#josephines-design-thoughts

[illunispress]

A very tiny adventure game

I finally finished my tiny ttrpg that fits in a little box!

I'm really proud of how this turned out. It's basically a hack of Cairn, distilled into its most essential mechanics. It comes with a simple hexcrawl adventure about searching for the missing residents of a small town.

Designing this was an exercise in extreme word economy, as each page of these mini zines is only 1.5 x 2 inches.

If you want to print it out and try it yourself, it's free to download on itch!

Download Under Secret Skies now!

[pumaskulls]

Some reference updates!

[ferrstappen]

aren't we supposed to surprise you? l Charles Leclerc blurb

pairing: dad!Charles Leclerc x female reader.

you can find more of my version of dad Charles' here <3

summary: you somehow manage to overshadow Charles and Jo's gift.

Charles was an anxious man. Even more so since Josephine was born two years ago.

Yes, people laughed at him but he didn't care, he was going to sprint towards his daughter every time she took a wrong step and fell down, or his system would shut down whenever her lower lip trembled. Charles could communicate with his daughter through her eyes, they told him everything he needed to know in the meantime before she learned how to properly express herself.

They were an unstoppable duo, everybody knew that, but Charles was aware the reason both him and Jo could feel at ease and safe was you, and maybe he didn't remind you enough of that.

His mother and younger brother accompanied him to the various shops around Monaco, Pascale having to fight Charles to let her carry the stroll on the street, Arthur shaking his head at Charles' antics, playfully pitying his niece.

"I am going to make sure to take her to the worst tattoo parlors and pubs when she's older and then I'm showing you the images so you can die of a heart attack," Arthur teased his brother, earning a glare from Charles while being chastised by his mother, but the youngest Leclerc saw a smile on his mom's face.

Arthur winked at his niece and she giggled. Lorenzo had no chance of ever being the favorite uncle.

They entered different shops, not wanting to go for the typical jewelry and overly expensive designer clothing and accessories. No, Charles wanted to give you something you'd truly appreciate, something for you to relax and show yourself some love and distraction. Now it was turn for Arthur to carry Josephine while teasing his brother for being a simp.

A couple of books he thought you'd enjoy, different colored bath bombs, luxurious soaps and candles were some of the goods you were going to receive for Mother's Day.

Dad and baby Leclerc arrived got home greeted by the smell of coffee and some kind of pastry. It smelled like Charles' dream life; his life.

You smiled at Charles and gave him a quick peck on the lips before taking Josephine from his arms, your daughter babbling about papa and maman.

It was past midnight, Josephine sound asleep on her room after both you and Charles read her a short book in Italian, trying to accustom her to the language, all while you marveled at how Charles did the different voices and intonations.

Now it was just you and him in bed, his naked chest against your own skin, while his familiar hand found its place on your thigh, drawing shapeless figures, enjoying the peace of having you with him.

"I have to tell you something," You made sure to not make eye contact with Charles, hiding your face against his neck.

Charles chuckled with your reaction, "What is it and why are you hiding, bebé?" He tried to get you to face him.

"I know this wasn't planned or anything," you began talking but know Charles felt tears on his chest, it got him worried and helped you sit on the bed while assuring you whatever it was, you'd be able to find a solution.

"Babe, I'm two months pregnant," you announced and Charles placed his hand on his mouth in astonishment.

"No, in Bahrein?" Charles blurted out and a smile appeared on your face, of course that would be his first reaction as his brain processed the news.

You didn't know what you were expecting, maybe it was a problem because Josephine was still too young, maybe Charles didn't want another baby, you never really discussed it after Jo was born, but even in the dark his glossy green eyes were shining as his hand found its known place on your neck, his thumb softly caressing your cheek before lovingly kissing you.

those one of a kind kisses, the ones that were special and held so many emotions. neither of you could hide the smile appearing, only smiling at each other, Charles still caressing your cheek.

but suddenly he dropped his hand to your thigh, an unreadable expression on his face.

"But it's mother day and you're surprising me? No, I have this whole thing planned!" Charles protested and this made your eyes tear up, now it was your time to find his lips.

God, maybe it was time for a boy to mimic his dad.

[karmathenightowl]

Here's how I imagine Lady Elizabeth Godwin when she was alive compared to her reanimated self. I was inspired by MANY different visual ideas and concepts like the original Frankenstein book, late 1880s strongwomen, and 1890s fashion.

Here was my aesthetic mood board!

Since the og Frankenstein book describes the flesh of the creature to be yellow and translucent, rather than the popular green flesh seen in most film adaptations, I applied the former to Godwin's flesh of her head. Plus I wanted to really go for that corpse like appearance, particularly with the hollowness of her eyes.

The outfit she wore on the night of her passing was inspired by late 1880s bustle dresses. I saw that the og book of Bram Stoker's Dracula is set in an unspecified year of the mid 1890s, so I had an idea to make her reanimated self reflect the clothing/dresses of that era. Like having her upper part be a balloon sleeve dress with a blouse, and the lower part being a scarp of fabric from a late 1800s Balayeuse. I mentioned in my first character designs for the main pcs that when Godwin asked Igor for clothes, I imagined he made an outfit for her based on scraps he had in Frankenstein's lab. This also included chainmail above the blouse and under the dress coat based off of a Victorian Burlesque outfit. Godwin's gotta protect her new body somehow haha

This last part is just me rambling at this point but I thought this was fun to include. The two women flexing are Josephine Schauer Blatt aka Minerva, and Laverie Vallee aka Charmion (right). They were both strongwomen in the late 1880s, with Minerva having great talent in weightlifting and professional wrestling, while Charmion also performed in vaudeville trapeze. Just a fun little discovery I came across when looking up muscular build ideas for Godwin based on Justin's description :)

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 I gave him my heart, but he wanted my soul 🎶

It was just after sunrise and Josephine was in the kitchen, a sunbeam warming her hands as they worked. She had woken early to take care of the chickens. Their tiny, prehistoric beaks and beady eyes still repulsed her, but at least it was easier than tilling soil or scrubbing clothes. 

Over and over again she folded the dough that Zelda had taught her how to make. A perfectly baked loaf already sat before her as she worked on another. My mother’s recipe, Zelda had said nostalgically as she recited it from the depths of her memory. These years with Zelda had been full of moments like that, ones where you could practically feel the domestic warmth radiating from her memories as she spoke of them.

A small, bitter laugh escaped Jo's lips. For all she may still love her mother, the closest thing Delphine ever had to a recipe was how to bat your eyelashes to earn enough money to pay someone else to make your bread. Josephine had thought that if only she could learn how to make it herself now, that she would finally be free of that, of her mother’s overbearing jasmine perfume and the inherent message that the only way to free yourself from a man’s grasp was through his touch.

Jo was taken aback by a pair of arms as they wrapped around her waist. Lost in the smell of jasmine perfume, she didn’t recognize them at first. She left her hands busy on the dough as she felt the lips trail over her silk blouse, along her neck, and to the base of her skull. He brought his cheek to hers and she tried not to pull away.

By then she knew who he was, not some figment of her past or her mother’s design. He was a man she loved, one who had made her feel more free than anyone else ever had. One who’s arms felt safer and happier than any of those memories. Only she hated the scruffy feeling of his face now, unshaven as it was most of the time and plastered with an expression that seemed to trigger all her anxiety for a reason she couldn't quite explain. “Good morning, mi raccomando. Is that what I think it is?"

“Bread, Gio. The same as always.” But really, she wanted to pick it up and throw it across the room, I did it! I fucking did it just like I told you I would. I tried and tried until I succeeded and still I’m unhappy. Still I feel trapped!

She spun around to face him and his eyes had the same expression as the first time she walked in this house. Happiness. It was the one that she avoided when she could, the same one that made her feel like her feet were glued to the spot and she had no choice whether she wanted to stay or leave.

Because it was sheer happiness that she was there; that he could wake and find her so near. A simple joy that the bread she was making was for him, and he would wake up to a house warmed and filled with the smells of clean laundry before he even put on his work clothes. Then in the farmyard it was knowing that he could come inside to see the woman he loved whenever he pleased, that she was there for him and only him.

It made her want to slap him, and she only knew one way of dealing with that.

So she moved back toward the table, wrapping her arm around his neck in a signal he understood immediately. He lifted her legs and moved the bread aside, small specks of flour rising into the air and staying suspended there for a moment, settling back down around her thighs as he started to kiss her.

She could swear that she smelled jasmine perfume in the air, but it was only bread. The ever present smell of bread and domestic subservience. Stop thinking about the fucking bread. Don’t think about the truck in the driveway, or how deeply he sleeps. Don’t think about how far you could drive before anyone would even know you were gone. Just run. Run away.

Only it wasn’t working, no matter how tightly she closed her eyes or grabbed his hair. Just run. You’re trapped here too. The same way you were there. With every thought the raging restlessness clawed its way back up her throat, mingling there with the bitter taste that this was her life now.

For so long, this had been enough, and the smell of jasmine perfume in the air was gone when he was near. At least for a little while. Only then it appeared again, whenever the chickens screeched at sunrise or she saw that look in his eyes. So what do you want to be then, my child? Some glorified maid for a man? Like that’s any life either.

When had she said yes to this life? She had denied his proposals a dozen times, only to end up here at his beck and call anyway, a farm wife in practice if not in name. Forever, mi raccomando. This is forever. The louder her thoughts became the more tightly she closed her eyes, only it wasn’t working anymore. Not at all. Her last bastion of control, the one place she could free herself from her past and her anxieties, now it all just smelled like jasmine perfume and some man she had never wanted, bringing with him the feeling of entrapment in the guise of freedom.

Josephine pushed him away with more force than she intended to. Her eyes were full of hatred for someone else’s touch, one far less kind and attentive than this one. The moment the smell of jasmine cleared from her head, she realized who was actually in front of her: a man who immediately saw the discomfort his hands were bringing and stepped back accordingly, giving her space to gather herself and her surroundings. Then he kept his head bowed and looked back at her in apology, no stranger to when she reacted this way or why that was. 

Only it was easier for him to think that was the extent of it, because neither of them really understood that the smell of jasmine perfume and fresh bread were all the same to her, and that sooner or later the heady scent in the air would make her snap regardless of which one it was. “Not - not now. That’s all it is. I’m tired. The chickens woke me again.”

He seemed to sense there was something beyond what he already knew; but her eyes stayed glassy, focused on locking away every thought she had so deeply that even if he wanted to see her unhappiness, she wouldn’t let him. When he brought his hands to her shoulders she was sure not to pull away again. “Okay, mi raccomando. I love you. I’m right outside if you need me.”

As he looked back at her, there was a small beat. A brief pregnant moment he left just for her. I love you too, but I’m unhappy. Maybe saying it would have been easy, but it was pointless. 

Antoine, Zelda, Violette. Gio. Each and every one of them was happy. What good would her words do? Ruin everyone else’s small sanctuary amidst a world in ruins? Force them to overturn their peace for an aimless restlessness she couldn't really explain, and maybe could never even mend? No, they were happy. All of them, and Gio had seemingly done nothing to deserve this.

It was simply easier to think that the problem was her, and her alone. Maybe her mother had broken her, and ruined her ability to let herself go to anyone else's desires. Maybe this was being happy, and her whole life all she had known before was excitement, not happiness. She couldn’t ruin it for all of them when she couldn’t even explain it, much less when none of them could be blamed either. She was trapped by guilt and love all the same as she had been by duty and need.

So she turned back around and acted as though she were redirecting her attention to the bread. The bitterness in her throat and the rising smell of jasmine in the air tried to choke back her words, “I love you too, Gio.”

Mollified, he walked back out the door.

[ginabaker1666]

All Of Me

From the Love Letters Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

Jo struggles with her response to Rosie's first letter but later finds help in an unlikely friend with shared common ground. It's his second letter back-to-back, however, that stacks her worry like wobbly apple crates, ready to tumble at a moment's notice.

Read part 2 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

October 1943

My Dearest Robbie, 

Today is Halloween, so it would be remiss of me not to wish you a Happy one. I know you won’t be celebrating; not that we are either, but it’s still heartwarming to see some of the littles in the neighborhood running up and down the streets looking for sweets. I’m saving a Hershey bar for when you’re back, so that we can share it like we always do. The leaves have all turned by now, and Prospect Park is a beautiful shade of golden hues. I’ve taken to walking with your sister, as it fills a small void in my days. She’s excellent company, and somehow always has some local gossip at the ready for when I need cheering up. I couldn’t help myself and told her the story of your bicycling disaster. Please don’t be too mad at me. I hope that by now, you’ve learned to ride a bike properly, and that poor Pappy hasn’t had to fish you out of any more ditches. Please thank him for me, because I don’t know what I would have done if he had not been there to rescue you.

If I know you at all, I know that you’ve been hemming and hawing over the weather over there, but the longer it rains in England, the better I feel knowing you’re on solid ground. I’m glad to know you’re able to find some respite in the Officers Club, even if it’s just some jazz records and mediocre scotch. Good company can make all the difference and it warms my heart to know you have that in your crew and fellow officers. I’m putting my bet in now on Nash and the Red Cross girl. Having someone is important, so if he finds that in her, I’m glad for them both. Tell Pappy not to be so pessimistic though, I’m sure Nash will make her very happy. 

Speaking of having someone waiting, I paid a visit to Harry Crosby’s wife, Jean. I thought she could use a friend, so we spent an afternoon in the city, having lunch and doing some shopping. It’s lonely enough moving to a new city, but with her husband overseas, I can’t imagine how she feels. I know how I feel waiting for you, and so she must feel it tenfold. With the holidays approaching, I’ve invited her to spend Thanksgiving with us. I couldn’t bear the idea of her spending it alone. She’s a darling woman, and I agree, we will have to double with her and Harry once you’re both home. 

Sweetheart, how you could ever think that I will not worry about you while you’re over there, is a mystery. I will worry, and miss you, every single day until you’re back home. I will be holding you to that date, Robbie, and am counting the days until we’re on the dance floor, together. Until then…

Forever yours, 

Jo

Reaching for the bottle of perfume on the dresser, Jo quickly spritzed a generous helping of the floral scent on the paper in her hand, to ensure it lasted the long journey, before folding it up and sliding it into its designated envelope. Carefully, and with a delicate hand, she addressed the letter to Thorpe Abbotts Airbase. She had received Rosie’s first letter earlier in the week, and had spent that time drafting multiple responses; all of which had ended up in the waste paper basket in the corner of her bedroom. She had spent three nights mulling it over, before deciding that she should clear her head, and write as if he was sitting next to her. Well, it was not so much her deciding as it was advice from Jean Crosby. If anyone had experience in writing these types of letters, it was Jean. And so, Jo had written as if Rosie was sitting next to her; as if he was leaning across the table and telling her the details of his latest adventure with enthusiasm, and she had written back with equal vigor. 

Picking up the letter, and her purse, she made her way from the bedroom, downstairs to where her mother was having coffee with Mrs. Rosenthal. Entering the kitchen, both women ceased their discussion to greet her, her mother holding out an envelope for her. 

“Josephine, this came in the mail for you.” 

Jo gently plucked the envelope from her mothers hand, smiling when she saw the handwriting on the front was none other than Rosie’s. Carefully, she slipped it into her purse to read once she was alone. 

“Another letter so quickly?” Her mother’s grin widened. “He must miss you terribly.”

“He doesn’t write to me that frequently,” Mrs. Rosenthal joked, sending a subtle wink in Jo’s direction. “But then again, he’s not in love with me.”

“Somehow, I think he’ll always love you most, Mrs. Rosenthal, and I’m quite alright with that.” Jo smiled. 

“Where are you off to?” Her mother asked, noticing that she had her purse in hand. 

“Off to post this to Robbie, and then to meet Jean Crosby for lunch.” 

“Oh, well then, travel safely, and let her know she’s welcome to come here for dinner tonight if she wants.” 

