flash he pulls down the display from the ceiling, winking at me as he walks back to the counter.

There are so many to choose from. Streams of all colors flutter between my outstretched fingertips like butterfly’s wings. I see ribbons of frilly lace, satin, velvet, and even silk. My eyes land on a simple, white cloth ribbon with a delicate embroidered lavender pattern. I hold it up for Prim’s inspection and she declares I have to buy two in case I manage to get one dirty before the ball.

I’ve just handed Mrs. Peever the money for the ribbons when the bell over the door rings. In walks Ms. Delly Cartright, one of Prim’s closest friends, and her older sister, Ms. Marianne Cartright. Their father is the village shoemaker, so they’re well known and well-liked by almost everybody. Delly is Prim’s age which gives them plenty to talk about. Prim grabs a hold of Delly and begins showing her the latest shipment of buttons Mr. Ludgate has displayed.

Marianne is one year younger than me but we’ve never exchanged more than simple pleasantries. I dread small talk but from my personal experience, a trip into town wouldn’t be deemed official without at least one awkward encounter.

“Are you coming to the ball, Ms. Everdeen? You missed the last one,” Marianne asks. She’s absolutely gorgeous, with big, blue doe eyes and a pouty mouth. Her nose is small and her figure slender. She is what they call a “country belle” in Town. I know at least five love songs written about girls like her. I expect in a few years Prim will grow to be one herself.

“The dancing was splendid. I do hope you’re coming next week,” She continues.

I hold up my ribbons in response. “My tutor Ms. Trinket won’t let me miss it.” I force my mouth into a smile.

“Oh,” Marianne’s eyes have settled on my ribbons. They’re probably a tad dull for her taste seeing as there were velvets and silks to choose from, but I like the simple flower design. The white cloth paired with the purple and green thread looks pretty. “Well, as my darling mother always says: simple never goes out of style.” She smiles up at me but the warmth doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “My sister and I are here for my dress fitting. I can’t wait to show everyone what Mr. Ludgate made me for the ball. It’s a custom piece!” She practically squeals. I nod and bid her goodbye, waving Prim over so we can leave. I breathe a sigh of relief as we exit the shop. I hate girl talk.

With our main objective for coming to Whitley carried out, my feet automatically turn towards home, but Prim has other ideas. “Can we look at the cakes, Katniss?” She begs. She’s like a little puppy. I can’t refuse, though I grow more anxious with every step closer to the bakery we get.

I know what this is. A look at the cakes in the window leads to Prim asking to go inside. It’s happened before and I’ve been lucky enough to avoid him. He works alongside his parents and two older brothers anyway. What are the chances that he’ll be manning the counter and not the ovens in the back?

Prim pulls me through the bakery doors and runs to press her face against the display case. I hear a call of “I’ll be right there!” from the back, followed by a grunt and the shuffling of boxes. I join Prim and am just starting to admire the selection of pastries when I hear a quiet gasp and look up.

It's him. The baker’s youngest son. I don't know him by name but I remember him. Of course, I remember him. I can almost feel the icy sheets of rain and the hollow numbness of hunger from that horrible day as I meet his gaze.

Our father had died three months earlier. He had been a poor wheat farmer but the income from the harvest was enough to support a small household. My mother traded plants and home remedies to supplement what our empty pockets couldn’t buy. One winter, my father had been kicked in the head by his horse. My mother did everything she could but even as young as I was, I knew he had died before he hit the ground. After that my mother stopped eating. She just sat in bed and stared at the walls while her children turned to skin and bone. I did everything to try and rouse her but it was no use. With our father dead so too was her will to live.

At eleven I became the sole provider of the family. I ventured into town alone to sell that damn horse, some old jewelry, and even dresses of my mother’s from her merchant days, but the money ran out quickly and there was more to buy than food. Our hearth sat cold, unused, and wanting of wood, and we resorted to rubbing ourselves raw to keep warm. We stopped attending school in the village, afraid that a teacher would see how hollow we were becoming and would whisk us away to the orphanage. I had seen orphans in the schoolyard, their faces empty and their shoulders slumped in defeat. I would never let that happen to Prim.

