#the song I linked to translated to bittersweet

[searchingforakeythatdoesntexist]

The Night We Met (Haunted by the ghost of you) - A Good Omens One-Shot

for Ineffable May 2024, Day 27: "Flashback".

Tags: One-Shot (1800 words), Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Bittersweet, Crowley Loves Aziraphale, Post-Good Omens (TV) Season 2, Based on the Lord Huron song; cw/tw alcohol

Read on Ao3

Summary

A few years - decades? - after the Non-Pocalypse. After a certain angel's return to favour as Supreme Archangel.

In an anonymous pub, a lonely demon hears a certain song, and slowly lets himself drift into old memories. Those recollections, the best as well as the worst, hurt like hell, make him wish he was dead.

But it doesn't matter, because he can't really die.

It doesn't matter... because it will only last a few minutes.

Excerpt:

A few guitar chords, and only that. Unfortunately, sometimes it was all it took for Crowley.

The alcohol on his tongue turned into a new bitterness. One of those surprising, yet not unpleasant, kinds of tastes. Eyelids shut, his head reclining on the back of the old leather seat, and he let the music take him away — for a few minutes of inner drift, nothing more.

The pub’s materiality around him seemed to fade away, blurring. No more anonymous night owls quietly drinking here and there. Summer nights long gone, heavy and thick outside, kept at bay by the flickering lights of dirty lanterns, and the old sign’s icy neons above the counter.

Oh, how humans could be surprising at times. How easily some of them knew how to bottle an entire world, an entire time span, an entire experience in a few minutes of music....

I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt Take me back to the night we met...

Continue reading on AO3

Thanks to @goodomensafterdark and @blairamok !

A big BIG THANK YOU to @captainblou for their translation and their amazing paintings on AO3!

My Good Omens illustrations: [Previous] [Next Day] [First Day]

❤️‍🔥Support me on Ko-Fi❤️‍🔥

Masterpost (Art Gallery, news, NSFT links)

[sizzlinbaconpeach]

The text connecting Chris and Jill is “戦友” or “kanyuu” which translates to “commrade in arms; war buddy”.?

in the Revelation's bio for Chris, they called him Jill's Brother-in-arms.?

So they don't have feelings for each other?

https://www.tumblr.com/chirikalovesjill/34500920927/where-did-this-picture-come-from-please-anyone

Hello Anon! I want to start off by saying that it's okay if you don't ship Chris and Jill romantically - not everyone does. I mentioned in a previous post how I can certainly see how others would only view their relationship as platonic or coworkers. Unfortunately, the link in your question does not work so I'm sorry I can't respond to that in particular. And I am not trying to sow any discontent or attacking, I'm merely responding and enjoying my preferred ship. I hope you can understand. If we can all stay positive and respectful that would be greatly appreciated. ^_^ Chris and Jill have been fighting BOW's since the very first game. Actual canon is that they survived through the whole mansion together. They've always protected each other. So 'comrade in arms', 'war buddy, 'brother-in-arms', 'partner', 'bestest friend', 'kindred spirits', 'love of my life' are all titles they would/could use to address each other.

Also, in RE1 original, Chris and Jill were written to be romantically interested in each other. In a recent interview, the live-action actor for RE1 Chris stated that he wanted to remain as respectful as possible to Jill's actress as she was much younger than him and he knew they were supposed to be romantically linked in the story. Source: ROE Plays RESIDENT EVIL 1 w/ Original Chris Redfield (Charlie Kraslavsky)

And this cute song that plays when they are reunited: Long Lost Friend Long Lost Friend Revisited - I love how bittersweet this is, very fitting In my mind, there is definitely some romantic sweetness to this song. But Capcom likes to keep them ambiguous or seems to want to retcon them, so I don't know. Ship them or don't. Doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. I just like how mature their relationship seems - built on lasting trust and respect. Even in Death Island there were ambiguous hints of something more between them. Like, Chris staring at a smiling Jill, backlit by a beautiful setting sun, seems kind of romantic to me. ... Only to fist bump her seconds later. Guess he wanted to keep it professional and clean in front of his sister XD

Before I got into Resident Evil (Biohazard), I never really knew about any 'ships'. I had vague memories of RE2 (Cleon bby) and RE5 (my unknowing teenage self actually shipped Sheva and Chris!), but it wasn't until I actually replayed the games as an adult and explored more of the extended lore that I became a Valenfield fan (and unexpectedly, less of a Cleon shipper). And what cemented it for me even more was the supplemental RE5 guide translations!

I highly recommend any Valenfield shipper to read it here. (scroll down a little more than half way on the page to find the STORY section. It's after the different colored text timeline.)

Some quotes from this official guide book:

... Referred to as "the BSAA's ace", Chris has a brilliant track record preventing many bioterror attacks, but Chris' chest is filled with an indescribable emptiness. Many comrades have been sacrificed to repair the errors of fools. Even if the world's saved, these friends will never return. He had lost his irreplaceable former partner. ...

... Chris has nothing against having a female partner. In fact, the partner he regarded as irreplaceable was a female too. She's the perfect person whom Chris can totally trust and rely on, someone whom he believes is what he needed to complete any mission. Chris felt their teamwork was like an eagle able to escape from biohazardous danger. ...