“I’ll let her know, mom,” Jo smiled, moving to bid her mother goodbye with a quick peck to the cheek, before doing the same with Mrs. Rosenthal. “Now, you two can go back to your gossip.”

“It’s not gossip, Josephine, if we’re talking about our children.” The older woman’s voice held a lilt to it as Jo exited the kitchen. 

“Then stop planning our wedding!” Jo called back with a laugh as she exited their home and made her way out into the Brooklyn sunshine.  

The fall air was chilly, but not unbearably so as she walked down the block to the Post Office, letter in hand and a prayer in her mind that it would reach Rosie safely. She knew that the post could be unreliable, and take time to reach those stationed overseas, but she hoped against all odds that maybe her letter would get to its intended recipient a little faster than all the rest. It was silly of her to think so, after all, she wasn’t the only woman in New York who was missing her sweetheart, but this was new to her. To both of them. Beginning a romance with thousands of miles between them. Some days Jo regretted not saying anything sooner, wondering if they would have had time before he shipped out. But, then she thinks to herself that they did have time; years together growing up, and learning the ways of each other inside and out, and for that she would always be thankful. 

A short cab ride later, and Jo was knocking on Jean Crosby’s front door. When the door swung open, Jean on the other side, the two women greeted each other as if they were old friends. A kinship that was shared in the dark times of war, but somehow found a ray of light to brighten their days. 

“Jo! I was starting to think you got lost!” Her friend teased. 

“No,” Jo grinned, red lips stretched into a smile. “I had to stop by the post and drop off Robbie’s letter.”

“Finally finished it, then?”

“I did. And just in time to reply to the one I got this morning.”

“Back to back?” Jean looked at her, eyebrow raised in what Jo could only describe as concern. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jean sighed, stopping mid way of pulling her white gloves on, to face Jo with a serious expression. 

“Well…”

“You don’t think…”

“The only time I get back to back letters from Bing, is when something bad is happening over there.”

“Jean…”

“If it came from him, he’s fine, honey.” she reached out, hand coming down over Jo’s in reassurance. 

“It’s in my purse,” Jo confessed. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“Do you want to go sit and read it before we leave?”

“I suppose I’d feel better if I knew for sure he was alright.”

Nodding, Jean pulled off her gloves, and dropped her purse back on the credenza by the door, before guiding Jo further into the house.

Once settled in the living room, Jean began to step away, to allow Jo the privacy that a letter from your man overseas deserved, when Jo’s hand shot out to stop her. 

“Could you…?”

“Of course.” Jean smiled softly, settling into the sofa next to her, but with enough space not to read over her shoulder. 

Jo carefully opened the envelope, fingers trembling as she slid the paper from its confines. Unfolding it, her eyes scanned over the paper quickly, before releasing a shuddering breath of relief. 

“He’s alright,” her hand flew to her chest as the words escaped her. “He’s somewhere called the Flak House?”

“Never heard of that,” Jean looked confused. “What is it?”

My Dearest Jo,

Sweetheart, I can’t promise this letter will be as happy as my last one. What I can promise is that I’m alright, and spending the next week in the English countryside at a place called the Flak House. It’s a place used to help soldiers rest after rough missions. Jo, it’s been three rough ones, back to back, with what felt like no end in sight. I will spare you the details, because you shouldn’t have to read about all of the blood, and horrors, but I do sadly need to tell you that we lost Herbert Nash on the first mission. It happened so quickly, it didn’t register until I had my feet on the ground again. I broke the news to Helen, his Red Cross girl, and I pray that what I saw on her face, is something no one will ever have to see on yours. 

One day, maybe, I will give you the details of our third mission, but for now, I know I should be counting my blessings. And enjoying this time, because sweetheart, this estate truly is something, but the kind of something I would want to be enjoying with you. Together, in the warm sun, reading our favorite books, or rowing on the lake. The boys are enjoying their week of R&R, but I can’t find it in me to relax. Though, I suppose you knew that already. Nobody knows me better than you, Jo, and it’s a time like this that I wish I had you near. 

I couldn’t sleep, which is the reason for this letter, and I think a part of it is that I needed to make sure you knew I was alright. The other part of me, in some way, needed to get this all off my chest. I’m sorry for burdening you with these ugly truths. I’ll try not to do it often, and I hope that it doesn’t become a habit with every mission, that I’m left rattled to my core with fear. I can hear you telling me to take care of myself, and honey, I promise I’m trying. By the time this makes it to you back home, I will be long gone from my stay here, and back on base. I’m sorry for the short letter, darling. I promise the next one will be longer, and happier. Until then…

All of my love, always

Robbie

Jo finished reading, her stomach dropping as she turned to Jean, to confirm that the other woman had in fact, been right. 

“Jo, what is it?”

“He couldn’t say much, spared most of the details, but he said it was rough up there.”

“Is he alright?”

“Robbie’s fine,” Jo confirmed. “But, Herbert Nash, is dead.”

“Oh that poor Red Cross girl!” She gasped, hand coming to cover her mouth in shock. “Didn’t they just meet?”

“They did,” Jo nodded. “I told Robbie I was rooting for the pair in the letter I just posted.”

“How could you have known?”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel sore over it.”

“I know you do,” Jean sympathized. The woman had enough sense to stand, and pull Jo up with her, knowing if she didn’t get them out of the house, her friend would likely spiral with worry. “Now come on, put that letter back in your purse, and let’s get out of the house for a bit.”

With a sigh, Jo nodded, and carefully put the letter back in the safety of her purse, before turning and following Jean towards the front door. For now, she could breathe easy, knowing that Rosie was safe. She knew that his mind was likely full of dark clouds, replaying events of the damage over and over, causing him grief and sadness; it brought with it a melancholy feeling that she wasn’t with him, and couldn’t be there for him to lean on. She knew he had his crew, and now, Harry Crosby, and she prayed that he had the sense to use that to his advantage. 

Jo was grateful that she had Jean. Their afternoon out kept her mind off of the letter that was burning a hole in her purse, and the man who was an ocean away, suffering the loss of a friend. They had stopped by the Automat for lunch, before taking the train uptown for some window shopping, and at Jo’s insistence, a new hat for Jean. By the time she had gotten back home, her mother was already cleaning up dinner. Her father was in the living room, the radio on while he listened to the nightly news. 

“Josephine, you missed dinner.” Her mother lamented at the sound of the front door closing behind her. 

“I’m sorry, mom,” Jo sighed, entering the kitchen and sliding into one of the empty chairs. “We got a late start on our lunch.”

Turning from her spot at the sink, Mrs. Harris surveyed her daughter, before promptly shutting the water and moving to sit across from her. 

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jean and I just had a busy day is all.”

“Josephine, don’t lie to me.” She spoke with the authority of a mother who meant business, and Jo couldn’t help the few tears that escaped from behind her eyes. 

“Robbie’s letter,” she swiftly wiped away the first stray tear. “Oh mom, he lost one of his closest friends!”

Mrs. Harris let out a shuddering breath at Jo’s admission. The fear she had felt at the sight of her daughter's tears made her think the absolute worst for the young man who had become part of their family, and stolen her daughter’s heart. 

“Who was it?” Mrs. Harris asked. 

“Herbert Nash. He trained with Robbie in Texas, and he was killed on their first mission.”

“May his soul rest in peace.” Mrs. Harris made the sign of the cross. 

“Robbie said it was so bad, three flights, back to back. He didn’t say much else, just that it was too much blood and horror to share.”

“Jesus, that poor boy.”

Jo fished the letter from her purse, sliding it across the table to her mother, giving a small nod for her to read it. 

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“Just the once.” Jo smiled slightly. 

“Well, alright then.”

Mrs. Harris pulled the paper from the envelope, and then the only sound in the room was the breathing of mother and daughter, and the muffled sound of the radio coming from the living room. The pair sat together until Jo’s mother folded the paper back up, and handed it back to her. The silence was growing thicker the longer they sat there, neither sure of what to say. When Jo’s father joined them in the kitchen, the two women seemed to snap out of their daze. 

“What’s going on in here then?”

“She’s got another letter from Robert.”

“Didn’t you just get one? Is he alright?” 

Jo nor her mother missed the recognition in Mr. Harris’ eyes. Having served in The Great War, he knew what could be in any one of the letters his daughter received, and he hoped for her sake, that none of them would make her cry the way she was now. 

“He’s fine. Lost a man during his first mission, and was sent to an estate for rest.” Her mother filled him in for her. 

“Jesus, already? Didn’t the boy just get over there?” Her father looked shocked. 

“He said it was really bad, dad.” Jo spoke up, finding her voice again. 

“Well, the best thing you can do is be there for him, even though you’re far away right now.” Her mother let her hand fall to cover hers, eyes filled with the understanding of a woman whose husband had been away once before. 

“Your mother was what kept me going during the war,” Her father agreed. “I can promise you, Robert will take your words with him up there when he’s flying.”

“Go now,” her mother ushered her out of the kitchen. “Clean yourself up and write him back. You’ll sleep better tonight knowing you got your feelings out.”

She felt heavy as she stood from her chair, her legs like lead as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, numbness encompassing her until she had the door shut securely behind her. The words blood and horror swirling around in her mind over and over, like the edges of a cyclone that showed no signs of slowing down. Is that what this was? A storm that would continue to speed up, with nothing to stop it, until the last bomb was dropped, the last round fired? She wasn’t sure, but she turned the ideas over and over, words sticking together in her head as she changed for bed, removed her makeup, until finally, she pulled out the chair at her desk to begin her reply to Rosie. 

My Dearest Robbie, 

Sweetheart, I don’t think there are enough words for me to express just how sorry I am for you after opening your last letter. To lose Nash so quickly, and in such a way. I hope that it didn’t pain you too deeply to break that news to his Red Cross sweetheart, and that she is able to find some happiness again soon. Do not apologize for the length of your last letter. Every letter from you is something I treasure, whether it’s three words, or three pages. I will always reply, so long as you’ll have me. 

I’d like to hear more about the Estate you spent the week at, if you’re willing to talk about it. It does sound like the kind of place I would love to spend time with you, though, anywhere you are, is somewhere I want to be. Maybe we can escape somewhere lush and green once you return, and spend our days under the sun, with nothing but time on our hands. Until then, yes, you were right, I do wish you’d take care of yourself. I know you will, but that sometimes it takes a bit of pushing. Don’t try and shoulder the burden all alone, Robbie. You have people who will shoulder it with you; Pappy isn’t just your co-pilot in the sky. Try and remember that. 

I’d like to try and make you smile, if only for a moment. I found our mothers gossiping at the kitchen table this afternoon as I headed out. They claim it’s not gossip if they’re talking about their children; I suspect they’re plotting as usual. Speaking of your mother, try and squeeze in an extra letter for her, if you can. She misses you, though she claims to be alright with you writing to me more than her, I know she’d appreciate an extra piece of mail and to know you’re doing well. Don’t give her too much grief for the gossip, you know she can’t help it.

I’m counting the days until you’re here again, Robbie, and we can carry on as we were meant to; together. Until that time comes, I’m sending you all of my love. 

All of me, always

Jo

Read Part 4 Here

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

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[braucherei]

Just finished seeing Napoleon (2023) for the first time! I liked it more than I thought I would. The comedy bits were funny and the core relationship of Napoleon and Josephine was engaging even if all the other characters were pretty flat.

I don’t know much about Napoleon post-emperor but the history at least before that was unsurprisingly pretty all over the place.

SPOILERS (this is a bullet pointed list of moments mostly from the first quarter of the movie set during the French Revolution/Directoire) (EDIT: I just saw the movie for a second time so I added amendments/clarifications in red)

the movie opens with a text scroll summarizing in very vague terms what led to the French Revolution

The first real scene is Marie-Antoinette being guillotined while Ça ira is sung. Her execution is then immediately followed by Robespierre giving his “Terror and Virtue” speech very menacingly

Didn’t care for the guy casted as Robespierre didn’t really look like him and was too old. He just comes off as a generic “power hungry” politician in a powdered wig

When Napoleon first charges at the siege of Toulon a cannon hits his horse right in the chest and Barras has to awkwardly help Napoleon off the ground

The next day Napoleon is awarded for taking Toulon and for some reason the gored horse is still there. Napoleon reached his hand inside the horse and grabs the cannon ball

A scene or two after Toulon they show Thermidor where the whole convention turns on aspiring dictator Robespierre

Barras is in the balcony of the Convention and specifically yells that Robespierre wants to be “judge, jury and executioner”

This Robespierre runs away as a crowd of deputies chase him up the stairs. Someone in a chair that might have been an 18th century wheel chair falls over but the scene happens so fast I wasn’t sure

I believe it was just a regular chair tossed over during Thermidor but I’m still not entirely sure since there is some kind of either design or mechanism on the side of the chair

Robespierre pulls a gun on the mob of deputies chasing him but the gun jams so he pulls out a second gun and shoots himself

Barras says “you missed” and then fingers his jaw wound to I guess parallel Napoleon and the horse

A little later Napoleon is at the Victim’s ball and Josephine is seen there next to Barras.

Thérésa Cabarrus is also in the cast list but she is never named in the movie so I assume she will be in the Director’s cut

Josephine and a woman hug while leaving prison so that’s probably Cabarrus but her name is never said

There’s also a scene that starts with Barras and Napoleon goofing around together and throwing nuts at a wall which is sweet I guess

Weirdly Barras is the only male character Napoleon seems to be genuinely friendly with

I was wrong it was his brother Lucien not Barras that Napoleon was goofing around and throwing nuts with which makes more sense. I must have gotten their mullets confused

Napoleon returns from Egypt in this movie because he hears Josephine is cheating on him

the newspapers he gets from the English aren’t stories on how the Directoire is unpopular/corrupt but instead cartoons of him being cucked

(This is foreshadowing for the worst part of the movie)

The only real Fouché scene is when Napoleon is sitting with the Directors telling them how he’s going to coup them and it’s going around the table getting their reactions as Napoleon calls their names

Then Napoleon says Fouché and it cuts to a guy standing in the corner of the room

Talleyrand is a more important part of the movie and is given some of historical Fouché’s moments (I liked his actor a lot actually and he’s the best character besides the core two)

Barras also stops being a character after he agrees to resign as director but he continues to show up in the background throughout the movie

This is SPOILERS AGAIN for the end of the movie but I have to mention this because it was an insane decision

———————————————————————

While Napoleon is in Elba the Tsar of Russia rolls up to Josephine’s manor in a carriage and is “entertained” by her

Napoleon sees a cartoon of him being cucked again in the newspaper and that is why the Hundred Days happens

[ladystarksneedle]

A fall from grace

Chapter 2

A/N: A little Sunday treat💖

Word count: 9.6k

Prev<

Masterlist

The thing about King's landing was that it was far different than what she'd come to know in the days prior to her arrival and she found the contrast in perception quite astounding.

She was greeted by the Queen and the Hand as soon as she stepped foot in the courtyard shadowed by the prince standing close by.

“What a beauty you've grown up to be, just like your mother” she said admiring her. “And what a pretty dress. One of her designs I presume?”

“Thank you, your grace, it is. Everyone says I'm more like father though” she said prompting a snort in the background unsure of whether it came from her grandfather or her newly introduced royal cousin.

“Let me look at you child” he spoke with a low baritone, suddenly demanding her attention. His face had hardened over the years from what she could remember of it, with wisdom and the trials of being the Hand she supposed, yet he had a welcoming smile in place when she turned to face him.

“Much like Josephine I'd say” he said, appraising her. “Which is good. You shall need it in the days to come”

“Come let us continue in my chambers. You must be tired. Where is your father?” the Queen continued.

“He said he'd arrive on horseback your grace, with Ser Cristian”

“Ser Criston”

“Yes, my apologies” 

“Not to worry” she replied, taking her by the arm. “He's been called worse”

She didn't know when the prince disappeared, seemingly satisfied that she'd been brought safely to the castle which was eerily similar to her own home, with its enormous staircases and figurines of the seven at every corner.

