#answered: dubois brothers

[maxwell-grant]

I truly love not getting a definitive answer on the whole Claire situation, whether Edgar doesn't exist or it's him you've been talking to the whole time or something else. The more you progress and the more characters talk to you about the Claires and the more you get used to the game's bullshit, the less unbelievable it starts being that Evrart really does have an offscreen clone brother who is and isn't The Real Mastermind of the Union depending on how convenient it is at the moment.

Why stop at one, even.

"Good evening Mr. DuBois, I'm sure my brothers forgot to introduce me. My name is Everton Claire, and it is so very nice to make your acquaintance for the first time right this very second."

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐓𝐋 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

Summary: When Y/N needs help on a hunt, she doesn't expect Bobby to send Dean Winchester to her. Now the two must work together to solve the case and Dean has to deal with Y/N's sarcastic and biting personality, that maybe he likes a little too much.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: just some swearing

Word count: 2168

Series

It was early morning when Dean's phone rang in the motel room where the brothers were spending the night.

"Hello?" Dean said sleepily after glancing at Sam as he sat up on the bed next to his, his arm in a cast because of yesterday's hunt. He probably should have taken a break from work for a while.

“Dean, it's Bobby. I found you a case, well not me exactly.”

"Awesome! And I thought I could sleep for two hours in a raw."

"'Oh shut up. So, do you want this case or not?”

"What is it about?"

"I have no idea. Y/N called me, she says she's never seen anything like this, she needs backup."

"Y/N? Oh c'mon..."

She was an excellent hunter, a ruthless professional. A person perhaps a little too sarcastic and stubborn, of those who never admitted they were wrong even if they knew perfectly well they were.

"Don't complain. Y/N is a smart girl! And I know you like her even if you pretend you don't, okay?”

"What? No I…" Dean was interrupted by a low, mocking laugh.

"Okay, okay." He said rolling his eyes, even though Bobby couldn't see it. "Sam has a broken arm, he can't hunt like this."

His brother snorted.

"He can stay with me until you are dome with this hunt." Bobby replied.

Dean glanced at Sam, who didn't look really convinced.

"Okay. Where's Y/N?"

"Toledo, Ohio. You can find her at the Devil Return Motel, room 12."

Dean couldn't help but smile, he was sure she had chosen a motel with that name on purpose.

That fucking case had forced her to ask for help, something she didn't do often. Y/N was poring over everything she could glean from searches around the town but she couldn't come to a logical conclusion.

Bernard Dubois, the first victim, had been attacked in his residence and then deprived of all nails and eyes. Other pieces of flesh that appeared to have been bitten off the body were also missing.

Mark Stern, on the other hand, the second victim, seemed to have had less luck: this one had been found in the garden of his residence without teeth, in addition to nails and eyes.

Y/N had been in that town for two days now and that "thing" had already caused two deaths. One dead a day wasn't a good pace and she knew she couldn't do it alone.

When she heard a knock at the door she got up from the old brown couch and went to open it, expecting some old bearded and experienced hunter: she had specified to Bobby how weird this hunt was.

Protected by the chain, she opened the door a little, remaining impassive on seeing Dean.

Dean Winchester was one of the best hunters she'd ever met, hell maybe the best ever but working with him was always terribly difficult for both of them. But that didn't make her like him any less, she just had to put on a little show.

"Y/N, how long! Are you going to let me in or…?” and she closed the door again, almost slamming it in his face.

"Hey!" She heard him on the other side.

She rolled her eyes and moved the bolt so she could finally open the door. Moving away from the entrance they reached the center of the room.

"Don't you check that i'm not a monster or something?"

He asked surprised by such a... frivolous welcome.

When she turned to answer him, she looked up at the ceiling and Dean did the same.

"Anti-demon" nodded Dean seeing the pentacle painted in black. "I would have made it under the rug tho," he added, receiving a look that could have incinerated him instantly.

"What if I was something else?" He asked closing the door behind him.

“I've fitted a silver handle and the mirror says you're not a shapeshifter. Do you want to do your job now or do you want to continue humiliating yourself?” She smiled at him victorious, handing him the sheets with the newspaper articles.

A case with Dean Winchester. It was going to be a hell of a hunt.

Anyone in their right mind would have preferred to stay away from that manipulative and sometimes even seemingly selfish woman. Only apparently, Dean thought, he knew that behind that facade there was a part of her that she didn't show very often. Dean had known her for a long time, they had worked together several times, since before Sam left Stanford to go looking for John with him.

Dean dropped the bag on the mattress and walked over to the table covered in photos and documents, placing his hands on opposite sides of it, followed by Y/N.

On the table, photos and medical records continued to dance before her eyes, as if they were reproaching her incompetence.

"I'll set everything on fire once I find that son of a bitch" she muttered annoyed starting to move the sheets for the umpteenth time, so that they could compare the victims.

Origins, frequented places, age, job, physical traits: everything seemed to not coincide. This implied a lack of pattern.

"Which of the monsters we know prefers to eat the side dish rather than the main course?" She asked Dean, sometimes having the same sarcasm as someone else was an advantage.

Dean gave the papers one last look and then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Rugaru?" He tried passing the list over in his mind.

"A picky Rugaru? I doubt it" Y/N disagreed as she continued to stare at those papers which by now she knew by heart. “Besides, there were animals footprints at both crime scenes.”

"So-"

“Werewolves? Are you serious?" She anticipated him turning her head in his direction just to be able to throw him one of her "and I should collaborate with you?" looks.

“And I said animals footprints. More animals.”

She moved to what should have been the kitchen and picked up a book she'd forgotten on the counter while taking a snack break from her research. She threw it at him without even a warning, at least he still had quick reflexes.

"Otters" she anticipated him again when he saw him open the book, helped by the post-it that marked the offending page.

"Otters? Are you kidding me?" Dean gave her a questioning and somewhat incredulous look.

“Not this time. Otters and dogs" she added, opening the mini bar to get a beer just for her. Little sense of welcome, definitely.

She felt like she was playing Guess Who, but it was a very long and definitely not funny game.

Dean leafed through the book and then went back to reading the documents scattered on the table.

"C'mon, Sherlock. I'm sure you can do it." he teased him opening her beer and taking a long drink.

In both cases the men had been deprived of eyes and nails, feet and hands.

"What creature prefers eyeballs to human flesh?" He asked to himself, trying to remember if he had ever read anything like this in John's journal. Obviously he knew those pages, every note that John had written had been assimilated in a short time during his father's absence. So he was pretty sure John Winchester's diary wasn't going to help him. To make sure, however, he decided to take a quick look.

He sat back on the bed, and pulled his source of information from his duffel bag, the thing that had kept Sam and Dean going all those years. He leafed through it quickly but carefully until he reached the last page. He closed the journar, resigned and he sighed.

"Well, that's weird," he said. "Did the two gentlemen here have absolutely nothing in common?"

"As far as I know, no," Y/N answered after sipping his beer, shrugging. “One of them even lived outside Toledo.”

"But his body was found dead here, right?" the man asked again. Y/N nodded.

"Nah! There must be something. There's always something." He put the diary back in the bag and returned to concentrating on the documents of the victims. He turned to look at the girl, his eyes narrowed.

"Did you check if the two guys knew each other?" he asked, receiving only a suspicious silence in response.

From her guilty expression, he knew perfectly well that the idea hadn't even crossed her mind.

Dean chuckled amused and also very pleased.

“I take that as a no,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us."

He turned away from her and went to arrange his things on the couch in the corner of the room.

“Tomorrow morning we're going to talk to the families of these two. Now it's late and we should sleep."

If she could, she would have hit herself.

How could she not think of such a thing? She had focused so much on love matters to understand if it could be a passionate revenge that she had totally forgotten to ask their families for confirmation. She knew everything about the lives of those fucking dudes and not if they knew each other.

And did you need a Winchester get it? She admonished herself inwardly, shaking her head.

Y/N glanced at Dean as he dropped his dark red shirt and T-shirt on the back of the armchair in front of the couch. “So, do you wanna sleep or not? I bet you haven't slept in at least fifty hours.”

He, on the other hand, hadn't slept for three days. He had had a very difficult case that had given him a hard time and he had also had to take Sam to the hospital, which hunters only did when things were really bad and he had been in the waiting room for hours and then returned at the motel with a pissed off Sam about his arm in a cast.

He hadn't even had time to close his eyes before he got Bobby's call, which was why he was there now.

“You don't need to worry about me, Dean. I have to get some stuff ready for tomorrow." Y/N retorted without even glancing at him, busy fiddling with fake FBI badges.

«No offence, sweetheart, but you don't look really good» insisted Dean, also stripping of his jeans to freely remain half naked. "You should sleep."

«Never as much as you, love. With those dark circles you have, even the monster we're dealing with would run away» she retorted choosing the most suitable badge for that case and leaving it on the table.

"Now shut up and sleep." she said firmly trying to convince him.

But Dean didn't seem to want to listen to her. Of course, he wanted to sleep and send her to hell but he just couldn't do it knowing that she stayed awake when she needed to sleep too.

Y/N fumbled some more with the things in her bag and then turned back to Dean, finding him still wide awake, staring at her.

She huffed, finally giving in and Dean had to hide a smile.

“You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?” She complained as she began to pull off her shoes, followed by her socks and jeans.

"I take the couch?" Dean said uncertainly as she pulled on an extra large t-shirt.

“Didn't you say you wanted to sleep? Well, I assure you that it's impossible to sleep on that couch» she shook his head as he approached the bed and lifted the sheets. «I don't bite, Dean» she invited him to follow her, sitting down on the bed.

"I mean, yes, I bite, but not now," she corrected herself with a guilty smile, leaning back on the bed with his arms folded. "So?"

They were just like cat and dog, except that they fought like an old married couple, but still cared about each other.

Dean raised his eyebrows, thinking about her proposal and moved his gaze to the couch which, to be honest, looked really questionable. Leather, a little scratched at the seams and with not exactly accommodating cushions. He looked at the bed and then once more at Y/N, who was patting the empty seat next to her.

Dean sighed and finally moved. He lay down next to her and rested his head on the pillow, it wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed, only it had been almost a year since the last time.

Maybe, the last time had been when, after drinking a little too much, they had almost ended up doing something else in that bed. They both pretended not to remember that night, anyway.

"Why isn't Sam with you?" she asked.

"Broken arm, he's staying at Bobby's." He murmured in an already sleepy voice.

"Now we should rest," he said then, settling on his side, facing right at her. “Try not to stare at me too much while I sleep, okay?”

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @samanddeansannoyingsis @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @random-spn-fan

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Three

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Two | Next Chapter: Four

Summary:

Her father looks uncomfortable. "I heard that you've been keeping company with a pirate."

"He's not a pirate," Olivia protests. "He's a merchant who just has an unfairly bad reputation."

"Reputations come from somewhere, Livvy," her father reminds her gently. "And even if they're mostly fabricated, there's always a kernel of truth in there somewhere."

Read on AO3

“I thought you’d be down there all night,” Prisca remarks, when Olivia ducks through the tavern door again.

“Why would I? Things are just starting to get lively here, from the looks of it.” 

The tavern owner gives her a knowing look. “Not many women can go onto the Hellcat at dusk and come back off of it before the sun comes up.” 

“Well then, I guess that makes me special, doesn’t it?” She looks around the room full of men, her intent to change the subject. “Where are the girls?” 

“Most of ‘em have already gone up with someone for the night,” Prisca replies. “Sabrina and Leonie are around here somewhere though.” The older woman leans in close, her voice lowered. “I think they’re waiting for Mr. Moneybags to come down.” 

Olivia wrinkles her nose. “I could’ve done without knowing that, Prisca.” 