... Chris is staring intently at a statue of a sleeping beauty. He's like a person looking at his lover through a mirror, where the other side of the mirror's a different dimension. ... The image displayed on the PDA screen issued by the BSAA isn't very good quality. The faint face is illuminated by a weak light, ... Despite that, Chris is able to recognise the person. He's been chasing this lead all the while, just so he can repair the missing piece of his heart. This can't be a mistake, nor an illusion. This is a fact. ... It's Jill, his old partner who sacrificed herself and jumped off a cliff in order to save Chris. Due to Jill's absence ever since, the BSAA have removed her from duty. But two years later, there's finally a sign that shows she may be alive after all, and this sign's appearing right in front of her partner who refuses to believe she's dead. The reason why Chris, who was from BSAA North American branch, was hoping to join this operation within Kijuju, was because he'd obtained some sort of lead leaked by Irving on the black market while he was looking for Jill. ...

... Jill, with her antibodies, has been administered P30--- Gifted with superhuman abilities, she's been given a powerful drug that controls her mind too. This evil drug is continuously injected into her body, torturing her to no end. Just as Wesker intended, Jill's receiving hell-like suffering. "I'm begging you, kill me!" ... Wesker's instruction to Jill before he leaves, which is to kill Chris who has finally come for her, plays mercilessly in her mind like an echo. The painful, unbearable order's destroying Jill mentally, and she's begging with her mind for her old partner, Chris, to end her suffering. "Don't worry about me! If this goes on I'll only end up killing both of you! Shoot me, please!" Despite that, Chris refuses to give up. Chris screams like a beast at the brainwashed Jill. He promises that even if it means giving up his life, he's going to free his partner with whom he has finally reunited, from her curse.

But again, I believe Capcom will keep their relationship more ambiguous and open to interpretation - I think they want to keep all potential shippers content. And they certainly seem to be moving towards a more 'just a good friend/co-worker' angle than before.

Which, in my opinion, cheapens the over arcing story (RE1 - 5) and relationship - but that's for another post to ramble about, I suppose.

No hard feelings if you're not a Valenfield shipper. They have a good friendship and I can totally understand if people only see them as that and nothing more.

[theangrycomet-art]

Loontics Unleashed: Tunnel Vision

The latest band climbing up the charts in Acemtropolis, they are one of the first non-human bands to gain recognition (as well as notoriety) in recent years after winning a record label with Acme Records in 2068.

They're technically a rock band, though they tend to explore genres.

They are scheduled to preform at the 2774 Basherball Championship halftime show, despite the more recent threats sent to them.

Lore Below:

Don't mess with any of the band member's equipment ESPECIALLY their instruments. Jax get's particularly nasty when her guitar is touched.

Dakota Frog

performer name: Lily Pad

she/her

lead vocals/bass

Writes most of the songs with Jax

in charge of choreography

Descendant of Michigan J Frog

used to suffer from severe stage fright so she could only sing in front of one person at a time

luckily she's conquered this fear with Tunnel Vision

cool headed though she isn't above getting into mischief

Jesse Rabbit (Rodger/Jessica Rabbit descendant)

Performer name: Dust Bunny

he/him

Speaks several languages-> translates their songs

Drummer/ male vocals

Descendant of Rodger and Jessica Rabbit

clutsiest of the group, he does the least amount of stunts during their shows

smooth talker- he manages their contracts and ensures they get paid fairly

acts dumber than he is so people underestimate him

Marcy the Martian

Performer Name: Asteroid Bebe

she/her

Proper Title: Crown Princess Mihl’ah Tyr'ah,

Keyboardist/ rapper

sound engineer with Jax

Daughter of Empress Tyr'ahnee and Commander X2, cousins with Melvin

though polite and well-meaning, she is regularly impeded by her short temper (this has improved as she has found an outlet through thier music)

initially visited Earth as a culture study

she's perfectly content to chill on earth for the next century or two

tranlsate's their songs into Martian, giving them a LARGE fandom amongst the Martian Empire

Jacqueline “Jax” E Coyote

performer name: Sandy Lane

she/

9 string guitar/ lead vocals

sound engineer with Marcy

Writes most of the songs with Dakota

See Link^^^

protective over her bandmates, she's usually the one to tell people off if they are crossing a line

Tech's sister

Albums:

2769: Sour Candy (the love song/bittersweet album going over the highs and lows of a relationships)

Tug a War

Heart Murmurs

Eat it Too

Mind over Matter

(I love you, Lady!) Buh bye!

Ladies and Gents

Double Blind Date

My Demons are my Angels

rock cover of “Hello my Baby”

2770: Don’t worry, this is Just a Test (experimental album)

No Martian’s were Harmed in the Making of this Song

What is this thing?

Pliers and Wires (the diffusing bomb song)

Murphy’s Law (The Disaster Song)

Self Destruct Button

Never Have I Ever

Never again

Zap!