“It hardly feels like I've left home”

“I am happy to hear that” the Queen replied, satisfied as they reached a giant door of oak.

The interior of the Queen's chambers were just as welcoming. She could smell the incense burning in the corner, something akin to jasmine and camphor as she was ushered indoors. Tapestries of the seven adorned the walls with star shaped candle holders at every corner, feeling even more religious than the altars of some of the septs back home, so much so that she had to wonder how the Queen survived each day without being stifled by it all.

“Helaena’s tending to Aegon at present and will be joining us shortly”

Aegon, she recalled, was the Queen's first born son. His name should have given it away in the first place but she had always been poor at history and the Targaryens were only as interesting to her when they were accompanied by the embodiment of their sigils.

“You needn't worry too much about your presentation” the Queen spoke after a pause when they had been served a few confectionaries and tea at the little teak table in the center. “Both the Hand and I shall see to all the arrangements”

“What about father?”

“Everything shall happen with Gwayne's approval, of course” she assured her. “Though it might be a bit difficult to circumvent your grandfather's influence. Nevertheless we shall try our very best to secure you a good match”

“I am very grateful for your hospitality, your grace,” she found herself replying back.

“You are very well spoken” she smiled tersely as she continued drinking before being interrupted by a bang at the door.

“I tried to stop him your grace” the dornish knight apologized with a tense bow as he followed her father in.

“Alicent” her father boomed rushing to hug the Queen. “You look just as young as ever. What is your secret, stealing your vitality from the King perhaps?” he mused.

“Gwayne! You mustn't say such things”

“Why? Who shall tell on me? This one right here is far too jovial to not enjoy my musings and that one” he said pointing to Ser Criston “Seems devoted enough to endure a bit of jesting. Lighten up sister!”

“What did father say?” she heard her sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Just his usual admittance of dissatisfaction. Nothing out of the ordinary” he spoke plopping himself down on the settee nearby. “Eating already? I thought you wanted to remain thin” he questioned looking right at her.

“A little bit would do her no harm, stop jesting” the Queen tutted, making her father raise his hands in mock surrender.

“You may leave us Ser Criston. I'll join you in a while for our prayers” she spoke dismissing the knight.

She saw her father look at her with raised brows before masking his suspicion with an easy smile. “So? Where are the rest of your children”

“Helaena shall be joining us soon and Aegon is indisposed”

“Indisposed?”

“Yes he's been rather sick since morning” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“Is it the kind that I can cure?”

“He needs none of that Gwayne”

“Which tells me exactly how miserably you know how to handle things around here” he said, rising abruptly to his feet. “You ladies have fun, I'm about to go find that nephew of mine” 

“He hasn't changed at all has he?” the Queen spoke as they resumed their stance once again. 

Princess Helaena did not join them for tea in the end, citing ill health as an excuse after which she herself asked to be shown to her quarters. The thought bothered her as she settled in, till she was invited to dine with them all for supper. A stranger in a sea of familiar green, perhaps this is what it meant to be a royal.

-x-

Dinner was a sordid affair. Despite the relatively warm reception they received cordiality outshone the familial warmth she was somehow expecting to find. She arrived promptly at the designated hour to find Prince Aemond already seated at the head of the table with the Queen ordering her own modifications to the spread ahead.  He acknowledged her with a nod without attempting to engage in any more talk than was necessary and she found the Queen to be far too preoccupied to be forthcoming. 

The only memorable thing about the occasion happened to be her introduction to Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon. The former arrived first, in a flurry of hurried steps and golden skirts leaning to kiss her mother on the cheek before seating herself near her.

“Dearest this is Lady Melissa, your cousin” the Queen had to intervene once she realized Helaena wouldn't be the one to make the first move.

“Delighted to meet you princess” she offered instead, turning towards her with a smile.

“You look quite like mother” was all she said before returning to examine the little eccentricity in her palms and was soon followed by a rather shabby entrance. 

Prince Aegon stumbled in moments later with a few curses on his tongue, soon morphing into apologies upon noticing his mother's glare. No introduction was thought needed for him, who looked at her above the rim of his chalice with raised brows before turning to jest with his brother instead. Prince Aemond however, remained as stoic as he was since the night began.

Her father and grandfather were the last to arrive, walking in with as much solemnity she thought the former could muster. 

Dinner began and ended with grace before she was escorted back to her own chambers with a small gift.

“This is for you Melissa” the Hand spoke, taking her to the side to hand her a little pouch. “I thought my granddaughter deserved a little token of appreciation”

“Thank you grandfather” she replied, examining the necklace, a golden star nestled snugly within a silver tower. “I shall cherish it dearly” she said, eliciting a warm smile in turn.

“He never gave me anything,” her father huffed petulantly as they made their way back.

“Perhaps you are not as beautiful” she responded cheekily.

“King's landing has already turned you vain daughter,” he teased back.

“Where did you go all evening?” she asked, opening the door to one of her cupboards as she began preparing for the night.

“A meeting with the small council. Quite useless if you ask me. All they do is sit there and drink the whole day”

She fought the urge to laugh, stifling her smile as she picked out an evening dress for herself before her maid arrived.

“Not that I'm thoroughly complaining but they're all so old and such dreadful company”

“What did they discuss?” she asked circumventing his tirade on the lack of people who knew how to live.

“Ah. You wouldn't like it” he said, shaking his head.

“What is it about?”

“Driftmark”

“Any new developments?” she asked pacing around the room as he stared into the distance.

“I am to leave at once to handle certain misdemeanors which is what they're calling them”

“You?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”

“We're not really representatives of the crown”

“Well I'm supposed to be representing the Hand which by extension amounts to the same”

“But if you are to leave then who'll be responsible for what they plan for me?” she asked incredulously, clutching the fabric tightly in her hands.

“Worry not sweetling. There isn't much to be done here anyway. Have you spotted a decent looking man in the vicinity that you'd want to wed? The keep is crawling with old crones. We shall go over whatever we can find once I'm back”

“And how long will that take?”

“A fortnight?” he said doubtfully.

“What am I to do for a fortnight, father?”

“Well you have Helaena. You could spend time with her and the children. She has twins doesn’t she?”

The last thing she remembered before being dressed for bed was the thrumming of dissatisfaction in her veins. King's landing was really turning out to be what Daeron had said it was.

-x-

Her first night in the capital was almost peaceful till around the hour of the nightingale, when she was woken up abruptly by her new maid. 

“A message for you my lady”

“Who is it from?” she asked groggily only to be met with silence.

Join us for breakfast

             -A

“It's barely dawn,” she whined, rubbing her eyes.

“They prefer to dine early” was all she said as she helped her dress for the day.

The young royals she learnt, prefer to dine early on odd days. Awake at the crack of dawn they would take their morning meal in a secluded balcony over the King’s gardens. She managed to find the site with a bit of help, walking around in circles till she found a maid to help her with the directions she needed and upon arriving she noticed the three of them already seated.

“Ah she's here” Prince Aegon yawned crankily “Let us begin already”

Seated at the head of the table was Prince Aemond flanked on either side by his siblings. Princess Helaena gave her a soft smile in greeting as she sat down opposite them all.

“Apologies for being late. I couldn't find the place.”

“That is alright” she replied. “It takes a while to get used to”

There was no saying grace as they dived into their meal, each eating in silence for a while before Prince Aemond spoke again.

“You must be wondering why we summoned you at such an early hour” he said just as she was finishing. “It is customary that we get to know you ourselves before you're introduced to court” 

“What would you like to know?” she asked, putting her fork down.

“Is everyone in Oldtown so proper?” asked Aegon, frowning at her.

“You cannot ask people why they're proper Aegon” Helaena prompted back in return.

“Why not? Is it because you're religious?” he inquired, resting his elbows inquisitively on the table.

“Not really,” she shrugged.

“If you're from Oldtown then why aren't you religious?”

“You cannot ask people why they aren't religious Aegon, not when you have to be dragged unconscious from the sept”  Helaena said, earning a disgruntled pout in return.

“What is the purpose of your visit, my lady?” Aemond asked, breaking their dispute. 

“I came with my father to find a husband,” she said, thinking it quite apparent already.

“So you wish to be married?” Aegon interrupted.

“You should be, it's a wonder your parents have waited for so long” followed Helaena.

“Is there someone you have in mind? Is there someone who's already been arranged for you to wed” Aegon questioned eagerly.

“Any arrangements made must be informed to all members of the crown” Aemond said, shushing them all as they waited for her response.

“Nothing has been decided yet, they're still looking for a suitable match”

“Very well then” Aemond said flexing his fingers around a butter knife close by “Have you been assigned as one of Helaena's ladies in the meantime?”

“You must know I have no need for them. They're a terrible bore. Not that you might be, it's just how things are” she continued with an indifferent shrug.

“Do not mind her. She rarely has anything in common with anyone” Aegon said petulantly.

“The purpose of today's meal” Aemond continued glaring at his siblings “Is also to let you know how we go about things here. This is not Oldtown as you know and there are rules that we all abide by” he finished earning a scoff from Aegon. “That we all agree with” he continued as all of them looked at each other. 

“I shall try my best to follow,” she said.

“Good now let's get on with it, I've had quite the night and this is turning out to be a bore” Aegon said yawning “Every fifth day we meet at dawn to break our fast here, not before the hour of the nightingale nor after the sun begins to rise. If you're late you're to be shunned for the rest of the moon, no exceptions.”

“Some shall be made in case of infirmity which need to be informed prior to our meeting and shall be duly considered” Aemond added.

“If you have certain concerns of the moon that you are uncomfortable with, you could write to me,” Helaena continued. “I'll have them conveyed”

“Thank you” she responded shyly, glad that there was another who she could somewhat confide in.

“Then there is the matter of our attire” Aemond spoke again “On the third day of every moon, we wear green”

She found herself looking at her own dress then, olive and gold, embroidered with tiny stars around the neckline and sleeves that appeared to shimmer in the sun.

“Failure to do so shall again result in being shunned for the rest of the moon” he continued.

“Which is not a problem for me,” Aegon said happily chugging away at his drink. It was the fourth he'd consumed since she'd arrived and she wondered how many more he could take before becoming sick.

“Of course it isn't,” Helaena laughed. She found Aemond smirking at his sister's words before his eye found hers with seriousness again.

“And the most important of all, you shall not engage in rumor mongering with anyone outside this gathering” Aemond concluded gazing at her with sharpness.

“I'm not of the nature to gossip”

“How sad,” Aegon exclaimed. “Either way you shall share whatever you hear with us over the days to come, in full detail might I add. I love a good tale”

“Three rules?” she asked, looking straight at Aemond.

“For now” he replied unflinchingly. “You may approach us further for clarification if required”

“That will not be necessary,” she said, smiling at him.

“Well then I'm off” Aegon spoke, rising from his seat abruptly.

“You promised you'd visit the children” Helaena said looking at him, disappointed.

“At this ungodly hour?” he exclaimed.

“Mother shall be up for her prayers” 

“Ughh”

“Will any of you be joining her?” she interrupted them.

“Told you she's religious,” Aegon smirked. “She's probably hiding a lot more behind that pretty face,” he continued wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“I shall join you” Aemond said, coming to stand in between his brother and her.

“Don't you have to train little brother?” Aegon asked only to be quietened with a glare.

“Come quick Aegon or I'll tell mother you were out all night again” Helaena huffed, dragging him along with her before he could protest any more. 

She found herself looking at them leave, bickering amongst themselves before she heard a smooth voice interrupt her “Come, the Queen must not be kept waiting.”

-x-

The way to the castle sept was quite close to the gardens and inspite of the short distance Prince Aemond ended up disclosing more than what he had at breakfast. 

“There are a few things that I wish for you to keep between us” he said as he slowed down to match her stride.

“Of course your grace” she replied, much more aware of his stature now that they were alone. She felt that she had to be more on guard around him, more so as compared to the rest, given how poised he was. Perhaps that wasn't the only reason for her attentiveness. Either way she simply chose not to focus on his proximity as he leaned towards her to speak. 

“A few more rules that I wish to go over with you” he spoke regarding her with an intensity to which she found herself nodding.

“You are not to fraternize with the enemy, at all costs, which means avoiding anyone who dresses in black and wears the sigil of the princess”

“I thought that was common to your house?”

“No, she wears the symbol of the three headed dragon with a hint of gray. You'd see a similar hue in the clothing of her supporters. Only if you pay close attention”

“I shall be mindful of it then”

“They may choose to engage you,” he continued as they neared the gate of the sept “as they do Aegon, who foolishly chooses to do so and partake in depravities of his own . That is not to be expected from a lady such as yourself”

“I understand your grace,” she said solemnly. 

He gave her a crisp nod before acknowledging his mother at the altar and stepping back to let her pass.

“Won't you join us?’ she inquired turning around to face him.

“Aemond has his own hour of prayer Melissa” she heard the Queen remark as she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “Come let us begin together”

It was quite ominous then, that as she lit her candle at the altar of the Maiden, the flame blew away at once with a gust, sharp as the shudder that passed through her upon the remembrance of his last rule whispered solemnly in her ear “Stay away from temptation my lady, in all forms.” 

-x-

Queen Alicent Hightower spent an ungodly amount of time in prayer, extending up to the hour of the gods, which was when the rest of the keep clustered around the stone statues of its sept. She found her knees aching by the time she stood up, wobbling with a restrained smile as she followed the lady down the halls, shadowed by her sworn protector at a safe distance. 

“I have decided to let you get acquainted with some of Helaena's ladies. She claims she doesn't need them but it is good to know a few maidens your age. It'll help you adjust better to life here” she said smiling as she reached a small hall at the foot of one of the winding staircases. 

“All of them assemble here during the morn, to embroider and discuss whatever they can. They shall make enough room for you” she said as they were let in by two guards who bowed before them and nodded to the man behind.

It was a much smaller room than what she had expected with four ladies seated equidistant, in armchairs surrounded by a bevy of mace stools, containing threads of every shade and hue that she could conjure up. All of them stood to curtsey as the Queen entered regarding her with a mix of curiosity and distaste as she was introduced.

“I shall leave you to it then” the Queen spoke as she left her with a comforting touch to face the uncertain ahead.

The first to speak was a lady in blue, with intricate black braids woven into her hair. 

“I hear you arrived yesterday. How have you been settling in?”

“As expected,” she said, taking a seat nearby.

“And you've already met the iōrves” spoke a woman in red with an almost perfect pronunciation of the strange word.

“Who?”

“As if she knows what that is, Tyshara” the lady in blue huffed. “It's just a name they came up with for the royals”

“The three iōrves” chirped another blonde in front of her. “Suits them well. I'm Lynette Beesbury” she continued with a smile.

“I’m Lady Cassandra of House Baratheon” the lady in blue spoke haughtily. “Future bride to House Targaryen”

“It isn't confirmed Cassandra” another lady huffed. She was taller than the rest with a hooked nose and a stern smile, seated to the extreme left in a heap of brown skirts.

“What would you know Jessika?” she snapped back “Or is your father's position finally amounting to something”

“More than pining after a man who hardly pays you any heed” Lady Jessica scoffed. “I'm Lady Jessika Wylde daughter of Lord Jasper Wylde, the master of laws” she spoke, turning her face to regard her. 

“Pleased to meet you” she responded, trying to ascertain the demeanor of each of the women in front of her. “What does jorves mean?” she asked after a pause.

“Iōrves” spoke Lady Tyshara again “Or the ones who are cold”

“Is that High Valyrian?”

“Their very own tongue” she smirked, continuing her sewing. “I'm Lady Tyshara Lannister, niece to Lord Tyland Lannister, the master of coin here”

“You think they're cold?”

“And you don't?” Cassandra questioned. “My, you must have made quite the impression. Tell me how you find my betrothed.”

“It's Prince Aemond she speaks of,” Lynette chirped.

