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bloededhoine · 4 years

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world building cause twn doesn't part 4: elves!

everyone loves elves! they're a fantasy genre mainstay, archery is so sexy, and they have those E A R S. plus, they play a pretty important part in the witcher universe!

series masterpost

colour code cause i fucking love colour codes - already happened/introduced, probably s2, important background info, stuff that might be in the prequel, extras

background

i'd recommend going through the last parts, or at least the tl;dr's first

elves arrived on the continent about 2000 years before humans, and are divided into 5 distinct cultures of varying importance: aen undod, aen elle, aen seidhe, black seidhe, and aen woedde

elves only came to the continent in one group, but not all of that group stayed. the different branches based on where they settled make up the different cultures

the main two languages in the witcher are common speech and elder speech (aka hen llinge), the former used by most humans and the latter used by the elder races

aen undod

the aen undod are the oldest elven culture, having existed years before the conjunction of spheres

their home world faced some huge catastrophe, so the aen undod left in search of new worlds, leaving their descendants to become all the future elven cultures.

the aen undod spoke the oldest dialect of elder speech, laith aen undod, or one speech

aen elle

the aen elle use a language derived from hen llinge called ellylon, in which their name means "of the alders"

they don't actually live on the continent, having abandoned it years ago for their own world.

however, when the aen elle arrived in this new world, it was already populated by humans and unicorns. unfortunately, these elves are notoriously ruthless and both the native species were eradicated.

the capital of the aen elle world is tir ná lia, and is described as stunningly beautiful, featuring open air buildings made of marble, alabaster, and malachite. here it is in the third witcher video game, by djkovrik on nexus. their screenshots are amazing btw.

[ID: screenshot from wild hunt showing tir ná lia. the city is built on cliffs above a sea, there are waterfalls falling from the cliffs and bridges connecting them. there are mountains in the background and the buildings are fairly small and out of focus, they seem to be in the gothic revival style with ornate windows and steeped roofs. end ID]

the ruler of the aen elle was auberon muircetach, king of the alders and aen saevherne (aen saevherne is the honorary title of an elven mage who has extensive knowledge of magic, geneology, history, and many other subjects). auberon was also ciri's 5 times great grandfather. this gwent card pretty much sums up his vibe: scary yet sexy.

[ID: illustration of elven man with long white hair on a brown horse. he has defined cheekbones and facial features and is wearing a gold crown and blue robes with a red sash, gold belt, and leather boots. he is holding a white unicorn head in one hand. the unicorn's horn is cut off, and is bloody around its neck and where its horn was. end ID]

auberon's consort was another aen elle named shiadhal, with whom he had one daughter, lara dorren. lara is so so so important for the witcher, as she is the beginning of the elder blood, or hen ichaer.

hen ichaer is a gene that carries incredibly powerful magic, and those who have it are usually sources. i talk more abt this in part 3.

for better or for worse, lara dorren fell in love with a human sorcerer, cregennan of lod, and left tir ná lia for him. auberon took this as cregennan "stealing" his daughter and therefore the hen ichaer, and developed a pretty hefty vengeance and dedication to "take back" what was his (yikes).

this also set a precedent of people "claiming" the lives of carriers of the hen ichaer

auberon also formed an elven cavalry known as the red riders or wild hunt (dearg ruadhri in ellylon) and he appointed eredin bréacc glas as their commander. the initial purpose of the wild hunt was to travel to different worlds and capture slaves for tir ná lia, although they later became auberon's tool to find and exploit carriers of hen ichaer.

the wild hunt also uses specially trained mages known as navigators to open portals to other worlds, the most notable of these navigators is caranthir ar-feiniel, who doubled as one of eredin's most trusted men.

the aen elle also live a pretty long time, average is around 650 years, so the timelines are kinda hard to keep track of.

notable aen elle include: auberon muircetach, shiadhal, lara dorren, eredin breácc glas, crevan espane aep caomhan macha (aka avallac'h, also an aen saevherne and lara dorren's ex), caranthir ar-feiniel (also avallac'h's foster son), ge'els (the viceroy of tir ná lia), and imlerith (general of the wild hunt)

aen seidhe

put simply, the aen seidhe are the elves that did not leave when the aen elle did

the aen seidhe don't really have a society like the aen elle, they're pretty dispersed across the world. but, there are certain areas the aen seidhe have claimed as their own.

one of these little civilizations is dol blathanna, also known as the valley of flowers. unfortunately, it's not an independent state, as it was conquered by aedirn in the 1150s. however, then-king baldwin thyssen did allow the elves to retain a lot of their cultural identity and live in peace.

dol blathanna includes the village posada and the capital silver towers, which is where filavandrel aén findháil is from. he's that sexy man right there

[ID: photo of white elf man with blonde hair going to his shoulders. he is wearing tattered green robes and is looking slightly to the side with his lips pursed. end ID]

not that anyone cares, but here's him in the hexer. it's not important to the lore or twn it's just fuckin funny

[ID: old man with white frizzy wig. he is wearing a headband that appears to be rocks on a string. he has what looks like a potato sack tied around his shoulders over a green tunic. he is scowling. end ID]

outside of dol blathanna, there aren't really any places where elves can live with minimal human interaction, although the blue mountains are home to a few incredibly powerful elves

side note: dol blathanna is technically part of the blue mountains, but is in the far southern foothills so they're usually treated as separate entities.

the blue mountains are also a natural border dividing the northern kingdoms from the far east, and where filavandrel went to live after he got fed up with dol blathanna.

they're also the home of ida emean aep sivney, who's also an aen saevherne and future member of the lodge of sorceresses.

next season, we're going to meet the beautiful elven sorceress francesca findabair, also known as enid an gleanna (hen llinge for daisy of the valley)

here she is with fringilla vigo (nilfgaardian sorceress) in twn season 2. note that enid is preggers! that's very odd and i will go into detail on it later

[ID: photo of two women walking side by side. the one on the left is black and has black hair in braids going over one shoulder. she is wearing a silver dress with a similarly coloured floor length coat. the one on the right is biracial and has strawberry blonde hair in a braided updo. she is wearing a floor length blue gown with gold embroidery and a metallic brown cloak. she is pregnant. end ID]

enid is crazy interesting and important for the story of the witcher (and confirmed for season two!), so i won't go too in depth about her now

as i mentioned in part 2, nilfgaard tends to favour elves, leading to a lot of militaristic forces allied with nilfgaard. most notably, the scoia'tael, or squirrels. the scoia'tael are an incredibly ruthless and effective nonhuman guerilla force, generally divided into commandos, units that patrol a given area and eliminate the northern (or simply human) threat.

there are a lot of scoia'tael, so i'll just give you the commanders for now: angus bri cri, coinneach dá reo, iorveth, isengrim faoiltiarna, riordain, and toruviel.

you might remember toruviel as this sexy angry lady from twn, and she is possibly going to get a much bigger role later... pay attention to toruviel.

[ID: young elf woman with white skin and red hair tied over her shoulder. she has a bloody nose and is wearing a light green top with a dark brown leather studded belt. her belt is also around an olive green coat. she looks quite angry. end ID]

the scoia'tael were very well organized, but also quite dispersed, so when nilfgaard needed more specific tasks done, they would assemble specific military units (usually led by some of our favourite squirrels)

the vrihedd brigade was the most important of these units. they were especially notorious for their cruelty in the second northern war, so i'm sure we'll meet at least a few members next season.

their leader was colonel isengrim faoiltiarna (aka the iron wolf), and his officers coinneach, iorveth, riordain, and angus.

francesca findabair is not directly involved with either the scoia'tael or the vrihedd brigade, but she does work quite closely with them very often.

also important to note that not all scoia'tael are aen seidhe elves, most (including all higher ranking commanders and officers) are, but there are a number of nonhumans including dwarves and halflings.

unfortunately, the aen seidhe are slowly going extinct, both from years of genocide from humans and their slow reproductive cycles (elves live a Long time, but can only have children towards the beginning of their lives)

that's why it's so surprising to me that enid is preggers! we don't exactly know her age, but by my calculations she was over 150 in twn (pretty far past the age elves can have children).

because of this, elves are pretty divided between fighting against human rule and seeking coexistence. there are arguments for both camps, mainly that humans are colonizers and should not be trusted for the former, and that elves are dying out already and need to live with humans to survive for the latter.

the most prominent stand for the fight was in the 1060s when an aen seidhe named aelireen led an uprising against humans. most of the elders told her that it wouldn't end well, but she didn't listen and led hundreds of young elves into battle. it was an utter massacre, and basically all elves who could have children died.

yikes

unfortunately, the movement for coexistence was just as unsuccessful. it was led by our man cregennan of lod, lara dorren's husband. the poor simp just wanted to live in peace with his wife, but a lot of humans thought he was a traitor because he married an elf, and he and lara were murdered in 1137 in redania.

the last real push for independence was with the formation of the scoia'tael in the 1260s. I say 1260s because the very beginnings of the scoia'tael were right around 1262-1236 (the start of ciri's timeline) but they became majorly important around 1267. although, even the scoia'tael realized they needed humans to survive and began working with nilfgaard.

however, some scoia'tael are less keen on being nilfgaard's attack dogs, leading to further division amongst the aen seidhe.

black seidhe

remember the elves i talked about in part 2 as being the ancestors of the albans? this is them!

the black seidhe are native to the south, more particularly the valley around the alba river. they are practically extinct, but the nilfgaardians carry a lot of their cultural identity in the nilfgaardian language, a variation of hen llinge.

aen woedde

the wood elves, or aen woedde, is the elven culture we know the least about, they primarily live in the areas around nilfgaardian forests and speak hen llinge.

the only notable wood elf is aenyeweddien, or iskra, a member of the rats, a gang of semi violent youths in the northern realms. we'll learn more about the rats in future seasons.

tl;dr: elves, especially the aen seidhe and aen elle cultures, make up a large part of witcher lore. they are most notable for their long lifespans, magical and historical knowledge, and militaristic alliances with nilfgaard.

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thelivebookproject · 3 years

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Talking Books With @lilymaidofgallifrey!

[What is this and how can I participate?]

Important note: I haven’t changed or edited any of the answers. I’ve only formatted the book titles so they were clearer, but nothing else. Because I’m incapable of shutting up, my comments are between brackets and in italics, so you can distinguish them clearly.

-----------------------------------------

[Image description: a square titled “Know the blogger”. Name & pronouns: Anna, she/her; country: New Zealand; three adjectives to describe her: chaotic, studious & fun /end]

1. What's one book in your course of study (or about your speciality) that you'd warn others against reading?

To be honest I can't think of a study-related book I would warn others against reading altogether. The main thing I realised at university is that it's not information that's necessarily the problem, it's how it's framed and discussed. Sometimes you need to talk about problematic ideas so you can break them down and understand why they're wrong. For example The Criminal Man by Cesare Lombroso - Lombroso believed certain people were 'born criminals' and you could identify criminals based on their physical features (which obviously led to a lot of super racist, classist and sexist things). But while they're super problematic, it's still important to discuss Lombroso's ideas because they had a huge influence on the development of criminology and continue to have various impacts today, which need to be understood and combatted. I think the key thing is that these kind of ideas have to be presented critically and it needs to be pointed out how and why they are flawed, rather than taking them at face value.

2. Last book character you identified with?

Sansa Stark from Game of Thrones. She starts off as quite naïve and idealistic and romantic and a bit silly, which is pretty similar to a young-teen version of me. We have a love of embroidery and of pretty things in common, and I too am a sucker for a good doomed-romance ballad. I also like that she's quite different than her sister Arya, and that her brain is her weapon. As much as I like the idea of wielding a sword, I think I would be terrible at it (and based on my lack of coordination would probably cut off my own foot), and as a lawyer-in-training, I think words would also be my weapon-of-choice.

[I would also cut off my own foot with a sword! Or I would if I ever managed to be able to pick it up... Once at a Medieval Faire I asked a knight if I could hold his sword for a photo and I could barely raise it!]

3. Do you read in other languages?

No sadly. I started learning French and German at school but I wasn't very good and only remember a dozen or so words in each, definitely not enough to read something. I am planning on starting to learn Te Reo Māori though (the language of the Indigenous people of New Zealand and one of our national languages), so someday hopefully I might.