Gravity (thou art a heartless bitch)

No Sounds in Space

2772: Open Season (the angry album) 

Count the Teeth

Leash Laws (This Bitch Bites)

Playboy Bunnies (Bad Hare Day)

Bring back the Noise (I hope you Croak)

Four Digits are All I Need (to Slap You)

Swallowing Honeybees

Pelt on the Wall

Feather Duster 

Dynamite in my Piano

2773: Insurance won’t Cover This (direct callout to how the comet situation was addressed)

What’s up, Doc?

Second Skin

You wanna put what in my what?

Arm Cast

Scalpel to the Forehead

Surgery won’t fix This

The Bone Doctor

Empty Vase

Blow my Chest Clean Off

Hospital Fees

Freaks

2774: Highlighter Pack (dedicated to the Loonatics)

Comet 

Start your Engines 

Let’s Jet

On my Radar 

Eye of the Storm

TNT’s the New Ibuprofen 

Dodging Bullets, Throwing Stones

Lab Safety

Highlighter Pack

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 9: Wasted on You

Summary: Loki remembers Melara recording her demo.

Word Count: 2,767 words.

Chapter Warnings: More angst and anxiety.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Wasted on You by Evanescence

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

---

“Your mother,” Loki began, his voice a soft echo amidst the cosmic symphony, “she asked for space, and I had to respect that. She needed time to process the whirlwind that had become our shared existence. I watched her from afar, hidden amidst the throngs at the music festival. Her performance was a beacon, her voice a siren’s call amidst the cacophony of life.”

He paused, his eyes reflecting the myriad paths of reality. “I kept my distance. Yet, in the sea of faces, I was there, a silent guardian veiled in the mundane. It was important for her to stand on her own, to embrace her destiny without my shadow looming over her.”

Saoirse listened, her gaze fixed upon the god before her. “And then?” she prompted.

“Then, she soared,” Loki replied with a hint of pride. “That performance, it wasn’t just a triumph of her talent; it was an affirmation of her strength, her resilience. It led her to record something called a demo, a collection of songs, many of which echoed our…encounters.”

His voice trailed off as he mentally conjured an image of Melara in the studio, lost in her art, translating emotions and memories into melodies. “In her music, she wove a tapestry through which I saw our story. I saw the love, the pain, the beauty of what we shared in the short time that I had gotten to know her. Even as I remained a specter in her world, her songs kept me tethered, a ghostly presence in her life.”

Saoirse leaned forward, her eyes alight with curiosity and a touch of sorry. “And what did you do?”

Loki’s smile was tinged with melancholy. “I listened, I watched, and I loved. In her music, I found solace, and in her newfound success, a bittersweet joy. For even as she moved on, part of her remained with me…and I with her. Our story was suspended in the timeless realm of memories and melodies.”

There was a pause between them before Saoirse broke the silence. “Why do I get the impression that you are not telling me everything, Loki?” she said with a furrowed brow watching as her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You should know by now that I can read you like a book. Tell me what you’re hiding, Loki…,” Saoirse demanded.

Loki smirked knowingly, “You are your mother’s daughter…and certainly mine as well.” He laughed awkwardly before continuing. “I visited her.”

“No shit…,” Saoirse scoffed.

***

In the dim light of the studio kitchenette, Melara sat alone, her thoughts a whirlwind as she prepared tea with honey to protect her throat and vocal cords while on break from recording one of the songs of her demo. Each movement was punctuated with a huff, an unspoken dialogue with the emptiness around her. All she could do was stare into the swirling vortex of hot water as she stirred the liquid in her mug. A few moments passed before she spoke, without averting her gaze from the drink, her voice cutting through the silence. “I know you’re there, you don’t have to keep hiding. It's creepy and only pissing me off.”

At her words, Loki’s projection materialized, a faint golden shimmer before fully appearing. “How did you know?” he asked, his voice tinged with both surprise and concern.

“I just did,” she replied, not bothering to mask her annoyance. “I thought I asked you to give me some space.”

“Melara…” Loki began, but his words trailed off, lost in the chasm between them.

“What could you possibly want, Loki?” She demanded, her voice sharp.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he admitted, stepping closer.

Melara gestured to the empty space around her, anger punctuating her movements. “As you can see, I’m just fine,” Melara countered, her tone cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the tea she clutched.

Loki paused, searching for the right words. “Melara, I…”

Melara’s frustration was palpable as she faced Loki’s ethereal projection in the dimly lit kitchenette. “Loki, I don’t know what to say to you. I have said it so many times. How is this even supposed to work? You’re basically a ghost.”

Loki’s form, shimmering slightly, responded earnestly, “But you know that I am here.”

She sighed, her voice laced with a bitter understanding. “You’re not even in a tangible realm of existence right now, Loki. This thing, it’s not you.”

Loki, attempting to bridge the gap between them, insisted, “But this is me. It’s like a complete duplicate of who I am. One who could exist in your realm…on your timeline. Interact with you…,” he paused to close the distance between them. “See you. Feel you. Smell you. It’s all the same.”

Melara’s gaze hardened as she backed away. “It’s not all the same, Loki. I know the difference. I’ve felt the difference.”

A mischievous smirk played on Loki’s lips, only to be met with Melara’s sharp rebuke. “Stop that!”

Loki’s laughter echoed softly, his voice filled with his characteristic charm. ��’Lara, you know I cannot help it.”