“I haven't spoken to him much,” she replied, shrugging casually.

“And that is almost always enough,” Tyshara scoffed.

“You don't like him?” she questioned turning to face her.

“I like him enough to know when to keep my mouth shut” she spat, as she continued pulling at the threads in her lap.

“You must be wondering why we're questioning you so much,” Cassandra said after a stretch of uncomfortable silence. “We hadn't been told of your arrival and it's hard to accommodate another lady before knowing her in truth”

“Oh I'm not to serve as a lady in waiting. I'm here with my father”

“We know” muttered Jessika before turning back to her own task.

“Nevertheless” Cassandra continued. “Since the Queen has instructed you to be under our care it's best we inform you of your role, as allies of course”

She found herself nodding with the woman's manners appearing to be quite similar to the monologue she'd heard in the morning yet far less accommodating despite the severity with which it was delivered. 

“To start with, you must know the nature of your relatives” she spoke, enunciating the word with distaste. “You mustn't be aware of their tastes since you've been away at Oldtown”

“I heard Prince Daeron was to join you” Lynette chirped again.

“He suffered an injury while flying and would be joining us in a fortnight, at the earliest” she informed them.

“Be quiet while I finish Lynette, then you may go back to your questions” Cassandra huffed. “Now let's start with the princess. She rarely ever summons us. We're as free here as actual ladies of our own houses rather than in service to the crown, which we duly abide by extension of course” she began “The princess likes to keep to herself yet blurts out the most perplexing things when in company. You needn't be startled by it just pretend you never heard what she spoke of and continue on as before”

“Prince Aegon” Jessika continued “Is to be avoided at all costs. As charming as he can be, he's equally handsy and you'd do best to remember that for the safety of your reputation, not that mine has ever been called into question but our maids talk and that is enough to keep a virtuous lady away”

“And as for Prince Aemond” Lynette sighed “How shall we begin to describe him?” 

“Prince Aemond is flawless,” Cassandra interrupted her in an instant.

“I've heard he has four maids tending to his hair each morn” Jessika said.

“I've heard he has every book in the library memorized, with knowledge to make even the most learned of maesters quiver,” Tyshara continued.

“He trains meticulously at dawn and has bested some of the finest knights of the realm, Ser Criston included” Cassandra boasted with glee. “And yes his favorite thing to do is read,”

“His hair is so lustrous” Lynette swooned  “One time I was unfortunate enough to stumble along his way and it whipped me in the face” she said, earning a shocked expression from them all. “It was wonderful” she continued with glee diverting their attention again.

“That's why Cassandra wears her hair in braids,” Tyshara giggled.

“Oh hush” 

“She saw him wear his hair in a braid, somewhat like a fishtail to train one morn and hasn't stopped wearing her hair like that since” Tyshara smirked with glee. “He wears his hair loose now, I wonder how you'd accomplish something akin to that Cassandra.”

“It would be quite a scandal” Jessika chuckled.

“Jest all you want, I for one believe he loves my hair”

“It is a wonder though, with beauty to speak of like his own” Jessika muttered “You must think of another way if you wish to win him over” “I've heard he has a thousand pieces of leather for his closet, eye patches included”

“I've seen his sapphire,” Lynette chirped again.

“You have not,” Cassandra protested with indignation.

“When he dashed into me” she whined “I caught a glimpse of it. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw” she sighed dreamily.

“I think it's rather hideous, the scar I mean. It is good that he keeps it covered” Tyshara said. “And I doubt you really saw the stone Lynette, clumsy as you are. You probably hit your head too hard. It is known that he's very secretive with regards to his injury”

“I shall make him show it to me someday” Cassandra spoke puffing up her chest, like the namesake of her house “And you shall all be the first to know”

“Seven blessings to you then, I just hope you don't faint” Jessika laughed. “You're quite a lightweight for a Baratheon” she said, earning a fit of giggles all around the room.

The rest of their morning passed in speculation over the latest scandals at court along with a few more instructions that were spoken over giggles and protests alike. Her mind however was stuck on the little jewel that was lodged in the face of a man who the whole keep seemed to covet. 

-x-

Her father, unlike what he’d told her, did not leave at once. Only after he’d supposedly sampled almost every ale house the city had to offer and spent a few days with a morbid case of belly cramps did he set out to accomplish the task assigned to him. 

“Must you really leave?” she asked him as the servants around them bustled to pack a small trunk full of scrolls and strewn clothes, half smelly and soiled.

“Your grandfather is quite close to having a fit dearest, I’m afraid I must”

“I shall accompany you to the docks”

“Don’t you have something better to do this morn?”

“Tyshara wishes to bid farewell to Lord Lannister too”

Over the course of the past few days, while her father emptied his gut, she had accomplished the task of getting to know her allies at court. Cassandra Baratheon was vain and bold, eager to take offense and hold a grudge till she found another stray of gray on her head. The day after would be spent in lamentation and covering up her “deficiencies” as she so liked to call them lest her betrothed were to notice.

 Lynette Beesbury was naive, sweet as honey that the bees of her house were drawn to, yet equally foolish and prone to bouts of hysteria which required frequent trips to the maester who always reassured her with a regular cup of chamomile tea. She claimed it was similar to the ones Prince Aemond used for his headaches and launching into another speech about their commonality would often calm her much more than the warmth she consumed. 

Jessika Wylde was her much shrewder counterpart. A stickler for rules, like her father, she was quick to find fault and assign blame to anyone who crossed her. Twice was a warning and thrice merited exile from her circle of grace to one of perpetual contempt, leaving many a servant crying from her chambers for want of a new mistress. 

The last of her companions, Tyshara Lannister, was someone with whom she had found herself to be quite ingrained with. Quick witted and vivacious, she had the charm of a belle and the gall of a lion, often engaging in behaviors far too provocative for her stature yet evading speculation with an equally easy smile at her disposal. 

“Very well then” he agreed reluctantly. “Hide this for me will you, at least till we're out of the keep” he whispered, handing her a small vial of Arbor gold. 

“Must you really continue like this? Mother told me to keep an eye on you”

“The best way to cure oneself is through continuing with what caused the malady in the first place”

“I hardly think that applies to everything father”

“Well you haven't been out in the world much. Now come along”

The ride to the port was bumpy and much fouler than what she was expecting. The city was engulfed in a wave of humidity, making them perspire throughout the distance so much so that the breeze that blew through her hair as she stepped out to send them off was a welcome surprise. 

“Be good,” her father warned her as he climbed aboard. 

Tyshara took a while more to say her goodbyes, lingering next to her uncle till he sent her off with a kiss to her cheek. 

“You seem quite close to him” she found herself saying as they climbed back into the royal carriage.

“He looks out for me,” she responded with a shrug. “He's been a source of comfort away from home”

“Do you miss it a lot? Casterly rock seems quite wonderful and self sufficient from all the tales I've heard”

“It is, but there is nothing quite like the freedom you have away from familial territory despite the nagging desire to return home. Besides I have Lyonel to keep me company” she finished with a wink.

Lyonel Westerling was the second son of Lord Harmon Westerling and nephew to the Lord commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Harrold. He’d been sent to King's landing to squire for Prince Aegon and when it was settled that he didn’t require his services within a week of his arrival, he was transferred at once into the gambit of his brother instead. Prince Aemond had been harsher on the man, grilling him to his wits end, for if his father wished for excellence he was sure to see it achieved in his son under the service of the second born prince.

Tyshara had been engaged with him within a moon of his arrival, citing commonality as the cause for her interest when it was his appearance that gave him real credibility. Tall, blond and built like a bull, he had an easy smile in place whenever he greeted them all, making him quite well received amongst the ladies at court. She however judged him to be much of a fool after a single conversation that floundered before he had to be rescued by a peer. Not that Tyshara minded. She liked them pretty in her own words and claimed a man was only ever interesting as long as he kept his mouth shut.

“What about you?” she asked, breaking her reverie. “Don't tell me there's isn't anyone who's caught your eye”

“No one in particular”

“I find that hard to believe. The capital is crawling with opportunists and men willing to make a name for themselves something I've noticed you seem to admire. I believe you're hiding something from us all” she said conspiratorially.

“I haven't paid anyone such close attention” she said, wringing her hands.

“Well then we must find you a match, or at least someone worth your while here, before your father returns of course. You need to know your prospects before they're snatched away from you”

“What good would that do?” she inquired

“You really are quite sheltered Melissa. Why it'll give you a standard to hold your husband to, not overlty that would be a blow to your marriage, but something at the side, something to call your own in the dark”

“A lover?” she asked incredulously

“It needn't be that. Think of it as a measure of comparison”

“Wouldn't that take away your joy”

“I believe it would quite add to it. Think about it and we shall begin our hunt tomorrow. I shall even ask Lyonel” 

“Please don't” she said, reaching for her hands.

“Only with your permission” she said reassuringly. “Don't worry we don't really speak much in each other's company.” 

Their return back to the keep was met with more excitement than what she'd expected out of the day. The men often took to training on days as such and while the ladies enjoyed fanning themselves from the balconies overlooking the outer courtyard, they'd take to showing off their skills with their blades to their onlooking admirers, meriting a chorus of oohs and aahs only for them to fall back to their usual chatter once again. 

It was days quite as such that the Prince usually avoided, as per Cassandra’s observations of course, yet she found her lingering near the armory instead, accompanied by the rest of their group whispering to themselves.

“That is surprising,” Tyshara said as they descended to greet them. 

“Prince Aemond has challenged a man for her honor” Lynette whispered as they reached closer, nearly squealing with joy as she observed him bent over the table of weapons. Before she could inquire who it was she felt a sharp squeeze to her arm by an ashen blonde who looked like she'd seen a ghost.

“It isn't as romantic as you think it is Lynette” Jessika huffed “He's merely doing his duty”

“By the woman promised to him” Cassandra sighed.

“If you'd even call it that” Jessika murmured as they all looked ahead.

Lyonel Westerling stood a few feet away from the prince swinging his mace in practice with quite a lot of accuracy, not that she knew much about battle, but he appeared as confident as a man who knew what he was doing. She saw the prince take his stance a moment later, brandishing a shortsword, a good choice of weapon as per Jessika’s observation, being easy to balance with an accompanying shield in his other hand before they both began to circle each other.

Their match didn't last long. Lyonel Westerling ended up being quite good with his mace but all the more slow with his footwork leading to him being defeated by Prince Aemond with proficient agility and skill, circling and tiring him out till he landed the last blow.

“Yield” she heard him say with his sword to his neck, not before nicking him in the process.

His quick victory was followed by a round of applause which he accepted with a crisp nod in Cassandra's direction before storming out without a word. She saw her smile towards them all, victorious in her own way and while Tyshara rushed to her own companion, trying to appraise his bruised ego and she wondered why someone wishing to be betrothed to a man would be accepting of such disregard on his part.

-x-

Over the course of the day she came to know of the incident of the yard from every mouth she encountered. Cassandra proclaimed that she had been propositioned by Lyonel Westerling and that he had been quite insistent in his manner prompting Prince Aemond to action. That was the crux of the word going around, albeit in different forms. She'd heard other whispers of Lyonel’s dissatisfaction with the prince himself, about a few of his peculiar tastes and even about how he wished to join the kingsguard and had used the duel as part of his training or that he'd simply grown rather tired of keeping things within the family and wished to try out a Stormlander instead.

Tyshara, fueled with indignation, mostly at the last remark, had done all that she could to spread word that he’d been slandered by Cassandra who had conjured up her accusations to win the prince over. Her story however, as scandalous as it was, wasn't as interesting to catch wind and ended up being buried under the multitude of falsehood going around.

By midday, their allyship was in shambles. Tyshara had declared, in no few words, that she wished to separate from their pack of betrayers, leaving to stand faithfully by Lyonel instead. Cassandra on the other hand, bothered as she was for the hour, considered it to be just another reason to fan the flames. Throughout all of this, she'd taken to hearing both sides as was the custom of the Hightowers, forming proper judgment after insight from both ends, yet nearing the end of the day she found herself sequestered in the one place she knew they all wouldn’t deign necessary to check.

The library of the red keep was one she was hoping to pay a visit to, as soon as they'd arrived. She'd been an avid reader back home, something she'd acquired from her mother, poring over more stories than texts, to spend her days. While her mother prided herself on her knowledge of the functioning of the kingdom and its affairs, she found herself far more interested in its people and tales from across the realm had done much to sate her curiosity. 

The library had to be reached by climbing four flights of stairs with a single landing separating them. Intricate balustrades of red sandstone carved with dragon heads greeted her as she continued onward, their tails curling around the railing with which she dragged herself towards her destination. There was an old tale that went around the keep, about how the old Maester Mellos collapsed on these very flight of steps, leading to his demise. It did quite feel like it as she huffed her way to the top, panting with the weight of her skirts as she leaned against the open iron door. 

The King's library was a marvel to behold. Nestled up near the parapets of the keep, with a ceiling made entirely of glass, she found herself staring at the glazed roof as she entered. Spiral shelves lined the hall, made of something similar to the koa trees of the Arbor. There were nearly a thousand tomes lining the walls she supposed, hidden from most due to their differing tastes and she found herself thanking her mother for introducing her to wonder as she continued her exploration.

“They're not koa” she heard a knowing voice near her as she turned around from her inspection of the shelves. 

Prince Aemond sat at a circular table near the center of the hall, with a couple of tomes arranged neatly near a burning candle.

“The wood is different up close” she said in acknowledgement wondering how he knew she was thinking of the Arbor.

“They were a gift, all the way from Sothyros crafted for King Aenys. The wood is known as padauk” he said, rising to speak to her.

“I hope I'm not interrupting your grace”

“There aren't many who visit at this hour”

“I can leave,” she said hurriedly.

“That's not what I meant,” he said, reaching behind her to pick out a tome.

“What do you wish to find today, my lady”

“Something to pass my time” she whispered, shy that she had been caught off guard.

“And how do you pass your time? What interests you”

“I doubt you'd want to hear, your grace” she said, averting her gaze.

“Come,” he said, bidding her to follow him as he wove through the passages of wood till they reached one of the furthest shelves down the hall. “This would be more to your taste, I presume. You may join me if you wish or continue as you were” he said turning to hand her a tome.

“The Edge of the World” she read aloud “by Maester Balder. This looks like quite an adventure” she said smiling as he looked at her with interest. “I'd like to join you”

The rest of their hour was spent in comfortable silence as she read over the old maester’s travels. He wrote of his time in the Night's watch centuries before Aegon's conquest, describing East watch by the sea and the island of Skagos, much north of Castle black, infested by smugglers and pirates rooted out by brave men. She saw him look up from time to time catching his gaze with a shy smile of her own as he pored over his own scrolls with a copy of Septon Barth’s infamous tome to the side. 

“Do you wish to read this next?” he asked. 

“I might take a while,” she answered, earning a hum in return. “May I ask you a question?” she continued as he went back to his work. 

“Is it about dragons?” he asked not looking up from his reading.

“About this afternoon” she said, unsure of how to proceed after noticing him tense.

“What would you like to know?”

“Is it true?”

“You'll need to be more specific,” he responded, drumming his fingers on the table.

“What happened with Cassandra?”

“Are you enquiring as to whether I'm betrothed?” he said looking up with a smirk.

She felt her cheeks heat up as she responded  “I only wanted to know if the rumors were true, regarding Lord Lyonel. He's involved with a friend of mine”

“Lady Lannister, is it?”

“Tyshara, yes”

“I wouldn't know,” he said casually, returning to opening a new set of texts.

“You fought for her honor” she said, surprised at his easy dismissal of Cassandra.

“As was my duty” he said nonchalantly.

“I don't understand,” she muttered, earning a glare in return.

“Lady Cassandra claimed to be harassed by a man squiring for me. How do you think I should have responded?”

“She considers the outcome to be far different”

“A woman's presumption”

“What does that mean?” she asked indignantly.