“Well,” Prisca shrugs, “you said you weren’t interested.” 

“And I meant what I said - I’m not,” she reiterates firmly. “I keep telling you that what’s likely to happen is one of his younger brothers ends up marrying one of my younger sisters. Problem solved.” 

“He’s the Crown Prince,” Prisca points out, pulling two short glasses from a high shelf. She slides a bottle of expensive rum across the counter along with the glasses. “He’s gonna have to get married sooner or later.” 

“Not my problem,” Olivia murmurs. She tilts her head toward the bottle of rum and the glasses. “Where’s this going?” 

“Upstairs to room seven.” 

Olivia flips a tray over and places both glasses and the bottle on top of it. She makes her way through the crowded tavern, weaving between full tables where drunk seafarers are bellowing with laughter. Gone are the days when stray hands would find parts of her body along the way - a few broken fingers here and there over the years have always solved that problem quickly. 

At the top of the stairs, she repositions the bottle and glasses on the tray before raising her hand to knock at door number seven. Halfway through her first knock the door is snatched open, and she’s face-to-face with a pair of familiar blue eyes. 

He looks her up and down. When his eyes fall on the tray in her hands, he steps aside to let her in. 

Olivia takes a deep breath. Be civil, she reminds herself. Not only is he a paying customer, he’s also the Crown Prince. “Where would you like this?” She asks politely. 

“Right there,” he answers, his tone short. 

She sets it down on the table he motions to, noticing silently that the room is empty save him. She clears her throat. “Would you like me to take one of the glasses away with me?” 

He stares at her, his expression hard. “Do you have something you want to say?” 

“I’m only asking you if you require both of these glasses,” she smiles politely. “The house is packed tonight and if you’re only in need of one, the other can be used elsewhere.” 

“Maybe I was counting on my server joining me for a drink,” he says. She’s not ignorant to the sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

“Then perhaps I should send one of the other girls up for you,” she offers, her tone still sweetly polite. “As you recall, I’m not for hire.” 

“Only to pirates, it seems.” His voice is pitched low, but she hears the words anyway. 

“I’m sorry, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

He inclines his head to the side, his blue eyes piercing. “What do you think it means?” 

“I think maybe I’m confused about what it means, and it would clear up a lot of the confusion if you would just speak plainly.” She is trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. It’s a Herculean effort. 

“Are you sleeping with him?” 

The blunt question catches her off-guard. Her mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. Still, she’s unable to get any words out for a solid thirty seconds. “What did you just say?” 

Silvio takes a step closer to her. Then another, and another, until his face is only a few inches from hers. “You told me to speak plainly. I asked you a question. Are you sleeping with him?” 

“I… don’t think that’s any of your business,” Olivia sputters indignantly. 

He looks at her for a long time. “No,” he says finally after a few moments. “You’re not.” 

Exasperated, she puts her hands on her hips. “If you knew that already, then why’d you bother asking?” 

He turns away from her, filling a glass with rum and raising it to his lips. “I didn’t know,” he tells her, when he’s taken a long swig. “Until just now.” 

She wants to ask him how he knows. She wants to ask him what it means to him that he knows she isn’t, and why he wanted to know in the first place. But the words get stuck in her throat, and she finds herself unable to say anything at all. 

“You can go,” he says dismissively, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak. “Leave the other glass. I’m waiting for a business associate.” 

“As you wish,” she manages through clenched teeth, offering him a tight smile. “Enjoy your night.” 

--

“Are you staying tonight, or should I have Murph or one of the other guys walk you back?” 

She hears the question but doesn’t register that it’s aimed at her until Prisca asks again, this time calling her name first. “Um, no,” she says distractedly. “I’ll stay - if that’s alright?” 

“You know it’s always alright,” the older woman nods warmly. “I can always use the help, and I know that little place of yours must get lonely, now that you’re not living with your family anymore.” 

Olivia shrugs. 

--

The first light of dawn has touched the horizon before the last of Prisca’s patrons stumble out of the tavern. Most simply walk to different ends of the dock and hoist themselves groggily (or drunkenly) onto their ships; the rest make their way up the stairs to the rooms they’ve booked at the inn. 

Olivia is wiping down tables when he comes down. At the sound of his footsteps, she looks up. “Good morning,” she says softly. The greeting is her peace offering. 

“You look tired,” is the way he responds. 

“Does everything you say have to be framed as an insult?” The question comes out as a sigh. 

“Less than eight hours ago, you told me to speak plainly so I wouldn’t confuse you.” He points it out as though it’s the most rational thing in the world. 

“I was… that was in a specific context,” Olivia huffs. 

He shrugs, turning towards the door. 

“How did you know?” She blurts it out, unaware she’s going to ask the question until he’s turning back to face her. 

“What?” 

Part of her wants to pretend as though she hasn’t spoken… or at the very least tell him her question was a mistake. But the bigger part of her wants to know, and so she takes a deep breath, straightening to look him in the eye. “You said you didn’t know I wasn’t sleeping with him until you asked me,” she starts quietly. “How did you know?” 

“You fall hard,” Silvio replies. “And you only seem to be casually affected whenever someone brings him up to you in that context. If it had been like that,” he goes on, “you’d either be a lot more obvious about being attached to him, or he’d be the object of all that venom you keep hidden in your tongue.”  

Her mouth turns down in a frown. “That’s not fair.” 

He shrugs again. “It’s the truth you wanted. Besides,” he adds, his smile growing sharp and his words rude, “we all know he doesn’t fraternize with the women he takes to bed. Not after he’s gotten what he wants out of them, anyway---”

“How is that any different from you coming here almost every night of the week?” She knows her question is an unfair comparison, but his summation of Grimmjow has rankled her. 

Silvio looks curiously at her, seeming to seriously consider her question. “Women know who I am when they agree to come to bed with me,” he says finally. “I give them no illusions about what’s going to happen. Or what isn’t,” he adds. 

“And you’re saying he does?” 

He inclines his head to the side. “Why do you care so much about his honor?” He asks the question mockingly. “What has he ever done for you? What has he ever done for anyone aside from himself?” 

“You don’t know him,” she sighs. “He does plenty for other people.” 

“For you, you mean?” Silvio raises his fine silver eyebrows. “You think bringing you trinkets from Vora makes him a good man? You think that means he loves you?” 

Olivia hates it - hates the way the words drip from his lips as cold and bitter as frost. He curls his mouth up in another of those nasty, knowing smiles. “I bet he’s asked, hasn’t he?” He goes on, leaning in close to get a good look at her face. “Why haven’t you let him fuck you?” 

She keeps her mouth firmly shut. 

“Oh,” he leans back, his nasty smile turning into a smug, self-satisfied one. “Don’t tell me there’s somebody else you’re hung up on. Not you, the independent, self-sufficient, courageous woman---”

“That isn’t fair, Silvio,” she asserts quietly. “You said you would never throw it in my face.”

“Well I lied,” he shrugs. “Seems like you lied about something, too.”

His words slam into her so hard they take her breath for a moment. “I was wrong to think you could ever behave like a decent human,” she snaps, pushing past him. “And I was right not to want to marry you.” 

Just for a second, the sneer falls off of his face, and his blue eyes cloud over with something that looks suspiciously like hurt. The second passes, and by the time she looks at him again he has carefully schooled his expression back into a scowl. “Well,” he says haughtily, “you’re no prize yourself, so I guess we both made out like bandits.” 

He slams the door behind him on his way out. 

--

“What?” He breathes the word into her ear, the warm puff of air against her chilled skin making her shudder. He’s being uncharacteristically affectionate, draping his limbs around her, his skin pressing against hers wherever he can reach it. “What’s with that look?” 

His hair brushes against her cheek, silken silver strands like a spider’s web tickling wherever they touch. The thin haze of alcohol is still blanketing her senses, and she laughs. “I don’t know,” she exhales. “I just… I guess I thought it would hurt more.” 

Cloudy blue eyes look down at her. “I can make it hurt, if you want me to,” he whispers. Fingertips dig into her sides, pressing against the soft flesh of her hips. He pushes into her a little deeper. “Do you want me to make it hurt?” 

The slide of him against her walls is the most intense thing she’s ever felt, and she’s barely able to stifle a moan. “N-no,” she breathes out shakily. “This… this is perfect.” 

His smile is smug. 

--

“Well now,” Antoine DuBois greets her warmly. “To what do I owe this treat? I was beginning to think I would never see my firstborn again.” 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Olivia laughs. “I just came by to say hello.”

“You look tired,” he remarks. His words are kind, his delivery completely different from the way she heard those words just a few hours ago. 

“I just finished a shift at the Sundance,” she confesses.

“Don’t tell your mother that,” he frowns. 

“I won’t if you won’t,” Olivia chuckles. 

He doesn’t laugh with her though, and Olivia braces herself for what is sure to be a deeper conversation. Her father takes a deep breath. “Why don’t you come home, Livvy-Love?” He asks softly. “It isn’t just your mother who wants to see you happily settled down, you know.” 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “I know you mean well, Papa,” she starts. “But I thought we were past this. I’m fine with my life as it is. If the royal family still has it in their minds to keep us hostage by means of a political marriage, Thalia is the obvious choice.” 

“And while I don’t disagree with you,” her father nods, “that isn’t what this is about.” 

Curiously, she looks at him. “Okay,” she says slowly. “What is it about?” 

Her father looks uncomfortable. “I heard that you’ve been keeping company with a pirate.”

“He’s not a pirate,” Olivia protests. “He’s a merchant who just has an unfairly bad reputation.”

“Reputations come from somewhere, Livvy,” her father reminds her gently. “And even if they’re mostly fabricated, there’s always a kernel of truth in there somewhere.” 

Olivia shakes her head. “Where is all this coming from? And who told you this?” 

There is only a split second of hesitation before he speaks. “Prince Silvio visited the manor a few days ago,” he admits. “We’d actually arranged for his younger brother Prince Alessio to have tea with Thalia. He came along as Alessio’s chaperone.” 

She tries to keep her expression neutral. “And why would you believe anything he says?” 

Puzzled, her father looks at her. “Do I have a reason not to?”  

It stings Olivia’s pride a bit, the idea that her father’s opinion of Silvio isn’t at all colored by Olivia’s experience with him. What tempers the sting of knowing that is that her father has never once berated her for the decision she made all those years ago.

“I just… don’t think Silvio Ricci is the right person to make moral judgments on other people.” 

Antoine’s eyebrows go up. “Oh? Do you know something I don’t?” 

“It’s nothing,” she sighs. “I’m really tired, Papa… can I sleep here for a few hours before I head back to the docks?” 

Her father looks set to pursue his line of questioning, but thinks better of it. “This conversation isn’t over,” he starts. “But I know where your stubbornness comes from, and I also know I’m not going to get anywhere with you when you’re tired.” 

She flashes him a grin, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “You’re the most incredible father in the world.”

“I don’t hear that nearly enough.” 

--

“You called me ugly.” She doesn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, but it does. 

“I know I did,” he agrees, his blue eyes crinkling with mirth at the corners. “It was fifteen years ago. And I said I was sorry for it back then.” 

She looks up at him. His face is so close, so handsome. She reaches up to run a finger along his bottom lip. “I’m not ugly,” she murmurs. 

“No,” he agrees, “you’re not. You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, and you get even prettier when you’re under me like this.” He dips his head, dragging his lips along the skin between her shoulder and the hollow of her throat. He nips at her collarbone, and Olivia arches up into him with a groan. 

“Silvio---”

“Why won’t you marry me?” He lifts his head once more to look at her, his question abrupt. 

The words catch in her throat, but she pushes past the breath they get stuck on to look back at him. “You know why,” she says quietly. 