Her expression softened, yet the stern tone in her voice remained. “Ugh. I’m being serious, Loki…”

In the tense stillness of the kitchenette, Melara suddenly cut off her words, her face turning a ghostly pale. With a swift motion, she pushed past Loki’s projection and bolted into the adjacent bathroom. The sounds of her distress echoed through the room, followed by the rush of water. Loki, a mix of concern and confusion etched on his spectral face, hovered near the door, awaiting her return.

When Melara emerged, her composure somewhat regained, Loki was there, in the doorway, blocking her path. “What’s going on, ‘Lara? Really. I want to hear it from you. You know I will find out,” he pressed, his voice laced with a combination of worry and insistence.

Melara, avoiding his gaze, remained silent, her eyes darting around as if seeking an escape. Loki persisted, his tone softening, “’Lara, please. I just want to make sure that you are okay,” he paused, thinking of her screams the night he found her in the hospital and the way the excruciating pain had twisted her body and nearly stopped her heart. “I can sense that you’re not, so at least be honest with me.”

She moved past him back to the kitchen, her movements betraying a nervous energy. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a subtle change in her silhouette, a detail that had not registered until now. “Mmmmmm…I think something is wrong with your stomach. It’s bigger,” he observed, his voice reflecting his surprise.

Melara whirled around, her anger flaring. “Oh my god, Loki. That’s not something you say! What the fuck?!” she snapped, her voice scolding in a mix of outrage and shock.

As Loki reached out to offer a consoling touch, Melara reacted with unexpected agility and strength. In an instant, she seized his wrist and flipped him over, sending him crashing to the floor. His groan of pain and surprise filled the room.

Melara leaned over him, offering a hand with an embarrassed laugh. “Don’t touch me without…”

“Without your permission,” Loki finished for her, pain etched on his face as he struggled to comprehend the situation, feeling the pain stretch back across the expanses to his corporeal being seated on the throne. “What in the hell is this?” He dusted himself off, standing up and looking at her with newfound wariness. “You told me that you weren’t a witch…or a Valkyrie.”

Melara straightened up, a smirk playing on her lips. “A lot has happened since I last saw you.”

“I can see that,” Loki said dryly, his gaze fixating on her now-exposed ever-so-slightly rounded belly. The revelation dawning on him brought a mixture of astonishment and curiosity to his expression.

As the hushed confines of the kitchenette encircled the pair, a profound realization sank in. His once playful yet concerned demeanor faded, replaced by an intense solemnity. As he eyed Melara, a constellation of emotions flickered across his face, what little color he had in his usually pale face gradually drained away.

“’Lara, is it…are you…?” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with questions. Hesitation laced his every word, betraying a vulnerability seldom seen in the god of stories. He moved cautiously, a respectful distance maintained, yet his eyes, wide with a mix of astonishment and concern, never left her form.

With a tentative step forward, he sought silent permission, his hand hovering in the air, an unspoken request in his eyes to bridge the gap between them. The air seemed to thrum with the gravity of the moment, a pause in time where the potential of new life hung delicately in the balance.

As Melara gave a subtle nod, Loki’s hand gently, almost reverently, came to rest near her belly. The contact was light, yet it carried the weight of countless fears. In that touch, the realization fully settled within him – the possibility that life might be growing within her. His gaze shifted, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling within. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice carrying a tentative note, carefully choosing his words.

“’Lara,” he began, his tone gentle yet tinged with an underlying uncertainty. “This…what you’re facing now…it’s… extraordinary. But may I ask…?”

Melara paused, a hint of a coy smile playing on her lips, held his gaze a moment before speaking. With a subtle knowing smile, she said, “Let’s just say, some encounters leave more than just memories, Loki. Sometimes they leave…echoes of themselves in the most unexpected ways.”

Loki, taken aback by Melara’s cryptic response, pressed for clarity, “I…beg your pardon?” he asked, voice laced with cautious curiosity. His eyes searched hers, seeking an answer that lingered between them. The complexity of their situation, coupled with the gravity of what Melara implied, hung heavily in the moment, a testament to the unforeseen consequences of their singular union at the end of time.

“Loki, I have not been with anyone since you,” Melara clarified with a shy smile, feeling her skin redden.

The air charged between Melara and Loki was palpable, a mix of revelation and hesitation hanging like a mist around them. As Loki’s ephemeral form stepped closer, he captured her lips with a kiss as chaste as moonlight on water. It was a moment of tenderness amidst the turmoil, a pause in their storm of emotions. But Melara, ever the flame to his moth, gently pushed him away, her voice a soft but firm whisper, “This doesn’t change anything. I’m still lost at sea, Loki, and I’m not ready to find shore yet,” she paused to choose her next words carefully.

Loki smiled hesitantly, brushing her hair aside, longing to express his love for her once more, thinking better of it, given the precarious nature of Melara’s feelings towards his duplicate. He settled for cupping her face with his hands as he watched tears well up in her eyes.

“I…Loki?” her words, though spoken with a gentle smile, were edged with the sharpness of her inner conflict.

“Hmmm?”

“Does this superhuman strength come with carrying the child of a god?” she asked with a hint of seriousness mixed with worry. The silence hung between the two before they both laughed at the absurdity of the question before a hush fell over them both.