“It indicates exactly what I said, a morbid predisposition for exaggeration and fantasy”

“And what would you consider me then, with a similar interest in tales as such” she said, shutting her tome abruptly. “You gave me a tale of adventure, about strange one horned beasts and pirates. Surely you'd hold a better opinion of your companion for the day or am I to be ridiculed behind my back once I leave too”

“You misunderstand me, my lady,” he spoke noticing her distress.

“No,” she said standing up “Thank you for your time your grace, but I'm certain I must leave you now” 

She fought the urge to give in as she heard the scrape of his chair, hurrying down the steps before he caught sight of her fallen face. The echo of her footsteps in that corner of the castle soon faded as she rushed to her chambers, distracted by her duress that indicated she was surprisingly more upset at his perception of her than his unconfirmed betrothal.

-x-

The hour of the nightingale troubled her again. She lay awake in bed as her maid came to wake her, perplexed as to whether she should join them all for the day. It was the tenth day of the moon and her absence was sure to be noted. A lone eye pierced through her musing, haunting her as she whined into the cushions in the dark before waking up with a jolt. 

The way to their hideout came easy to her and she arrived there almost too early to be considered proper, only to find him seated alone, at the head of their table. His gaze bore into her as soon as she walked in, commanding yet somewhat anxious as he stood to welcome her.

“You're early” he said, bidding her to sit as he ordered tea for them both.

“I considered not showing” she responded, turning her gaze away from him.

“Without cause?”

“There's plenty to me, your grace” she said, folding her hands on her lap.

“I did not intend to offend you, my lady” he said upon noticing her continued silence. 

“You made me feel like a fool” she found herself whispering.

“Then you must know I have no patience for one” he said sharply, softening his tone upon noticing her perplexity “I don't begrudge tales, only falsehood” he continued softly “And I despise tardiness”

“Like that of today?” she said gesturing to the two empty seats at his side which hadn't been filled despite the approaching hour.

“There was more to your reading than unicorns and giants though?” he said after a pause looking at her as the servants poured them two cups of mint tea. 

“Maester Balder wrote his tale as a warning”

“Of the dangers of prejudice?” she questioned.

“You consider it untrue?”

“He claimed the Skags were inhuman, more beast than man, feasting on human flesh and delighting in sacrifice made to the Old gods” she continued “Exaggeration of the foreign fairly seems like an adequate portrayal of their true nature”

“And yet familiar customs still prevail far North. The feast of Skane being one such instance of the past” he said, noticing her discomfort.

The Feast of Skane was written to be one of the most horrific things she'd read describing a Skagosi war fleet descending upon the smaller isle of Skane nearby. While the women of Skane were raped and carried off by the Skagosi, the Skanish men were consumed by the warriors in a feast which lasted a fortnight on the sands of the pebbled beach. Skane thereafter was said to be haunted by the screams of its deceased, deafening many travelers who happened to pass near its shores.

“Perhaps highlighting the ills of tradition passed down through generations merit speculation”

“Was it really tradition if they were never heard of again?” she questioned.

“The tales of victors tend to be written as such, continued through time by others wishing to follow in their path, emulating virtue and vice alike” he replied, sipping his tea. “Nevertheless the more magical parts of his tale tend to garner much attention. Their obsidian blades and fine mounts are enough to avoid further speculation” he spoke with emphasis. “Their horses however, pale in comparison to the wonders of our own world,” he finished, smirking as he saw her smile.

“I suppose flying beasts are far more inspiring,” she said, smiling into her own cup.

“Ones that make the unworthy quiver”

“Anyone who isn't a Targaryen would” she continued with a laugh.

“Perhaps” he said in contemplation, setting his cup down to welcome his siblings.

“What are you upto so early in the morn?” Aegon huffed as he plopped himself to the left of his brother. “Has he been boring you with philosophy again” he asked turning to her “Honestly brother, you must give it a rest lest we all fall asleep here”

“Did you not sleep well last night?” she inquired politely.

“Helaena and I couldn't quite seem to settle in,” he responded with a cheeky grin noticing her blush and shift to order two glasses of honeyed milk. 

“So my lady” Aegon spoke, turning to her again. “It is time for you to delight us with whatever tales you've managed to acquire  these past few days” 

“There isn't much to tell,” she replied, setting her cup down.

“Well it has been quite eventful though hasn't it, or perhaps you don't quite understand the nature of our agreement” he said drinking from his chalice filled with green apple wine.

“I am sure you're aware of the rumors going around. Lady Cassandra” she continued looking at Aemond “Claimed  harassment and was soon won over. That has been the most of what's been going around”

“Yes yes, our brother serving as her glorious knight, we've heard enough of that already”

“She was gloating all afternoon while she helped with the children” Helaena said thoughtfully “Quite distasteful for someone who felt insulted” 

“It doesn't seem to add up does it” Aegon continued looking right at her.

“I only know as much as you, your grace”

“What a shame,” he said, turning to face his brother as she found him staring at her in wait, drumming his fingers on the table as he cocked his head to the side. 

“Lady Tyshara was quite bereaved” she found herself continuing. “She believed Lord Lyonel to be innocent”

“Are you questioning my brother's judgment?” Aegon said with a smirk, teetering towards aggression.

“No your grace, I'm simply letting you know what I've heard. She accompanied me to see my father off in the morn and spoke of him in detail”

“Was this before he left?” Helaena asked, sipping her glass of cold milk.

“Yes, she accompanied me to see her uncle off. They seemed awfully close at the docks” she finished, uncomfortable under their scrutiny.

“How close?” Aegon asked, leaning towards her.

“He kissed her,” she said, earning a satisfied hum from her inquisitor in front.

“I told you” Aegon clapped delightedly.

“The Lannisters are prone to it”

“There isn't much evidence Aegon” Helaena spoke “And besides what difference does it make, look at us”

“They aren't us mandia” Aemond said turning to look at her “Quite discomforting behavior to witness from a friend, won't you say” he continued looking right at her.

“She brushed it off” she said, noticing Aegon cackle again with glee.

“This day is off to a very good start” he said, raising his cup to himself with another jape of his own. 

As each of them carried on, recounting a minor tale that took place, the nagging feeling of betrayal deepened within her only for it to be quieted by a contented look of approval from a single eye that never left sight of her.

-x-

Her days carried on in fear of the lioness. She'd taken to avoiding most of the ladies, citing her longing for home to be intense enough to dampen their spirits were she to accompany them, leaving the library as her only place of refuge. The quiet of the hall, the echoing of her footsteps with the occasional sound of the opening of a scroll, or the arranging of tomes back on the shelves where they belonged, brought her much peace compared to the whirlwind of thoughts occupying her mind. Then there was also the presence of the prince. 

He'd taken to reading with her, often sitting beside her in silence as he worked for hours on end, occasionally passing a few remarks and engaging her with more questions pertaining to her own tome. She found herself fascinated with his knowledge, seeking him out often to her own detriment, only to be reprimanded by a maester nearby to lower her voice and for him to be hushed by a harsh glare from her teacher. He, on the other hand, found her amusing, encouraging her doubts and providing her with more once they finished for the day, enough for her to forget her folly till she returned to her own chambers and was wrought with guilt again.

Much to her chagrin, Tyshara sought her out a few days later.

“You've been avoiding me” she said confronting her in the hallways “I considered you wise enough to not fall for  Cassandra’s fables”

She wished to deny the accusation but had nothing to say for her own admission in front of her cousins mere days before. “Lyonel is still in service to Prince Aemond in case you don't know” she continued oblivious to her turmoil “He refuses to be reassigned”

“Isn't that a good thing? The Prince is quite  proficient and a good instructor” she said, surprised at the slip of her tongue.

“Don't tell me you're enamored with him. As if the rest weren't enough. He's evil Melissa, you'd do well to stay away from him”

“Because he beat Lord Lyonel?”

“Because none of you are capable of looking past a man's beauty”

“To see what? His cursed soul?” she jested stopping at a corner.

“I refuse to engage in conversation regarding him any further and I'm assuming from your defense that's why you haven't sought me out” she said placing her hands on her hips. “He's a bad influence, even more than his brother”

“You surely jest, Tyshara” she replied incredulously

“I'm afraid, I do not. If you continue along this path you'll only be disappointed”

“And what path is that?” she asked upset at the turn of events “Being nice to my own cousin? Perhaps I've merely taken inspiration from you” she continued, surprised at herself upon noticing her shock.

“I hope you haven't, he'll only lead you to ruin” she finished walking away from her without waiting to hear what she had to say.

-x-

She spent a day moping afterwards, refusing to leave the confines of her chambers even for her sanctuary of books, till she realized how lonely she felt and was out soon with a new companion. 

Lynette Beesbury wasn't exceptional company, but made for a decent companion to meander through the hallways, whiling away their time on the mundane, much pleasing after the ordeal of the past few days. 

She found herself strolling with her through the castle, exploring hidden chambers covered in cobwebs and dust only to erupt in a fit of giggles at another jape she passed at things strewn about the floors. That morning they'd decided to try out the Godswood, a small endeavor before they barged in on another set of doors and spent their day examining the strange objects it contained.

It was a bright day with the leaves of the giant weirwood glistening in hues of red under the sunlight. She found herself thinking about the worship of the Skags again as they made their way forwards only to find a head of silver crouched near one of the shrubs. 

Princess Helaena sat kneeling near a few bushes with her hands covered in dirt holding a small brown beetle in her palms.

“Hello” she greeted them as she spotted them peering from a distance. 

“What do you have in your hands princess” she found herself speaking as she made her way towards her.

She heard her ask for a set of glass jars near her before opening her palms to trap the little beetle in one of them as she handed it to her for inspection.

“This is a dung beetle,” she said, smiling at the trapped brown bug. “I've been wanting to study one for some time”

“I thought you only liked the dead ones,” Lynette chirped, standing at the base of the weirwood tree, observing them from a distance.

“This one serves a greater purpose alive”

“How so?” she questioned wrinkling her nose at the smell emanating from the jar.

“They can predict the future” Helaena said  sitting on her haunches as she stared at them. “Some claim they can find their way out of anywhere just by following the stars, whose patterns they know by heart. Others think that they can predict when it rains, or when the crops are bound to fail”

“Like bug seers?” she said examining the little insect.

“I'm somewhat gifted myself” Lynette interrupted “I sense things too, though only pertaining to myself”

“Like what?” she asked as the princess took the jar back from her and moved to stand.

“I can sense when I'm about to get my moonblood, days before it arrives”

“Isn't that common to all women, Lynette?” she asked, perplexed. 

“No, I've noticed it arrives whenever the tree cries. Look” she said, pointing to the face of white bark that was now streaked with red “I might get it soon”

She found herself rolling her eyes before turning to face the princess staring at the tree with interest. 

“The dragon shall claim its flame through a sea of blood” she said thoughtfully as she continued to stare at the sap emerging from its eyes.

“I think it works for the Princess too” Lynette whispered, noticing her vacant stare before going back to gazing at the face again.

She turned her gaze towards the tree with a scoff only to notice its solemn face almost contorted with anguish. She wondered then about the dragon the princess spoke of, as they stood still under the canopy of the heart tree, each contemplating something of their own. Perhaps she ought not to ignore the musings of her cousin.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @barbieaemond @succnfuccubus @arcielee @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn

[anneapocalypse]

DAI Companion Styles: Josephine

Dragon Age Companion Styles Series

Next up by special request from @magneticmage is the lovely, the gracious, the refined, the stunning Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition. (And yes, Josephine is an advisor, not a companion; yes this series is called “Companion Styles”; yes I’ve decided to just lump the advisors in with them and not change the name, and we’re all just going to have to live with it. 😉)

Disclaimer: I am not a fashion expert, dress historian, or professional designer! I'm just a gamer who likes to sew and has a casual interest in historical fashion, and a great interest in fantasy worldbuilding and the implications thereof, and that's where I'm coming from on these posts. I'd also love to hear thoughts from fans who have a more in-depth background in historical dress, textiles, and armor.

Also, we’re going to be talking about gendered clothing, so let me state for the record that I don’t believe clothing has any inherent gender. However we’re going to be talking about fashion in a cultural context here, and in the context of Thedas (and specifically Orlais), fashion is heavily gendered, and how characters engage with those gendered expectations can be personally and socially interesting.

As with Sera, I’m going to be focusing mostly on Josephine’s style from an in-universe perspective because that’s what I think is most interesting!

Much appreciation to @dragonagegallery, whose posts have made the canon review for this post much easier! The Art of Dragon Age Inquisition was also a great reference.

(Look at her. She even looks good in the Haven Chantry lighting. Nobody looks good in that. Iconic.)

Josephine is an Antivan-born noblewoman educated in Orlais, who trained and briefly worked as a bard before becoming disillusioned with that life and turning to a career as a diplomat instead. She has been working as the Antivan Ambassador to Orlais up until the point she joins the Inquisition as its Ambassador. Josephine is well-versed in the Grand Game and the culture of the Imperial Court and the upper class. If I were to say that Josephine is fashionable, I don’t think most people would disagree with me.

Yet her signature outfit is quite different from what we see on the fashionable upper class ladies of Orlais. There is a fair amount of Renaissance influence in Orlesian high fashion, but as others have pointed out, there's actually quite a lot of variation in sleeves, collar, and understructures (things like crinolines or panniers that give a skirt a certain volume and shape), drawing inspiration from centuries of European historical dress. Yet Josephine still stands apart from the fashions for Orlesian noblewomen, in some very interesting ways.

I should note at the start here that I am working at a bit of disadvantage with Josephine because we've never been to her country of origin in the games, and basically every Antivan character we've met so far has either been wearing armor, or the same styles as the country they're in at the time. (Also, most of them have been Crows, which Josephine is not.) So I can't comment on how Josie's look compares to what is fashionable in Antiva at the moment, because we don't know. Instead, I'll be talking about her style in the context of Orlais, which I think is fair since she went to school in Orlais and has been living and working there for quite a while now. Just bear in mind going forward that there is a whole sphere of potential influence that we can't really examine here.

But I do think there's also good reason to assume that Josephine takes inspiration from Orlesian fashion, starting with her color scheme. One of the first things that strikes me (and I think many viewers) about Josephine's outfit is "Wow, that's very gold." And it is! It's very gold and blue—colors directly associated with Orlais and with the nobility especially. We see gold and blue all over Orlais, from the capital to the countryside, and Josephine has deliberately chosen to dress herself in the colors that signify power and influence in this nation.

So let's take a look at the specific pieces she wears.

Josephine is wearing what appears to me to be a blouse of gold-colored silk satin with puffed sleeves and a tie-neck or possibly a matching scarf, dark-colored breeches ending just below the knee, a heavier sleeveless overdress or vest in blue brocade or damask (possibly even fine tooled leather; it's really hard to say) that ends at the knee, gold stockings, and black flat shoes. She wears a wide leather belt at the waist, with a gold satin sash tied over it. You can see some better images of Josephine's outfit in concept art and her character model in detail on @dragonagegallery.

This outfit is fascinating to me, and if you've read my post on Sera's style, you might have already guessed a few reasons why.

Given Josephine's basic silhouette, it's easy to look at her and assume she's wearing a dress, but she actually isn't. Even if she was, it would be a break from the Orlesian high fashions of the day, which favor floor-length skirts. But this isn't a dress at all. I would actually compare the blue vest to the leather vests we see in some of the Inquisitor armor variants, for mages and for rogues. The detailing on Josephine's makes it look finer, but it's a similar style, with a similar utility: it's easy to move in. Josephine's vest even has large visible pockets on the sides! And this goes all the way back to her concept art.

I think it's easy to get distracted by the big shiny gold sleeves and miss the fact that Josephine's outfit is actually very practical. In fact, you know what else it reminds me a little of?

Variants of this outfit appear in both Dragon Age 2 and Inquisition, and it's always been a non-gendered look. Note the knee breeches, the vest, and the puffed sleeves (though with much less extravagant gathers than Josephine's).