4. Thoughts on DNFing books?

I constantly DNF books. I used to feel like I HAD to finish every book I started, but now I'm so busy and my attention span is limited at the best of times, so if a book doesn't capture my interest within the first few chapters I generally won't finish it, unless it's one I really wanted to read. Sometimes I also don't finish books because I just ran out of time before they were due back at the library. I think realizing I didn't have to finish books I didn't like was very freeing. The way I see it, there's so many good books out there, I'm not going to waste time on books I don't really like.

[Meanwhile, I can’t DNF to save my life, spite is enough motivation to finish!]

5. Have you ever used a TBR jar?

I think they're a cool idea and I've attempted to use them a few times. Unfortunately I have object permanence issues - if I can't see it, it basically doesn't exist (thanks ADHD). So, basically, I tend to forget what's in the jar almost immediately after putting my book names in there. I've had more luck with writing my TBR on a piece of paper and sticking it on my bookshelf at eye-level, or, if I have the physical books, stacking them right beside my bed.

Free space!

Some books I would like to recommend are The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery, Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel (with the caveat it is about a pandemic), the Murderbot series by Martha Wells, and Sunshine by Robin McKinley.

I also want to recommend the websites https://www.window-swap.com/ where you can look out of a stranger's window somewhere in the world and http://radio.garden where you can click on another part of the world and listen to what is playing on the radio there, they're both fun and relaxing.

You can follow her at @lilymaidofgallifrey and on Goodreads.

---------------------------------------------

Thank you, Anna! It was really fun.

Next interview: Saturday, 22nd of May

#talking books with #booklr #thelivebookproject #may 2021

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nxrthmizu · 4 years

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#28 with Daminette, please! Also I love your works!

Prompt: ‘Pretending to be a couple and this is a huge mistake AU’

Pairing: Daminette

Words: 2904 words

Note: I kind of changed up the idea a little, hope you don’t mind...

[Thank you so much for the request hun, I’m so sorry it took be so long...

Enjoy! 💖💖💖]

- Cady

---

Damian had always thought that turning eighteen was a privilege. Boy, was he wrong. It was, in fact, a nuisance.

“Mr. Wayne! Do you have a special someone yet?”

“Mr. Wayne, my daughter is 18 and single, would you like to-”

"Mr. Wayne-"

Galas became a swarming mass of reporters and fathers seeking marriage for their daughters. He could constantly feel chills along his back as women stared at him shamelessly as if he were a prize, their predatorial gaze piercing through his soul. Annoyance tainted every aspect of his features at galas, his siblings constantly reminding him to not scowl so much. But honestly, could you blame him? He couldn’t go anywhere without being pestered by twenty reporters about his love life.

Heck, if he wanted to get a cup of coffee by himself, he had to dress up like a criminal avoiding attention. Lucky for him, there was one special cafe that was out of the way and always offered a little quiet for him- As quiet as it could get, anyway.

The Lucky Bug Cafe.

It was quiet and tucked behind a little street, often filled with just one or two students studying quietly and an old couple casually relaxing by the corner. The Lucky Bug Cafe was run by a single, dark-haired woman who looked at him and thought: ‘Ah, he needs somewhere to lay low for a while’ instead of ‘It’s the heir of the Wayne Enterprises, the Damian Wayne’.

It was another casual morning, and Damian needed his fix of coffee before heading to the office, where he would oversee his father’s (And soon to be his) employees while self-studying his business course. A long day lay in wait ahead of him, and Damian would appreciate and nice, aromatic cup of brewed coffee before he had to survive on the machine-made coffee for the rest of the day.

“Good morning.” The dark-haired woman greeted him with a warm smile, her bluebell eyes twinkling under the glow of the yellow lightbulbs. “The usual?”

“The usual.” Damian nodded, hoodie covering his face.

Leaning against the counter, he watched as she bustled around the area, turning on the machine, humming a song to herself as she headed over to the fridge for fresh milk. He glanced at the glass display case under the counter, eyes flitting over the batches of pastries that she had made for the day.

“Could I get five mint-flavoured macarons, please?” He asked as she set his coffee on the collection counter.

“Oh, of course.” She smiled brightly, already grabbing a paper bag. “They’re my new recipe! Do tell me what you think of them tomorrow.”

Damian smiled, his features softening at the woman’s words. “Sure. Oh, and how’s your website holding up?”

Perhaps one of the reasons they clicked so well together was because they were both... Well, famous. Except that he was the future boss of the Wayne Enterprises and she was the anonymous designer of Nette’s Design and Clothing. Articles concerning the identity of the anonymous designer popped up occasionally on Gotham’s magazines, not to mention that the celebrities that wore her work often ended up on the front page of fashion magazines.

“Good. It’s getting a little flooded these days, but I think I’ll manage.” She said with a giggle, winking at him. To anyone else, it would seem like they were talking about a small, by-the-side online clothing commission business, but both of them knew the true value of their conversation. “Need me to make you a new suit for the gala?”

It was then the idea struck him.

He processed it, and a fierce blush erupted on his cheeks, the said man nearly dropping his paper bag of macarons in the process as he fully understood his idea.

“Are- Are you okay?” She asked instantly, worry clouding her features.

“Yea-Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll... Get back to you on that.” He stammered, knowing that if he stayed a second longer, he was going to blurt out his crazy, stupid idea, and everything was going to be over.

Except that he couldn’t get the idea out of his head as he stared at the ceiling, sleep refusing to overtake him. The idea wouldn’t even leave him alone as he leapt across the streets of Gotham, keeping an eye out for crime.

If he brought Marinette to the gala with him, all the reporters would get off his back.

But then again, Marinette would never have peace again, and he couldn’t do that to her... Right...?

“Morning.” Damian greeted her the next day, dressed in a dark green hoodie. To anyone else, it would seem like a normal hoodie, but in reality, it was his favourite hoodie. ‘NDC’ was stitched in with golden thread on the inside of the sweater- The work of his favourite coffee shop owner. She had gave it to him after two months of their discreet friendship, and it was one of his most valued possessions.

"Morning," She replied with a gentle smile, her eyes morphing into little crescents as she did so. "The usual?" Her fingers never stopped moving, constantly wiping the counter clean or preparing a cup of warm milk. It was just one of the things he found adorable admirable.

"Yeah."

Before he could think, his mouth acted on its own. “Do you think you could be my date for the gala?” He blurted out suddenly, freezing when her movements came to an abrupt stop. Bluebell eyes slowly flicked up to his emerald ones, his heart jumping out of his ribs when those soft orbs stared into his. “You don’t have to say yes, I was just wondering-”

“Okay.”

He could feel his heart fluttering happily as she smiled, her eyes twinkling in bluebell crescents and her lips a soft curve.

“If you don’t mind, could I maybe go as... You know.” She asked shyly, brushing one of her hair strands behind her ears. “I know you want a date because... Well.” She laughed. “The attention, but I was hoping I could go as... Nette instead of... Well, plain ol’ Mari.”

“You’re not plain.” He responded instantly like a reflex action, tone cutting but soft at the same time. “But if you want to go as... It’s your choice. And... Thank you. For understanding.”

The smile she returned him was worth more than a thousand dollars, he thought.

---

Slicking his hair into a neat, presentable style, Damian checked his appearance in the mirror for the last time. The day of the gala had arrived, and they had already discussed all the details of the night over text. They would pretend to be a couple so that the reporters would finally get off Damian’s back, and ‘Nette’ would get her first appearance in public- They had both agreed that Marinette would wear a mask in order to preserve her identity, so that she could stay in a quiet world for just a little longer before she planned her official debut to the world.

The suit felt soft to the touch, a silk moisture across the shiny surface of the dark fabric. Gold threads wrapped around the jade green that Marinette had chosen as the accent of the suit. A jade tie with the same golden embroidery accompanied the suit and the dark-moss green dress-shirt that he had on underneath. ‘NDC’ was stitched carefully in the same cursive lettering that it was on the corner of the suit, the trademark of the designer’s handiwork.

Not wanting to answer his family’s pestering questions, Damian slipped out of the house, acknowledging and thanking whatever deity out there for the wonderful man named Alfred Pennyworth.

Alfred gave Damian a knowing smile, handing him the keys to his new car. “Thank you.” The youngest Wayne thanked the butler, the keys jingling in his hands.

“Treat her like the lady she is.” Alfred advised him, stepping forward to adjust the emerald-eyed man’s tie. There was a quiet, lingering thought inside the older man’s head, but after one more glance at the nervous young adult with a cold outer shell, he decided against the remark.

The car engine rumbled to life with a purr, pulling out of the garage. Alfred watched as the tail lights disappeared into the evening, the thought still clear in his mind.

He’s in love and he doesn’t even realise it.

---

“Hey.”

She opened the door with a smile- God, she never stopped smiling, did she? A little twirl showed off her dress, made in the same palette as his suit. Jade green and moss green strips of thick fabric made the dress blossom into a flower shape around her ankles. The top half of the dress hugged her curves in all the right ways, a braided rope going over her neck to hold the dress up. The sleeveless-ness of the dress showed off the smooth skin of the designer, not to mention her striking, sharp collarbones that were on full display.

“You look beautiful.” He managed, knowing full well it was a lie that he had just uttered. She wasn’t beautiful, god, no. She was absolutely stunning and gorgeous, and he would give anything to keep that smile on her lips. He had to mutter up all of his resistance and self-control to prevent himself from reaching out to stroke her soft, dark hair.

“Thank you.” The smile would’ve made him melt into a Damian-shaped puddle, except he had a date and he would have to wait until the night was over to melt into a puddle. “Shall we?”

He offered her his arm, like the gentleman his dad butler had taught and raised him to be. The feeling of her soft skin in his hands made roses flower over his cheeks, his heart beat a little louder, and the affectionate feeling in his chest double in size.

The drive to the gala was the most interesting car ride he ever had. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he listened to her sing to the songs on the radio, occasionally joining in shyly, both their voices dancing in an intricate dance of harmony. Her laugh tinkled like wind chimes; her smile glowed like the moon on a clear night; her voice soothed his soul like a warm bowl of soup. There was absolutely nothing on his mind but her and her only.

“Are you ready?” He asked, pulling up in front of the gala’s entrance. Reaching for the mask on her lap, he placed in on her gently, careful not to tug on her hair as he adjusted it.

“For our fake date?” She giggled. “As I’ll ever be.”

A smile danced on his lips as he pushed the car door open, for once, not annoyed by the bright flashes of the cameras. He wanted the world to know how amazing Marinette Dupain-Cheng was, and he wanted her to rise to top of the fashion world and beyond. There was nothing that would make him feel more honoured than the fact that he would be the one that introduced her to the world, watching as she took over the rest of the fashion kingdom like the queen she was.

“M’lady.” He whispered, pulling her car door open as he offered his hand for her, bowing slightly. Whispers clouded the air, quickly replaced by gasps as Marinette took it gracefully, stepping out with the aura of a goddess. He planted a light kiss on her palm, emerald eyes bright and soft in the dying light of the evening.

“Thank you. Shall we?” She smiled in return, never removing her hand from his grasp.

He nodded to her, gesturing for the valet to take his car away, tossing the man the keys. He normally wouldn’t trust anyone else with his car, but at the moment, escorting to beautiful bluenette was the only priority in his mind.

Because she was the only thing that mattered, after all.

---

Funnily enough, he didn’t feel triumphant at all.

Damian had thought that if he got a woman to pretend to be his girlfriend, well, he would enjoy the disappointed looks on the fathers’ faces and the burning anger in the girls’ eyes. Well, it wasn’t the case at all.

He was absolutely mesmerised with the designer next to him, who was talking gracefully to the CEO of one of Gotham’s fashion magazines. She was the definition of grace, beauty, and poise. Everything about her said goddess. She practically radiated power into the room, even when she didn’t realise it. There was a calm to her that made her seem like a cool-headed queen, and boy he would be willing to be her knight any day.

“I’m going to go get some wine.” He whispered to her, arm looping around her waist naturally. They truly did give off the ‘dating’ vibe, but he was too absorbed in her to notice.

“Okay.” She smiled, only this time it made him feel something else. No, not just a little flutter of his stomach, or a resounding thump of his heart. In fact, the first thought going through his head was that he wished, hoped, prayed that he could wake up to that smile for the rest of his life. He could picture it in his mind- Her, curled in his arms, her dark hair spreading into an intricate net behind her, eyes closed softly.

He could see her eyes fluttering open, see her yawn and stretch before nestling back into his embrace, only this time her eyes were open and there was a loving smile on her lips, and she was speaking.

“Morning, love.”