His blue eyes study her face for a long time. There is something there that she isn’t used to seeing: something open and vulnerable. 

“Would it really be so bad to be a princess?” He whispers the words, burying his face in her shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t be just a princess,” she rebuts, her voice soft in the darkness. “At some point, I would become your Queen… the Queen of Clario. That… Silvio, I couldn’t do it. I’m not cut out for it.” 

He doesn’t raise his head. She can feel him breathing, his back rising and falling. He’s still inside her, still warm and hard and heavy. She cards her fingers through his silken hair. “Silvio…”

“Don’t you love me?” 

--

The memory is still painful, even after five years. She doesn’t allow herself to think of it often, but every now and again it comes to her unbidden and she is powerless to stop it. 

She looks down at the jewelry box in her hand. It’s been sitting in her old bedroom at her parents’ manor for years now, collecting dust and hoarding old memories like a jealous lover. 

“Livvy!” The sound of her two youngest sisters clamoring up the stairs reaches her ears and makes her smile, despite the heavy feeling in her heart. The twins come bounding into her room, their cries of excitement drowning out even her noisiest thoughts. 

Nadine bounces on the bed next to Olivia, her big brown eyes on the box in Olivia’s hands. “Livvy, what’s in that?” 

Olivia narrows her eyes playfully at the little girl. “I’m surprised you don’t already know, Dina,” she starts. “You can be awfully nosy when you want to.” 

“Oh, we don’t come in here unless you’re here,” the other twin, Leina, pipes up. “Papa and Mama say your things are not to be touched.” 

“So what’s that?” Nadine asks again. 

“It’s a jewelry box,” Olivia smiles, opening the lid to show them the compartments inside. The jewelry within is just as she left it so many years ago, each piece nestled perfectly into its own compartment. 

“So pretty,” Leina breathes. “Did you buy all of that?” 

“No,” Olivia says softly. “A… friend bought it for me.” 

Leina bounces up and down beside her. “That must be a really good friend,” she giggles excitedly. “When I grow up, I want a friend like that!” 

Olivia smiles, a little wistfully. 

--

“Don’t you love me?”

He asks the question softly, more plaintively than she’s ever heard him speak. He doesn’t look up at her; she knows that it is a matter of his pride. 

“Of course I do,” she says candidly. “You know I do.”

“But you won’t marry me.”

“Silvio…” 

He raises his head once more, his blue eyes dark as he pulls his hips back. He gives her a smile: that same smug, self-satisfied smile he always gives her whenever she surrenders her body to his. “I won’t ask you anymore,” he whispers, his lips ghosting across hers in a kiss. “I promise.”

Previous Chapter: Two | Next Chapter: Four

[thetisming]

since you asked me to answer all of thhe questions, you gotta answer all of the questions too!

💖 Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

probably zombie saga, although i also love 'i will vandalize your grave in your name', the 7+1 fic and some others that i think im forgetting. OH and 'we were staying in paris'

🎥 Pick a fic and I'll tell you the song I imagine playing during its movie trailer.

well this requires imput from other people. so.

but i'll choose zombie saga!! and the trailer song is Mamma Mia by ABBA. naturally

📝 How many words do you have posted?

approximately 162609

🤩 What's the most meaningful comment you've ever received?

that fucking ESSAY that Plankton wrote about iwvygiyn

🔮What's your favorite plot twist you've ever written?

ohh, this is an interesting one actually. definitely something in zombie saga but im not sure what!

👄 Your OTP are having their first kiss. What song do you imagine is playing?

THIS IS SO FUNNY AS A MUSICAL FAN. uh I Kissed A Girl. because that is what happens yeag

🎭What genre of writing comes easiest to you?

ANGST. it's so much easier than happy stuff lol it's like poetry for me

🙊Your coworkers or classmates stumble across one of your fics, but don't know you're the author. Do you fess up? Or keep quiet?

yeah i would tell them

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

"Go to sleep, Lance, and now that she’s gone you sleep with your mistakes" from my fic 'don't speak (i know just what you're saying)', but also many different things from (especially the second chapter of) iwvygiyn

🦉Is there another author that helped inspire you to write?

@fen-the-magnificat !!!!!

👶Fankids: How you do you feel about them? Would your OTP have kids?

i dont have any fankids unless you count the Dubois brothers, but i think they're neat! i dont know if Frankie and May would have kids but they would be AMAZING parents, and i dont think Juliet and Romeo would have any. William and Anne already have kids, and Lance has kids too which make them Angelique's kids

🐗How do you handle trolls?

i havent had any trolls

🟥How long do you spend in edits?

like 5 minutes to skim over it when ive put it in ao3 idk

🏡What is your perfect writing envrionment?

uh. i dont fucking know

💪What motivates you to write?

someone needs to write about my blorbos!!!

🚿Where do your best ideas seem to strike?

well zombie saga happened because i sent some dumb asks to Felix, anything about the wedding happening just comes randomly, and iwvygiyn came from a page of the sandman!

🌠What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

uhh okay i'll do top 3 for each ig??

ratings: general (39), teen & up (38), not rated (1)

warnings: no warnings (52), chose not to use warnings (14), major character death (12)

categories: other (61), multi (49), F/M (46)

fandoms: & Juliet (74), citc (27), community (16) (last two are crossovers with &j btw)

characters: Francois (59), May (54), Juliet (51)

relationships: Francois/May (61), Juliet/Romeo (41), Juliet & May (34)

additional: title from an ABBA song (19), zombie apocalypse (18), not beta read (9)

overall top 3 are & Juliet, maycois/other (lumping those together lol) and Francois

💻What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc.

laptop and phone!

🤔What are some words or phrases you find yourself overusing?

'Francois snuggled (etc etc)', probably, among other things lol

📕How do you feel about people printing your fics?

yeah fuck it just dont claim it as your own tbh

🤷‍♀️What's a fic you didn't expect to be popular, but really took off?

honestly. none. my readers are 3 friends and my brother and they all love everything basically

🍎What's something you learned while researching for a fic?

sinhalese isnt very gendered at all! it was refreshing cause normally i use italian and french which are very gendered

🥘What wip are you most excited about?

ohh... i think the new saga chapters lol

🦗Do you write in sequence or jump around?

not sure what this means sorry

👀 Would you ever accept requests or commissions?

yeah!! i might not get to them but i will try (if it's a commission i definitely will though!)

😱What's your greatest fear as a fanfic writer?

the actors reading my fics.

☕Coffee or tea while you write?

neither i am dehydrated

📈Which are your top three most popular fics by bookmarks?

'they forever hold their peace', 'Flower Crowns & Royalty' and 'Glee!' all with three bookmarks

🎬One of your fics gets turned into a TV series. Which one is it and what network is it on?

ZOMBIE SAGA FOR SURE. idk what network though

🛌 What's a trope you haven't written, but want to?

there was only one bed probably

🐸 If you incorporated your OTP into a Disney movie plot, which would it be?

i dont know, i dont watch enough disney

👩‍🎓 Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

nope

⏳If you could go back in time and tell your younger writer self something, what would it be?

already answered

💯 What rating do you write the most? Gen Audiences, Teen, Mature, or Explicit? How many fics at that rating do you have?

gen audiences with 39 fics!

😁What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

COMMENTS !!!!!!!! AND TUMBLR ASKS and BOOKMARKS with nice comments!!!!!

🐎 Would you ever do a medieval or pirate au?

ohh, that could be fun actually

👩‍🏫Pick a character and I'll tell you their favorite season and why.

requires a character to be picked. i choose Frankie though and his favourite is autumn cause it's cold but not too cold

🎵Do you make playlists for your fics?

only sometimes!

🌷What's one of your fics that isn't as popular, but you hold dear?

my fromeo besties fics :)

❓Insert your own question here!

(not counted)

[practicalmagicintuitions]

“The fates lead the willing and drag the unwilling”

I was thinking about that last MT podcast HC had when he mentioned stoicism and a book I have but I haven’t read yet. So I decided to deep dive in a little bit because I studied philosophy at the university at a very basic level but I always wanted to know more, so this seems a good occasion. I am also interested in what HC could see in this philosophy school. I think we all know at this point he is interested in things that interest his people, not necessarily him or he is dropping ideas, new things fast. So one part of this will be a summary of stoicism because I feel many people have misconceptions or don’t know what is this just saying this is sh*t even don’t have the slightest idea about it. The other part will be a little HC armchair analysis by me throughout this topic. And I also decided to read the book he mentioned - Viktor E. Frankl Man's Search for Meaning - and maybe I will walk through it or give you a summary if you interested. 

Bare with me, because this turned out to be long, but I had to get out his from my system.

Not soon after the pandemic and the lockdown started in 2020 Penguin Random House said the print sales of Marcus Antonius’s Meditations are up 28% for the first quarter of 2020 vs 2019, while print sales of Letters from a Stoic are up 42% for the same period. The ebook sales rose by 356% . This boom was because of the pandemic but the popularity of modern stoicism has been an upcoming thing for a while especially since people like Bill Gates or Warren Buffet allegedly used stoicism in their business and Thomas Kaplan is supporting a Stoicism Course at Brown University. But unfortunately, modern stoicism has become kind of a ready-made lifehack, a self-helping method, that’s why books like Ryan Holiday’s one could be published and becomes a success. This is where I see modern stoicism’s faults. 

Stoicism seems a good school to support or to follow in the pandemic because this is about we have to accept the things we have no control over. Probably that’s why the sales went up. This is about don’t letting uncontrollable things or events messing with your judgment and clarity. Fear, screams, panic, rages don’t help. And I think we can agree this is true. Aurelius wrote his Meditations in the middle of a battle when his men were dying not just because of the fights but because of a pox epidemic and top of that he was an Emperor. So to maintain his sanity he had become a stoic. He didn’t have an influence on the epidemic so he just accept it and didn’t spend his energy raging about it. 

Stoicism was founded by Zenon around 300 BC. And it was a thriving and popular school without huge wars or pandemics or anything. Back then it was not a reaction to something but a preparation for something. More directly prepare yourself the thing you cannot be prepared for. And probably this is the OG stoicism most valuable teaching that there are events in this world we simply cannot control. What we can control however how we react to those events. Are we remain calm or think this is a catastrophe. Let see a very basic example. We are mortals, we will die no matter what. This is a sure event we have no control over. What we can control that our view on this. Will we panic? Refuse to even talk about death or refuse to make a will because “OMG I will die then!!” Like spoiler alert, it will happen, will or no will. Or we understand our time is limited and try to enjoy it and not see smaller inconveniences are tragedies. I am sure we all know people who think if they spill themselves over with coffee or the handle of the grocery’s bag comes off it’s a pure tragedy and they are capable of thinking about this all day as something it is happening with them always an exclusively. 

Until this, I think it’s all good we can use this in our daily life. What is dangerous in the OG stoicism is that the stricter wing of it thought emotions as a whole or almost all of it cause confusion so you basically should eliminate emotions to have that clarity on life. That’s why Diogenes wrote that the wise is emotionless. And this is the main and very valid criticism again stoics, that with taking away the emotions they basically ripping of humans from something very unique valuable, important, because our emotions make us humans. And because living totally emotionless is kinda impossible this goal is not realistic, so it causes many frustrations ( oh my... even more emotions!) Because think about it, who are described as emotionless? Psychopaths. 

You have cases, events, when your emotions, even overflowing ones are right and acceptable and suppressing them, could be dangerous. Because realistic or not Marcus Aurelius and Seneca and the other stoics idea was not just watching the world and letting things happen, shrugging a shoulder and say nothing, no! Their philosophy and aim were to eliminate the bothering things which not let you think calmly. And since we are talking about philosophy the reality of this in practice is secondary. Critics also think ( and maybe the modern stoicism is going in this direction) that a hardcore stoics care only about themself and their egos while Seneca says friendships are important and in general most stoics accepted positive feelings (to a certain extent).