Josephine wears flat shoes, easy to walk in, comfortable for all-day wear. The wide leather belt echoes but does not exactly mirror the popular underbust corsetry seen on gowns; it is of a more practical style and material, and I'd imagine it could be good for back support for those long hours she spends at a desk. And in fact, the way Josephine wears it over her vest with the sash tied over the belt is not unlike the way a rogue Inquisitor wears their armor:

Though Josephine has left behind the life of a bard, I feel it's undeniable that that life has influenced her style. This is rogue fashion—practical but still stylish, easy to move in, easy to carry items you might need. Josephine is dressed as a rogue, but adapted to her current profession and personal tastes.

It’s all an intriguing choice for a diplomat! Because despite the clear Orlesian influence, Josephine’s look does not very much resemble any of what is fashionable for Orlesian noblewoman at the moment. No long full skirts, no outer underbust corsetry (though her belt does offer a cinched at the waist look), no deep V neckline (though her blue vest does create a similar shape over her blouse). When we compare Josephine to these looks, it’s a very different silhouette with mostly very different shapes. Even her puffed sleeves are puffed in different places than the fashions of high noblewomen (which seem to have the most volume at the elbow or lower right now).

But you know what we do see in Josephine’s outfit?

Breeches ending just below the knee. An outer garment that ends at the knee. Knee-high stockings. A flat black shoe. A shirt with sleeves puffed at the shoulders.

While Josephine’s look is ungendered in the context of a rogue, in the context of a noble this look is undeniably gendered, in a way that might not immediately register to our modern eye.

In the context of Orlesian culture, this is a Menswear-Inspired Look.

Now, unlike Sera, I do not believe Josephine to actually be wearing clothing designed for a man; given her station, this was all likely custom made for her. But in the context of Orlesian high fashion, there is some undeniably masculine styling going on here! And this isn’t about “women don’t wear pants”; many women in Dragon Age do, in fact, wear pants, all the time or in certain contexts; see above about rogue looks. Cassandra and Vivienne both have a skinny pants/leggings thing going on, and they both read more feminine in their styles to me, but they’ll get their own posts! With Josephine, it’s the specific styles of the pieces she’s wearing that bear similarities to men’s high fashion in Orlais. In a modern context, think a woman with long hair in a deliberately feminine style, wearing makeup, some statement jewelry, with a custom-tailored suit. Maybe with a few feminine accents on the suit itself; still definitely a suit. Josephine’s sleeves, for example, are not simply a copy of the male sleeve style; they’re taking inspiration but kind of doing their own thing. And of course, her hair is worn in a style that is practical, but still very elegant and feminine. It’s a Menswear-Inspired Look.

And I just love the fact that both of our F/F romance options in this game are kind of playing with gendered clothing in their personal style, but each very much in their own way.

I'm also fascinated by this one set of concept art called "Displaced Pilgrims" in The Art of Dragon Age: Inquisition, meant to represent "Fereldan and Orlesian refugees who arrived in Haven on a pilgrimage and were unable to leave following the disaster" (p. 75). One piece depicts an Orlesian woman dressed in what is from the hips up the same silhouette we see at the Winter Palace: exaggerated underbust corsetry that emphasizes the hips, a plunging V neckline with scalloped embellishment, a slightly puffed half-sleeve. But below the corset, the skirt has been cropped to mid-thigh and the woman wears a pair of breeches, stockings, and flat shoes with a rounded toe—strikingly similar to Josephine's lower silhouette. I can't recall ever actually seeing any NPCs wandering around Haven looking like this, which is a shame, because I love the concept of an Orlesian noblewoman blending masculine and feminine fashions in order to dress more practically for a journey into the mountains, while still appearing fashionable. I think this may be what Josephine is doing.

Josephine’s necklace is of interest to me as well, as it doesn’t bear a particular resemblance to anything I’ve found in Orlesian fashion; while we see a lot of necklines trimmed in gold, and a few necklaces, there’s nothing that looks like this piece. After a bit of research, I don’t think this is just a flashy piece of jewelry. Given the size of the chain and the way Josephine wears it draped over her shoulders, I think this might actually be a livery collar, also called a chain of office, that denotes her position as an ambassador!

Josephine’s whole look is very distinctive, and very put-together. In my opinion, this is a Choice. This is the kind of outfit that says, “I look like this on purpose,” and this from a woman who knows that a first impression may decide the course of a conversation that will affect the fate of nations. She is wearing a chain of office that immediately announces her station. She’s wearing expensive fabrics—again, I am interpreting that shiny gold fabric as silk and that is not cheap. Her vest shows fine detailing. Her clothing immediately says that she is both a person of means and holds a position of respect. Her color scheme speaks to her Orlesian connections. Her clothing conveys power and status. Yet her divergence from the styles of an Orlesian noblewoman also sets her apart. The practical elements of her look say, “I am no idle lady of leisure; I am capable; I am prepared for every occasion, even the unexpected.” And the roguish elements hearken back to her bard training, saying, “I know how the Game is played; I can be dangerous if I must be.”

Above all, I think this outfit speaks to Josephine’s self-assurance. She knows and understands social trends, but she is not beholden to them; she bends them to her tastes, rather than being bent by them. She acknowledges her past and what she has learned from it. She knows herself, and is in control of her own image.

I think this outfit does some pretty brilliant and inspired visual storytelling about Josephine Montilyet. I wouldn’t change a thing.

[gallawitchxx]

caught in the act by gallawitch | rated: M | 2K

Mickey's had a shitty day. The cure? A beer at home with his husband and their teenage kid. But he never expected that his daughter would have a house guest...

a sweet anon popped into my inbox asking "if [i] could write something about if maybe mick and ian had a daughter and one day they left her home alone and came back to her fooling around on the couch with a boy? or a girl." why they think i'm the person to write galladads, i'll never know... but i tried anon! i really tried! especially because my sweet precious goblin king nosho's (@creepkinginc) birthday prompts were: fluff with slice of life. SO. here are some fluffy dads! i love you nosho! i love you anon! xx

- - - - -

It's been a fucking shitty day.

Mickey throws open the front door with all of the force he can muster, ignoring the flare of pain in his bad shoulder. Stupid thing’s been acting up again since the weather’s turned cold. 

The metal of the doorknob cracks against the plaster of the wall in their entryway, and Ian winces. “Mick—“

“Not now, Ian,” Mickey barks. 

[ read the rest below the cut or here on ao3]

What he wants to say is, Fuck off, Gallagher, but they’ve spent over two decades together, and can at least be on a first name basis. Plus, he’s been trying to work on his reactions to things. Be less hot-headed and more thoughtful, or whatever the fuck. But he’s almost at the end of his rope, his fuse already lit and rapidly burning down thanks to a frustrating combination of idiot clients and useless new hires. 

It’s days like today that have him wondering why exactly he thought he wanted to run a business. Be somebody’s boss. Be responsible for keeping the lights on and the customers happy. Even though he's been doing this for years, he can't help but think that it was a lot easier when he was running drugs and whores.

Louder, though, and he's become accustomed to the quiet.

He needs a fucking beer. 

Two maybe, he thinks as he toes off his boots. Shoves them in his designated cubby in the hall closet like the little domestic bitch he is. Even steps out of the way so that Ian can come up beside him and drop his own shoes off. 

Mickey’s not mad at him. No reason to be, they don't even work together anymore. Haven't in years. But Ian'd offered to pick him up after his shift at the new hospital downtown, and he'd stepped right into the crosshairs of an already terrible mood. Mickey just needs a minute to unwind.

Before either of them can say anything further, a slight whimper, of all things, wafts towards them.

Mickey cranes his neck to see further into the house, his rage quickly finding a new target. He feels Ian’s chest close to his back, and lifts a finger to his lips.

Other sounds follow—a hitched breath, the shifting of bodies against the soft, leather of their new couch (a splurge purchase made when all kids and dogs had been sufficiently trained up and housebroken), a small, wet pop that makes Mickey's spine curl.

He catches Ian’s curious stare, their shoulders raising as they make their way to the living room. It all feels familiar, yet odd. Been a while since either of them had their shackles up. The Southside even feels somewhat safe these days, thanks to a new generation of kids and a bunch of gentrifying motherfuckers. 

So it comes as a surprise to see someone strange in their house, making slick noises on their furniture, sticking their tongue down their daughter’s—

“Oh, hell no! You gotta be shitting me!” Mickey yells, Ian right at his heels.

The kid leaps to his feet, his shoulder-length hair as disheveled as his button-down; his eyes and his boner bulging in tandem. He looks to Mickey, horror-stricken, then glances at Ian before looking down towards the girl on the couch: sixteen-year-old Josephine Gallagher-Milkovich, bright red hair sprawled out beneath her wide, green eyes.

“Hey Dad…” she says, shrugging just slightly.

Mickey’s blood boils. “Hey Dad?! Jo, what the fuck?”

She scrambles to sit up, grabbing the blanket at the end of the couch to cover herself, despite being fully clothed. 

Thank Christ.

“I think you should probably leave,” Ian chimes in, pulling Mickey’s attention back to the kid wilting silently to his left. “Door’s just that way.”

“That’s a good fucking idea,” Mickey yells. He takes a step forward and crosses his arms, settling into a wide stance. “Better yet, let’s make sure I never see you again. Got it, Pimple Puss?”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir,” the kid mumbles, shoving on his shoes at lightening speed. He stands, looking at them both. “Uh, Sirs.”

“Yeah, yeah, get the fuck outta here!” Mickey reiterates as the kid runs past him. Mickey swings back around towards his daughter, who has dared to stand up while his back was turned. “Not so fast! You better stay right where you are.”

She freezes, her eyes wandering to Ian. The door slams shut behind them, and he jumps a bit. Shrugs. Shakes off her stare. He wants to be the one to come through for her, soften the blow of what’s about to happen, but he can’t. His hands are tied. Instead, he reaches for Mickey’s wrist, turning him slightly. 

Warm green eyes catch his ice-cold stare.

“Mickey, think about this,” he whispers. His gaze is sweet, and he rubs a little circle with his thumb across Mickey’s pulse-point. It’s soothing, and it brings Mickey back into his body for a moment. Back to the present. Back from another day, in another house, when it was them getting caught. 

Fuck, he hadn’t visited that memory in a while. Didn’t even realize he’d slipped there now until Ian’s breath ghosted his temple, his words evoking yet another day with the same captor. The gun in his hand that time. His eyes wild. Mick, pause.

Mickey sniffs. Gives Ian a curt nod, sucking his lip between his teeth, and preparing to face his dumbass daughter again. “Give us a minute?”

Ian squeezes his wrist, “Course.”

Jo opens her mouth in protest, but closes it again off of Ian’s look. She’s sure he’ll have his own shit to say about the state she’s been discovered in—the rules, and the trust that she knows she’s broken—but that’s sure to be a calmer conversation. Less at stake, and everybody knows it.

“Gonna order us a pizza, I’m starving,” Ian calls behind him as he leaves his two most cherished people to hash it out.

It’s instantly uncomfortable. 

Jo picks at the skin on her lip, her ticks always more Mickey than Ian. Nurture kicking nature’s ass. But Mickey’s never been able to hold steady around a Gallagher pout, so when he finally exhales and meets her eyes, he knows he’s full of nothing but hot air.

"I ain't mad," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger–a move that absolutely doesn't say everything's cool.

"You're not?" Jo asks, her eyebrows crinkling.

He drops his hands and takes in her expression, now dancing between terrified and confused. Shakes his head and says, ”Course not. I was banging your pops all over this neighborhood way younger than you are now.”

"Ugh, Dad.”

Mickey chuckles, briefly lost again in different, more pleasant memories; of stock rooms and refrigerators. ”Got caught a lot, too.”

Jo’s shocked. ”You did?”

“‘Course we did. We were dumb fucking kids! Got caught by his pervert boss, by fucking Frank... Another time, too…” He shifts his weight, and thumbs at his nose. “Let's just say that if you're gonna follow in our footsteps and fuck around in the open, you're goddamn lucky that it's us walking in that door.”

Jo nods. She doesn’t know the ins and outs of her fathers’s lives before her. Neither of them have spilled all of their secrets, and some things might never be relayed. But she knows enough to know it was way different from how she's grown up, and she knows that she can always ask. They’ll be honest with her. They’ve made a point to share what’s important, and tell it to her straight. 

She’s a good kid. 

They raised her up pretty damn well, despite all of the fear, and the doubts.

Mickey clicks his teeth, making his way to sit beside her on the couch."A guy though? Really? I mean, I get it.” He pops her one on the shoulder, playfully. “But I was always kinda hoping you'd be smarter than me.”

Jo goes beet red, her arms folding cross her chest. "Uh, yeah, about that..." She takes a deep breath and says, “I’m… queer. I think. I like, uh, both. All? People. I like people.”

“Oh,” Mickey says, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“Yeah."

“Cool."

She squints at him. “Cool?”

"Never really liked anyone 'sides that alien-lookin' motherfucker listening in from the kitchen" – there's a rustling from the room in question as Ian backs away from the doorway – "But yeah, that's cool. Thanks for telling me.”

She nods. "Thanks for listening.”

"Look, I may not be the easiest to talk to or the most in touch with my feelings or whatever, but I'm always gonna listen." He puts a tattooed hand on her knee. "I love you, kid.”

"I love you too, Dad.”

He pulls her in, tight to his chest. Her hands ball into little fists against his back as she wraps around him, and he remembers those same fists grabbing tight to his pointer finger the day she came home from the hospital.

A new surge of possessiveness swoops through him. 

"You being safe?”

“Dad…”

He can hear the eye roll, so he pulls back, taking her by the shoulders trying to catch it in action. Knows she’s embarrassed, but he ain’t done yet. Even as a dad, he can be a little shit. 

"I can tell ya about condoms and lube, though that might not be such a thing for you? I don't know fuck all about a woman's body. Already seen way more than I ever wanted to… And it seems like you're past whatever I woulda told you before…"

She shudders at the outpouring of information, but she’s intrigued. "What would you have told me before?”

He settles back on the couch, spreading his legs just slightly, a mischievous smirk on his face. 

"Aight, I got yer cheap birth control right here. Only costs a penny. You put the penny on the inside of your knee—doesn’t matter which—and then you hold it in place with the other knee.”

He demonstrates, closing his knees together and holding it tight, his hands now raised high in the air.

Jo groans, “Oh my god.” 

Ian plops down on the couch next to Mickey, tired of being relegated to the kitchen. ”You’re a dumbass.”

"'Ey, I think it's a great option,” Mickey balks. “Affordable, ya know?”

"You heard?” Jo asks Ian, her cheeks pinking up.

"I heard,” he confirms, his arm stretching past Mickey to tenderly touch her cheek. “We love you.”

“Love you too,” she says. “And I'm being safe… Haven't really done much yet.”

"Take your time,” Ian says simply. “There’s no rush.”

“He’s right,” Mickey adds, “especially because you’ll be grounded for the next month.”

“A month?! For kissing? That’s not fair!” Jo complains.

“Tough.”

“But you said it yourself I’m not doing anything you two weren’t doing!”

“Fine, two weeks,” Ian says, earning him a “yes!” from Jo, and a scowl from his husband.

“Did you even order dinner in there or were you just listening in the whole time?"

Ian flushes. Grumbles something as he pulls out his phone.

“Fucking figures,” Mickey says. Turns back to Jo. “And we’re your parents, kid. Thing’s ain’t always going to be fair. So, fine, two weeks because your old man’s a pushover, but I better not catch you hooking up on my couch again, capisce?”

“Capisce,” she smiles.

Young, bare knuckles bump against older, inked ones.

“Now, I’ve had a crap day. Make yourself useful and get me a beer, would you?”