It took him a moment to realise that he had been stupidly standing there after stating that he was going to get them some drinks. Both the CEO and Marinette stared at him expectantly, wondering why he had suddenly got into a daze.

He found a waiter, easily plucking two wine glasses from the man’s tray before making his way through the crowd, who parted for him like the red sea parted for Moses. It was infuriating; He couldn’t get the picture out of his head. Her, nestled into his arms... No, they were on a fake date, and it was only for one sole purpose... It wasn’t as if he liked her... Right?

Wrong.

---

He made a mistake.

It wasn’t until after the night ended that he begin to feel the pain. His heart ached when she left, thanking him for the night. For the next few days, photos of Damian Wayne and the mysterious, masked Nette clouded the cover pages of magazines, reminding him over and over of that one night that he got to live.

His family hadn’t stopped pestering him about what in the world happened, Damian, and after Tim had found out Nette’s identity through the batcomputer’s wide database, it didn’t take long for the rest of the family to piece ‘Damian-might’ve-fell-in-love-with-a-cafe-shop-owner-who-happens-to-be-a-world-wide-famous-designer’ together.

“You should ask her on a real date sometime soon, Master Wayne.” Alfred told him offhandedly as Damian strolled into the kitchen. The butler was busy polishing wine glasses, placing them neatly back onto the shelf when he was done.

“It’s kind of too late.” He muttered quietly, sinking onto the chair, the soft fabric of the dark green sweater comforting him.

Alfred sighed, placing down the glass with a sonorous clink. “It’s never too late for anything, Master Wayne. Not if you take the chance and make a move.” Damian met the older man’s eyes for a second, realising what he needed to do. It was as if someone had took a lighter and relit the candle in his heart.

“I’m going out, Alfred.” He said abruptly, never pausing to see the proud smile on the older man’s face. “I don’t think I’ll be home for dinner.”

“Noted, Master Wayne. Your car keys are on the counter in the living room.”

---

He didn’t bother to pull on his hoodie, barging through the back door of the Lucky Cat Cafe before turning back on second thought, closing the door gently, muttering a sorry to the poor door that just got kicked open in the heat of the moment.

“Why are you apologising to a door?” Her laugh sounded behind her, the woman giving him an amused look.

“I... Kicked it open.” He admitted, before remembering what he had come to do. “Marinette.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Yeah?”

“I know the gala was a fake date, and we did it because it benefitted the both of us, but-!” He caught himself, realising that for once he was doing something without a plan. “But I don’t want that.”

She stared at him blankly. “Um... That’s fine. We didn’t tell the media we were dating, it could’ve been a one-time thing...”

“No!” He burst out, his heart nearly overflowing with emotions. “It took me a long time, but I-! I want to date you. For real. And take you out. And do the sappy things that Grayson does with his girlfriend. And take care of you. I want to date you for real.”

Her mouth was open in an ‘o’, and he wondered briefly if he broke her. Then a smile slipped across her lips, and he could see it again- Both of them, sharing a home, sharing a life, and then a child with dark blue hair and emerald eyes-

“Okay.”

---

sjskjsks I was so worried about the plot!!! Was it choppy? And in the words of my ninth grade english teacher, did it lack fLoW??? I’m so sorry if it didn’t live up to expectations, I lost where I was going with this-

On another note I have this headcannon that the two students and old couple always knew that he was Damian Wayne, they were just ‘oh he’s totally in love with Mari, this is really sweet and we’re going to stick around and watch’ and when he asked her out for the gala he was actually being really loud and they were all just legit eavesdropping and the two students going ‘jskjskjkjkjs he finally asked her out oh my god the ship is sailing’ and the old couple going ‘aww how sweet’ and ‘my boy finally got his courage together, so proud of him even tho im not his dad but still’.

Anyways I was thinking of another way to get around the MDC nickname for Mari as a designer and I thought Nette would be a cool name for her, and DC stands for Design and Clothing.

Once again thanks for sending in the request, sorry that it took so long bby <3

Requests are open, just head over to my blog, check out the rules and specifications, then shoot your request right into my inbox, I’ll be waiting.

Also I’m watching Haikyu and I am IN LOVE with those babies, gonna start writing fics and opening up requests for the Haikyu fandom once I get a better grip on the characters’ personality.

Okay, I’ve been talking too much. Bye and thanks for sticking around to the very end, lol. I can be quite talkative when I’m typing anddd I’m just going to stop now before I write another paragraph

- Cady

#daminette #damianwayne #marinettedupaincheng #feel free to drown me with requests y'all #requests #Cady's requests #cady writesss «#cadyh2o

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professorsparklepants · 4 years

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Ever since discovering there was going to be a Winx Club live action remake (BTW there's gonna be a Winx club live action remake) I have been haunted by it so here are all my thoughts presented as an "if I were the showrunner" list because I know better than to have expectations for this sort of thing:

Starting out with an unpopular opinion: Techna and Layla as a composite character. Like, looking at Layla's power set you can tell she was only added in season 2. It's much less streamlined and the concept doesn't seem to fit with her actual powers. On the other side of the equation, Techna has no backstory or character arc to speak of. 5 is also a more typical ensemble cast number, and is easier to position for merch. So: name her Aisha (bc the other Obvious theme names in the group are normal to unusual tier, whereas Techna is just bizarre) make her the fairy of Technology (well defined power set) have her a black hijabi girl (bc Techna's modest fairy form lends itself well to representation) and make her shy and autistic coded but slowly come out of her shell as her new friends try to understand her and make her feel comfortable (BLACK&/FEMALE AUTISTIC RIGHTS). Optional: her hair is still pink.

Stella needs to be biracial because her powers as Fairy of the Sun and Moon canonly come from her dad being the sun and her mom being the moon.

Colorblind casting for all the white characters, INCLUDING Bloom. Her red hair is #iconic but you know what's more iconic? Casting a woman of color as an adoptee rediscovering her culture & identity after her homeland was destroyed by people who wanted to exploit it's biggest resource for their own gains :/

Fix your goddamn timeline! How are the Trix descended from the ANCIENT witches who attacked Domino & yet Bloom is like.... sixteen. If you're pulling a "time passes differently" thing you need to actually establish that.

Bloom & Sky do NOT get back together because idgaf if it was an arranged marriage, once you find out you're the other woman you don't FORGIVE HIM for it. They can be friends again after he admits he's fucked up but there's a line in the sand now.

Related: after the "I know you're in there!" fight in season 2, Stella confesses to Bloom and they kiss and date and fall in love!!!!!!!!!!

Musa dresses like an Asian pop star. I'm talking those red Bad Boy Seulgi pants... I'm talking fishnet under thigh high socks... I'm talking diy crop tops... instead of a skirt her fairy form has those high waisted short shorts that are cut so high they're practically swimsuit bottoms.

Related, trans Musa who grows her hair out as part of her transition....

Flora as a dark skinned & dark haired Latina those are my only notes. Also put her in a blouse with floral folk embroidery because I'm a huge slut for that stuff.

Farigonda gets a cool old lady enchantix form because it's what I deserve

Give the witches hats! They can be tiny fascinators if you want it's just bullshit that fairies have wings but witches don't have ANY of their traditional iconography other than like, being goth. And hats are easier to accessorize than broomsticks.

Thigh high boots. That's all I have to say on the matter.

If you're gonna make this shit live action the wardrobe better be OUT OF THIS WORLD. Your costume budget needs to rival your special effects. I'm talking Gucci, Versace, D&G, GCDS, McQueen. I want FRAN FINE levels of iconic costumes.

Lean more into Bloom's art as a hobby! All the other girls have personality defining hobbies and I actually forgot Bloom liked to draw until I was literally making this post and about to assign her softball or photography as her main interest. Lmao.

Anyway, rant ended sorry for making you think about Winx Club again

#lectures #Winx club #fyi these all apply for a cartoon reboot too #except add in ''it's 2020 our cast doesn't have same face syndrome and cookie cutter body types''

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itsmeevie01 · 4 years

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Bio!Dad Bruce Month Day 13- Gifts

a teen was standing in an airport, the hood of his hoodie pulled up to hide his dark hair. His hands were stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, and he kept his eyes (really blue eyes!) fixed on his phone. When the arrival of the last flight from Paris for the night was announced, he glanced up, scanning the area. Satisfied that whoever he was looking for wasn’t yet at the baggage claim, he returned to his phone.

20 minutes later, the device binged, and his head shot up, once again scanning the area. The athletic boy’s face split into a smile when he locked eyes with a girl who was waiting near a pile of bags, looking through the ones that were spitting out. The boy made his way over and pulled the girl into a hug. After they had snagged the last of her bags (how on earth did the kid have 6???) the two made their way to the parking garage. When they neared the doors separating the warm airport, the boy pulled the girl’s hood up and made sure his was up as well before pulling the bags he had taken behind him. the tow hurried through the cold air, heads down.

As they passed a line of cars in the drop off lane, the boy’s hood got knocked off by the wind. He ducked down further, but by then, it was too late. “Timothy! Timothy Drake!” his name flew through the reports and visitors in the crowd. The boy, Tim, scowled and cut those closest to him a glare. The girl behind him sniggered at his distress before pulling her hood farther forward. As she pushed past the teen, there was a flash of blue eyes, before she was pulling him after her. As they hurried off, there were multiple flashes of cameras and questions floated through the air.

---

“what that fuck did you do?” the question was punctuated by the slamming of Marinette’s door. Tim huffed as he slumped into the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t do anything though! Honestly, it’s not my fault B has been making me do the public appearances for WE!” at his sister’s suspicious look, the older teen made a face and checked to make sure she had buckled her seatbelt. S

oon, the two were speeding down the road that led to the manor, where the rest of the family was gathering.

---

When they walked in, they were greeted by Alfred, who gave Tim an unimpressed look before smiling at Marinette and insisting that the two go join the family in the big sitting room. When they entered, they found everyone staring at the television, where a news story was flashing on the screen. As the Anchor continued to talk, a picture of whatever had caught the family’s interest appeared on the screen and-

“well shit, Timmy, can’t you even pretend to be low key?” Jason’s question made the other boy groan and throw himself into a chair.

“I tried, Jason. I tried. It wasn’t until we were almost to the car that someone saw us.” He glanced at the image on the TV, “at least M can’t be seen clearly. That went correctly.” Jason snorted derisively and let himself fall back into his seat.

“how long do you think before the conspiracy theories start flying?” at his question, Marinette looked up from where she was scrolling through her phone.

“oh, those have already started. Half of Twitter thinks I’m Tim’s Girlfriend.” The room erupted in laughter and the siblings moved to accommodate the teens before turning back to the news.

Bruce smiled at his children as they started to stumble down the stairs. First, Marinette had come down from her room. The 14-year-old had taken the holiday to swap out her jeans and long-sleeved tees for a pair of leggings and a long green top that settled mid-thigh. Although her clothes weren’t festive, per say, you could tell she had thought her appearance through very carefully. At this point, Bruce mused, he wouldn’t expect anything less from the budding fashion designer.

Next had come Tim, somewhere around 5 am. The teen had also changed from his Pajamas into what Bruce realized was an outfit Marinette had planned. Black joggers, black tee peeking out from under a red hoodie, and a pair of slippers that Bruce suspected were actually his.

Once the two had curled up together gripping their coffee, Dick and Jason appeared. They too had forgone the customary pjs for joggers, in Dicks case, and sweats in Jason’s. Dick was wearing a deep blue hoodie that was almost back, with…OH that must have been Marinette’s doing who else was going to make a custom hoodie for Dick that displayed his Nightwing symbol so subtly. Jason on the other hand…Marinette clearly had put less into being subtle with him. instead of a deep garnet that could blend into the bat symbol on his chest, the hoodie was a bright glaring red. On the back, in cursive, the name “Red Hoodie” had been sewn. Bruce held back a laugh of disbelief at the ease the girl had used to sneak the hoodies into the boy’s wardrobe.

While Bruce was marveling at his daughter’s creativity and sneakiness, Cass slipped in and settled next to him. she too was wearing a hoodie that Bruce now recognized as one of Marinette’s. it was black on black with white outlining the bat symbol. At his look of amusement, Cass handed him the hoodie in her hands.

It was black like hers, except much bigger and completely devoid of color. As he inspected the hoodie, Bruce found a small selection of embroidery on the bottom hem. “dad, I didn’t want to do anything huge, but this is a thank you, and a small reminder that I love you. Stay safe, Marinette Cheng-Wayne” he smiled as he ran his fingers over the stitching.