We had eaten nothing but dried mint leaves in water for three days before I decided to try selling some of Prim’s old baby clothes in town. The clothes were threadbare and faded so nobody had wanted them. My arms were shaking so violently from cold and malnourishment that I ended up dropping them in a puddle. I decided to leave them there, afraid that if I bent over I wouldn’t be able to get back up.

I found myself stumbling around behind a row of brick buildings. The rain had started and I was soaked to the bone. The smell of baking bread carried over the frigid air and I realized I was behind the bakery. The back door was open and I stood, trancelike, basking in the warm glow of the ovens before a thought floated through my foggy head. Maybe they had food scraps in their trash. A crust of bread or rotting vegetables, something only my family was desperate enough to eat. I lifted the tops off of the bins and my hopes died when I saw that their insides were heartbreakingly bare.

Suddenly, I heard a woman screeching. It was the baker’s wife. She spat remarks about how she was sick of people going through her trash bins and if I didn’t leave she would call law enforcement. As I dropped the lids and backed away I saw a boy peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts. I recognized him from school but we had never talked.

With my final hope gone I slumped against a scrubby little apple tree in their yard. My knees buckled and I slipped down into the mud. I would rather die than go home empty-handed to Prim’s gaunt face and my mother’s sickly, unblinking eyes.

I heard a commotion from the bakery and then the ring of metal on flesh.

“Feed it to the pigs you worthless creature! No one decent will buy burnt bread!” The witch screeched. There was the boy again, come out the back door clutching two blackened loaves. A bright red mark shone on his cheek and my heart twisted when I realized his mother must have hit him. He looked between me and the pigpen, and then glanced back towards the door. His mother must have gone up to front to serve a customer because then I heard him sloshing his way through puddles to get to me.

“Take them!” He urged, pressing the loaves into my skeletal hands. “Take them! Go!” As quickly as he came he was gone, back into the kitchens. I watched him disappear. As he closed the door only then did I realize what he had done for me.

Two loaves of bread! And they weren’t even that burned, really only the crusts had been damaged. I quickly pressed them to the skin under my shirt and hurried home. The searing heat from the loaves roused something within me. I couldn’t die. Not when I had Prim to take care of.

I dropped the loaves on the table and stopped my sister from savagely tearing a chunk off for herself. I sat her down, forced our mother to join us, and then began scraping off the blackened bits. That night we feasted on two slices of bread each, afraid so much food might make us sick. The loaves were hearty, filled with nuts and bits of cranberry. I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life.

As I predicted, it was a teacher that found out about our situation. Upon our absence at school, she had come looking for us and found Prim and I living in squalor with a mother that was too sick to care. I thought that was it, that we were to be sent to the orphanage now and our mother taken away to an institution. But a man by the name of Haymitch Abernathy, wealthy and lacking a family of his own, intervened. He had heard of our misfortunes from hushed gossip around the village and had petitioned to adopt us. Our mother was eventually sent to an institution by the sea and we’ve lived with Haymitch, fed and clothed and taken care of, ever since.

The baker’s boy saved our lives that day. Surely I would have given up and died under that apple tree if it wasn’t for the kindness he showed me. I owe him everything. And because of that, I will never be able to pay him back.

I take him in now. He's taller than he was before. Much taller. His chubby child’s build has been replaced with an imposing stature that takes up almost the entire doorway. I guess a lifetime of hefting bakery pans and kneading dough has left him broad-shouldered and muscular.

“Katniss,” he says. I can tell he’s surprised to see me. His voice is deep and I note that his blonde hair curls with sweat. There’s a streak of flour on his cheek and an apron tied around his waist.

“It’s Ms. Everdeen,” I correct him. It’s out before I can stop myself and as soon as I say it I want to bite my own tongue off. How pretentious I must sound. It's only after Prim has begun ordering a sugar-dusted fruit tart from the case that I realize with a start that the baker's boy knows my name.

His face is flushed and pink when he turns his eyes to me.

“I'll take four of those cookies,” I get out. “The orange lilies.” My voice sounds weaker than normal. I hate this. I feel fragile under this boy’s gaze. And that's when I realize: he must be waiting for his thank you. For the bread that he burned and took a beating for. But I can't do it, either because Prim is with me and it would confuse her and probably embarrass the boy, or because it's been five years and the time for ‘thank you’ is over. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he doesn't remember. He probably only knows my name because it was a source of gossip around town when Haymitch adopted Prim and I. He must remember me from then.