Brushing away a tear, he replied with a smile, “Darling, I don’t entirely know how to answer that.”

She blushed once more, thinking before jokingly responding with a giggle, “Well, I would call you if I do figure it out, or once I have an answer for you about anything, but I don’t think you’d get cell service at the end of time.”

Loki’s response was immediate, a soft offer laced with hope, “You know exactly how to get in touch with me, ‘Lara. I do have one request though.”

“What’s that?” she asked softly.

“Let me stay with you while you finish this recording session. Then, I’ll be out of your hair until you need me,” he said cracking a half smile.

“Oh shit, the session! I have to get back,” she finished softly, caressing his face with her hand. “You…this seems different. I don’t know what it is. But you can stay for this session. Just stay out of the way.”

As their epic story unfurls before them, Melara, carrying the revelation and the newly discovered connection with Loki, finds herself back in the recording studio, the warmth of the lights above fusing with the warm burgeoning within her psyche. Loki’s projection, now a silent observer, held space in the shadows, watching as Melara greeted the band and approached the microphone.

The air is thick with anticipation; the engineers and producers in the studio exchange knowing glances, aware of the magic Melara is about to weave, recording another take of her live arrangement. She introduces the final song of the session commanding the room to fall into a respectful hush as she finds her starting note. Her voice is tender yet haunting as she begins, meeting Loki’s gaze.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

In a tender exchange of glances, Melara and Loki felt the background melt away as she sang. They were the only connected souls in the room as the music flowed like electricity, connecting them both.

Love, don’t you remember? We were the ones, Nothing could ever change. And love, it’s easier not to believe we have broken everything, But here we are. Numb my head ‘til I can’t think anymore, But I still feel the pain.

            Loki gasped as the band’s percussion picked up.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

Melara imagined herself and the life she had experienced before Loki stumbled into her bar and found himself at her feet as she sang. Her voice was strong then, but now it was airy, conveying the juxtaposition of points in time. She was lost without Loki, but still yearned to find her own way through the darkness, navigating her new tasks: motherhood and a burgeoning musical career. She had grown beyond the woman who happened to enjoy singing karaoke, finding opportunities to appear as a guest with local bands.

Once this was a garden, This was our world, And all of the nightmares stayed in the dark. A little too much time by yourself, And you became the enemy, Just look at us now. Drowning slowly, Just to stay true.

As she repeated the chorus again, she thought of the promises he had made. He would lay waste to the universe to protect her, but what good would those vows be as a hollow image of himself? She thought of the child possibly sensing that he was not a true form, but a nearly perfect copy, a duplicate meant to take his place. A placeholder for someone who had to fulfill a duty to the universe. That damn multiverse, she thought.

Will I ever be the same? Am I strong enough to change? Is it in my blood? Shield my eyes to face the day, Come too far to slip away, But it’s killing me to go on without you.

But Loki could not stay, even if she wanted him to. She watched as her words hit him and his face contorted with the emotions, he felt the impact of her words. She conveyed that she was, “just fine”. Just like that, Loki’s duplicate shimmered into obscurity, concealing that he had lost control of his own emotions and begun sobbing as she sang her song. He had to stay out of the way. He was to let her realize her dreams without his interference.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

With deep breaths to calm herself after the final notes of the song that had spoken to her over the weeks since meeting Loki, Melara resolved to stay strong for the sake of her own sanity. Loki was gone once again and she did not have the power within herself to tear apart the multiverse to claim him as her own.

---

Tags: @mischief2sarawr

[watchingyouflytl]

Hello, everyone!

Thanks for coming to the blog. I started this on a whim after a discussion in the K-On! Discord server (where I'm still a mod, if you can believe it). I've had this book sitting in front of me for like a year and a half and it's taken me this long to really pick it up and get into it.

About me: My name is Ali, currently living in an obscure little corner in Japan working in translating and editing. I don't have any concert band or music-playing experience myself, but I consider myself a music appreciator and have been in the Hibike fandom since it first started airing. If you want to know a little bit more/don't mind me oversharing about my Hibike journey, visit the link to my intro essay! As I do with many things Hibike-related, I got really emotional writing it :')

(I'm also a Swiftie who will probably listen to lots of romantic bittersweet songs during the translating process, so I'll periodically link some to the blog's webpage as a little more oversharing)

In terms of actual real-life translations, I used to do some manga fan translations way back in my college years, and even started (but never finished) an experimental translation of the novelization of one of my favorite animated movies, which took way too long but is a lot of fun to look back on. I also did very amateur translations of Hibike S1 PVs when they'd be uploaded to the KyoAni Youtube Channel on my old analysis blog...which I was just reminded of today...oh boy.

Currently this project is just me with my book plugging away at a secret Google Doc. A lot of why I'm doing this is to prove to myself that I can, to polish up my translating skills a bit, so please keep in mind it won't be the fastest translation, but I have confidence in my creative writing and editing skills! Please feel free to send feedback my way~

So here I go, in the spirit of challenging myself to something new--watch me as I take off!