When he glanced over at Cass again, he found her playing with the embroidery on her own hoodie where it met her leggings. Before he could turn and say anything to the designer, Damien made his presence known as he entered the room. The boy scowled at everyone before he plopped down on next to Marinette, on the side opposite of Tim. Bruce shook his head as he watched his two youngest interact, Damien in a green hoodie and sweats. The hoodie wasn’t anything special, except for the red lining and yellow accents that Marinette had obviously added as a nod to his hero persona.

Alfred came in shortly after and handed out coffee and Hot Cocoa. As the siblings woke up, they moved so that the family made a semi-circle around the tree. They pulled out their phones and started checked the time, texted their friends, and generally got accustomed to the early morning.

When Alfred came back to join them, toting two giant trash bags and a camera, Dick perked up, it was time to start handing out presents. As the young adult started moving through the room, the others sorted what he was handing them when they all were given boxes in an unfamiliar paper, many of the older ones traded confused glances with each other. When the last present had been distributed, everyone turned to Damien who glanced around in confusion. “what? Do I have something on my face?” the others laughed, and Marinette bumped him with her elbow.

“its not that, little brother, you are the youngest, so you go first. You open one and everyone else will take turns after until it comes back to you!” the boy rolled his eyes at her explanation, before reaching for the paper that the rest of the family knew signifies that the gift was from Alfred.

When the youngest had opened the parcel to reveal a selection of books on drawing and wildlife, Marinette smiled at him and nodded to Dick, who had ended up next to Damien. Dick flashed her a bright smile and opened his own present form Alfred. After Dick, Jason tugged off the paper on his box. Then, Cass who turned to Bruce with a prompting tilt of her head. After Bruce had opened his bag (really, Alfred! He didn’t need any more books on raising emotionally stable children. He had done well so far, right?) he nodded to Alfred who raised a pointed eyebrow at him (about what, Bruce wasn’t sure. He hadn’t done anything yet, had he? It was barely 6 in the morning!). Tim rolled his eyes at their interaction, before ripping open his own package and letting out a yelp of happiness at the stack of books that he found waiting for him.

After that, Marinette simply giggled at the family antics and opened her gift. When Damien reached for the next present, Alfred lifted his camera to capture the smiles that were flooding the room.

Somehow, Damien had left the unfamiliar papered gift for last. When he reached for it, he tried to do a mental tally to figure out who it could be from. First they had opened Alfred’s gifts, so it couldn’t be him. then they had moved onto Bruce’s then Jason’s. After that, they had gone through Cass’s (apparently, she was a notoriously bad gift giver) and his own. Then, Damien had reached for the ones he knew came from Marinette, before deigning to opened Tim’s. if they had opened all of the family presents, then…” Alfred, why are these under the family tree?” Dick’s question broke Damien from his thoughts. “shouldn’t we wait until the Kents get here to open these?” the old Butler shook his head and gestured for the vigilante to open the box.

When Dick did as instructed, he full on squealed. “How!” at the family’s confusion, the oldest of the siblings held up a card that had been nestled inside. The small crème square read ‘Complements of MCW’. As the family processed what they were seeing, all hell broke loose. The others tore into the boxes in front of them, and all found a personalized gift, and a matching Christmas sweater. No one noticed Marinette’s small smile at the chaos surrounding her, or that though she had the Christmas sweater, she didn’t have a personalized item to go with.

No one, that is, except Tim.

so, this is LATE, because the place im staying over the weekend has crazy spotty internet and i couldnt get Word to save anything. that said, i will also be uploading day 14, so keep an eye out for that today...

#b!dbwm2020 #ml x dc #miraculous ladybug #maribat #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #b!dbwm #marinette dupen chang #my writing

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vasiliquemort · 3 years

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Can I have some more Margot headcanons ? 💖 I'd love to know more about his domestic and practical skills ✨ Love the Huldra boy 💞

Yes! Yes, yes, of course - as much as you like!! *--*

I love to talk about my sweethearts so much - and, as always, I tried to answer both the question, and a little (or maybe not a little;зз) more, parts about different things - about household talents, about personal habits, about temperament and motivations, about the past, about the future.

I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it - thank you so much for making me so happy today, you are just a treasure!

Please, bever hesitate to ask more - about anyone, anything, short ideas, or full drabbles - it's always an absolute delight for me~~

Margot is one of those people who seem to be visually restless - but in reality he carefully controls everything that concerns his personal interests. He has many rudiments that would help him cope with home economics - he carefully and enviously observes Edwardis and his place in the coven, memorizing and using everything he can learn.

He is thorough and attentive in everything that his hands touch - it is important for him to control his life, to be confident in his place, but he tries not to let anyone observe his personal affairs - in a closed society of northerners, everyone follows their own corner carefully and zealously like a kite. Margot himself is gentle, but at the same time carefully keeps his distance when it comes to something that is important to him - usually he tries to remain invisible and does not like when someone is watching him, so you will rather notice how he escapes from prying eyes than the very process of his studies.

Margot was once an early riser - but in the constant fog and darkness of Nimrode, his sense of time faded away, he feels constantly sleepy and like a ghost. He quickly gets lost and needs the attention of other people - as a huldra, he is hardy and can go without sleep for a long time, but the longer he is deprived of rest and comfort, the more complex and animal his temperament and train of thought.

Margot does not like public signs of affection - for him all forms of adoration are much more difficult than it seems. He is calculating, but always invariably affectionate in the eyes of the archon - but it is much easier for him to give attention and affection than to accept, he is distrustful and feels uncomfortable if he is singled out or shows special attention in front of other people, although he always allows himself to emphasize his place and privilege.

He knows how to cook - but to a greater extent, cooking does not give him any warmth, for him it is just a daily need. He knows what it feels like to be hungry in the north, and he is amazingly smart and careful when using his own supplies or helping with food issues in the coven.

Usually Margot always dines quickly and alone, but the situation is completely different if the Archon invites him to their place - for the northerners this is a form of intimacy and courtship, and in this case Margot will treat the process completely differently. When he stops feeling cut off from society cooking for him becomes a form of intimacy - he is especially talented in simple but tasty pastries, and he knows how to make warm teas and uzvars in a special way.

Do you want to cook together?.. Oh wow. For Margot, this is something very special - be with him, show that you care and consider him a part of your life, and although he will not give any special look (the more you push him closer, the more cautious and outwardly detached he becomes), he will remember this for a long time. If you do something together - cooking, doing greenhouse work or handicrafts - he becomes surprisingly quiet, but especially cozy and warm at such times. He stops flirting or touching at all, but there is something gentle, very familiar and close in his stealthy gaze and soft, calm face and hand movements.

Margot has restless hands - when he is being watched, he carefully restrains himself, but as soon as he relaxes, they flutter like birds when he talks. Alone or in moments of rest, he always does something with his hands - he often spends hours knitting with threads and vines, weaving, sorting and tying herbs, at the same time he completely ignores embroidery (considering it a pointless killing of time) or cooking (he.. he does not like to waste food if he cooks only for himself)

He doesn't need help. No. Just, please, do not touch him when he is doing something on his own - if he loves you enough not to consider your actions a mockery, he will still refuse - he sees a meditative and calming meaning in many things, do not take it away from him. He likes to spend time in silence and in his own thoughts, when he does something for himself, for his home, every action seems to be a ritual, with a special meaning in his eyes. If he is not alerted, it will be much more difficult for him to switch - but he will be infinitely happy and grateful for your company and the feeling of security and warmth that you generate in him.

Margot is a solid contrast, as soon as you begin to get to know him better - he is amazingly sociable and attentive, he has a bright, changeable temperament, but he prefers to spend time alone and always carefully chooses words and monitors his actions. He is not at all like Tizian - he does not like to play with other people's attention and feelings in the open and he lacks that passion and brightness of temperament, and although he is soft and sympathetic, he tries to remain invisible in the eyes of the majority.

Oh, and, of course, Margot is very calculating in everything he does or says - everything has a special meaning, a special idea, he knows how to achieve someone else's sympathy, imperceptible but murderous, methodically and persistently. Tizian is his opposite, although they understand each other too well - it is much more common for him to play his own games with the public, he is exponentially pleasant and easy to love, but with whom he wants to conquer, he is amazingly open and honest - in his true character there is all the necessary simplicity and passion, while Margot is quieter and more affectionate inside than it seems, and it is much more difficult for him to reveal himself without expecting a blow.

Margot is amazingly well versed in trade and many types of handicrafts, and he lives with a special, very important idea of him and his full, like a cup, home. He is not very worried about his own comfort - he easily gets used to many things, but he desperately and passionately needs a family and the fact that all his loved ones lived in pleasure and prosperity. His understanding of prosperity is far from luxurious, through, but he is attentive to many little things - and he does everything on his own. He is versed in weaving and sewing, in caring for many plants and host animals, in the preparation of wines, cheeses, tea, food for the long winter, he knows how to take care of the house - with simple and affordable materials, but he carefully whitens the walls and looks after the wood, knows how to properly build a roof and lay a stove.

There are a thousand things that he learned from people from his very youth - in the meadows and mountains of soft, gentle Galicia, but he still feels defenseless and weak under the cruel, crushing storms of the islands of fog, for them they are wild beasts that he inexorably wants to conquer, but so far I have to carefully, daily and tirelessly follow.

He is a huldra, a child of the forest, but he desperately and with horror opposes the animality, the unconsciousness of his nature. The spirits of forests and lakes are close and dear to him, he understands and hears their whispers, when he walks past the windows at night, they call and want to take him with them - but there child of the forest loses himself, he feels like a ghost, led by the unconscious - and there he cannot have family or desires, the future does not await him and he, like Mavkas and Leshyns, is lost in eternity and immutability of roots. He can teach the archon his talents how to talk and honor the old gods - their mother will push them if necessary, but Margot always turns away and refuses to look the ancients in the eyes longer than he needs. He will easily lead a person out of the darkest forest, teach how to survive in wilds months or even years - but he himself will prefer to live in a human society, in the tight quarters of the south or the thick walls of the north, so as not to lose himself, in order to feel real, true and living.

I see that Margot's main instrument of conquest is his touch and the feeling of comfort next to him. He does not know how to strike brightly and outright with charm or words, but he goes to the Archon methodically, persistently - it will seem to them that they are holding him at arm's length, but as soon as he leaves, they are cold and their life seems to be falling apart. It is amazingly easy and pleasant to get used to warm and gentle hands, to unchanging tea and well-fed food, to the tranquility and safety of their home, to infinitely caring and attentive eyes.

Margot is considered beautiful - someone who is very invisible at first, but who is absolutely pleasant to look at - he has bright eyes and an delightful, soft smile, his skin is chapped from frost, yet with a warm blush, and his voice is iridescent like a stream. He likes to grow his hair, imitating secunds - but he invariably puts it in buns and tied up braids, he dresses in his own neat and simple way - over time he wants to get lost less and finds things that emphasize the maturity of his character and the desire to show his place among people.

He is not capable of magic in the usual sense of the secunds - but he has a huge storehouse of weapons that he can use for his own sake. Potions and poisons (Burn other people's lungs with vapors? Secretly deprive sleep and mind with amok’s mist and anxiety poured into the cup?), charms and runes, and hordes of fellow spirits, into whose eyes he peers and sees their insides, as in the palm of his hand. Margot has powerful patrons of islans, revenge for him is methodical and similar to a ritual, but even so - his temperament is explosive, and his hands are a stone if he feels in danger. He hides under his own gentleness, indicative of defenselessness among magicians and sorcerers, but this way it is easier for him to get close to someone who came to ruin and desecrate his nest - Margot, like the other huldras from legends, will easily roll the iron into a hook and break a man's spine like a twig.

#secunda #visual novel #ask #margot #headcanons #margot x archon #margot x reader #imagines #dark fantasy #gothic #requests #domestic #tizian

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anastasiaenache003 · 4 years

Text

It’s all about the magic of the moment...

A/N: Hello there! This is my first post ever on Tumblr, and it’s also a fanfiction, more precisely an entry for #johnicaweek2021 , organised by the specatcular @eileen-crys :) I really hope that I managed to picture in the best way possible the tender relationship that John and Ronnie have. Enjoy!