Stoicism comes back to life mostly in psychotherapy around 1900 by Paul Dubois ( before him there was another new wave of stoicism in the 16th century) and that’s where Victor E Frankle is connected to this topic. I haven’t read his book yet but I know his method is called logotherapy (logos= meaning) and this was born in the deepest existential crisis when his whole family was killed in a concentration camp and he felt he had remained only one personal freedom, the way how he reacts to the circumstances. Frankle invented his own method so he is not just planted some ancient in the modern world but he in fact thought Socrates and his philosophy is his inspiration. I won’t talk about this more until I read his book. 

* I wanted to listen to the whole podcast again, but I couldn’t so I just went to the part we care about now.

So they are talking about morning routines and he mention that one of his teachers in primary school said to him “Always expect the unexpected” This is pure stoicism and while I am not suggesting he is lying I noticed he likes to blend his current interest with his childhood memories like when he said at the WitcherCon how they had to build a fantasy castle in the school (or something) and this was such good preparation for him because he has a fantasy series now. Convenient right?

So he mentioned the teacher and a little later hinting that he is into stoicism lately. Question is, which comes first? The teacher with the stoic idea or the stoicism as a new interest somehow repainted his childhood memories? 

Then he again is talking about the stoic’s way of control. Or does he? 

“ focusing on the thing you can control and make yourself better to control them” 

This was never part of the OG philosophy because that is not about being a control freak. It is actually the opposite. If you cannot control something let it go, not force things to go on your way and if you failed then you let go. 

The next part it’s not about this topic but I have to mention it because I kinda overlooked it when I listed this at the first time.

He is asked about the fitness industry’s mistakes and he said

“I wouldn’t be the kinda person to point my finger at anyone and say there is a big mistake there…. I wouldn’t ever want to point to finger at anyone saying there is a mistake “

So… should I insert the FO post here? And I know the question and the answer was about fitness but he clearly has no problem pointing fingers at people. 

This leads to us again to the control topic. His FO post is creaming about controlling. “ You don’t like the way I am dating? You don’t like I have a covid romance? Then I will tell you what to do and how to behave because I need to have control over my fandom”

When the host asked him about overcoming obstacles he mention the book - Victor E. Frankl Man's Search for Meaning. (he also said it’s difficult to give advice…)

While he is talking about the book (and for me, it’s clear that the host doesn’t give a damn about this) so HC’s whole tone is changed. Just compare when he is talking about MT and training and so on, he is so irritating and unlistenable but here he is calmer, doesn’t use his voice so expressively, doesn’t emphasise that much in a sentence etc. This to me shows he is actually craving after something more, something deeper, something serious. Not just talking about his ties and blueberry smoothies. I don’t think is dumb (I think he has dumb choices thought) I think he could be more both as an actor both as an individual because when he was talking about the book I felt he has a true, genuine interest and it was a one-second opportunity to talk about something interesting not just fart powder.  

I feel his interest in stoicism is an attempt to validate why he is oppressing his feelings. I am sure he does this because he is uncomfortable with his feelings, past and present. For example, I think instead of the bullying his main trauma is being sent away from home to a boarding school and experiencing cold treatment from his mom (the infamous stop calling story). But he oppressing this because I guess all of his brothers he is looking up to loves their mom and he feels he needs to be a good son but questioning his mom means he is a bad one. So instead of admitting that he is hurt and damaged by it he is saying the bullying was his worst experience. 

This means to me he doesn’t understand stoicism, ancient or modern he just wants and moreover, he needs something he can hold and cling to, something that gave himself meaning. As a book’s title says: Man’s search for meaning. And I feel HC does this maybe a little bit desperately. Searching for the answers and this moment he thinks stoicism is the key to finding what he is looking for while in reality, the main problem is he doesn’t ask the right questions. And without them, he won’t find any answer. Or meaning. 

Title quote from Seneca

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 16 July 1840

4 20/..

12 ¼

Friday 17 July    got up last night for a minute or 2 at 12 ½ beautiful moonlight night – the air fresh hot as it was in our porch – heat, biting and hard boards prevented my sleeping much till after I had been up and out – A- called me at 4 – she seemed to have slept much better than I, complaining only of being bit – up at 4 20/.. and ordered the horses – had each about a pint or more? of milk fresh from the cow and this and an egg for A- with a little bread, and bread for me made a good breakfast – looked about – went to a blacksmiths – foundery, forge, smithy and all – the man shewed a nice little plough share about 4 to 6lbs. + ? = 4ab. and said that a narrow oblong deep basket 2 measures (containing perhaps about a peck) of ore would make the plough share – Dubois says the ore yields one ½ its weight of good iron – I should say 1/8 was the utmost – supposing the plough [to] share to weight only 4lbs. for 4 abasses then the getting the ore smelting forging all costs 1 abasse or 8d. per English lb. – the same man gets the ore and does all at it – Sédissi and 2 other little neighbouring villages get their living in this way – did to ask, but suppose they have nothing to pay for the iron-ore – our blacksmith is one of the head men in the village – the Kelossan (or head of the village) is brother to the prince who went with us to the mine (and looks not so [slim] and well as his brother= - not better than the blacksmith – 3 brothers are owners of the house we are at with their 3 wives – the blacksmith très content with 1ab. for the specimen of iron (as much a big 6in. nail) and the wife of the only brother at home contente with 2ab. – very picturesque little village the lowest situated of the 3 – but apparently the most important – off at 5 ½ - Sori the name of the

SH:7/ML/E/24/0155

Oni.

rivulet that runs down the Sédissi valley to the Djedjora – at 7 crossed Djedjora over crazy wood bridge to left bank and thus avoided the terribly bad road on the other side and all the villages – at 7 ¼ at the little mill on mountain lateral little stream where the Ossetes killed a woman and took 2 children last year – at 7 25/.. walnut-tree village, Pipeletti  [Pipileti] (line 16 from bottom of p. 301) opposite us on the other side the river – at 8 20/.. ford the Djedjora, broad, rapid, deepish stream (quite enough for us) to see the 3 old castles – I asked if there was no other road – if we should be to come back here to see these castles – George inquired – answer – no other road – should be obliged to return here – without thinking much about it plunged it – A- rather giddy before she got over – my horse almost unable for a moment or 2 to bear up – the water began to dance a little to my unpractised eye – glad to be over and then said crossly to George we must find another way to get back – could not believe the way we had come was the only road – “niznaioo” (je ne sais pas) said he – no! said I crossly, vous ne savez jamais rien – mais c’est égal – I heard him mutter “mais ce n’est pas égal” – what a stupid fellow! he said on arriving there was no source (spring) here – nothing but water from the river and no washerwoman – nous verrons – it took 20 minutes till 8 40/.. to ford the river and get up the little hill to the cottage just at foot of mound (jet of rock) on which the larger castle stands – the middle castle little more than a square tower almost ½ fallen – the upper and largest a mere ½ shell of what it was but very picturesque – towards the Djedjora and the road from Kothévi [Kothevi] – merely a minute or 2 there – did not go close up to the 3rd and lowest castle – a single square tower perfect (entire) outside but door (East?) à la Teutone .:. could not get in, and did not think it worthwhile to go the about 100 yards out of our way to get up to it – mêdānnĭ the little village about a verst before arriving at Oni – the village above, on hillside (right bank Rion) with tower is Shoo-bār-răh – Rode thro’ Oni and its little bazaar – all shut till tomorrow market day once a week, every Friday – picturesque little wood hut capital of upper Ratcha [Racha] – home at 10 – it had began to be broiling hot – had the mourave of Gloga who it seems lives at Chardonet [Shardometi] (p.299.) – must have escort of 20 men – tomorrow market day – cannot have th men till afternoon – could I go to Vladicawkas [Vladikavkaz] across the mountains – George being interpreter answer not on horseback – must go on foot – 5 days – on saying I knew better than this – the mourave per George seemed to allow the good horseroad in 3 days – but it was so dangerous to venture, and he was answerable for our safety that he did not know that he could grant us an escort! I had nothing more to say – will set off tomorrow after about 4 or 5 – they said per George 5 hours from here to Gloga – 1 hour of which to Outséré [Utsera] – could sleep very well at either place – lay down at 10 50/.. and slept till 1 ½ then at Journal and accounts till dinner from 6 to 7 35/.. – R20 ¼° at 7 p.m. in the shade in our cool room! at journal finished yesterday till now 11 10/.. – very fine day – very hot – R17 ½° and F71 ½° now at 11 10/.. p.m.  – our Jew took our thinks to wash after we returned this morning to be brought back tomorrow evening – brought them about 2 p.m. anything but clean – once wet and dried in the sun – I thought 1ab.  – enough – no! 2ab. and not satisfied it was just something more than ½ Koutaïs price for good washing and ironing

a woman brought a few mulberries black and white not 1lb. – gave ./5 copper would have ./10 gave it – our Jew and his people not easily satisfied –

[noirapocalypto]

G3, M3, O3 for all (including Judah if you would like) 🙌

You got it! 💕 @freckledsweetpea Thank you!

From this ask game.

G3. what benefits come with being their friend?

Renato: Safety and protection. You will always be safe with Renato around. He has a very strong protective instinct and he will not tolerate his loved ones being bothered or harassed. He will seek them out and he will put a stop to it.

Embry: Unconditional love. Embry doesn't care what you look like, how much money you have, how awkward you might be, etc. Once he considers he considers someone a friend, he will love them always. He will offer support and encouragement when a loved one is going through a hard time. He'll always be there, for advice or just a shoulder to cry on. He just wants to see them smile.

Paola: Loyalty and devotion. Paola is the definition of a true 'ride or die'. The second she develops a bond for with someone, you can count on her always. If you need a favor (no matter how big, small, legal or illegal) she will show up ready to help, no questions asked, nothing in return needed.

Paolo: Fun and adventure. You will never be bored with Paolo. Whether it's staying in and having a cozy night in, or heading out to party all night until the sun comes up. He wants to spend time with his loved ones, he doesn't like the idea of someone being lonely. Even if the person is more on the reserved side, he'll still try to keep them company in whatever way they're comfortable with.

Judah: Money and status. Rubbing elbows with a DuBois is NOT a bad thing, especially when you're trying to climb up the ranks of his family's media megacorp. Not only will it boost one's own status, Judah has a tendency to try and impress people (as well as try to keep them attached to him) by throwing money and expensive things at them.

M3. would they be a good parent?

Renato: Yes, absolutely. Renato is very patient and very caring. For someone that's pretty quiet and reserved, he's surprisingly good with kids. They just flock to him.

Embry: Also a yes. Embry would be the funnest dad, so laid back and affectionate. He'd be the type of dad that doesn't care how dumb he looks, he will dance around, dress up in costumes, and make funny faces when playing with his kid.

Paolo: He would struggle at first, because responsibility is not something he's used to. He's also extremely self-centered, so he doesn't like the idea of having to sacrifice and give up things he likes. However, he's also very loving and I can see him being an unconventional but caring type of dad (allowing curse words, ice cream for breakfast, that sort of stuff).

Paola: She's in the same boat as her brother. Her life is very hectic and chaotic, doesn't really have time to be a mother nor has she given it any thought what so ever. But if/when the time comes, she will be very devoted to her child. She'll become a fierce mama lion, protective but not overbearing. Paola, still being Paola though, will probably teach her kid some not-so-appreciated ideals (by some), such as a dislike for authority figures.