[crvptidgf]

Dating Anne Shirley HCs

Anne Shirley Cuthbert x Fem!Reader

[FLUFF]

Requested: yes

Summary: title is self explanatory

- - -

well to start off, it isn't easy being together in such a society

especially back then with people's views on homosexuality and just women in general

i mean how could two women eveerrr sustain themselves? (🙄)

at first you two thought you were just best friends, like how anne and diana were - but as time went along you realized there was something different about you and her

your friendship wasn't exactly identical to her and diana's - anne didn't feel that you two were kindred spirits, but somehow you two were more

she could never find a word for it until one day she found a definition in a book that seemed to perfectly describe what you two were

soulmates: a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural like affinity; kinship of spirits

while it was similar to kindred spirits, she felt soulmate described you better

for anne, she's a very open minded person, especially being friends with cole and aunt josephine - so to her, she began to realize she liked you quite quickly

you had known you liked girls of course, but never did you think anne did

so for the longest time you had hidden your feelings towards her, not wanting to admit tht you liked her and ruin your friendship or make her uncomfortable

i mean she liked gilbert, right?

WRONG

you had found out one day while overhearing a conversation with her and ms. stacey

"ms. stacey, do you think two women could ever thrive together in this world? romantically of course. oh wouldn't it just be splendid?"

ms. stacey agreed, letting anne know there were plenty of places that were evolving and being more open to new kinds of love - "they're like secret lairs, and they're wonderful; if you can find them," she had stated

"like aunt josephine's party. i see. well i should take Y/N shouldn't i? oh i'm sure she'd love it!"

and with that she yelled a thank you to ms. stacey and sprinted out the door to find you

to her surprise you were already outside, mouth slightly agape at the sudden realization that anne liked you back

and that's how you two found out

anne was very open with her feelings, always, so you never lacked reassurance or words of affirmation

she's a very proud girlfriend, i must say

"you got a b on our last test, that's amazing!!"

"anne you did better than me," you laughed

"so what? you did great too"

will always, ALWAYS hold your hand under the table if you're having dinner with marilla and matthew

she knows its nerve wracking to meet her family, even if you had known them for a long time

she'll draw patterns on your hand with her thumb, and when you're alone she'll do them all over your arm

if you let her she likes to draw on you occasionally

nothing too big or flashy, just little designs where only you and her will know they're there

she once wrote 'i love you' above your knee, knowing no one but you and her will ever see it

she was really one for forbidden love

she just thinks its 'oh so romantical and tragic'

speaking of love, you were definitely the first to say it

anne knew she loved you for a while, but her conflicting feelings held her back from ever making the first move to profess it

as much as she longed for love her entire life, it also scared her

it's not something she's always had in her life, so now that she had it she didn't know how to act

i mean she had no idea what she was doing, but she would never let you in on the fact that she was a nervous wreck around you sometimes

whenever she makes her usual silly mistakes she will immediately think you hate her and that she's not made for a relationship

but she soon calms down after many many times of you reassuring her that you love her

you always assure her that just because she makes mistakes or upsets you doesn't mean you'll leave

and it takes her a while but she eventually finally believes you

she is definitely more mature now, so she doesn't do as many stupid things as she did before

her love language is quite literally everything

of course physical touch and words of affirmation are a big part of it

but she also loves to make you little gifts, or collect things on her walks for you

especially flowers or leaves

your whole room is full of all the little trinkets anne gives you

she'll sometimes write notes along with the gift such as: "because it's beauty reminds me of you"

or for special occasions like your birthday or christmas, she will write you a love letter and hide it under your pillow for you to find

she's also big on quality time

she'll plan picnics for you two when the weather is nice, or even just bring you climbing on her favorite tree

"i've never brought anyone up here, it could be like our special place"

or if you had to study or do homework she will gladly sit in silence on your bed while you finish up

and to piggyback off that point, acts of service are also a must

she'll help you clean your room, or do laundry, or help you with homework that you're stuck on

and she loves having mini fashion shows in your room, helping you pick out which dress to wear for what occasion

she will do anything and everything for you and you don't even have to ask

she is possibly the most loving person you have ever met, and you are forever grateful for her

on particularly hard days when you have to be apart for long, she'll sneak out with you to meet you halfway from your own home, just so she can watch the stars with you

you guys savour every and any moment together

if you're comfortable with it, she would want to make you guys officially public

she just wants the whole world to know you're hers and she's yours

there is never a boring moment with anne, and whether you like it or not, she is ALWAYS sticking by your side

she aspires to be like aunt josephine when she is older, so definitely look forward to living in a lovely home with her as her life companion

she would find books for you to read, especially ones where she could find lesbian characters, because she loved seeing your relationship represented in books since she loved reading so much

it meant a lot to her, so one day for her birthday you got her

knowing she loved unique and creative books, you bought her 'Carmilla' by Sheridan Le Fanu - the book depicts a lesbian vampire, and anne loved it

"the author is also irish, i know it's not quite scottish - but it's close," you'd say, wanting to make the gift as special as you could

"thank you Y/N. it's wonderful"

and she'd have the biggest smile on her face, dimples on display and her ginger braids laying gracefully atop her shoulders

the most 'anne' thing anne has ever done in your relationship is trying to reinact poses from art pieces that she'd she in her books

"oh, Y/N they look just like us don't they?"

this activity was always filled with giggles and smiles, as anne would recite dramatic monologues to profess her undying love for her 'one and only Y/N'

she really was good at dramatics to be fair

i could go on and on, and to reiterate, there is never a boring moment

and never a moment where you feel unloved, or ignored as anne will do anything in her power to show you how much she cares for you

and once you get to college, things start to look up for you two

"no boys allowed in the dormrooms - and the curfew is 7pm"

you two gave eachother sly smiles as you set down your bags in your shared room

"of course, miss. we will make sure that no boys enter this household" anne would say as she held back a smile

you two burst into fits of laughter as soon as you were alone, collapsing on your bed together, hair intertwining and hands finding eachothers in mere moments

"i'm happy i met you, Y/N"

you blush, her words never failing to give you a fluttering feeling in your stomach

"i'm happy i met you, anne"

[illunispress]

Under Secret Sands: a desert point-crawl

I went to a zine party the other night and it was so much fun collaging and writing and not caring at all about perfection.

I made an adventure zine collaged from the random magazines we had lying around. (my handwriting is messy, so I've also transcribed the pages below)

UNDER SECRET SANDS - ILLUNIS PRESS - JOSEPHINE JAYE

The Bramble Wall. A wall of dead black thorns protects the Valley of the Old City. Offerings of blood may allow passage.

The Coyote Run. An area of the valley relatively safe with small game. Rabid wolfcreatures rules this section at night. But friendly ones aren't roo hard to find and bribe,

The Deep Bramble. Clearing and cutting the living mesquite brambles draws the ire of angry fairies. A hidden crawlspace under the trees teleports respectful travelers to the Under City.

Ox Blood Valley. The Ghosts of oxen and bison roam this valley, taking vengeance on all creatures who would hunt them. [image of an ox skull]

The Old City. Still half-buried, guardian statues come to life when trespassers take treasures for their own. The city's riches are surrounded by the bones of those who learned this.

The Under City. The old city denizens still dwell beneath the earth. A functioning society with alien values awaits. Will trade information for access to their teleporter to the homeworld.

I'm not sure how playable or fun it would actually be, but I'm learning to get more comfortable putting stuff out into the world that isn't "ready." I was planning on doing Dungeon23 in January, but my desire for perfection and planning kept interfering with actually getting words down on the page. I'm setting a goal to start my own Dungeon23 in February, and this time, it feels more doable.

I'd also love to know what others think of my zine. I'm particularly proud of the Ox Blood Valley. And I'm also really itching to make another adventure map in this collaged style.

[youranemicvampire]

My favorite shows and movies that i've watched in 2023

Barbie (2023)

Always been a sucker for great production and costume design. Feminism aside, it’s so fun and smart with all the references. I just don’t like the Ken hype. He’s fun, sure, but a lot of fans are missing the point or just proving the message of the story.

Bottoms (2023)

Need more lesbian chaos as a comedy fan. Sapphic softcore is ok of course, but you know, there should be a variety of WLW cinema. Perfect also for the Y2K nostalgia. ‘Bring It On’ fan here!

Nocebo (2022)

I actually watched it last year, but it was too late to be on my 2022 list. Underrated political-horror film. Underrated cast! It should’ve had the same hype with Parasite and Triangle of Sadness. For me, it was simple and well-written. The structure of the story was smart but easy to absorb.

About Us But Not About Us (2022)

The first and last single-location film that I watched was Kisaragi (2007) and I’ve been waiting for something like that since then. One of the most important things i look for a media is the script so i really enjoyed it especially when they switched characters. Very intriguing.

The Little Mermaid (2023)

Been waiting for this since 2019! I’ve been a fan of Halle Bailey since that announcement. I rarely watch things on the cinema, but it’s something i couldn’t miss. Beautiful, pure and magical. Perfect casting and amazing chemistry!

Si Chedeng At Si Apple (2017)

Another chaotic lesbian film, but make it Filipino! It was funny and bloooody just like Bottoms so if you liked it then you should try this one. Not a spoiler, but part of the plot: That lady in yellow killed her abusive husband.

Maria Clara At Ibarra (2022)

I haven’t finished it yet! But i would recommend it! Brought back my trust and love for Filipino series. If you are not Filipino, it’s a good way to learn our history. Fun, written with passion + great set and costume design.

Mga Lihim Ni Urduja (2023)

After Maria Clara at Ibarra, i became more interested in Filipino series especially with historical fiction. This one is so underrated and empowering! Has the prettiest and hottest cast tbh and a queer undertone *wink*

Betcin (2021)

I have to say that this is the best Filo GL/WLW so far. It has an actual interesting story and interesting characters. Both leads are toxic AF, but it was sooooo entertaining. Top tier chemistry. Top tier acting!

Swarm (2023)

As a Beyhive, i don’t really like how they chose us coz there are more crazy fandoms out there, but still watched and finished it because of Dominique Fishback. SHE IS AMAZING. She deserves awards for this portrayal alone.

Ang Babae Sa Septik Tank 3: The Real Untold Story of Josephine Bracken (2011)

Another mockumentary that is to die (of laughter) for! I’ve always wanted to finish the trilogy, but i started with this because of history. Frustratingly funny. I don’t know if i would root for her or not lmao 

The ultimatum: Queer love (2023)

I admit, watching reality shows is my guilty pleasure so imagine my excitement when it’s full of queer women??? The dramaaaa lmao i need more seasons of just sapphics. It’s also a cool and chaotic concept tho. I thought it was just a normal dating show at first. 

Physical 100 (2023)

This is my kind of reality show! I hope it will have multiple versions from different countries. The best thing about it is how fitness is really measured by getting competitors from different backgroundsand giving them different challenges. 

Rookie (2023)

The most anticipated movie of the Filipino sapphics! And if you’re a volleyball fan? I’m sure this would be automatically on your list. It’s just so cute and wholesome. 

Ladies First: A story of women in Hip Hop (2023)

Must watch! Not only for the history of the rap girlies, but to trace back the struggles they faced and are still facing. You might discover talented women to stan in your music or lyrical style too.

[lemonchief]

CROCKETT BURNS

36 DEAD, DOZENS MISSING; FIRE OFFICIALS BEWILDERED IN SUSPECTED ARSON

(Salisbury, MD) Crockett Island, a census-designated township in Chesapeake Bay, was destroyed by a major fire on Saturday Night. Dozens are missing and 36 are dead, including town Sheriff Hasan Shabazz, in what county officials are calling an "unprecedented loss."

"The whole thing went up in flames. It took minutes" said Warren Flynn, 16-year old resident of Crockett, who was rescued by first responders on Sunday morning alongside fellow survivor Leeza Scarborough.

"We know as much as you do" Scarborough said, when asked about the mysterious origins of the fire.

Among the missing are Mayor Wade Scarborough and several religious leaders at St. Patrick's Catholic Church, which was destroyed in the blaze.

Monsignor John Pruitt, missing Crockett Resident and church leader, standing in front of the now destroyed St. Patrick's Catholic Church in 1967.

"We're looking at total destruction" said James Grant, seasoned firefighter and first responder with 15 years of experience. "Every building on the island was already ash by the time we arrived."

Fire officials say remnants of the blaze are consistent with gasoline fires, and have called for further investigation into suspected foul play.

"This wasn't ordinary," said Fire Chief Josephine Angeletti on Sunday. "We're treating it like an arson attack. But with so few survivors, it's almost impossible to get a definitive answer."

Former residents of the island have shared their thoughts and condolences on social media.

"This sort of thing doesn't happen by accident. Not in that town." David Miller, former resident of Crockett, said in a Facebook post Sunday afternoon.

"There was another awful fire on that island back in '84, and it didn't even come close to this. We're at a loss for words. Please pray for our friends, Edward and Annie, and their son Riley, who are still missing. Elizabeth and I are eternally grateful for Warren and Leeza's safety, and are taking care of them while searches continue."

Some bodies recovered on the island were found several hundred feet from any buildings or roads, and almost all of which with lacerations or puncture wounds on the neck. The body of Sheriff Shabazz was found with several bullet wounds on the island's eastern shore.

"We're finding bodies that aren't burnt" said Angeletti. "Some of them are shot, some have torn up necks. I've never seen anything like it."

Angeletti says the bodies are far from the only aspect of the disaster that's puzzled first responders.

"The strangest things we keep finding are clothes. Tons of them, most of them burnt or charred. We're finding shoes and boots full of ashes."

Dr. Sarah Gunning, the only healthcare provider on Crockett, was found dead surrounded by clothing.

Travis Mayfield, a firefighter in training who was assigned to the island, is skeptical of the fire's cause.

"The whole place reeks of diesel. All of it. My higher ups are blaming that on an oil spill a few years back, but it's stronger in the buildings." "We found these robes on the beach. Nun's robes, I think, but I'm not sure. They were white, or they used to be white. They were covered in ash. This was the same beach as that cop, like no more than fifty feet away. This sh*t is not adding up."

City officials are urging bystanders to stay clear of the island as investigations continue.

(@flanaganfilm)

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, the banquet continues--with or without Trevelyan.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,848. Rating: most audiences. Warnings: symptoms of trauma, discussion of death and murder, brief descriptions of murder.

AN: To give you an idea: content is no worse than anything found in Inquisition itself. However, this chapter is skippable if you need it. Message if you want more info.)

Chapter 25: The Banquet - Part 2

“Well?” said the Comtesse.

Trevelyan had no words with which to answer, no breath in her lungs with which to respond. She clawed it back, desperately, as it escaped from her—more rapidly by the second. Did the air grow cold by itself, or had she made it that way?

Lady Samient dropped her fork onto the table. The clang commanded attention, drew stares away from Trevelyan. All expected her to speak, but it was the Baroness who took the opportunity:

“What a perverse thing to talk of,” she said, with a smile so forced it could have torn her cheeks apart, “as we are all eating.”

“No more perverse than attending a hanging,” the Comtesse countered.

Lady Samient muttered, “I can think of only one hanging I should like to watch.”

The Comtesse laughed it off. “Lady Trevelyan does not mind my asking, do you?”

Lady Trevelyan was staring at the candle between her and Lady Erridge, trying not to see figures in the flames.

“What about some warmer drinks?” said Dorian, loudly. “I feel a chill. I need something warm.”

The Comtesse ignored him. “Lady Trevelyan?” she repeated. “You don’t mind.”

Trevelyan did not wish to reply. But Maker, she would have to. Eyes crawled over her skin. Whispers inside and out. The other table had fallen silent, too. More seats for the audience.

Flickering, flickering, growing taller. Dorian moved imperceptibly.

The candle went out.

And it was a cough that had extinguished it.

Lady Erridge was coughing—no, choking—violently. In desperation, she patted her chest. A croak was all she could utter from her mouth.

“Boah,” she wheezed, “boah!”

“A bone?” said Samient.

Erridge wagged a finger in her direction.