My Instagram account: @anastasia.enake ( just in case)

Johnica Week day 5- “Memories” and “Nowadays”

Word count: 3087

It was the New Year’s Eve of 2021. The fireworks were now heard somewhere in the distance, with people rejoicing the last moments of a magical night. The whole house on an empty London street has gone quiet; it was dark, only the streetlights’ pale light making its way through the half-open curtains and the only sound that could be heard was the slight, almost intangible crinkling of the wood in the fireplace. On the second floor, behind the closed bedroom doors, the house’s habitants were seeing sweet dreams. Some of them were dreaming about the presents they would get in the morning; some were dreaming about the little holiday they were all going to go on for a couple of days.

The master bedroom, however, was empty. Or, to be more precise, it has been “relocated” into the living room. There were, sleeping on a comfy sofa beside the fireplace, covered in a huge and warm blanket, two old people, a man embracing his wife. On the coffee table in front of them was laying a very old and dusty photo album, which has been left open on a blank page, probably because someone had accidentally turned two pages at once. Or not?...

New Year’s Eve, 1971

“John, where’s the champagne? I thought you had bought it already?” questioned Mary as she greeted the young man in the doorway.

“I’m truly sorry, but I can’t believe that literally NO SHOP was open today in our area”, sighed John as he took off his coat. “It looks like there’s a conspiracy theory or whatsoever, I swear!”

From somewhere in the kitchen popped out a big black-haired head. “Don’t worry, darling, I made sure we would drink as much champagne as possible tonight!” Freddie gave his most flamboyant smile towards the guest. “Please, feel welcome! Mary, would you be so nice to introduce Deaky to our guests?” he added nonchalantly before disappearing in the kitchen.

As sweet and gentle as she was, Mary took his hand and led the way into the big living room where you could already hear the chattering. Freddie has always been keen on spending every holiday in the best way possible, be it Christmas, Easter or even his birthday (he was not modest at all). This year’s New Year celebration, as he and his other three friends formed the group “Queen” and already began on working for an eventual debut album, had to be very special. And extravagant nonetheless. Not that he gathered all London town’s population in his tiny apartment (although he would’ve loved to), but a close circle of good people who knew how to have fun was always welcomed.

When Mary and John entered the living room, John felt a little bit uncomfortable as all eyes were on him instantly. Truth be told, he didn’t enjoy that much big companies, but felt that this evening meant so much for the other three guys, especially for Fred, that he tried his best not to look or sound not at ease. People were approaching him and tried to engage him into different conversations, about music, books or whatever topic was popular at the moment and soon, John’s shyness melted away. As she made sure that everything was alright with the new guest, Mary glanced quickly over the people who were already in the room. She smiled to herself and then disappeared in the hallway.

The party was delightful, in every sense of the word. Soon arrived Brian and brought a whole packet of fortune cookies, “for entertaining purposes”, of course. “What is New Year’s Eve without fortune-telling?” he wondered surprised as Roger, who wasn’t into all kinds of “children games”, took the packet from his hand and gave it a discontent look. “Bri, I know you’re a very kind and wise man, but WHO ON EARTH reads fortune papers on New Year’s Eve? Be serious, no one’s interested in those and-!”. “Nice to meet you too, Rog”, smiled Brian as he shook the snow off his clothes and fluffy hair.” If you wanted us to play games, then we should’ve done “Truth or Dare”, complained Roger,” AND it’s far more interesting, at-”. He was suddenly cut off by Freddie’s yelling from the kitchen:” Not all of us are interested in THAT kind of games, Rog! Let the guy come in and enjoy the party! It’s all about magic tonight, and not about what you had in mind!”

The last phrase was said louder than the previous two, as a few people wandered curiously in the hallway to see what was happening, but soon got back to the rest of the party. Roger rolled his eyes and helped Brian to take his fur coat and scarf off, mumbling something to himself. “Don’t worry, Rog”, Brian teased him, “I guarantee that you’ll have great fun tonight!”. “Pinky promise!” he burst out laughing, not really trying to control himself. “Fuck off!” Roger shot him an annoyed look and punched him slightly in the ribs, but also couldn’t constrain a toothy smile. The two then hurried int the living room where they were welcomed by a burst of applauses and cheesy jokes. Now, the party must have truly begun.

It was already half past eleven when the doorbell rang, to a big surprise for some guests. As neither Freddie, nor Mary, were to be seen to be going to open the door, John has offered himself to do it.

When he opened the big wooden door, in front of him was standing a young woman, a very good-looking woman, dressed in a white fur coat and a white hat. Around her neck she was wearing a bright reddish scarf which was definitely pointing out her elegant look. In her hands, he noticed a few little present bags with lots of different velvet boxes inside, which he immediately offered to help with. But as she lifted her eyes to thank him and to meet his gaze, he stopped abruptly and stared in that astonishing sparkling pair of hazel eyes. His mouth fell open in awe as the mysterious guest slightly shook his shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, are you alright? You look… a bit lost” she spoke and John could swear that the tone of her voice was sending shivers down his spine. It was so soothing, calm and sweet at the same time that his heart began beating faster. He hardly found his words and whispered: “Um… no, thank you… In fact, … I… You… You should come inside, it’s already twenty minutes to midnight and it’s freezing here…” he finally found the force to speak properly as he welcomed the young lady inside.

As he helped her with her clothes and bags, Mary appeared in the long hallway. “Is everything alright with you two?” she wondered grinning at the couple. “Yes, Mary, thank you! This young man has come to help me, we shall come in about 5 minutes to you, guys! Open the champagne!” reassured her the new guest. Mary lifted her brow at what she was witnessing, but then decided not to disturb the two and quickly made her way in the main room.

When John carefully took the coat off the lady’s shoulders and helped her with unwinding the scarf, she stood in front of him in full height. John’s eyes were glued in the very next moment to her appearance. She seemed to be rather shorter than him, considering that she was wearing heels too. Underneath the coat was hiding a splendid tea-length long-sleeved silky dark-red dress with fine dark embroidery on the hem and on the collar. He took in every inch of her astonishing look, especially of what he later considered to be her most precious jewel- her bright hazel eyes, whose shade differed from caramel to apple-green in the light of the lamp.

“You look…” he began, unable to find the right words to describe her otherworldly beauty. “How do I look?” she questioned, smiling widely, which made it even more difficult for John to talk. “You… You look breathtaking!” he witnessed, more to himself, not completely trusting his voice and emotions. At his confession, a tint of blush covered her already rosy from cold cheeks. “I must be honored to receive a compliment from a gentleman like you, then” she bowed her head in response. The sound of her softly spoken voice made him smile in return. “The others are waiting for us; I think we shall go…” she whispered nodding towards the door leading to the living room. Without any further explanation, John offered his hand to the young woman. She accepted it gladly, putting her tiny hand in his and together they walked into the crowdy room. This wasn’t left unnoticed by Mary, who was sitting at the big table next to Freddie and Brian.

As the couple appeared in the doorway, someone poured them a glass of champagne for each, as Mary raised hers for a toast:” My dear friends! Here we are, 15 minutes before celebrating the New Year of 1972! This year has been a tough one, not gonna lie. It had a lot of difficult situations which we are bravely over now. Still, 1971 has brought some delights in our lives, which I will be eternally grateful for. This year has seen the beginning “, she then looked at Freddie and the rest of the band, “of a new musical group, “Queen”! These four guys, who were not afraid to start a band, made their first steps into the big music industry and I hope that, in a year or two, we shall all be hearing their brand-new album storming the charts! Cheers to that!” she cried happily as everybody stood up and clinked their glasses. “Let me have my little word here too, my dear!” exclaimed Freddie, hugging Mary from behind. “I just want to wish you, to all of you, that the new 1972 brings you what you desire the most in your lives, be it love, new friends, money or whatsoever! In other words, peace and love to all of you! Cheers!” he joked and raised his glass, much to the joyful laughs of their guests.

All this time, John couldn’t take his eyes of the mysterious lady who was, much to his pleasure, sitting on his right hand. As Freddie finished saying his toast, John raised his glass to her and whispered so quietly so that only she could hear him:” Happy New Year?”. “Happy New Year!” she responded, leaving a peck on his cheek. John felt vulnerable under her tender gaze. He must know what her name was. It was a matter of life and death. Maybe he wanted to ask her that question, but was interrupted by the joyful cries of the guests who were glued to the clock on the wall- 1 minute and 30 seconds until the new year of 1972. “Open the balcony! NOW!” shouted Roger, desperate to watch the fireworks invading the city’s night sky. Even at 22, he still remained that little child who loved the New Year’s Eve. Who didn’t, though?

The whole party started to crowd the small balcony of Fred’s apartment, waiting impatiently for the show to begin. “Follow me”, the lady leaned and whispered in John’s ear, “I know a better place to watch them.” Making their way through the crowd, the couple got dressed really fast and stormed out of the apartment, giggling. “We must use the fire escape, but quickly!” she added and started to climb it, careful not to slip on the icy stairs. John followed her immediately, paying attention to her movements.

As they got on top of the roof, the fireworks were already blasting in full force, coloring the sky in the colors of the rainbow. London town was glowing. It was a breathtaking view, perfect to spend the New Year’s Eve with someone special. “I’m Veronica Tetzlaff, by the way. But you can call me Ronnie…” she whispered as they were standing close to each other, still holding hands. “Happy New Year, Ronnie” he turned to face her beautiful eyes. “My name’s John Deacon, or Deaky, as the others call me” he smirked. “May I hug you, Ronnie Tetzlaff?”. “Please”, she smiled,” Happy New Year, John Deacon!” her voice now muffled in his shoulder. Behind them, the whole world was celebrating the new upcoming year of 1972. However, a new tiny world has been created, and it was now growing at the speed of light between the two young people.

“Can I ask you one more question, Ronnie?”.

“Yes, John. Ask me anything. I like the way your voice sounds when you talk, really…” she giggled, looking up to meet his gaze and his beautiful smile.

“It might sound too bold from me, and considering that we’ve only knew each other for less than half an hour…” he started, but she cut him off. “Really? I thought I have known you for a whole lifetime…”. At her words, John’s heart skipped a beat. Truth be told, he had heard talking about two people being soulmates. But he never thought he would be able to find his, and that fast, and on such a special night.

“Ronnie, I… May I kiss you?” he breathed out shakily, his face just a few inches away from hers. He could see the fireworks’ reflection in her eyes, which made them even more spectacular to look at. She didn’t say anything, just slowly nodded and smiled gently at him. The next moment he carefully took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. Her lips were as soft as a rose petal and felt perfectly matched for his. He moved his hands to her middle and hugged her tightly while she embraced his shoulders. If there was Heaven on Earth, that particular moment could represent it in the best way possible. However, not shortly after, he noticed that she was sobbing quietly in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Ronnie, I shouldn’t have gone that far- “he quickly started to apologize to her, but she gently stopped him. “Silly, I’m crying because I’m the happiest person in the world! Everything is perfect. You’re perfect” she kissed him back as a confirmation of her words. Freddie was right, the new 1972 has definitely brought something that they both desired in their lives- a true and profound love, which would last over the years, in happiness and grief…

When they returned back in the apartment, it seemed that, curiously, nobody has even noticed their absence. However, as soon as they stepped into the warm hall, they were greeted with a flash of a camera. “Roger! Maybe should’ve waited for us to look more presentable!” John half-shouted, half-laughed. “It’s all about the magic of the moment, so shut up! Plus, you look very presentable nonetheless. I’m talking about you, beautiful young lady. What about you, my fine friend…” teased Roger before receiving a punch in the shoulder from John. “Okay, problems aside, let’s celebrate! It’s the New Year!” giggled Veronica, taking both boys’ hands and running in the living room where the others were cheering and celebrating loudly. Happy New Year 1972…

Everything was just fine, exactly how it should be…

“Do you think it will work out for them?” Mary wondered as Freddie helped her washing the dishes. The apartment was now empty and only the confetti hanging from the chandeliers were bringing back the memories of an unforgettable night. “God knows… But I’m sure they found each other interesting, even at first sight. Do you agree, my dear?”. Mary just smiled to herself. “I hope so…” she added nonchalantly…

The first morning of the new year is always a special morning. The kids always hurry to get their presents under the decorated tree, whereas their parents and grandparents exchange secret knowing smiles and enjoy the happiness and the delight of the little ones.