Judah: No, not one bit. Judah was raised in a very neglectful, toxic and abusive upbringing. That shit was normalized to him and to this day, he still struggles to accept if it was actually abuse or just 'how his parents were back then'. He's self-aware enough to know that the cycle could possibly repeat, plus he doesn't want to expose a child to that kind of environment. Plus...he just doesn't like kids lmao

O3. are they good at giving advice?

Renato: Yes. He considers himself 'experienced', especially in matters such as life on the streets, addiction, that sort of thing. He's also the most level headed and mature out of the entire group. If you need sage advice, Nato's your best bet.

Embry: Yes, but to an extent. Embry is still battling his own trauma and still trying to overcome it. There are some things he might not have an answer for, but he will always try to at least give his support. When it comes to grief and heartbreak, he can definitely sympathize.

Paolo: When it comes to netrunning or general life stuff, then yes. When it comes to dating advice? Absolutely not. He even admits it and tries to direct the person to someone a bit more stable.

Paola: Much more so than her brother, for sure. Especially when it comes to dating. She's only had one serious relationship, but has been far luckier in that regard. Her advice is decent, and often good advice. But she has a hard time not being biased and remaining neutral, depending on the matter.

Judah: Financially and business wise? Yes, despite what his parents and others think. He acts like a fuckhead, but he genuinely does know what he's doing. But advice for personal matters? Most definitely not. His solution to dealing with issues is to try and throw money at it.

[tales-unique]

MEMORIES OF THE WEST  III

Needless to say, Dutch is Interested. After the initial shock and suspicion subsides he hounds you with questions, all while marching you over to his tent, motioning two men over with a swift motion. Arthur and Hosea, the same men he had been talking with earlier on. You stand awkwardly between the three, fidgety under their gaze. Hosea seems the most agreeable of them while Arthur is wary of you, if first introductions are to go by, but Dutch doesn't waste another minute with the pleasantries. “Miss DuBois, if you please.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat, eyes flicking between them. You suddenly feel small , but you try to hide it as best you can. “His name is Jebediah Kramer. He’s a gambling man from Saint Denis who, I happen to know, has just come into a large sum of money.” “Just how much money are we talkin’ here? And how do you know about it?” Arthur speaks up, eyeing you suspiciously. He looks intimidating, all broad shoulders and piercing eyes. If it were under different circumstances you might have enjoyed the sight. You give him a tight-lipped smile instead. ”At least a couple thousand, and I know ‘cause the no good, pompous, cheating son-of-a-bitch took it from my brother in a rigged poker game!” The three fall silent. Dutch has his hands on his hips. Hosea crosses his arms with a slow nod. Arthur just watches you with suspicious eyes. “So that’s why you’re more than happy to let us rob him blind!” Arthur breaks the silence, throwing his hands up in the air. “You just need someone to do your dirty work, huh?” He turns to Dutch, a scowl on his face. “I bet it aint even that much money, it’s not worth the risk Dutch! Not with all the heat we already have!” “Easy, Arthur,” Dutch waves his hand dismissively, “any lead is welcome, you know that—” You’re surprised by his support, but none-the-less pleased. “—But I admit, I am curious why you would let us ride away with your brothers wrongfully taken money. Care to enlighten us further?” Now, not so much. “Well, the money wasn’t my brothers to gamble with,” you sigh, fidgeting, “he took it on loan, and was supposed to pay it back, but obviously he couldn't with it all gone. Jebediah, ever the kindhearted rich man,” you sneer, “offered to pay off the debt and give a little more besides for a trade,” your voice tapers off into a murmur at the end, your teeth nipping the inside of your cheek, anger bubbling in your stomach. “Well?” Dutch probes, impatient, “what trade ?” “For my hand in marriage!” You hiss low, stomping on the mound of dirt you hadn’t realized you were shoveling with your foot. “And the damned idiot said yes ! Like I’m some pet o-or a piece of furniture that don’t have feelings or a mind of her own!” Flustered, you take in a deep breath in order to try and calm yourself, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “So yes , it’s a little bit of dirty work on my behalf, but the way I see it you’re the ones who get the better end of the deal. And you can keep anything else you find too, I don’t care. It ain’t mine after all,” you shrug, cold and distant. It’s a little sobering for the men before you but you don’t care. Jebediah is a rich man who doesn’t give two hoots about anyone or anything but himself; he deserves far worse than this, but at least your brother will have learned a harsh lesson and you won’t have to marry that fool Kramer. He’ll be too busy nursing his ruined ego to focus on you, after all. You hope. “Well,” Dutch drawls, breaking the stalemate, “ain’t that something. What do you say, gentlemen?” He asks Hosea and Arthur, both of whom have stayed quiet after your little outburst. “I doubt Miss DuBois would be so, well, so animated over nothing,” Hosea states, “I say we take a look into this Mr Kramer.” He offers you a small smile and a dip of his head, which you return. “And you, Arthur?” Arthur grumbles, shuffling from one foot to another before he shakes his head. He takes out a cigarette, holding it between his lips before looking you dead in the eyes. “Better not be setting us up like fools, Miss,” he growls, striking a match. Through the smoke he looks like one of those mountain men you’ve read about in your books, all rugged and rough. Now you can see why they sell so well among the ladies in the gentry. Dutch nods, a hand coming to your shoulder in a reassuring pat. “Well then Miss DuBois, I think the matter is settled! Now, all we need is a plan .” Reconnaissance — the first phase of Dutch’s plan. A trip to Saint Denis was in order, he explained, to return the stolen bride-to-be and in the process integrate themselves into the business of Jebediah Kramer directly. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, you told yourself, but humored Dutch with a smile and a nod anyway. “We should have taken the train! ” You huff, shifting in the saddle to try and get the blood flowing to your legs. You’ve been riding for a while now and while you’re grateful not to be walking all the way to Saint Denis, you would have preferred your own mount instead of sharing one. Especially with a certain ill-tempered cowboy. “Quit your whining, we’ll make camp as soon as we get to open ground,” Arthur grumbles, growling in frustration when he, too, has to readjust to get comfortable. The large stallion he rides, a hulking Ardennes, snorts in complaint at the unruly riders. You shush him gently, smoothing your fingers out along his neck. “Only if you mean it this time,” you counter sourly. Arthur just chuckles, recalling how you fell for the lie twice before you called his bluff. He does mean it this time though and it’s not long before Arthur picks out a suitable spot to set up camp. It’s just enough for two weary travelers on the road. Two small tents, two bedrolls, and a small fire. You sip at a strange concoction that Hosea gave you, made out of American Ginseng, which he said would help boost you up a bit after your ordeal. It tastes funny, but you do feel better. Arthur is smoking, eyes on the rabbit that he’s cooking. You’re curious of him, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man that enjoys being quizzed and questioned. You decide to do it anyway. “So...” You start, trying to make small talk to fill the deafening silence. Arthur flicks his gaze briefly to you, but it’s soon back on the rabbit. “So?” He repeats when you remain quiet, raising an eyebrow. “So, what’s it like being an outlaw ?” Not the most original question in the world and you know it. You cringe inside and you can see the tension in Arthur's expression. He’s probably been asked that before, plenty of times, by all sorts of people and you feel stupid. He scoffs and shakes his head, distracting himself with the now cooked rabbit. You awkwardly decline his offer for some. You’re too busy hoping a hole would open up and swallow you whole “Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly, “that was, God, that was awful!” Arthur snickers, making you smile. “Well I wasn’t gonna say anything, but now that you mention it,” he teases, the awkward tension leaving your shoulders as you laugh. It didn’t sit right with him, how uptight you were. Especially since he knew it was because of how standoffish he’d been with you in camp. The stress of everything with the law, that mess in Blackwater, and Dutch acting strange was weighing heavily on him but that didn’t give him the right to be mean to you. He could have been civil about it. Hosea always taught him to be, even when disagreeing, not that Dutch ever minded him being more of a brute. And a brute he had been. Until he saw that look in your eye, that is. Like a puppy who was kicked for being a little too excited, a little too much for those around it. With a sigh, he gives you the once over before sitting up straighter. The cooked rabbit meat is stowed away for later, when you’re both on the move again. “You really wanna know what it’s like to be an outlaw?” He asks and you visibly perk up, surprised that he’s answering your question. “Are you really gonna tell me?” You counter, narrowing your eyes. You’re suspicious, but the smile creeping onto your lips betrays your excitement. Arthur finds he quite likes this side to you; maybe you are more suited for this life than he gave you credit for. “Well, it ain’t fun,” he breaths, “I mean, you’re practically living it already. You’ve been kidnapped, starved, hustled into some fools errand by a gang of misfits, and now you’re planning to rob some rich fool blind and get out alive to spend the money!" He chuckles. “All we gotta do is get you in a gun fight and girl you’ll be the real deal,” he adds, smirking. You’re quiet for a moment, studying him, before you break down into laughter as Arthur watches you in amusement, illuminated by the firelight. “You really think so?” You laugh, shaking your head, “I don’t even know how to use a gun!” “Then I’ll teach you,” Arthur says after a moment of contemplation, “you’ll need it if you’re gonna run with us.” The resoluteness of his tone stifles your laughter and you once again look at him with those wide eyes, barely contained excitement brimming within. “You will?” Suspicion radiates from you again but he waves it off dismissively. “Yeah, you’ll need to know just in case things go wrong,” he explains, “but c’mon now, it’s getting late. We should get some sleep while we can.” Stifling a yawn, you nod. Arthur will have you up with the dawn chorus so that you can make good time so you need all the rest you can get. Burrowing down into the blanket on your bedroll you sigh contently, peeking up at the stars as the fire becomes glowing embers. The stillness of the night surrounds you, coaxing you into a restful sleep as twinklings lights above fade to black. Arthur listens as your breathing evens out, steady and constant in your slumber. He stares up at the stars, ruminating on just how it came to be that you were there, with him, about to pull off something daring and downright foolish with the possibility of no pay off. Before he left with you Hosea had told him to have faith in you and your knowledge, but could he really be so quick to trust? Turning onto his side, Arthur watches you with interest. You’re curled up like one of those pretty cats in a basket, soft fur and sweet purrs. Long lashes kissing the tops of rosy cheeks. You’re an honest girl, he’s sure, but the more he watches your peaceful, sleeping face, the more he’s concerned that you’re in over your head, and that just doesn’t sit right with him.

[histoireettralala]

The Sacking of Joseph Fouché: The Downfall (4/4)

" Unfortunately, in his gleeful mystification, Joseph Fouché made a little mistake. He thinks, indeed, that he is playing with the inexperienced rookie of a duke, with a minister still in diapers.

But he forgets that this successor was nominated by a master who doesn't accept jokes. Besides, Napoleon is already watching with distrust Fouché's behaviour. This long hesitation in the handing over of his position, this open-ended postponement of his departure for Rome, displeases him. Moreover, the investigation opened against Ouvrard, Fouché's tool, has given an unexpected result: it revealed that Fouché previously already entrusted another broker with notes for the English office. And until now nobody yet has tricked Napoleon with impunity. Suddenly, on June 17, an incisive mail is sent to Fouché in Ferrières, sharp as the stroke of a whip:

"Monsieur le Duc d'Otrante, I beg of you to send me the note which was conveyed to you by M. Fagan, whom you sent to London to probe Lord Wellesley, and who brought you this lord's answer, of which I was never informed."