The Baroness gasped. “She has a bone caught in her throat. Lady Trevelyan, are you trained in healing?”

Trevelyan’s mind sharpened into focus. Yes, yes, she did have training. But—not for this.

Still, she shot up from her seat, and hurried round to Lady Erridge’s side.

“Tilt your head back and open your mouth,” she said. Lady Erridge did exactly as instructed, and Trevelyan peered in. She had hoped it might be caught in her gullet, but Lady Montilyet’s intimate lighting was not designed for a task such as this. “I can’t see it!”

“Take her out to the garden,” Dorian suggested, shooting to his feet. “You’ll have better light there!”

A far more sensible idea than Trevelyan’s plan to conjure a wisp near her face. At once, she took Lady Erridge’s arm and rushed for the garden door. A servant had it open before they even reached it. Trevelyan whispered reassurances the whole way.

They emerged, Erridge continuing to choke. Trevelyan hurried her out of the covered walkway, to where the evening light might give its aid. Her heart thud as loud as the sound of the door closing behind them.

Yet, as she instructed Erridge to lean back once more, Lady Erridge cleared her throat.

“Is it gone?” Trevelyan asked.

“Oh, it was never there!” said Erridge with a smile. “I simply thought you might want to leave, after… what was said.”

Maker. Though not a player of the Great Game, Lady Erridge was a quicker wit and greater actress than they all had given her credit for.

“No, no, I’m all right,” Trevelyan lied.

Lady Erridge shook her head. “But I saw the candles flicker, and you are so good with fire.” She placed a hand on Trevelyan’s arm, her grip steadfast, yet gentle. “Are you certain?”

Trevelyan bit back her smile. The door was shut. They were out. No one would hear them now.

The first tears started to form. “It’s… it’s all right. Nothing… to do with me, I assure you.”

“But terribly distressing, regardless,” Erridge cooed, wiping Trevelyan’s cheek. “Come, here.”

She spread her arms, and welcomed Trevelyan into them. It was perhaps the softest, most soothing embrace Trevelyan had ever felt. If any of her sisters had ever held her, Trevelyan imagined that this is what it might have been like.

Until Lady Erridge muttered, “Maker, that woman was quite the dreadful little puddle of druffalo piss, wasn’t she?”

Trevelyan let out a weepy laugh. “That’s what her outfit reminded me of.”

Erridge began to giggle as well—until the door cracked open. In a mere moment, she split from Trevelyan, and turned her giggles back into coughs. For her part, Trevelyan dried her eyes and prepared to tend to her ‘patient’.

To what seemed only Trevelyan’s surprise, the Commander appeared. And as soon as he had shut the door behind him, Erridge gave up her act.

“Are you all right?” he asked, striding toward them.

“Oh—er, I managed to dislodge the bone, and there is no damage,” Trevelyan lied. “She is well.”

But Lady Erridge whispered to her: “I believe he was asking about you.”

Though Trevelyan was doubtful, the look on the Commander’s face confirmed as much. “Oh,” she breathed. “Well, I’m…”

As she trailed off, Lady Erridge perked. “I think I shall take a turn. All that coughing scratched up my throat! Some fresh air will do.” She looked to Trevelyan, and with intent, said, “If that’s all right with you?”

Trevelyan nodded. “Thank you.”

One last squeeze of her arm, and Lady Erridge slipped away, pretending some fascination with the bushes at the other side of the garden. Trevelyan watched a moment, preparing herself for what was to come next. She returned her gaze to the Commander.

His focus remained on her. Waiting, patiently. Regarding, gently.

“I am sorry you had to find out this way,” he said.

Trevelyan shook her head. “I already knew. It was the talk of Ostwick when I returned. Every party my parents dragged me to—”

She stopped. Poor wording.

“—that I attended, someone would speak of it. The latest gossip.” Acknowleging this fact aloud made her feel quite silly, for the fuss she had caused on this occasion. “Forgive me my reaction, I hadn’t expected to hear of it here.”

“And you shouldn’t have,” said the Commander, resolute in his voice and posture. “You needn’t apologise for this.”

No matter how true his words, there was a still a sense of shame that came with exposing one’s emotions so publicly.

“I had been thinking about it, I suppose,” Trevelyan admitted. “Since I came here...”

She glanced away, spied a bench nearby. The moment her foot took its first step toward it, the Commander followed. Slowly, together, they walked.

“I have spoken to some of the other mages here, that came from Ostwick,” she explained. “They thought I had died at the Conclave, that we all had. Yet no one seems to know who the mages were, who were… who were killed. All they know is that Ostwick Templars killed Ostwick mages.”

Because the First Enchanter had not let anyone know more, save the Knight-Commander. And it was the discovery of this concealment that had decided Ostwick’s fate.

The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander died in the ensuing rebellion. The truth died with them. Or so it was thought.

Trevelyan took her seat on the bench, felt the stone that had warmed in the evening sun. The Commander stood beside her, as if on guard. But he need not have been so alert; the garden was quiet, save for them and Erridge. Peaceful and quiet.

“It was us, wasn’t it? The delegation, to the Conclave.”

The Commander nodded. “I believe so.”

“But if that—if that’s the case, then they think it was our own Templars who..?”

The Commander’s face changed. Calmness and compassion—to confusion. He sank to a knee before her, and searched her eyes for answers.

“What do you mean?”

Tears, stinging, again. Trevelyan looked behind herself, thinking she had felt Lady Erridge’s presence approach. But Erridge was far away, occupied with the flowers. Yet, something… watching, waiting.

She had to clear their names.

“That night,” she began, “we had made camp outside a village, in Ferelden. Though it’s… hard, to remember what, what happened. There are only bits and pieces of it left… I…”

The Commander settled where he knelt, and nodded for her to continue. “It’s all right. Go on.”

“I remember… we had all gone to sleep, but the night watch awoke us. There were people in the trees, surrounding us. Templars, but… not like ours.”

“Red Templars?” the Commander asked, gently.

“I don’t know—I didn’t know what a Red Templar was, then. It was dark—I saw only what the moons and the firelight reflected. They could’ve been, I just…” The struggle to clutch her memories—frayed threads that loosened the harder she held on—summoned forth the tears she was only just keeping down.

“It’s all right,” the Commander reassured her, “it’s all right.”

From his waistcoat he pulled a napkin—clean—and embroidered with leaves that Trevelyan recognised. Same ones as the banquet table. Swiped before he’d left, most likely.

Appreciative of the gesture, she took it, and dabbed her cheeks. “I do recall that our Knight-Lieutenant, Aarden, spoke to them. I think—I think they wanted us. But he refused to hand us over. We had twice as many Templars as mages—it, it was safe. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

The Templars had disagreed.

“All I remember then is… seeing the sword sticking out of his back.”

The words must have hit the Commander hard, for he bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“We stood and fought,” Trevelyan went on, for it was all she knew how to do. “I don’t think we were outnumbered, but—it felt like we were. I remember Lilley—Lilley Brandt was her name, one of our Templars—shouting, ‘protect the mages, protect the mages’.”

She hadn’t shouted for long.

“When the tide turned, they told us to run. They held the line as long as they could but—they couldn’t hold it forever.” A chill ran down Trevelyan’s spine. “And when our Templars were gone, they started following us. Hunting us down. For sport. For amusement. One by one.”

Trevelyan tried not to think of the sounds. The screams. The desperate last spells. The thud of each body.

“It was just me and Floris left.”

But still they came.

“She told me to run. Go to the Conclave, tell them what had happened.” Trevelyan held the cloth to her eyes, as it became too much. “Before I could stop her, she ran. Distracted them. So I could escape.” Her strength gave way, and she sobbed. “The only one.”

“Could she not have survived?” asked the Commander, but Trevelyan shook her head. She knew. “Then she would be glad to know her sacrifice was not in vain.”

“But it was!” Trevelyan wept. “I failed! I failed her. I didn’t reach the Conclave in time, nor Ostwick. If only I had…”

“There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“But there was.”

For even though none of the Ostwick mages seemed to know who had been killed, unlike the exaggerated stories of the Ostwick elite, they all seemed to be sure of the number. Five.

They believed the First Enchanter had concealed these five deaths to protect the Templars of Ostwick. Anything to maintain neutrality. But the First Enchanter knew how many mages he had sent to the Conclave. Six.

“The First Enchanter would have known I wasn’t there,” said Trevelyan, clutching the napkin in her hand. Her knuckles paled. “He could have checked my phylactery; he would have known I was alive. He was not a fool—if those Templars framed our own, he would not have acted without evidence. And he had a living witness. If I had arrived in time… then perhaps—”

She could have told them the truth. No need for concealment. No need to suspect their own. No need to rebel.

There were only estimates of the exact numbers lost when Ostwick Circle was broken. But they were not small. And the guilt of every death, every single one, rested upon Trevelyan’s shoulders. Unbearable, suffocating, weight. She choked on it even now.

“What happened at Ostwick was not your fault,” said the Commander, firm and unerring. “You are not to blame for what those Templars did. You are not to blame for how the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander dealt with it. You did everything you could. This is not your fault.”

Trevelyan shook her head. “But I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. You did as you were asked.” He caught her gaze, held her focus, and told her true: “Your Ladyship, we are the Conclave.”

The magnitude of his words took a moment to be felt. Trevelyan’s mind thought it simply another platitude, at first. But she realised his meaning, as she took in the view of Skyhold around them.

The Inquisition had been forged of the very metals that once made up the Conclave. Though its form was different, what had created it was the same. This fortress was haven. She had finally arrived.

The fresh tears that rolled down her cheeks were of a different kind. That feeling of cold observation, somewhere at her back, warmed. He was right. She was here.

Yet all she could say was, “Oh.”

“You did not fail,” the Commander repeated. Trevelyan, without intending to, nodded.

But if this was the Conclave, then… “If—if I tell you who our Templars were, you could clear their names?”

“If you permit me.”

Trevelyan buckled, a little of the weight slipping from her shoulder. Forcing herself back upright, she told him: “Please, do. But”—she paused—“if everyone from Ostwick finds out, they’ll know the rebellion happened under false pretences.”

The Commander shook his head. “Ostwick was not as stable as it claimed. The First Enchanter was hoping to outlast the war; that the Conclave would provide a solution before the Circle fell. If it wasn’t this…”

“But it was this.”

“Then whether yours or not, Templars were still at fault,” he admitted, “and the First Enchanter still concealed the truth.” He thought on it a moment. “I’ll let the Grand Enchanter know first. She will be able to break the news sensitively.”

Trevelyan nodded.

“It will help if I can send agents to investigate what happened,” he explained. “But only if you will allow it.”

Trevelyan’s mind had already laid down its shovel, tired of digging up this past. But if he wished to take up the tools himself… she would not stop him.

“All right. But—please do not tell me of what you find. Please. Or—at least, ask me, first, before you do.”

“Of course,” he murmured, perfectly gentle. “Do you recall the name of the village?”

“Sudton.”

He recognised it immediately. “Very well. Thank you.” He rose to his feet, and told her: “I promise you, we will do everything we can.”

“Thank you.”

Trevelyan’s eyes drifted to the other side of the garden, where Lady Erridge wandered. The Commander’s movement must have caught her attention, for she glanced over in turn. Meeting her eye, Trevelyan gave a small beckon, which Erridge heeded immediately.

“Are you all righ—oh, Lady Trevelyan!”

Lady Erridge collapsed onto the bench beside Trevelyan, who now realised how red and soaked and puffy her face must have looked. Terribly handsome. Nevertheless, Erridge swept her into her arms:

“Cry onto me all you like. I’ve ruffles enough for a thousand handkerchiefs.”

The Commander told her, “I think it would be best to take Lady Trevelyan to her room.”

“Oh, I can do that!” replied Erridge. “Though I do not know how to get there without going through the hall. And I do not wish any of them to see us.”

“Go through my office,” the Commander instructed. “The guards will let you in. There is a bridge to the library—Lady Trevelyan knows it. You can reach your rooms from there.”

Erridge nodded, rubbing Trevelyan’s back all the while. “Oh, yes, I shall know where to go from there.”

The thought of her room brought Trevelyan no end of comfort. She liked it better than even her room back home. When Erridge stood, Trevelyan took the hand she offered with no reluctance.

The Commander prepared to walk with them, but Lady Erridge stopped him. “Commander, if you could return to the banquet and tell them that it is Lady Trevelyan who has taken me to my room to recover, I think it would help quell any rumour.”

The Commander nodded. “Very well.” But he looked to Trevelyan, gaze lingering on her face. “I… rest well, your Ladyship. I will do as you’ve asked. And—you are safe, in Skyhold. I promise you that.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Reluctant, he stepped away, and headed for the hall door. They watched him go, before Lady Erridge linked her arm in Trevelyan’s, and began to lead her off.

“I have a book of recipes, in my room,” she said. “Would you like to look through it with me, and decided which one we shall bake next?”

Trevelyan smiled a watery smile. “That sounds lovely.”

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 You made me happy every single day, but now, I've got to go away 🎶

Things between Josephine and Giorgio had only grown more tense since she went back to work at the club. He knew that her business had gone under, but she still wouldn’t talk about it with him or anyone other than Zelda.

So every silent answer she gave or glare in his direction was perceived as her inability to rely on him, to simply trust him and let down her guard. In turn, she read his need for dependence as a desire to weaken her, and only continued to push him further away.

Yet still they chased after each other, both threatening to be the first to walk out the door but neither ever really intending to.

Even their usual cycles of fights and apologies had grown tainted by the widening rift and deepening distrust between them. It was as though neither of them really knew if any touch was genuine any longer, or if it was just a way to temporarily end what seemed like infinite hostility with no other solution.

Josephine’s nights weren’t any better. Being back at the club was like being in a prison of her mother’s design, trapped in some sort of distended version of the past where she had lost all of her autonomy again. She could never understand how Antoine worked here; even worse, how he continued to live in the same rooms above where she had so many memories.

But night after night she went into work, expertly pouring whiskey into crystal goblets and eyeing each and every man who spoke to her or any other woman, suspicious of their intentions and sick of their drunken glares.

That night had been no different, so mind-numbingly irritating that she had completely forgotten it was she and Gio’s four year anniversary. She had promised him that she would be home in time for them to have a midnight supper together; only now it was closer to daybreak than midnight, and she hoped he would be well asleep rather than up waiting for her, disappointed.

When she entered the apartment she knew that her hopes were dashed, as she could hear soft music coming from the gramophone in the kitchen. She entered the room to find Giorgio at the table, the half melted candles barely illuminating the pained impatience on his face.

She sat across from him, immediately donning her most apologetic countenance as she explained, “Gio, I’m so very sorry. The club ran late and I had to stay behind the bar…”

Giorgio gestured for quiet, “I’m not here to fight with you, Josephine. I’m here to tell you, to celebrate really…well, I bought a farm out West.”

Josephine shut her eyes to try and comprehend his words. Even at their worst, she never thought that he would leave her in the night, buy a house in some far-flung place and run halfway across the country.

“Josephine, before you answer, please listen. You have too much love and pride to see the writing on the wall, but my love, you must accept what is happening. Most of the old clubs are set for demolition; and you can hide it all you want but I know what happened with your business.”

Pride darkened Josephine’s expression but Gio held up his hand and spoke before she could, “Save your venom, Josephine. I told you I’m not here to fight. I’m serious about this, and it’s already done. It isn’t just this city you see…”

He explained exactly what he had said to Antoine, pointedly leaving out his own involvement with the city’s criminal underworld. Josephine was stunned into silence for the first time in her life. An economic crash? Leave New Orleans? For a bloody farm at that? All she had ever known was New Orleans; but New Orleans had failed her.

Giorgio reached across the table to grab her hand and pull her out of her reveries. His eyes and his grip held a thousand apologies, a concentrated effort of reconciliation for everything that had gone wrong between them, “Josephine, mi raccomando, my love, will you come with me?”