The old couple sleeping on the sofa woke up before anyone else in the house. “Seems that we fell asleep here” the old woman yawned. “Good morning, beautiful” the old man turned to face her. Her hazel eyes were exactly the same as in that very morning, 50 years ago. Nothing had changed in their beauty. “Young man, you’re staring. How bold of you!” the woman added laughing. The man caressed her cheek, still admiring her eyes that caught his attention a long time ago and hadn’t let him go ever since. “You’re still as breathtaking as on that New Year’s Eve, my love. Happy New Year, Ronnie” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Happy New Year, John!” she sighed, a feeling of perfect harmony growing in her chest. A couple of cheerful cries were approaching the living room. “Be prepared for the attack!” she laughed before sitting up and greeting her ten grand-children with a warm embrace. “Happy New Year, grandma and grandpa!” they cried in unison. “Happy New Year, our darlings, our sweet-hearts! Now go and open your presents. They’ve been waiting for you all the morning!” she advised them as she and John watched them go and rip off the packages impatiently and with stars in their eyes.

“Grandpa?” asked the youngest one, Mary, “shall we put another photo in your album? I’ll bring the camera, if you want to”. “Hurry up, then, my dear, and please wake up your parents and the rest” John told her warmly as the girl ran upstairs in her room. Soon, she returned with the whole bunch of parents and a camera in her hands. “Now”, she began enthusiastically, “everybody, gather round the tree and I’ll take a family photo. I said NOW, Richard!” she yelled at her older brother who seemed not to like the idea, but obeyed anyway. The whole family, still sleepy from the last night’s celebrations, came together smiling round the decorated tree, with the old couple being in the center of the group. “And now”, the girl warned as she fixed the camera on the tripod and quickly ran and stood at the side of the group so she would appear in the picture as well, “say CHEESE!” and pushed the camera button. The Polaroid came out instantly and showed a happy family on a New Year’s magical morning. A great picture for a photo-album. “It’s all about the magic of the moment” remembered Ronnie and saw John tearing up a little. “Yeah, it’s all about the magic of the moment…”

#johnicaweek2021 #john deacon #veronica tetzlaff #queen fluff #queen fanfiction #newyearseve

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shireness-says · 4 years

Text

skating in circles (with no way to stop)

Summary: Anne Elliot likes her life just the way it is. The last thing she needs is her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex... something to show up during lockdown and prove just how wrong she is about that. ~7.9K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: For @welllpthisishappening, who is going a little stir-crazy during the NHL break. Also because it is absolutely her fault I ever thought “What would a hockey-flavored Persuasion AU look like?”

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta skills. Any mistakes, hockey-type or otherwise, are absolutely my own.

Tagging the potentially interested parties: @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, @thejollyroger-writer, @snowbellewells.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Social distancing almost doesn’t seem so bad in weather like this, the snow outside Anne’s window falling in huge flakes more furiously each second. Weather like this is designed for staying inside, curled up in an armchair with a cup of tea and a soft knitted afghan. It’s almost enough to soothe the little voice in her head that chides her for not working; there’s genuinely little for Anne to do from home as a school nurse, beyond writing and filing the reports she usually puts off until the end of the year, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling guilty at not doing more. Even if she isn’t expected to. Even if she is actually supposed to bunker down.

It’s been odd, adjusting to a life of jigsaw puzzles and overly involved embroidery projects and all the books she swore she’d read two years ago and never did. Hell, she’s even taken up online archiving projects after an old friend from school sent her a link, just for something to do. Her social life hasn’t particularly suffered; she’s a transplant to this town, anyways, drawn back by the memories of one beautiful, peaceful year, only really meeting with folks from work or her old roommate, and infrequently at that. Every few days, she’ll go through the motions of calling her sister Mary just so the younger woman can chatter away about all her own complaints; truthfully, that’s all the socializing she can handle. Anne has always kept to herself, and usually even likes it; the only difference now is that it’s by governor’s decree, not by her own introverted preferences.

Way out here, it’s not surprising that the power eventually goes out; it’s not uncommon, when the snow gets too heavy on the power lines in heavy storms like this. This is exactly why she has a generator - it’s all but a necessity when you’re living here year-round. Sure enough, the generator roars to life a moment later - an auditory nuisance, for sure, but a necessary one when you like such things as central electric heating and wifi and refrigerated items not spoiling.

The crunch of snow under tires outside her little cottage is more surprising, however, especially under the circumstances. She hasn’t ordered takeout, or grocery delivery; there’s no reason anyone should be pulling up to her house, especially in this weather. Peeking out the window reveals the kind of SUV only people with money buy, and the last person in the world she ever expected to see climbing out of it; she’d almost think it a hallucination brought on by isolation, if she hadn’t already seen him from a distance at the grocery store, earlier in the week.

Anne barely has a chance to pull herself together before the knock at the door sounds, bouncing off the walls of her little house. Opening the door reveals Frederick Wentworth, the dream she put away nigh on nine years ago, standing on her stoop in a ridiculous hat and a peacoat that’s not remotely suited to the practicalities of winter in rural New Hampshire.

“Believe me, I hate this just as much, if not more, than you do,” he begins, plowing forward before Anne can even remember to reassure him that it’s not true, “but my power’s out, and I need your help.”

As it turns out, Frederick - her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex… something - is all that’s required to upset any equilibrium the snow might have brought.

———

Frederick Wentworth hadn’t intended to return to Kellynch, New Hampshire. Then again, he hadn’t intended to be sitting out indefinitely with the rest of the league because of the current pandemic.

New York just feels odd like this, the tourists all gone, the streets practically empty. Fred has never credited himself as one of those maniacs who claim that New York is the only city in the world, and there’s nothing like it; he’d been happy in a small town, and he’ll be happy in a different city if the worst happens and he ends up traded. That’s the way these things work. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t formed opinions over the last years about how this city is supposed to feel, and it sure as hell ain’t this.

So he gets in his car, arranges for a rental house, and drives up to Kellynch. If nothing else, he hopes it will be easier to look outside in a place he’d expect to see barely a soul even under the best conditions. Nothing ever happens in Kellynch, after all; maybe that will include the virus too.

(Well, that’s a lie. Exactly two things have ever happened to Kellynch, and he’s one of them. The other… if they’re very, very lucky, they’ll never have to deal with egotistical directors and their ilk again. Even pretty, quiet brunettes aren’t worth that trouble; in fact, sometimes, they make things worse.)

The irony to all this is that usually, Frederick craves a little bit of solitude. He spends essentially his entire life around the same group of guys, at practice and in games and especially on the road, when he’s got to share a hotel room to boot. Hell, he even lived with them for years, sharing an apartment with Harville and Benwick. A man can be forgiven for wanting some time to himself.

And he’d gotten it, at least for a while. Harvey had met his now-wife and moved out, and now Benwick’s got a girlfriend who giggles and his own place to giggle with her in or whatever. Fred can finally come home and just collapse in the closest thing to silence one ever gets in New York, and truthfully, he’s been enjoying every moment of it.

There’s a difference, though, in solitude on your own terms and solitude on others’ terms, and Frederick can’t help but feel lonely as he remembers that in the middle of all this, his friends and teammates are cozied up with those they love, and he’s all by himself in the empty apartment he once yearned for. In Kellynch, at least, it’s a solitude of his own making; his parents are long gone, Sophie out in Virginia with her husband, and for the most part, he hasn’t talked to his old school friends in years. There won’t be this constant awareness of all the people he can’t see if there’s no one about that he’d want to.

Maybe he ought to try dating again, he thinks as he drives. Obviously, there’s nothing to be done in the moment, what with social distancing and impending stay-at-home orders, but maybe later. Maybe Harvey’s wife has friends he’d like - he’s always liked Amelia and her steady personality and good-natured humor, so unlike Benwick’s high-maintenance Louisa and her ear-piercing squeals. Her friends have got to be similar, and Amelia would probably even be kind enough not to make him sound completely desperate.

It’s not that he hasn’t found anyone interested in the past years; he’s got a decent face, after all, and a better paycheck. But the thing about that face and that paycheck is that it’s hard to trust that any woman is interested in him, him alone, the person he is without all that. It’s not a great way to live, but it’s hard to move past.

There’s also the matter of the pretty quiet brunette who came to Kellynch when he was 16, seized his heart, and never really gave it back. Walter Eliot may have been an asshole - every cliche of the self-absorbed Hollywood director, convinced that their town was “quaint” and “just what he needed” to spark inspiration while demanding kowtowing and wrecking havoc wherever he went - but his daughter, Anne, had been of a different mold altogether. He’d met her at the annual Fourth of July parade, of all places. It was obvious she hadn’t intended to be noticed; indeed, she’d blushed and done her best to fade into the background while her father and older sister had made some kind of scene that Frederick can’t honestly remember anymore. He’d been too intrigued - and later, enchanted - by Anne to pay much attention to the rest of the fiasco she’d called a family.

She’d probably felt then the same as he feels about people now - some strange boy coming up to her out of nowhere with mini-donuts, someone she’s never met but undoubtedly knows her and her family, stuck wondering if he was interested in her or all the rest of it. But it had always been her; she’d initially been fascinating just in the contrast, but as he’d talked to her Fred had gotten to see her sense of humor and her brilliant mind and caring heart, and been smitten with the whole package.

That was, until she’d ended things between them, insisting that they’d never work across such a long distance, that she didn’t want to try. Maybe they’d only had 8 months, but he’d been all in, with all the conviction of youth that this was it for them, in some kind star-crossed true love way. She was the first thing, besides his family, that he’d loved more than hockey; truthfully, he still hasn’t found anything or anyone else to match that. It’s hard to move on from that kind of heartbreak. Maybe it’s finally time he tried.

The house he’s rented proves to be up a winding, hilly road lined with pine trees stretching in every direction. The seclusion is its own kind of calming - exactly what he needs, when the rest of the world feels like it’s going to hell in a handbasket. There’s something about being alone amongst the trees that feels comforting in a way that being alone in the city can never touch - almost like a hug. Or something else less weird-sounding. English was never his thing. The house itself is just a little two-bedroom cottage, but that’s more than enough space for just him. What’s more important is that there’s a TV and WiFi and plenty of blankets to bunker down with for however long this lasts.

What he doesn’t expect is to see Anne Eliot - the same Anne Eliot who he thought had left Kellynch for good, who’d broken his heart - at the supermarket like any other local, presumably looking to stock up on supplies just like he is. He doesn’t think she spots him - Frederick ducks into another aisle as soon as he spots her - but just the briefest sight of her sets his heart beating faster in a way that he doesn’t really want to examine closer.

(It would be ridiculous to still have feelings for her after all this time, even if that’s sure what it seems like.)

He tells himself that it’s just a fluke; that they won’t run into each other again; that they can avoid each other without any problems, given the situation. He is wrong on all counts. The cottage sits at the top of a hill, and on days where the fog hasn’t settled around the tops of the trees, he can see just a peek of a few houses and driveways down below.

And just who should he happen to see wrestling with her trash bin one evening, but the woman herself?

(Some higher power really has it in for him, he’s certain of it.)

Still, they don’t call it social distancing for nothing. It’s easy to avoid the people you don’t want to see when you don’t even leave your house. He naps a lot and catches up on Netflix and even attempts a puzzle that he finds in the hall closet (though it just winds up abandoned on the dining table).

In eight years, though, he’d forgotten about the weather up here. It’s late March, technically spring; the worst of the snow should be over. Should be over isn’t the same as is over, though, and he’d forgotten about the late-March snowstorms that pop up more years than not. They’d had them in Minnesota, too; the locals there had always joked it was because of the college basketball tournament. Well, the NCAA tournament may have been cancelled, but the weather sure didn’t get that memo, as the flakes start falling huge, heavy, and fast just outside the windows, almost pretty in a way that’s only possible when you know you don’t have to go outside in the storm.

Fate has other ideas, though. At least, Frederick has to believe it’s fate, otherwise this is all a cruel, cruel trick, and he doesn’t like to think about what he might have done to deserve that. Where he’s going with this is that the power goes out, knocking out the heat and the lights, as well as all those systems he’d been so thankful for until now. There’s a fireplace, but he hadn’t planned for this, and there’s not enough logs and he doesn’t know where or how to chop more and as much of his life as he spends at an ice rink he is not prepared to spend the night in these kind of temperatures without heat and —

— and when he looks out his window, he can just see a hint of light from Anne’s house, just hear the hum of a generator.

And he really doesn’t have any option at all but to throw himself on the mercy of the last woman he wants to see.

———

Anne’s house is neat, from what Frederick can see - small, but cozy, with everything obviously in its very particular place. It reminds him of her, in a way, or at least the her he remembers - quietly comforting and well turned out. It’s exactly what he expected, somehow - just the kind of house he’d expect her to inhabit.