This is like the sound of a fanfare and able to wake up a dead man. Fouché ought to realize it by now. But it seems the Devil pushes him to want, very seriously, to measure himself against Napoleon, against the most powerful man in the universe. Because he declares to the envoy something which is entirely false, that he is extremely sorry, but he didn't keep any letter. He has burned everything. Of course, nobody believes that from Fouché and Napoleon even less than the others. A second time he warns him, in a rougher, more pressing way: we know his impatience. And now misdemeanour turns to obstinacy, obstinacy to insolence and insolence to provocation. Indeed, Fouché repeats that he doesn't have any paper anymore, and he bases the supposed destruction of the emperor's private files on a argument which is almost blackmail. His Majesty, he says with irony, honored him with such trust that, whenever one of his brothers aroused his dissatisfaction, he charged him, Fouché, to bring him back in line. And since then each brother shared with him his recriminations, he has considered it his duty not to keep those letters. His Majesty's sisters as well weren't always untainted by slander and the emperor himself had thought him worthy to be entrusted the secret of these rumours and had tasked him to seek which thoughtlessness was its source. It's clear and more than clear: Fouché is telling the Emperor that he knows many things and that he doesn't allow himself to be treated like a lackey [...] A second summon is issued by the new Police minister, the duke of Rovigo. But Fouché answers everyone with the same politeness and the same decisiveness that unfortunately, motivated by an excessive discretion, he burned the papers. For the first time a man in France openly resists the Emperor.

It is too much. As much as Napoleon, for ten years, underestimated Fouché, Fouché now underestimates Napoleon if he thinks he can intimidate him with a few indiscretions [..] Napoleon summons the chief of his private police, Dubois, and lets himself go in front of him to the most violent bursts of anger against "this wretched, wretched man". In his anger he comes and goes roughly and noisily and he suddenly shouts:

"Let him not think he can do with me what he did with his God, his Convention and his Directoire, whom he basely betrayed and sold! I have a longer sight than Barras, and with me it will not be so easy. Let him therefore be warned. But he has notes, instructions from me, and I intend him to return them to me. If he refuses, let him be put in the hands of ten gendarmes. Let him be taken to the Abbaye and, by God, I will show him that a trial can be done quickly. "

Now things are going bad. Now, Fouché himself starts feeling uncomfortable [..] Quickly, he writes now more and more letters, one for the emperor and others to various ministers, to complain about the distrust against him, who is the most loyal, the most genuine, the most righteous and the most faithfully devoted of all ministers, and in one of these letters it is pleasing to find this specific sentence: "It isn't in my character to change" (these words are literally written black on white by this true chameleon that Fouché was, as for the character). And, like fifteen years ago with Robespierre, he hopes he can still prevent the catastrophe by a quick reconciliation. He takes a carriage and goes to Paris to personally offer the emperor his explanations, or no doubt already also apologies.

But it is too late. He has played for too long, joked for too long; now there is no possible reconciliation, no possible compromise; the one who publically provoked Napoleon must be publically humiliated. A letter is written to Fouché, harsh, short and cutting, in a way Napoleon never used for other ministers:

"Monsieur le duc d'Otrante, your services cannot please me anymore. It is appropriate that you be gone for your senatorerie under twenty-four hours."

The tension was too great, the game too reckless; and now happens something very unexpected: Fouché, scared of his terrible situation, completely breaks down, like a sleepwalker who, unwittingly climbing on the roof and suddenly awakened by a sudden call, falls into the void. The same man who, within a hairsbreadth of the guillotine, kept his cool and his lucid thinking, pitifully collapses under the blow Napoleon struck him.

This 3 June 1810 is Joseph Fouché's Waterloo. His nerves break; he rushes to the minister to get a passport for a foreign land and, changing horses in every station, he flees without stopping anywhere till he reaches Italy. There, he goes from one place to another, running like a distraught rat on a burning hotbed [...] he begs Napoleon's sisters for help as well as sovereigns and friends; he appears and disappears suddenly, to the great displeasure of the policemen who are looking for and keep losing track of him; in short, he behaves like a madman, so great is his fear, and for the first time he offers, he the nerveless one, a truly clinical example of a complete nervous breakdown. Never, in one gesture, with one punch, did Napoleon crush an adversary in such a radical way than this one, who had been at the same time the boldest and the coldest of his servants.

[..]

Napoleon only wanted to impose his will, have his papers back, and he is completely successful. Indeed, while Fouché, distraught and as if hysterical, tires out his horses across Italy, his wife in Paris acts in a much more reasonable way. She capitulates in his stead. It is not questionable that, to save her husband, the duchess of Otrante gave back to Napoleon the papers Fouché had treacherously removed, since none of these private sheets on which the ex-minister based his threat of blakcmail ever reached the light of the day. Just like Barras' papers, from whom the emperor bought them as well as from the other inconvenient witnesses of his ascension, Fouché's files relating to Napoleon have disappeared without a trace. The emperor himself, or later Napoleon III, totally destroyed all documents which didn't conform with the official history.

In the end, Fouché receives the kind permission to get back to his senatorerie of Aix. The great storm calmed down; the lightning only shook Fouché's nerves, without hitting him to the marrow. On september 25, this desperate man enters his domain, "pale, unravelled, and showing in the incoherence of his ideas and the chaos of his speech a deeply damaged morale." But he will have all the time he needs to recover, because whoever rebels against Napoleon is for a long time put away from political affairs. The ambitious must pay the price of his entertainment: again the waves throw him into the abyss. For three years, Joseph Fouché will stay without dignities or employment: his third exile has begun."

Stefan Zweig- Fouché

[hookingminor]

hiiiii okay so these are my questions so far for you about the exchange fic 🥰 and you don’t have to like know for sure right now, just trying to get a feel for it all so i can start planning :)

first things first, what player would you like to read for?? judging from what a little birdie told me, it’s between anthony beauvillier, mat barzal, tyson jost, mikko rantanen, pierre luc dubois, and colton parayko? are there any you want specifically or do you want me to just choose and surprise? 👀

next, would you prefer a fluffy fic or a smut fic? furthermore, would you prefer [answer to previous question] or angst resolved fic? or a mixture of both? (totally up to you!)

are there any prompts or tropes that you really like to read???

lastly, are there any songs that you’re loving right now that you would love to have a fic based off?? i usually try and use songs as inspiration 💓

hi!!

as far as boys go you've got it pretty much spot on!! im not too picky but I'd say my absolute favs are josty, pld, barzy, or mtkachuk but I'd be absolutely happy w any that you just listed whoever you're most comfy with 😌

as far as fics I'm not too picky again (I am a Whore and I do love smut but I just as much love fluff) I'm not too big into angst but if it's resolved then it's fine w me I just like a nicely thought out and long and groveling resolution if that makes sense?? make men suffer methinks

my fav tropes will always be enemies to lovers but I know that can be kinda tricky in short fics I really like a lot of tropes like yk bed sharing and forced proximity forbidden love best friends brother etc etc I'd say the only thing I really do not like is childhood friends to lovers (not super crazy about friends to lovers in general) or second chance romance (gross) or like surprise pregnancy stuff (my literal nightmare)

I've honestly only been listening to red tv for the past month so if you're a taylor fan then you know but my favs are probably the moment I knew (could be a good angsty resolved), come back be here, run, the very first night, begin again (but honestly all the songs on that album are kinda sad so do not feel obligated to do any of those!!!)

hope this helps 🥰❤️

[bumblesimagines]

Still A Costa

Request: Yes or No

I haven't seen a single fic for this series on Tumblr. For anyone curious, since Bayardo (Ramon's actor) is 37 I'm gonna make Ramon 37 which means when (Y/N) was born, he was around 19.

~

'Yesterday night, Cassie Shore, a student at the prestigious Archer School Of Ballet, fell four stories down from the roof of the school. Miss Shore, who was an exceptional dancer and beloved by her fellow peers, is currently in the hospital in a deep coma. The director, Monique Dubois, has stated the following-'

"What a load of bullshit." (Y/N) muttered, shutting his phone off as he leaned back in his seat. Cassie Shore was hated by everyone. Nobody there truly loved her. They all hoped she'd break an ankle. (Y/N) felt the bus stop and grabbed his bag, standing up. He exited the bus, letting out a deep sigh. He never expected to be back in Chicago but his brother wanted him there. (Y/N) was much happier in Madrid. The mere thought of bumping into any of his old acquaintances gave him a headache. Unlike his brother, (Y/N) wasn't as wellknown. He was only eighteen yet he already had a job as a photographer. (Y/N) felt his phone vibrate in his hand, looking at the contact.

Mona

"Fuck off already." (Y/N) huffed lightly, rolling his eyes. He answered the call, walking forward as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"This is the twenty-fifth time you've called me this week and it's only Tuesday. What do you want?" (Y/N) asked, getting a taxi. Monique hummed. (Y/N) watched a car pull over.

"Is that any way to speak to an adult? Especially someone who practically raised you?"

"Ramon raised me. You were just his pedo girlfriend." (Y/N) said, putting his bag in the car and getting in. He moved the phone away from his face, quietly giving the driver the address.

"How's Madrid? I heard your brother ditched Paris and is back in Chicago. When are you gonna come back?" Monique asked gently. (Y/N) scoffed, leaning back in the seat. He turned his head slightly, watching the buildings pass by.

"Face it, Mona. You only call when you want something. What is it?" (Y/N) asked.

"I see Ramon taught you nothing but attitude. Fine. I was hoping you'd be able to convince your brother to choreograph for me. I see what he's done for Delia. He should do something for the school as well." Monique responded, the fake sweetness in her voice dropping. (Y/N) let out a small chuckle, shaking his head lightly.

"He'd never do it. Not even if I asked. Plus, he knows I don't care about ballet. He'd know you begged me to ask."

"I'm not begging-"

"You are." (Y/N) cut off, toying with the strings of his hoodie. "And even if I agreed, you'd have to give me something in return."

"You wouldn't do it as a favor to an old friend?" Monique asked.

"No. I don't have friends. Just people I know." (Y/N) replied.

"Was Cassie not a friend? You've probably heard about what happened to her by now. Are you not gonna visit?"

"Cassie and I are history. I have no business visiting her or trying to make amends. She's half dead, isn't she? I don't bother dead people." (Y/N) answered, annoyance in his voice as he got his wallet out and gave the driver some money. He got out of the car, closing the door and watching the car drive off. His gaze settled on Ramon's house, eyeing the front door.

"Always dramatic." He approached the house, opening and closing the door. He glanced around, sighing. He headed up to his old room, entering and finding it just the same as he had left it. Ramon was still young when (Y/N) was born and thrusted into his life. Ramon held resentment towards him during the first few years since his parents up and disappeared and Ramon had to travel around with a baby but as (Y/N) got older, the resentment was replaced with brotherly love. (Y/N) tossed his bag on the messy bed, looking over his bookshelf. Seemed like either Delia or Ramon had added more books. (Y/N) approached the shelf, picking up the new additions.

"Sharp Objects, The Bell Jar, White is For Witching, and House of Leaves." (Y/N) read the names aloud, humming softly. He put them back, continuing to look around the room. He only returned to Chicago to watch Ramon's debut ballet. (Y/N) sat on the bed, unpacking his bag. He took out his camera, placing it on his nightstand. He grabbed his phone, getting an uber and heading out. (Y/N) thoughts wondered back to his and Cassie's last exchange.

"Are you fucking serious? My brother?" (Y/N) stared at her. Cassie swallowed, shaking her head.

"It was a one time thing! When I graduate, I can have Ramon wrapped around my finger and it'll help boost my career!" Cassie explained, staring at him. (Y/N) scoffed, shaking his head.

"You have a habit of using Costas, you know that?" (Y/N) asked, looking away from her.

"I never used you. You were my best friend and-"

"And you used me to get closer to Ramon. I always wondered what went wrong. I'm glad we got that cleared up." (Y/N) ran a hand through his hair, unable to look at the girl. Cassie stepped closer to him.