-ali

[cloudninetonine]

An ethereal figure made of light watched as her poor hero fell to his knees sobbing. Solid white eyes filled with tears of their own as their heart ached with sorrow, why couldn’t fate be nice to him for once? They floated over to the weeping boy, glowing hair flowing as if underwater, and gently wrapped their arms around him, trying their best to shield him from the cruel world around them. The island around them slowly disappeared as they tried to sooth the pinkish-blonde’s broken heart. A soft, wavering voice, barely louder than a whisper, soon rang out. “Aloha ʻoe, aloha ʻoe~” the voice quivered slightly, “E ke onaona noho i ka lipo~” Though this was far from the first time he’d heard the song, Link still couldn’t recognize the language nor understand it. The Triforce was seemingly unable to translate it and no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find a single place with that exact language. There were a few that were similar, but there was always some detail that was missing. He briefly wondered if maybe it was a precursor-variant… “One fond embrace, a hoʻi aʻe au~” A protective squeeze pulled him out of his thoughts, and he found himself hugging back instinctively, tear-streaked face buried in the spirit’s chest. The song left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He’d long since learned that it marked when his guide neared the end of their stay and it felt like a shaky, desperate promise (or maybe even a disguised plea to the goddesses) that they’d see each other again someday. “Until we meet again…~”

=============

I’m sorry, this got stuck in my brain and I had to share. 

__________________

Well this was both beautiful and gut-wrenching KLJ.DEHKEDF

THANK YOU PIXIE

[tokkias]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @grayseyebrowscar thank u milo i'm putting you in my mouth

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

75!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

227,929

3. What fandoms do you write for?

just fairy tail at the moment. i've thought about dipping my toe into other fandoms, pokemon or fruits basket maybe, but i just have ft brainrot right now

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

secret moments in a crowded room, taking the hint, i don't want to be your friend (i want to kiss your lips), don't touch what's not yours & heartstrings

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yeah i respond to like 99% of comments. i've gotten really slow with it lately but i love to engage with fandom and i don't want people ever thinking i take comments and engagement for granted just because i'm fortunate enough to get a lot of them. every comment means something to me so i want people to know that i'm grateful

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

happy ending ironically. i think you could make an argument for wait for her because i did cry while writing that, but i think wait for her is more bittersweet and happy ending is just downright heart wrenching

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i mean, i think most of my fics have happy endings? if i had to choose, probably fool's errand just because the ending is both really sweet and a great payoff to like 15k words of everyone just absolutely going through it

8. Do you get hate on fics?

yeah <3

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i mean what kinds art there? most i guess. i like writing soft silly giggly fluff, i like writing gentle body worship worthy of a hozier song lyric title, and i like writing downright filth

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

no but when i was in my transition period from ft to rwby in like 2016 i reaaallly wanted to write a crossover with that

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! a have a couple into chinese here (i wouldn't know what dialect bc i don't speak it) and i believe there might be one in russian floating around? but i don't have link for that

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no. i'd like to in theory? but i am very particular about my writing, i think i'd be the worst co-author in the world. i'm such a control freak that writing a fic with someone else would probably ruin our relationship

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

i'm very normal about nalu (lie)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

sigh. i never say never but i have had cuffing season sitting at 13k words since like? may? i started it in janurary and it's seen many a fic started and finished since then. i'd love to finish it one day but i just don't see that day being soon

16. What are your writing strengths?

i think i have a really strong and descriptive writing voice

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

pacing. i feel like i can never get it right. everything is either too fast or too slow

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i don't have any thoughts

19. First fandom you wrote for?

t....total drama...

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

it's always changing because i just have so many but at the moment i really like under your hands (i come undone) and ten baby dragons (or less)

i don't have anyone to tag but you can just say i tagged you and i won't mind

[bywayofmemory]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @iamstartraveller776, thanks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 313. 113 of them are 3SF fics so they only sort of count? I haven't even posted 2024's batch yet.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 452,247

3. What fandoms do you write for? My fandoms list on AO3 is...long. Like 80+ fandoms long. This is once again due to 3SF; fandoms I am or have been actually active in are Firefly, Chronicles of Narnia, Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, Grisha Trilogy/Shadow and Bone, and Greek Mythology.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Drunk on the Dying Light [Grisha Trilogy, Darklina] A blood-soaked amplifier gives Alina the ability to control him, but the Darkling still haunts her; all the more so once she becomes his wife.

Maybe It Will All Come Back to Me [A Song of Ice and Fire, Jon/Arya] The wars are over, Daenerys is on the Iron Throne, and Arya finds Jon at last, though neither of them are who they were before.

Hold My Heart in Two [A Song of Ice and Fire, Jon/Arya/Sansa] The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives, in whatever form.

The World That's on the Other Side [Firefly, Mal/River] When River Tam is fourteen, she meets a man who tells her her future. She doesn't want it, but he's a different matter altogether.

The Ladies Love Wash, and Wash Loves the Ladies [Firefly, Wash & all the women of Firefly] Wash is popular with the womenfolk; it's just a fact of life.