The woman herself, on the other hand, looks tired - vastly different than what he remembered. Anne is worn down, somehow, in a way that makes her look older than she is. Frederick supposes that’s what happens when she’s undoubtedly been carrying her family members in the way she always has; it would exhaust anyone, especially under pandemic circumstances.

“Nice place,” he comments as Anne leads him towards a promised spare bedroom once he’s retrieved his bag - more out of an effort to fill the empty space than anything. Anne was always quiet, but this is just unnerving in its discomfort. They’d always been able to talk, or at least exist contentedly in the quiet; this is the opposite of all that.

“Thanks,” she replies. “I like it.” Just the kind of response a person makes when they don’t know what the hell else to say.

And maybe that’s what makes Fred dive straight into topics they should politely ignore - the absolute blandness of everything else they could say.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he tells her foolishly.

“In my own home, during quarantine?” She says it with a slight smile and the tone of voice she’s always used to hide her sense of humor, and suddenly Frederick is hit with a powerful wave of nostalgia.

“No, here. Kellynch here.”

The amusement flits away just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile turning polite and wooden. Another look he vividly remembers. “I didn’t plan to come back, either,” she tells him softly, “but I like it here. I got out of school and there was a position open and… it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I’m a school nurse,” she clarifies. “Over at the elementary.”

And that… fits, in a way he should have realized. She’d talked about going into nursing way back when, back when they were still practically kids, but this makes a lot more sense than trying to imagine Anne in some busy hospital. More tender, more stable.

“I bet you’re great at that.”

“Thanks. I like it. You’re… good at your job, too,” she finishes awkwardly.

(Even if the words are halting, uncomfortable, they send a little thrill through Frederick’s veins. Does that mean she’s watched, sometime in these past couple of years? They’re decidedly out of Rangers country and New York broadcasting range, way up here, but there are ways around that and she’d said…

Had she watched? For him?)

“Just doing my best,” he replies, just as uncomfortably. What a pair they make now.

“I don’t know if you’ve eaten already, but I was about to make up some dinner,” Anne tells him - an abrupt, but welcome, change of subject. “I’d be happy to do up another serving if you like.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” He has no idea what kind of meal he’s committed to, but who the fuck cares; right now, it’s a way to get a moment to collect himself.

“I’ll see you in a little bit then.”

(If he’s not mistaken, Anne flees the room with just as much relief as he feels watching her go.)

(Kellynch was supposed to be his getaway, his haven - but right now, all it seems like is a terrible mistake as Frederick wonders what the fuck kind of situation he’s gotten himself into.)

———

Dinner isn’t exactly an illustrious start to this whole thing, to say the least. Anne stresses about every step of making spaghetti - spaghetti, for goodness sakes, jarred sauce and boxed noodles, nothing a normal person could possibly find a way to stress about - only to realize as soon as they sit down that this is what they really should have worried about: what in the world two people who have unwillingly been forced into the same space have to discuss.

(“How’s your family?” he asks at one point - probably a subtle dig, if he’s remembering the same uncomfortable dinner that she is, in which her father had done his best to treat Frederick like an utter idiot. Fred had always thought she’d let them walk all over her, anyways - an accusation that isn’t far off.

“Mary is fine. She just got engaged to a lawyer,” Anne relates as neutrally as she can. “I don’t much talk with Walter or Elizabeth anymore.” There’s a variety of reasons for that - especially their tendency to never listen to a single word she’s ever said in her life and making snide comments about how she’d rather live in some backwoods nowhere than in someplace with civilization like LA or New York - but the memory of the way they’d treated Frederick, and everyone else not like them had contributed too. “And your sister?” That’s a safer topic; Sophie and Anne had liked each other.

“She’s good. She lives down in Virginia now - her husband’s some big shot in the Navy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”)

(And that had been the end of that feeble attempt at discussion.)

Anne thinks a lot that night about what she must have done to deserve this. Clearly, something terrible in some past life to have earned this particular variety of torment. Frederick is everything she remembered, only colder - not that she can blame him. After what she did, all those years ago, the way she broke them… she’s more than earned it.

Still. She can be strong, Anne tells herself. She can remain detached, and collected, and unaffected by his presence. She’s had years of practice, after all, pretending that she still isn’t carrying a torch.

(It was always a foolish idea to watch him play online - but then again, she’s always been a fool.)

It’s a little harder to keep up that calm facade, however, when Frederick is walking out of the bathroom in the morning with nothing more than sweatpants and wet hair. God, but he’s handsome, between that face and that wonderful smile and the fit frame he must be displaying just to taunt her, like a reminder of all she rejected. Naturally. It’s no more than she deserves. Her relief is near palpable when he emerges from the spare room in another bright blue t-shirt.

It gets easier as the hours pass and one day bleeds into another. It’s not Frederick’s fault that she’s so shaken by his very presence, and he really is trying to be a good houseguest. He picks up after himself and helps with the dishes and doesn’t argue with whatever she puts on TV. It could be worse.

Still, she can’t help but feel like everything from their past sits between them, unspoken, in every interaction. It’s the elephant in the room, the loudly unspoken words in every little mundane interaction they share. They can reach a point where they’re able to converse without the overt distrust and borderline hostility of where they started this, but comfort is too much to ask.

(Does he feel it too - the pressure of all the what-might-have-beens, pressing down upon them? Or is she the only one that’s haunted?)

She can do this - survive Frederick’s presence when every moment is a reminder of all she threw away. But that doesn’t mean it won’t just crush and kill her.

———

Frederick finds that he doesn’t mind being cooped up with Anne, likes it much more than he anticipated or planned. It’s not that they do much of anything - there’s limits in a small cottage like hers - but the companionship is nice. As it turns out, he was maybe lonelier than he’d wanted to admit. Even the stupid jigsaw puzzles go easier in her company; she’s got a system of sorting that Fred never would have had the patience to implement.

Really, Anne is better equipped, literally and emotionally, for this whole isolation situation. Frederick has always needed to be out and active and doing, little planning involved; Anne, on the other hand, has all the supplies she needs, and the temperament for these kinds of quiet, time-wasting tasks to boot. It’s so entirely in character; he should probably have guessed. Then again, he was trying very hard not to think of Anne until he was forced to show up at her door, practically begging for shelter.

Anne, of course, has plenty of firewood, unlike him, stacked neatly under a tarp at the side of her garage where it’s protected from the elements. She lives here year-round, after all; unlike his own dumb ass, she obviously remembers that it’s not uncommon to receive snow all the way through March and into April, and planned accordingly. Her central heating works fine, obviously, but there’s something about this weather that calls for a roaring fire. Plus, retrieving the firewood gives Frederick a chance to think away from Anne and all her distraction.

He’s not sure what he expected of her - tears? Begging? Apologies? The kind of aloofness the rest of her family has so perfected? None of that is Anne; she’s always been too accepting of her circumstances, even to her own detriment. Once upon a time, Frederick had viewed that tendency with a kind of fond exasperation, had wanted to help her understand that she deserved more than she had always settled for; now it just makes him sad, and angry. She should feel more than this, should be angry or distraught or anything now that he’s here.

He should be paying more attention to the task at hand than the woman in the other room, unfortunately, as the end of a twig clipped off a log slices the skin of his palm as he deposits his load by the hearth, causing Frederick to hiss in surprise at the mild pain. It’s not a deep cut, or hurt that badly - he plays a contact sport for a living, for fuck’s sake, this is nothing - but he can already see blood starting to bead. After making sure the logs are stacked as best as he can one handed, Fred quickly crosses to the kitchen sink to rinse it out. Anne finds him moments later as he examines his hand for splinters.

“Are you alright?” she asks, that soft voice filled with the kind of concern that sends a pang through his heart.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just scratched myself on one of the logs. No biggie.”

Still, Anne pulls his hand closer to examine the little cut herself - gently enough that he could easily pull away, but somehow, too tenderly for him to ever want to. This is her life now, Frederick realizes suddenly - scrapes and bruises and doubtless all other kinds of minor playground injuries that need more tenderness than true care. School nurse, after all.

“I’ll get you something for that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to —” but it’s too late; Anne is already walking down the hall with her determined pace, disappearing into the bathroom. Resistance is futile, or something. Faintly, he hears the squeal of a cabinet hinge before Anne pads back into sight in her stockinged feet, carrying something he can’t quite make out clutched in her hand.

“Just a bit of neosporin,” she explains, tugging his hand back towards her to apply the cream before peeling open the wrapper of a band-aid - the skin-toned butterfly kind.

He nods towards the little adhesive. “What, no fun prints? I’m appalled.”

“Left all my princesses and superheroes back in my office at school,” she smiles back. “You’ll just have to make do, I suppose.”

“I guess I’ll make it, somehow.”

(When she smiles, the ridiculous urge to ask her to kiss it better pops into his head with an ease that nearly frightens him. With a care that would impress even her, he shoves it back down.)

———

It gets easier to share the same space as the days drag on - to learn to expect another person in her space, to expect that other person to be him. It would be overstating the matter to say that she’s not affected by him anymore; indeed, Anne is almost painfully aware of his presence at every moment. But she can prepare to face it when she’s come to expect him, and that feels like a victory all its own. She is braced and ready, long since versed in ignoring and minimizing those feelings that still linger from so long ago. Frederick’s physical presence in her space is a complicating factor, but certainly one that she can overcome.

If she can ignore the way her heart aches, it’s almost kind of nice, having him around. They fall into a pattern of meals and Netflix and quietly finding their own distraction in between. It’s the kind of mundane existence she could almost dream of sharing with him if she was foolish enough to entertain those thoughts.

(She can’t afford to be such a fool - not when it’s only a matter of time until the snow stops and the roads clear and he leaves once again. She likes her life as it is, and that will have to be enough.)

It’s probably inevitable that, on the fourth night, when the snow has finally let up but the temperatures have turned bitter and icy, they find themselves huddled up next to the fireplace with a strong drink apiece. Frederick sips on a glass of the nice whiskey Anne keeps in the back of a cabinet for occasions that call for a little something stronger, barely kissed with enough soda to call it a mixed drink; Anne, at least, pours the same stuff into a whole cup of tea. She’s never been much for liquor, especially straight, but there are occasions that call for it, and being cooped up with a man she never expected to see again is certainly one of them.

“What are the fucking odds?” Frederick declares after his second glass. “I come out here, trying to get away, and I find you. What are the odds.”

“Well, the last couple of years, I’d say pretty good. Since I live here and all.” He’s kind of cute like this - drunk and verbose. It’s something she never had a chance to see, before.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” He takes another swig. “Still. What are the odds that I came back while you’re here?”

“It’s a mystery, I guess.” Maybe it’s the last few days; more likely, it’s the drink. Whatever the case, Anne finds herself telling Frederick something she should never admit. “I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him softly. “I… missed you.”

He tenses up at the words; not the reaction she expected, honestly. A feeling of dread starts to bloom in her stomach instead. “Really,” he comments, utterly flat.

“Well… yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little bit,” he tells her bluntly. “Especially since you’re the one that wanted me gone in the first place.”

“It was for the best.” For him, that is; this was never about her, anyways.

“Was it now?” His laugh is bitter, utterly devoid of joy.

“Frederick…”

“I just want to know what the hell is going on here,” Frederick demands, a liquored slur rounding out his consonants. “Because I’ve been here for days, and I can’t get my feet underneath me where you’re concerned. You sit there with that sad smile and you say it’s for the best and yet you don’t seem happy. And I don’t fucking get it. You’re the one who wanted to break up, but you don’t seem happy that we did.”

“I wasn’t,” Anne admits softly. “I’m not.”

“Then why? Because I’ve been trying to figure it out for nearly nine years, and all I’ve ever figured out is that you must not have felt anything. And after a week spent here, I don’t know that that’s true. So tell me, why?”

“I did it for you!” Anne finally bursts out, more a plea that a shout. “And I know that sounds like a lie and an excuse, but that’s why. We were so young, but God, I loved you. And you loved me, so much that you were about to throw away your chance at everything, ready to find some lesser school near Kellynch rather than taking Minnesota’s offer just so we’d be closer to each other. And I wanted it too - God, Frederick, you don’t know how much I wanted it, how close I was to letting you do that, because I wanted that too. I wanted you close. I loved you.

“But then… it wasn’t even some big game, but you wanted me there, so I went. And you looked alive out there on the ice, throwing insults and elbows and grinning like a maniac. I realized… that’s who you were supposed to be. I couldn’t hold you back from that, just to keep you close to me. Minnesota was your path to the kind of career that would last. How could I ask you to throw away your future?”