"You're wrong-"

"I always knew you were a selfish bitch." (Y/N) muttered, walking past her and leaving the hotel room.

(Y/N) blinked, feeling the car stop. (Y/N) thanked the driver and got out, staring up at the old building. He closed the door and walked forward, gaze dropping to the dried blood on the pavement. He went up the steps, entering the school. (Y/N) stuck his hands in his pockets, heading up to Monique's office. Selena glanced up, doing a double take and quickly standing as her eyes widened.

"Mr. Costa, I wasn't-"

"Yeah, nobody knows I'm here. I want it to stay that way." (Y/N) said, opening the door and entering the office. Monique looked up from her phone, brows raising. She stood, taking off her reading glasses.

"Well, someone got here fast." She breathed out, dismissing Selena with a wave of her hand.

"I was already here when you called and ruined my mood even more." (Y/N) replied, glancing around the office. He plopped down on one of the chairs, arms crossing.

"So, Cassie pulls a Humpty Dumpty and you think my brother is gonna clean up the mess?" (Y/N) cocked a brow, watching Monique sit back down. She chuckled, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"A choreographed dance by him would pull people's attention somewhere else." Monique said, shrugging lightly. "Your brother has been ignoring me."

"I would too. You're really persistent and annoying." (Y/N) said, eyes sweeping over her desk.

"Any lawsuits?"

"The police declared it an accident."

"Was it?"

"I thought you and Cassie were history?" Monique cocked a brow, tilting her head. (Y/N)'s jaw clenched as he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, we are. I'm just curious if there's a potential murderer among the staff or students." (Y/N) shrugged.

"She's alive." Monique reminded.

"Barely. You think she didn't bust her head open when she fell? Who survives a fall like that?" (Y/N) questioned. Monique leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk.

"Why are you here, (Y/N)?" Monique asked. (Y/N) sat up, licking his lips as he stood up.

"I was wondering if anything changed at the school. Since you're still director.. That means nothing has changed. All the work you put into this school and still only medicore dancers graduate. You have a star dancer once every couple of years. Delia was the lastest one." (Y/N) shrugged, grabbing the edge of the desk as he leaned forward.

"Who's the next star?" (Y/N) asked, tilting his head. They turned their heads as the door opened and a girl entered.

"Neveah Stroyer." Monique replied. (Y/N) hummed, looking back at her.

"Let's hope she doesn't have a great fall." (Y/N) leaned back, stepping away from the desk.

"Neveah meet (Y/N) Costa." Neveah's brows rose, looking at (Y/N). Her eyes shined with excitement.

"I've read some of your books and seen the photographs you take. They're amazing." Neveah said, walking forward and shaking his hand. (Y/N) hummed.

"Maybe you'll take some pictures for the school." Monique said, smiling. (Y/N) hummed, looking at the older woman.

"I'd rather choke." He replied, giving her a fake smile. Neveah's brows raised, clearing her throat. (Y/N) walked past Neveah, opening the door.

"Good luck surviving with rats and sharks, Neveah!"

[whitelics]

@wargcds asked: [ UPDATE ] a letter that updates the recipient on the writer’s life, or certain on-going events that are happening in their life. / cain + romeo

dear romeo,

i know you’re very busy so i thought maybe i could send a letter instead, that way you can reply when you have time. i’ve never sent a letter before, but i hope you get this one.

did you know you were in the newspaper the other day?! i see you on tv all the time but this article was only about you, it was crazy. they called you “local hockey star” and your name was even on the headline! chai’s mom saw it and cut the page off for me. i’ll try to get another one so i can send it to you if you want to read it. what is it like being famous? the dickheads at school are so jealous.

speaking of school: 7th grade SUCKS!!!!! there’s so much homework and everyone is still annoying. but mrs. bradbury saw one of my drawings and she said it was really good (i’m sending it to you with this letter. check the envelope). there’s a summer camp that has art classes and she thinks that maybe i could get in for free. it looks like fun but i already told her i can’t go cos i’ll be in canada with my brother, don’t worry!

it’s finally cold enough to skate on the lake so i went yesterday but it’s not as fun without you.

writing letters is really dumb and i don’t know what else to say so i’ll stop now.

bye,

cain (obviously)

PS: my phone is being all weird so i don’t know if you called. but we still have the landline and it’s the same number so you can call whenever you want. your manager told me you train until late and that’s why you can’t talk on the phone but it’s okay to call even if it’s very late, i don’t mind.

[fumingspice]

guardians

original work! im bored to death and i have nothing much to do so i guess maybe i could post this and see if people like it or not. mallorie whyte is sarah paulson 🤜👱🏻‍♀️

01 | oakwood academy

october 24th 2022

eli, ma. andromadex

-Madison

THE FINAL WORDS that Madison's stepmother Inez had jokingly yelled out the car window at her before she sped off to work were fairly sticking with her all throughout the day. She had driven at neck-breaking speed as she often had a habit of doing, and then braked so hard that she probably would have given any other passenger in the car a pretty bad whiplash, which Madison was convinced that Inez is immune to it by now, and then rolled down her window and told her; "y’know, if you want to actually make some friends you should really quit acting so bitchy."

Mind you, this was after she had gone on at her for days on end about being herself.

Madison was not opposed to making friends at this school. She wanted to. It's just so difficult when the fantastic, gold-crested reputation of your parents follows you around everywhere you go, and it's even worse when everyone else in your school completely matches that reputation.

To her, there's nothing worse than extra-cred class. She could promise you that. Especially when there are only fifteen more minutes left of the school day until the school bell rang sweet salvation and the students were released from the clutches school for another day. The classroom was decorated in crisp oranges, reds, yellows and browns; and the smothering scent of the ten-plus pumpkin spice candles could probably be smelt from miles away.

Madison's teacher, Ms. DuBois, was from Salem, and she loved nothing more than talking about witches in Salem. DuBois continued to rattle on about the executions that took place during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692- and since they were in Eli and not Salem, Madison could not fathom a single plausible reason as to why her extra-cred class had decided to adopt the Salem Witch Trials.

Oakwood Academy, Madison's new school, had managed to work its way to having one of the top academic records in America by providing an extra area of study for every year that a student attended. It was just one of the classes that would act as a "relaxer" for the workload that the Academy dumped on their students. They allocated five sets of twenty-five students to five different classes. For example; her older brother was allocated into a class that studied some of history's most famous serial criminals. The girl had been hit with a low-key pang of jealousy when she looked at his workbook, but she would never admit that.

Serial killer documentaries from Buzzfeed Unsolved was for her what World War II was to her brother Tiano.

Halfway through the class, Madison decided that Ms DuBois' babbles were nothing more than folklore and legends. There is no possible way that witches could exist, and even if they did; they would have become so sparsely spread out throughout the centuries that bloodlines would have become diluted into non-existence.

Madison had finally just about given up listening, getting ready to switch to her earphones when DuBois began talking about Gwendoline Proctor and Marie-Anne Dufosett. Judging by the amount of borderline useless word scrambles and pop quizzes that she had been bombarded with since August in which their names had popped up in, this would no doubt be just as bleak as the rest of the topic.

"Marie-Anne Dufosett was burned at the stake along with her mother and some other accused women-"

Well, that's just peachy.

"-However, does anybody know who accused Mademoiselle Dufosett of Witchcraft and Conspiring with the Devil?"

A few hands shot up. Oh, great, Madison thought, another room full of Hocus Pocus lovers.

DuBois picked on a boy at the back of the room wearing a black turtleneck underneath his blazer. "Perrone Goguillon," he answered.

Well, at least I know that instead of how to pay taxes.

Ms DuBois clapped her hands together and was about to praise him when Madison poked her head up and blurted out, "who in fresh hell is Peregrine Goujon?" The class burst into a peal of abrupt laughter and her face flashed a red that was possibly close to her burgundy uniform.

DuBois waited patiently for the laughter to die down, giving Madison a well-intended smile. She'd been trying to pry Madison out of her shell for weeks. "Miss Delvaux, I'm so happy that we've finally been graced with your conscious presence," she said. "Perrone Goguillon was one of the last witches to burnt at the stake in France."

What has that got to do with Salem?

There was a pause.

Turtleneck Boy piped up yet again. "Wasn't Perrone Marie-Anne's mother?"

Ms DuBois nodded, what followed probably should have been a moment for shock factor was cut short by Madison's unimpressive comment of; "Sounds like someone gained some serious mommy-issues."

Apart from a few smirks and sniggers, the room stayed in a star awkward silence. It was that moment when Madison had realised that making fun of witches in this classroom was possibly as close as you could get to treason.

The bell finally rang out before Madison could embarrass herself any further. She pulled on her coat and started speed-walking to get out of the school. She found listening to Toxic by Britney Speers always made her faster.

The crisp Massachusetts air stung at her cheeks hard, nipping at them until they were a hard red. The leaves crunched with a prominent sound and the wind blew quite fiercely. She hated fall- she missed the sweet Florida summer and sunshine that she had become so accustomed to. She missed splashing about in their swimming pool with her friends, sitting on her boyfriend's shoulders and having matches of pool basketball. They could get very competitive and Madison was certainly no stranger to having her head pushed underwater for the sake of one of her friends scoring a goal.

Her family had just moved to Massachusetts for her stepmother's work, as they often had moved around for that reason numerous times in the past. Inez worked with companies that were hanging on the edge of bankruptcy. A quick call to her office and she would work on the case as soon as possible. Most cases she could work on from home or online, but every few years a huge opportunity or promotion would come up that would require a move. It was always worth it. Inez was a wizard with a logbook and her incredible finances knowledge; she would advise the company and work with as many people as possible to save the company and boost its profits massively. 

The job also came with a pretty hefty paycheck. Inez had been in Madison's life for as long as the girl could recall memory.

Now that the latest- and hopefully final- addition to the Delvaux family had come, Madison's father spent most of his time at home taking care of baby Thomas. In contrast to Inez, Madison's father came from a long line of "old" money; decades ago, his family was incredibly wealthy Franco-Belgian gold merchants, owning around 40% of the most flourishing gold mines in Belgium and France of which together bestowed them with a huge amount of the finest Belgian gold. Although the number of which lowered to about 750 tons of gold, the family net worth was still well into the billions.

Madison's father broke away from the complete gold-mine owning tradition and earned a job as a professor of physics in certain prestigious colleges across the country, although, there were still plenty of goldmines still to his name.

However, despite their needless fortune, most of the family, along with Inez, managed to stay incorrupt, helping to build many schools, hospitals and jobs in developing countries and donating thousands of millions of dollars to charities, side-lining with the Delvaux-Proveux Foundation to help create a better society with whatever difference they could cause.

Her parents did their best to remain humble- which sometimes proved itself difficult when the next five generations of their family could probably eat from solid gold plates if they chose to.

Needless to say, they spent only what they needed to, didn't exploit their riches, lived in the slightly more luxurious suburban homes. Madison was sent to Oakwood Academy; possibly the most unnecessarily expensive school in the north-east of America along with her adopted older brother Tiano and her adopted little sister Safina; the second youngest, Aleja went to an elementary not far from their home, and baby Thomas just did his best not to poop his pants straight after his diaper had been changed. Madison was convinced he did his best to poop at the worst possible time.

The house they had recently moved into was a beautiful country mansion, overlooking a lake and meadows, the balcony that showed a complete view of the landscape was perhaps Madison's favourite part of the house- apart from her bed of course.

She walked briskly up the pathway leading to the front door, doing her best to not show that she was absolutely freezing to death despite the massive coat. No sooner had she got in the door that she turned the heater on full blast and ran upstairs, diving into her bed.

Inconveniently, she was now too warm.