5. Do you respond to comments? I always try to! Usually I am successful.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don't write unhappy endings too often, but two stand out - Always, we strive to get closer, one of my Narnia Fic Exchange fics from last year in which a post-canon Edmund battles through memories to find Susan, only to find she's not ready to give up living even for him, and A Rush of Blood Is Not Enough, a Folk of the Air sex-pollen fic where Jude unknowingly dubcons Cardan and he's very angry once it wears off.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of mine have happy or at least bittersweet endings, so this is hard - but it might well be The World That's on the Other Side, where Mal and River manage to fix everything bad that happened in canon before any of it technically happens at all.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Rarely, since I'm a NNF. I used to get a bit back in the day when I was actively writing Mal/River due to the age gap and mental stability issues inherent in that pairing, and now I get a comment or two on the Darklina fics from time to time. They just get deleted.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes! I write pretty vanilla M/F and F/F smut; haven't gotten further than the mildest of kinks so far.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? All the time. The craziest are probably the Where's Waldo/LotR or Narnia/Sports Mascot RPF [sort of??? how do you even classify fic in which Gritty appears?], both from 3SF. For non 3SF, it's almost all Narnia/ASoIaF. Probably the most unusual of those is The Truth Without Lying, since that's partly a 1940/50s England AU of ASoIaF as well as a crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of, but I don't look for it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yep. There's three of them on AO3, and I've been asked other times, though if those were done they didn't get linked back to my originals.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Only in 3SF, where you can 'cowrite' in terms of leaving a series of prompts or fills with a specific partner or two. That I do almost every year. In the traditional sense, no.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I don't really work in Firefly anymore for the obvious reasons (dead fandom, the Whedon of it all), but rereading any of my Mal/River work still feels like meeting up with old friends. I love them.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I had a third and fourth part of my Mal/River series Love Keeps Her in the Air planned out, and a good 1/3 of part three written. It's literally the only unfinished fic I have. It never got finished because I moved across the country during the middle of it and my ambition never quite recovered.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and characterization. I'm very good at getting character voices down (and typically just avoid writing characters I can't get a handle on, honestly).

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plot. Beginnings. The absolute worst. This is why I have no WIPs; if I manage to actually get something started, the hard part is out of the way for me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I used to do this all the time in Firefly, using Mandarin phrases they'd used in the show. Everyone did at the time. Now I wouldn't; I'd go the "swore at length in Mandarin" route, or just use dialogue tags and description to indicate the characters are speaking another language, like I do with Valyrian in my HotD fics.

19. First fandom you wrote for? LotR, a very long time ago. Firefly is the first one I published anything for that's still on the internet.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? I have so many favorites! I couldn't possibly choose one, except I could and it's The World That's on the Other Side. The ones written during ~the flow are always my faves, and that one stands out the most in that regard.

Tagging @thatgirlnevershutsup, @wingedflight, @siterlas, @starsuncounted and @oakashandwillow if you want!!

[myth-blossom]

MAH GURL!!!!!! I have a song that has never left my ears for the past 3 years. It’s called ‘Undo’ by Cool Joke. The original song is in Japanese, so I here is the song with the English translation.

https://youtu.be/NwaUaO_x-Ys

Hi Magenta! Thank you for the song request, it’s such a good one! I listened to both versions you’ve shared with me, including the English cover I’ve linked below. I hope you enjoy what the song inspired 😊

*Note: Bittersweet; mentions major character death

The brothers basked in the afternoon warmth as the lake shimmered under the sun. Two ducks waddled to the shore and shook the water from their feathers, eager to join the rest of their hungry flock near the bench. 47 tossed more grapes to his new friends before resting the bowl in his lap. 

“So, Agent 47…the world’s deadliest flamingo—I mean, assassin.” 

Grey peered at 47 to gauge his reaction. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, the classic sign of one’s internal sigh. Grey chuckled. 

“Diana?” 47 asked, hazarding a guess. 

“No, though I’m sure she has a great deal to say about your unusual exploits,” he grinned. “Olivia found a press photo of your mascot stunt in Miami.”

47 grimaced as he recalled the pink costume he used to pursue Sierra Knox. The flamingo suit had been quite itchy and unbearably hot, which only got worse the longer he wore it in the balmy Florida heat. It wasn’t one of his finer moments, but it had given Diana a good laugh (and, apparently, Grey and Olivia as well).

“Perhaps that’s why these ducks are so friendly towards you,” Grey continued. “Birds of a feather, as they say.”

47 smiled as a chorus of quacks rose around them, ready for more treats. He offered Grey the bowl as the ducks moved in expectantly. Grey took a handful of sliced grapes and tossed them carefully amongst the feathered crowd before taking two pieces for himself. He hummed in approval at their taste.

“These are delicious,” he said, reaching for more as a duck waddled closer to the bench. “It’s no wonder why they like them so much. You grew these yourself?”

“Yes, they’re from my garden,” 47 confirmed with pride.

Grey looked towards the impressive residence behind them and smiled fondly. 

“You’ve done well for yourself here, 47. This is a fine home.”

47’s breath hitched as a cool breeze blew in from the lake. He placed the grape bowl back in his lap, the ceramic feeling heavier than it seemed earlier when it was full. He stared ahead at the shimmering water as he fought to keep his voice firm.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I wish you were here to see it.”

47 felt a hand clasp his shoulder in comfort.

“I know,” Grey said quietly. “I wish I could.”