“Why didn’t you just say that? We could have figured something out. Done the long distance thing, I don’t know.”

“And you would have been hopelessly distracted from the start. Your mind would have been halfway across the country when you needed to be focusing on hockey and classes and everything else.”

He doesn’t have any response to that, not that Anne expected one. Frederick has never been great at admitting to things he doesn’t like.

“It was never because I didn’t care enough, because I didn’t love you,” she finishes softly. “I did it because I could see everything you could be, and I love - I loved you too much to let you waste that.” God, Anne hopes he didn’t hear that slip of the tongue, even if it’s true. “We were seventeen, Frederick. Kids. There was so much still ahead for you. I couldn’t be the reason you hindered your own dream, or even let it slip away. And you made it, didn’t you? You’ve reached that dream. No matter what I wanted for myself… I had to. For you, so you could have this.”

“I wanted you more than any dream.” Frederick has practically collapsed in on himself in the armchair, the very same one Anne was occupying when he’d showed up and shattered her quiet little world. It seems almost fitting that he sit there while she does the same.

There’s no words for this; nothing that could make it better. Telling him I wanted that too won’t fix what’s already been done, even if she wishes that was the case, even if that’s true. “Frederick…” she finally whispers for lack of anything else to say.

It’s too late, though - though that’s not quite the right phrase, not when it was already too late before this conversation even started, before he even showed up at her door in the snow. Now is just when he pries himself out of her armchair, standing with a finality that’s impossible to miss. “I’m tired, Anne,” he tells her. Anne doesn’t think she imagines an extra level of meaning to his words. “Goodnight.”

There’s nothing left to say - and no use saying it to an empty room anyways as she hears the spare bedroom door click shut down the hall.

There’s no changing the past, but not enough words to explain it either.

———

The next morning, the roads are finally clear, and Frederick can go back up the road to his own cottage. Anne watches silently as Frederick emerges from the guest bedroom, his duffle bag in hand. The silence only becomes more tense as they stare at each other, the luggage a physical barrier between them, both blessed and cursed.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Frederick finally says, breaking the silence.

Anne shakes her head. “It was nothing. Basic kindness. You don’t need to thank me.”

(Can he see the way this pains her? Read the plea in her eyes - for forgiveness, for understanding?)

After another beat of silence, Frederick finally nods decisively, turning towards the door. “Take care, Anne.”

“You too, Frederick.” It feels final; it feels like a farewell, of a permanent kind.

And then, with a last soft click of the door, he’s gone.

And Anne is left to herself again.

———

He should feel peace, now that he’s back in his own space, away from Anne and every memory that she’s dredged up.

He doesn’t.

Because now, back alone in the little house at the top of the hill, Frederick once again has to face the particular kind of loneliness that comes with knowing that it doesn’t have to be this way.

What it all circles back to is this: he should feel smug. After all, this is everything he’d wished for in his most bitter moments over the years: Anne, all alone, with no real support system, just living a quiet little life of little note and, to all appearances, little true happiness.

But it doesn’t feel good - not even remotely. How has he suffered? Sure, he hasn’t had her, but he got drafted, went to a top rate school, wound up playing hockey for a living in the NHL. By any measure, it’s a damn good life - all while Anne has been left to become the shell of herself he found four days ago.

And that shouldn’t be his problem. Technically, you could argue that she brought this upon herself; dug a hole of her own making. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel… sad, he supposes, to see what she’s resigned herself to. Maybe a little guilty, even.

And still, he can’t help but feel like there’s questions left unanswered. They’d talked plenty about the past, how they’d felt and why they’d acted the way they had, but that hadn’t touched on where they stand now. If there’s one thing he’s learned in these last few days, it’s that his own feelings aren’t nearly as dormant as he’s tried to convince himself all these years. If there’s any chance Anne might still feel the same… well, he owes it to them both to find out.

This chapter of their history doesn’t seem quite finished yet, and Frederick knows exactly what he has to do.

———

This time, she should have expected the knock on the door - social distancing be damned.

It’s been three days since the storm’s finally stopped - three days since snowplows had cleared everything out, three days since Frederick had left, back to his own little house up the road.

She’d been content by herself for so long - happy with her plants and her books and all the little hobbies that take up her time in the evenings and weekends. Anne had even found a new kind of solitary contentment in the pandemic, discovering tasks to give her days purpose and goals. Frederick was here for a matter of days, not even a week; it’s absurd to think he could change any of that.

And yet somehow, he has.

Because Anne had been… content by herself for so long - not happy, per se, but satisfied - but the house feels empty now without him. Even when they’d barely talked, or were in separate rooms, he’d been there, the energy of another person making the whole house feel full. She’d grown used to him, she supposes; allowed herself to remember, for once, all the reasons she had loved him, and all the dreams she once had had of what a life together could have been like .

She chose this life - here, in Kellynch, by herself. But for the first time in the only place that’s ever really been hers, she feels not just alone, but lonely. As much as she’s always claimed to like her life, just as it is, there’s no denying that the past days have illuminated all the ways that she’s been lying to herself. She tries to pass the time the same way she always has, but it’s just not the same; she even calls Mary at one point, hoping her sister’s dour moods might be an efficient distraction, but Mary is even more snippy than usual. It’s been days since Anne last called, and her sister feels an outsized outrage about the so-called abandonment; truthfully, Anne hadn’t even noticed it had been a week since her last call. Moreover, she finds that she doesn’t really care about Mary’s bad mood the way she always has, doesn’t feel the need to fix it or blame herself for the outburst. It’s easier just to hang up the phone.

(Maybe this is the first step in moving on: accepting that you deserve more than you’ve ever settled for. That doesn’t stop the yearning; moving on isn’t the work of a couple days, especially when the man himself has only just exited her life again, and is staying just up the road.)

As if she’s summoned him, tires crunch on the drive outside, heralding his reappearance. It isn’t right, the way her heart lurches with happiness and hope and excitement when she peeks out the window to once again see his SUV, once again see him climbing out in that ridiculous blue hat and shuffle to her front door without once slipping on her icy walk. There’s a sense of déjà vu as Anne draws a deep breath before she opens the door. There’s only so many times she can go through this, be subjected to such a blast from the past, before it will eventually break her. And yet, like a fool, she keeps opening the door.

“Can we talk?” Frederick asks. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched inwards, but there’s a look in his eyes that Anne is afraid to name.

(It almost looks tender - almost looks like hope - but it will hurt far worse to be proved wrong if she allows herself to believe that.)

“Of course,” Anne says softly, stepping aside just enough to let him in. It touches a special little bit of her heart to see the way that Frederick carefully knocks the snow off his boots at the threshold as he pulls his hat off his head, trying his best not to track anything in to her rug and floors. It’s such a simple little thing, but it’s care for her home - and, in a way, care for her. More than she ever expected again from Frederick Wentworth.

“Anne…” he begins, reaching out a hand for her, but she quickly takes a step back. Touch will be too much, too permanent a memory if this is the end.

“I think we ought to keep a bit of distance,” she explains at his odd look.

If anything, that only serves to confuse him further, his brow crinkling up in that endearing way she remembers. “We already spent days together. I think social distancing is kind of a lost cause, at least where we’re concerned.”

Anne shakes her head. “It’s not about the virus.”

She can see the moment it hits him, just exactly what she means by distance, as he physically flinches with the realization. She can also see the moment he decides to plow forwards anyways with whatever he came to say.

“I’ve been thinking, these last couple of days,” he tells her, “and I’ve had a lot of time to consider things. Everything you said and did, the other night and way back when. And I realized… I did a lot of talking about what I wanted, and what I felt. And in the middle of all that shouting, I never asked about what you wanted, or want, or how you felt. And you never told me, because that’s what you’re used to - people not caring enough to ask. That’s on me, and I’m sorry. But —” he swallows heavily, as if he’s forcing down the nerves he evidently feels — “but I’m asking now. I want to know what our break-up meant to you. Because the more I think about it, the harder it is for me to believe you did all this because you didn’t care.”

Anne fights the urge to turn away from Frederick; he deserves that much, after everything. Meeting his eyes is too much to ask, however, and she fixes her gaze instead just over his right shoulder, crossing her arms over her body protectively. “I loved you,” she tells him quietly. “I knew what I had to do, but I loved you. I hated every word that came out of my mouth.” Anne smiles sadly. “You weren’t the only one who wanted. You were the first person - the only person to look at me and see something wonderful and worthwhile, and it killed me to throw that away. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”

“And now?”

Anne turns pleading eyes upon him, sure that every emotion is now splashed across her face and too distraught to care. How dare he do this? How dare he make her speak this into existence if he’s only about to crush it all? “Don’t make me say it,” she begs.

“Please, Anne.” His voice is nearly as desperate - and that’s, ultimately, what breaks her, leaving the words to spill forth almost without her permission.

“And now… that doesn’t go away, you know. A love as big as that. You got to go be this success story, doubtless had all kinds of… distractions over the years, but when you have a quiet little life like mine, you don’t forget. It doesn’t go away. There’s a large part of my heart that is still yours - probably always will be - and I have to find a way to deal with that.”

“You still love me?”

Anne nods, whispering her response. “I do.”

She suddenly feels his hand trail down her arm, causing Anne to jerk abruptly to meet his eyes again. “Well that’s lucky,” he smiles down at her, achingly gentle, “because I haven’t forgotten either.”

Even as Anne’s heart lurches with hope, she shakes her head. “Don’t tease, Frederick. Don’t be that cruel.”

“I’m not,” he assures her, twining their fingers together. “Because you’re right, I’ve tried to distract myself, but… you have no idea just how unforgettable you are, Anne. How could anyone ever compare? And I tried so hard for so long to move on, to hate you, but I never could. You were a little spark in my heart that I could never quite stamp out. And now…” Frederick pauses as if to gather his breath, squeezing her hand as he does so. “And now, I hope I won’t have to.”

“You’d want that? You’d want to…” Even with new-found hope singing through her veins, Anne still hesitates to finish the sentence. This all feels like a wonderful dream; she’d hate to wake up and discover that’s all it was.

“To try again?” he finishes. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that. The real question is… do you?”

And she does, she wants that so terribly much, so badly that it aches, even as she hesitates. How could he want that, after everything she’s done? When their separation was her fault in the first place?

“I don’t deserve you,” Anne murmurs into the miniscule space between them, caving to the urge to brush his hair back from his face. It makes him smile, just a little bit, just a twitch of his lips, but that more than anything else sends a flood of peace rushing through her soul.

“I think we deserve each other,” Frederick tells her in return, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I believe that, and somehow, I’m going to make you believe that too. We deserve this, Annie.”

And he kisses her, like he wants to, like he’s thought about it just as much as she has. His lips are soft against hers - just like she remembers, all those years ago - but there’s a surety to his hands now that wasn’t there before, in the way he pulls at her waist to bring her closer and his fingers thread through her hair with purpose. There’d been a handful of ill-advised attempts at dating in the past eight years, but nothing ever came close to this joyful swooping sensation in her stomach or the feelings of safety and love and home. That’s something only he can manage; something that only exists between the two of them.

Her hands find their way to his chest as the kiss deepens, becomes more passionate, heads adjusting their position to allow tongues to tentatively begin to prod and search. Anne had known the difference 8 years had made on Frederick’s body, had seen with her own two eyes the way he’d filled out with more muscle, but feeling it is something else altogether, even through his shirt where his coat gaps open. It’s a reminder that they’re not the same - they’re older and more mature and have experienced different things than they had at 17. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, change can be good; it’s brought them here, together, at what otherwise feels like the end of the world.

Even as they break apart - to get a breath of air, to process what just happened - Frederick continues to stroke his thumb across the round of her cheek, like he can’t bear to stop touching her. It warms her heart in a whole new way, like it’s proof that he meant every word he told her - as if she needs any more after that kiss. It would be easy to let herself get swept away on that little touch, perhaps into another wonderful kiss, but Anne forces herself to meet his eyes.

“Stay.” It’s more than a question, but less than a demand - a plea, the dearest wish of her heart that she’s never admitted, now given voice.

“For as long as you want me, Annie.” His voice is tender and husky as he smiles down at her. “Because I really don’t want to ever leave you again.”

And that’s awfully lucky, as Anne doesn’t ever intend to let him go again.

#Persuasion #Persuasion ff #Jane Austen ff #Anne Elliot x Frederick Wentworth #Modern AU #my writing #skating in circles (with no way to stop)

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