Madison rolled her eyes and then rolled out of bed with a slight thud, ran downstairs, lowered the heating, then ran back upstairs again- now at a slightly more satisfactory temperature. Her phone began to buzz; an incoming facetime from her friends back in Florida.

Madison jumped up promptly, fixing her hair and trying to make it look like she wasn't considering an attempt at home-made abseiling down the wall beneath her window. She accepted the call and lo and behold the screams and squeals of five of her best friends burst from the phone from on the other side of the country. Meghan, the girl in front and centre, called out Madison's name with an ear-piercing screech.

"Woah, Woah. Calm down, Meghan I'm not hoping to go deaf anytime soon," she muttered, pretending to be annoyed, making a particular fuss of changing the settings on her hearing aid. Meghan playfully rolled her eyes and began talking over the other girls. 

"Oh, shut up, Maddie. How's Massachusetts? Find any cute warlocks that we need to come out and see?" She asked. 

"Meghan, this place is amazing and beautiful- there's so many other things here than witches and warlocks and Harvard's array of nerds," she said, pretending she didn't want to hop on her tricycle and go home. 

To be truthful, it was obvious that Meghan could see straight through the blatant lie. 

"Well, if you say so, babes. Give us a tour of your house! We need to see chez Madison after stalking it for an hour on Google Maps."

Madison gave a hearty chuckle. "Well, if you insist."

Madison began her own rendition of a virtual tour around her house, showing everything from the luxury bathrooms to the heated pool in the basement. The ooooooo's and ahhhhhhhhh's were constant. The house was beautiful- that was undeniable. However, the crowning glory of the house was a massive stain-glass window depicting a woman by the lake.

"The realtors said that the builder of the house had it built in 1876 to memorialize the women persecuted and killed during the witch trials," Madison said, admiring the beautiful display of colours on the floor from the sun shining through the window. 

"That's cheery." 

That's typical Meghan.

"Now, more important than your sexy house; are you or are you not coming to prom?" Meghan asked, expectantly.

Madison shrugged, "I'm not sure, we only just got here, and I don't think my parents would want me flying across the country all by myself."

Meghan let out a slightly satisfied sigh. "So, does that mean Dylan is now free for me to take as my date?"

Madison gritted her teeth hard. Only forever has Meghan been trying to steal Dylan away from her. "Sure, as long as it's just as friends," she answered, fully emphasizing the word "friends".

Meghan laughed emptily. "Well, how else would I be taking him? Trust me, Maddie baby, if I wanted Dylan so bad, I would've gotten him months ago." There was a coy smile and awkward glances shared by the others.

Madison bit her tongue.

"Yeah?" She called out into the empty house. "Coming now, Nez!" She looked back at the screen, told them, "talk later, gals, Nez wants me to help her in the basement," and hung up without waiting for a response, already knowing that Meghan would be commenting on how strange she was acting.

Madison and Meghan had been stuck to each other's waist since pre-school, grew up in close neighborhoods, and had practically been raised together. One time, Madison's family took Meghan to Disney Land, then straight to Universal Studios after. To say they were spoiled rotten in childhood because of the Delvaux family wealth was an understatement. It was only now approaching adult years was Meghan taking full advantage of her best friend's wealth- hinting off about getting her into Yale or Harvard, Madison smiled and nodded when she brought these things up, knowing full well Meghan didn't hold enough brain cells to even use a dishwasher.

The jangle of keys and the opening of the door sounded from downstairs. "The party's home! Maddie honey, you here?" Inez called, audibly struggling with grocery bags. "Coming!" she called back, skipping down the stairs two steps at a time. Inez relieved herself of one of the six bags she had carried from the car. 

"When are you going to learn to walk down the stairs without the risk of breaking your damn neck?" she asked, walking to the kitchen and setting half of the bags on the counter, and doing the same with Maddie's bags. Madison laughed and shook her head, "when we confirm that the birds don't work for the bourgeoisie." 

Inez rolled her eyes and pulled Madison into a hug. "Well, in that case, I may as well buy a neck brace and put the hospital on speed dial."

Madison gave a real laugh this time and pulled away, throwing a damp washcloth at Inez's face. "Megan facetimed me earlier with Linda, Karlie, Houston, Seoul and London.

Inez pulled a face, "yeah, and how did that turn out?" Madison sighed, "she asked me if she could take Dylan to prom."

Her stepmom stopped unpacking and lurched into deep thought. "Why are all your friends named after cities?" Madison was about to continue when she stopped to think about the question. 

"Back to the topic, Nez."

Inez’s eyes widened in shock. "She did not, did she?" Madison nodded carefully, bracing herself for Inez launching into a huge monologue, as she often did when something morally wrong happened. "After everything that we've done for that girl- everything that you've done for that girl, this is how she repays you?" Inez barely stopped to breathe. "She has known about our plans to move here since last Summer! The sneaky little bug kept this behind your back and knew it would be safe to tell you that she was going to steal Dylan from you as soon as you were a safe distance away-"

Madison promptly stopped her, knowing this could and would go on all night. "I'm not as bothered as I should be, Nez. Dylan and I were drifting even before the move. I think this is just my final sign that we just aren't meant to be- God, I always knew nothing serious would become of Dylan and me," she admitted, sipping on a diet coke that Inez had just slid down the countertop. Her stepmother pursed her lips, her incredible dark brown eyes glazing over as they always did when she fell deep into thought, as Madison often admired them doing so when she was trying to find a solution to a particularly difficult business situation, then, within seconds, bounced back out of it once again.

Inez presented an envelope to Madison, addressed to her. "Well, this might bring your spirits up at least," she placed in front of Madison. "I just know it is what it is."

Madison's jaw dropped as she read the letter.

Months ago, while they still lived in Florida, Madison's tutor convinced her to take part in a writing competition. The competition was hosted by one of New York's most prestigious publication companies, namely by their founder; Mallorie Whyte, possibly one of the most sought after and revered journalists in the Western Hemisphere. Madison completely worshipped the woman. Whyte being a first generation French American was the main factor in inspiring Madison to learn the language; not for the benefit of her Senegalese brother.

But he did not need to know that.

Inez spoke again, mainly just to make sure that Madison hadn't become paralyzed from shock. "Is she telling you to buy a damn dictionary or was your spelling fine?” Inez teased. There was no response, but Madison was finished reading, and Inez became heart-scared that she would lick the page.

Madison was dumbfounded for a few more seconds. "I got first place in the contest. She wants me to come to New York and meet her! Bloody hell, she thinks I could help her out with new ideas?" Maddie took another break before screaming the house down. "The Mallorie Whyte wants me because she thinks I could help her-"

She completely froze up in shock, her frightened stepmother running behind her in case she fell backwards. "Three weeks?!" Madison screeched, loud enough to wake up the dead. Inez almost jumped from her skin, laughing when she recovered.

"Three weeks, Maddie! We have plenty of time," she attempted to reason, even though trying to calm Madison down when she was as excited as this was next to impossible.

Madison looked highly offended. "Three weeks? Do you see the state of this house? It needs to be perfect!"

The house was next to gleaming spotless.

Inez rolled her eyes and tugged Madison's belt loop as she was about to run into the hall. In her lifetime, she had met many people that she could consider crazy, but no one came as close to her stepdaughter when she was fangirling over Mallorie Whyte. "Yes, honey that's all well and good," Inez said, attempting to calm down the lunatic in front of her, "but in the meantime, I want you to tidy your bedroom, do your homework and do some studying."

Madison nodded obediently, grabbed her Cola, and ran upstairs, careful not to spill anything on the grey carpet. The fragrance of her apple blossom burning in an incense bowl wafted around the room, and her speaker was set to play music from her playlist when it detected motion in the room. The past few moments of excitement had wiped what had happened before the letter out of her mind.

Dylan.

Meghan had practically taken Dylan away from her- not that she cared, not now anyway. Mallorie freakin' Whyte had sent her a handwritten letter for Christ's sake, she wasn't going to be moping over a boy that her supposed best friend has had her eyes on for months. She had known since before announcing the move that the boy was falling under Meghan's spell, she had seen it; the messages, the winks and the giggles, the almost-too-close kiss under the stairway. She was never ignorant to the fact that there was something between Dylan and Meghan going on behind her back- they were both horrible liars and barely tried to cover it up- she just did her best to pretend nothing had happened.

It's not as if she wasn't the jealous type- she used to be- Dylan had been around most of her friendship group while she was crushing on him. She had just grown an indifference to seeing him flirt with other girls. She had grown used to it.

The notification of her computer sounded, distracting herself from her slightly depressing thoughts. It was an email notification, from Mallorie Whyte herself. Madison almost fainted at the sight of it. Not only had she just received a written letter, but she had also taken time to contact online. Madison caught her breath at the possibility of having a conversation with this woman three weeks before they met, she opened the email, scanning every word;

Madison,

I apologize for reaching out to you in such an informal manner, but I just couldn't wait to get into correspondence with you sooner! Your entry into our contest here at Whyte’s Journalism and Publications utterly rocked my soul at the core, your work blooms amazingly at your young age.

The reason I picked your entry was that after many hours of reading and re-reading hundreds of thousands of entries, I realized that yours spoke to me in a way that no other one did. The beauty of your language and knowledge of how our world and society works touched me in a way no other did- heart-breaking, yet somehow warming, in the same way, to know that there are still people in this world who still have a love for life.

I noted in your information folder that Halloween was your least favourite holiday- a complete juxtaposition of my own opinion. Samhain is the best time of year- and I am excited to spend this glorious time of year with you and your family starting next weekend, as I've just finished sorting arrangements with Ms. Inez.

Best regards and wishes, and excitement to meet you,

Mallorie Whyte.

Inez smiled to herself from downstairs, setting her drink down and running up the stairs having heard the rather obvious sound of Madison's delighted squeal and subsequent crash on the floor.

[the-book-queen]

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[magnoliafenner]

Everyone from the bayou individually

@liamdvbois is a very hot guy, 10/10, would bang. Unfortunately for me, he's taken for now, but I'm willing to wait for that to fall apart. As a person, I think he's kind of boring, but who cares with a face like that?

@eveningstardubois is taller than me and has good eyebrows and is a good cook and that's really about all I can say about her for now. She has so much baddie potential but she doesn't use it, it's a crime.

@reese-dubois desperately needs to branch out and sample from the great buffet of men in Auradon; I feel like she'd be way more fun as a ho friend if she ever decided to own her hotness.

@crisdubois doesn't like shopping but severely needs new, cuter clothes, and I'm not sure if she does it on purpose but she gives off some real "not like the other girl" vibes which is an ew. A big ew.

@romeodubois is very handsome and very poised. I don't know him too well personally but my best friend has nothing but good things to say and I trust her opinion more than I trust my own.

@beauodie has a very pretty face but I've never really tried to get him as a notch in my belt. I wonder why, actually, now that I'm thinking about it.

@clarissa-lb has the classic La Bouff good looks and I’m really impressed that she actually dreams of working and is doing it. I wish she loosened up just a bit more but statistically, not everyone can be perfect.

@lemonlabouff is the closest to a perfect person I've ever met, period. I love this girl more than I love myself, or at least, very close. She's smart and beautiful and creative and balances me out perfectly, and I'm obsessed with watching her life goes as wonderfully as it deserves to go.

@carterlabouff closes out the La Bouff trifecta of beautiful people. He's Lemon's brother so obvi I'd never try to ride him no matter how much his smile makes me want to dry hump  is but I do like his personality too. He's maybe one of the only guys I don't hate talking to which is huge praise.

Ask my character “How do you feel about ______?” Can be an idea, person(s), place, or thing, and they’ll have to answer honestly.​