He gives me a timid smile, deftly wraps the cookies in parchment paper, ties them securely with a piece of fringed twine, and hands the package to me. I suddenly feel the need to fill the silence so I blurt: “They’re beautiful. The cookies.”

He manages to turn a shade pinker. “Thank you, I do most of the frosting around here. I made those this morning.” As I hand him the money for the treats, I assume that's it. That was the end of our conversation. But my tongue is moving again.

“They look just like the lilies in the woods. I see them on my morning walks.”

“Yes, exactly,” He grins and reveals a charming set of dimples. “I’ve seen them when I go to the woods to paint.”

I don't know what else to say and Prim has started tugging on my hand. She’s probably anxious to get home so we can enjoy our treats with tea, so I give him one last look and utter one last thank you before heading back out into the crowded square.

“Do you know him?” Prim asks as we begin walking towards home.

“No,” I say, a little relieved to be leaving. I can't catch my breath and my heart is racing like it does when something frightens me. “I don't even know his name.”

“Well, I've never seen you be that talkative with a stranger.” She beams. “Wait until I tell Mrs. Winthrop!”

Is that what he is to me? A stranger? I shake the thought from my head.

He knew my name. The very least I can do is learn his.

#thg #The Hunger Games #thg fanfic #everlark #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #haymitch abernathy #gale hawthorne #everlark fluff #jane austen au #pride and predujice #regency #regency au #everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #finnick odair

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

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The marriage pact - A Bird’s Life

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 18 | Part 19 A Bird’s Life | Part 20 >

Disclaimer: Some strong language

Author’s note: I hope you can survive my attempt at writing poetry.🤓

Word count: 1.475

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

When I was young my school reports always had one and the same comment; “Alice should try to get a bit more out of her shell”. I was simply said the shy kid, the nerdy girl, the one who always got the good grades and didn’t want to upset anyone. For the longest time I always put everyone before me. I was the giver, not the receiver, of attention and whenever someone wished to give me that attention, be it as a friend or lover, I pushed them away. I just didn’t know how to cope.

And even now after all these years it still, at times, makes me feel a little weirded out. I do not like to be the centre of attention. Not even when it’s the attention of just one person. Why I exactly feel like that, I don’t know. Is it a form of self protection? Building up walls? Perhaps. In any way, I will have to deal with it. Because me and chocolate cake are getting pretty serious about a lot of things. Adult things.

It happens to just be so that part of these adult things is caring for each other in equal measure. Being there for one another. Letting lust and demand grow into love and care. Or, as U.A. Fanthorpe lovingly described it in her poem Atlas; “There is a kind of love, called maintenance.”

And I, dear readers, want that maintenance kind of love, I do.

Ali

‘I didn’t know you read poetry.’ Henry said, your bodies huddled close together in the mid December wind. It was a small but unfortunate side effect of living near the sea; it seemed to always be windy. And in winter, that gave you a whole new sense of “fuck it’s cold”. I shivered into his chest, watching Kal zoom through the bushes like it was just another fine summers day.

‘Every now and then. It’s a bit of a left over habit from college.’

’Twas a nice poem. The whole collection of poems on that website actually.’ He smiled. ‘You read them all?’ I raised an eyebrow and looked up at his now outgrowing beard. Henry was growing a beard and I did not mind it one bit - it made me feel all kinds of literal and figurative tingles. He snickered. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Henry the poetry man! Makes me wonder actually. You are good with words, but do you ever write yourself?’ I looked back at the stone cobbled path ahead of us, our booted feet tapping in joined rhythm on the cold rock. I really, really enjoyed our walks together and from the fact Henry always near forced me to join him for his walks no matter how bad the weather, I derived he did so too.

‘Perhaps.’ He finally said, earning a inquisitive eyebrow raise from me. ‘Perhaps? Mr. Cavill, please do not dare and keep secrets from me!’ I prodded him in his side and he chuckled, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t dare. I just hadn’t ..come around to sharing it with you yet.’

‘Sounds like a secret to me.’ I laughed, seeing Kal had found himself a nice stick. ‘Oh Kal bear! At least you keep no secrets huh?’ I ruffled my fingers through his fur when he came to present his new found treasure to us, Henry’s hand near automatically taking it from the friendly Akita to throw it a bit further down the road, for the dog to fetch.

‘Okay. Something I wrote a while ago..don’t judge me though. It’s..-‘ ‘A secret.’ I squeezed my lips tight as if promising to keep my lips shut from here on. He sniffled. ‘Something like that.’

Clearing his throat and gazing out over the wintery landscape, he started:

‘A bird’s life

Before their singing rings I wake, an early riser Come morning do I take On the day, again a little whiter

Striding feet I follow Black and white, his beard too grey I hear my mothers voice speak again Do your duty come what may

But as I follow my winged friends Around the world I sink Dragging feet that stall and linger Not always can this be so, I think

My nests though many Are fewer my home My coffins are filled With gold silver and woe

As days then end I reach Yet another homeless nest Its branches prickle and when I look Hours more not to rest

Sun rises burning and Sore feet hit cold levels Long distances I go more Until sweet dreams too unravel

This journey’s not mine Too lonesome to stay I flicker my wings And yet again for love, do I pray.’

Silence fell as the last of his words filtered through the morning air, my ears still peeked as I now listened to his slow, calm breath, my hand wrapped around his arm. He had spoken as if his poem was directed at the birds in the trees themselves, his eyes reaching up to the empty branches in the near distance, no birds to be seen. It was just us two. Or three actually, as Kal, though blissfully aware of this magical moment, was there too, roaming around freely in the thicket.

‘When did you write that?’ I finally asked, looking up at him, his face calm. ‘The day after you left London. I actually hadn’t slept a wink that night before you had to fly back. I…gosh I’m such a foo-‘ - ‘Stop that.’ I halted my feet and gave him a fiery gaze. ‘Don’t apologise for your feelings.’ I admonished, then gently rubbed his arm. ‘And that was a terribly beautiful poem Hen.’

‘Hmm.’ He smiled, slightly unsure. ‘Thank you Ali.’

‘No thank you. And to answer your bird’s heart.’ I cupped his cheek in both hands. ‘I love you and I want to make that journey with you, I do.’

‘Even after all the surrogate mother shit and..’ - ‘Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill. Did you just haphazardly skip the first half of my blog this morning?’ I raised a teasing, yet authoritative eyebrow at him. He bit his lip to hide a chuckle. ‘I’m doing it too, huh?’

‘Yep. Take my love you fool! Take it! TAKE IT!’ I used both my hands to shake him like a salt shaker - though little did I actually get him to move as this man was about as built as the empire state building. His smile grew and grew and before long he was laughing aloud, his head nodding in amusement. ‘Okay Ali. Ali. You can stop now. I surrender.’

‘Then kiss me like you mea-‘ I wasn’t even allowed to finish that sentence, his lips crashing down onto mine. Soft and plushy, the after taste of his morning coffee still lingering, he was not going to let the moment go to waste.

We probably stood there for a few minutes. Just kissing, our cheeks burning like hot coals despite the icy wind around us, his hands carefully wrapped around my head, keeping me where he wanted me to be. His fellow bird, ready to fly out together.

Or well, almost; first I had to take my employer up on that hiatus proposal.

—

‘I got the okay! She’s going to check for a temp writer and once that person’s all settled in, I could..go with you.’ I cheered, flying around Henry’s neck, not minding the fact that his parents were also near - his mom just peeking her head around the corner of the kitchen and his dad probably reading his newspaper in the living room.

‘What?! Really?!’ Henry’s smile grew from ear to ear as he wrapped me, winter coat and all, in his arms. ‘Baby that’s..’ He leaned back again. ‘Wow.’ He near giggled.

‘Are you staying for dinner, Ali?’ His mom inquired, infiltrating on our little moment. We quickly awoke from our little bubble and Henry muttered some quiet apology, pushing the still opened front door closed behind us.

‘Eh…’ I blinked at Henry. He smiled and nodded, bidding me to accept her offer. ‘Yes please. Thank you Marianne.’ I looked over at her and she gave me a most adoring wink. ‘You are practically family Ali.’ She mused, disappearing back into the kitchen where dinner was already well on the way.

I watched her waddle off, feeling Henry’s strong arms pull me in for a full-circled swoop through the air, making me fly like the birds in his poem. ‘I love you so much!’ He exclaimed, making me laugh with pure giddiness. ‘Hen! Carefu— OHH — HEN- put me down, put me down hahahah. Oh gosh.’ I squirmed until finally he put me back on my feet, his wide teethed grin causing sweet dimples to crease his cheeks.

‘I love you too, silly.’

‘Then I better start calling my agent, hmm?’

‘Mhm. You better.’

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aokane-eldarya · 5 years

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Thomas ASTRUC : “In season 4, it will be a bomb by episode. This is the equivalent of the impact of a Cat Blanc episode in each episode.” Sebastien THIBAUDEAU : “All your certainties will be upset. And it will also be the season of the episode 100, it will be necessary to watch it.” - Translation of a French interview -

Interview made by Damien Mercereau for "Le Figaro"

INTERVIEW - Meeting with the creator, the executive producer and the writers of the tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir on the sidelines of the broadcast, this Sunday morning on TF1, of the finale of season 3.

After a first introductory season of the Miraculous universe and a second season in which Ladybug and Cat Noir were able to deepen their learning of budding superheroes, the third season was the testing of the heroine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. In the heart of Paris, this shy and clumsy junior high school student has become in spite of herself Ladybug, an assertive superheroine. At her side, handsome Adrien Agreste, humble and sensitive, turns into a very confident and enterprising Cat Noir. Both don't know who is behind their costume.

Together, they fight Hawkmoth and Mayura and their army of super-villains. New miraculous and new powers have appeared in season 3 broadcast since last April on TF1, strengthening the potential of heroes. In parallel with this struggle between good and evil, the series also relates the tormented life of a small group of Parisian junior high school students, their friendships, their passions, their first love stories, their joys, their sorrows... In the middle of all this, there is Marinette's unconfessed love for Adrien and the fact that each of them becomes closer, respectively, from Luka and Kagami.

A few days ago, we met Miraculous's masterminds in a Paris office during their writing workshop... of the season 5 : Thomas Astruc, the creator of the series, Sebastien Thibaudeau, writing director and executive producer and screenwriters Mélanie Duval and Frédéric Lenoir.

LE FIGARO : What was the general idea of this season 3 of Miraculous?

Mélanie DUVAL : Very familiarly, we wrote the episodes telling us that Marinette was going to have hard times. She begins her school year by losing her place in the class. She already had Chloe as an enemy, she ended up with a second one, Lila. The love of her life is coveted by another ... She is overwhelmed!

Thomas ASTRUC : It was a season focused on Master Fu (the guardian of the miraculous, ed) and at the same time a test of Marinette. To pull our characters up, we have to agree to make them fall very low. Many things happen, shaken up and end in the final. The series could have stopped there with this bittersweet end. Nothing is predictable in Miraculous.

Is there a real chronology to respect following the episodes?

Sebastien THIBAUDEAU : Each story is an entry point, we give back all the necessary information for a non-initiate to the universe of Miraculous to understand.

Thomas ASTRUC : There are seasonal chronologies. The stories of the first season must precede those of the second one, which themselves must be before the third one. But each season has a particular taste with, in its first episode, an overview. In the middle, a set that can be viewed in almost any order where each episode will bring new information. And in the end, a last episode where all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. This is a serie that you can watch many times, you will always discover something new.

Sebastien THIBAUDEAU : In the first season, we had tested things like showing Chloe who plays to dress up as Ladybug. This started the development of her character. Gradually, we began to sow elements that made sense later.

How came the idea of the episode called "Cat Blanc" that shows what would happen in the future if the two heroes fell in love with each other?

Thomas ASTRUC : This is an episode that required a year of writing work and we finally see only small bits of what we had originally imagined. The TV channels had validated the first version (TF1 in France, Disney Channel in the United States and Gloob in Brazil, ed) but we had decided to review our copy. It is extremely rare for authors to make such a decision, but for us it was not good enough. We still did not have enough control over the world of our characters to be able to write it correctly, we had to take our time.

Sebastien THIBAUDEAU : We wrote flashbacks that I did not believe. They did not fit the mentality of our characters. We stopped everything to start from scratch with the initial idea : what would happen if Marinette and Adrien were together and if Adrien knew that Marinette was hiding from him that she was Ladybug ? It took us an extra week. Once this work was done, we were able to focus on the present of the heroes and disseminate plots of our flashbacks. We still have scenes that we loved but were not used for lack of space. Initially, Cat Blanc was a season 2 episode but it finally took place at the end of season 3.

Does the story of Cat Blanc annihilate the possibility of a love relationship between Marinette and Adrien?

Thomas ASTRUC : The episode Cat Blanc does not close the possibility of a relationship between them but it shows how delicate it would be. They are both heroes, the villain wants to steal their miraculous so a romantic relationship would be like dynamite. It is to be treated carefully, it could not happen anyhow or anytime. A priori, as long as a villain is looking for their miraculous, it will be complicated... Since the beginning, we know that if they know their respective secret identity, it would be enough for one or the other to have a negative emotion for to be akumatized and give Hawkmoth what he wants. With the episode Cat Blanc, you now know what would happen if they were in a relationship.

In the episode "Timetagger", you gave us another projection of the future of Ladybug and Cat Noir...

Thomas ASTRUC : The future is not fixed - that's what the episode Cat Blanc could demonstrate. But we can afford to assert certain things because we have a very long-term vision of the series and we know where we want to bring it. Time travel is often double-edged. A child will consider this phenomenon for the first time while a teenager or an adult will have other references like Terminator, Back to the Future, Doctor Who and be more critical. Paradoxically, a child will understand things more naturally.

Frédéric LENOIR : We master the universe of the series so it's easy to play with our characters and to confront them to different situations. We seek above all to build stories that are interesting and understandable.

Thomas ASTRUC : We think that what children do not know, they learn. When they are confronted with new things in Miraculous, we become their first explanation. It does not matter if they do not immediately understand some winks, they can understand them later. The names of the protagonists, the costumes of the superheroes, the places ... There are a multitude of small clues to dig which are full of cultural information. For example, the story of Master Fu's girlfriend in "Backwarder" is a tribute to the grandmother of our screenwriter Frédéric Lenoir who is a former resistance fighter. We called her Marianne Lenoir.

What values do you wish to convey through the episodes of Miraculous?

Mélanie DUVAL : We are sensitive to the impact of pop culture on young people. We are very careful not to show in the series some things that could have a bad influence on their imagination. I remember having hated this figure given here or there to the class-nerd abused by his comrades. In Miraculous, we have the sportsman, the nerd, the good friend, the nuisance... But nobody is abused. We show a kind of ideal where the big sporty can be the best friend of the intellectual. And facing a negative character like Chloe, the question is not going to be how to make her nice, but rather how to react to her. Her friend Sabrina is abused but she did not say her last word.

Thomas ASTRUC : This degree of submission to the bad person is something that we have to deal with. But to achieve this, we must first establish the basics, show the facts and behaviors. Sabrina's problem requires time to be effectively settled.

Frédéric LENOIR : If you approach and solve a problem too quickly, you may treat it too mechanically and theoretically. Our principle is to approach each theme in a constructive and rewarding way. We go over what should not be done because we strongly believe in what has to be done. Our characters also believe in it. We always try to go to the light.

Sebastien THIBAUDEAU : We are careful to show things that are right, to convey good values and this leads us to have long philosophical debates during our writing workshops. You can spend a whole day thinking about the meaning of an episode. When we meet parents who tell us that what we tell their child is good, we are really flattered.

What is waiting for us in season 4?

Mélanie DUVAL : This is the season when the characters really take control of the series.

Thomas ASTRUC : In season 3, Marinette suffered and in season 4, it will be a bomb by episode. This is the equivalent of the impact of a Cat Blanc episode in each episode. Everyone will be flabbergasted. She has new responsibilities and she is maturing. At the site level, after the Grévin museum and the Saint-Martin canal, we will visit the Swan Island.

Sebastien THIBAUDEAU : Season 4 is the one that surprised us the most. All your certainties will be upset. And it will also be the season of the episode 100, it will be necessary to watch it. And a special episode will wait before the release of season 4. Many events will mark the year 2020.

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