“It feels wrong to enjoy this freedom when you never got that chance.”

“There’s no need for survivor’s guilt,” his brother said firmly.

47 stayed silent. The bowl was suddenly empty of grapes despite its hefty weight on his thighs. His feathered friends were gone, their quacks growing distant after having retreated back into the lake.

Grey squeezed the hand on his shoulder, encouraging 47 to face him. He clenched his fist and looked away from the lonely scenery to Grey’s serious expression.

“It’s fine to visit your memories, but…please don’t keep yourself in the past. Enjoy the present you’ve earned and the love that’s waiting for you there. You deserve to be happy.”

47 blinked as hot tears prickled his eyes. He rested his hand over Grey’s and squeezed as the sunlight began to saturate everything around them, his dream signaling its end. Grey smiled warmly, his final words echoing as the world faded into the light.

“You deserve a good life, 47.”

47 slowly awoke from his deep slumber. He found himself in the peaceful morning quiet of their bedroom, his companion snuggled cozily against him under the sheets. He felt the soothing warmth of her hand upon his face as she stroked his cheek, causing a sigh to escape from his lips. She lifted her head off his chest to look up at him as he stirred.

“47?” Diana asked softly.

He must have been speaking in his sleep again, he realized. An occasional side effect of the antidote Grey had administered so long ago. He inhaled deeply to center himself before he met her loving gaze, grateful for the reality that awaited his wounded heart.

“Are you alright?”

47 pulled Diana closer and kissed her deeply in response. He rested his hand upon hers, pulling away slightly from her lips to rest their foreheads against each other.

“I am now.” 

[sam-glade]

Happy STS, Sam!

What is something that makes its way into everything you write? A character type, a scene, a trope, anything?

Is there something you really want to include in a story at some point, but haven't had the chance yet?

And do you ever hide easter eggs in your writing, even if chances that anyone will find them are low?

Happy STS, Elli!

What is something that makes its way into everything you write?

So far it looks like larger than life, epic locations and characters that choose to be kind - and I mean they consciously choose kindness.

Is there something you really want to include in a story at some point, but haven't had a chance yet?

The only thing I can think of right now is a tragic ending. So far all of my stories have happy or bittersweet endings, and I want to write one where the narrative is progressing towards a cliff with the inevitability of a steam train.

I've got one planned, just didn't have the time to write much of it - and I'm not sure if I can go through with it. I always want to give my characters a big comforting hug at the end; it's hard to resist.

And do you ever hide easter eggs in your writing, even if chances that anyone will find them are low?

I do! They're usually references to classical Polish literature and music. The three I can think of off the top of my head are:

Multiple references to The Haunted Manor by S. Moniuszko in Gifts of Fate - there's an old grandfather's clock in the entrance hall, and Varré calls the main cast 'the daring squatters in the haunted manor'.

A lovely kind woman called Alina looking for her sister. The sister joined the Dark Side Traitor. It's a reference to Balladyna by J. Słowacki - and please read the synopsis of that play, because it's insane.

One of the characters is called a 'lighterboy' by some ancient beings, which is another Moniuszko reference - here's a link to my in-setting translation of the song.

[br1ghtestlight]

20 questions for fic writers

1. How many works do you have on Ao3

23

2. What’s your total word count?

109,996

3. What fandoms do you write for?

bob's burgers, inanimate insanity and there's like one steven universe fic in there. i have written for other fandoms in the past but not on that account lol (and mostly unpublished)

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

zeke running away fic, genderfluid gene fic, louise hat fic, bob mom fic, tinimmy week fic (the problem with naming all my fanfics after really long complicated song lyrics is that i simply will not actually call the fanfictions by their Actual Name. also not linking them bcuz im lazy)

5. Do you respond to comments?

i always try to respond to comments but tbh people dont comment on my work very often?? i also dont reply to comments on my old account bcuz i dont have access to it anymore

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i dont know if ive ever written anything angsty tbh?? thats not really my favorite thing because it makes me too sad. out of my published fanfics probably the fic about bob's mom wins by default and out of my unpublished wips uhh maybe my louise and tina focused fanfic. it has a happy ending (maybe) but its a real downer at times. or maybe my tinimmy fic is bittersweet depending on how you read it

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

maybe my fanfic where bob gets a garden LMAO or my genderfluid gene fic

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no!!! actually a secret about me in that my almost 10 years posting art fanfics etc online i have never gotten a single negative comment on anything ive made. i feel very lucky :)

9. Do you write smut?

never have and never will (nothing wrong with it in most contexts but im asexual and smut is extremely Not My Thing. i actually tried writing a smut fic once to challenge myself a few years ago and spent like 1000 words describing the way the candles were lit in their bedroom before i realized its simply not for me and thats fine)

10. Do you write crossovers?

no but if my hyperfixations ever gave me an opportunity to crossover maybe?? any bob's burgers character on the infinity train would be hilarious. any hfjone character would be heartbreaking

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i dont remember but im gonna go with probably not

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

NO I THINK IT WOULD BE REALLY FUN but im too much of a perfectionist w/ my writing and i would be worried about dragging the other person down with me. maybe if my ocd ever gets medicated idk

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

it depends on my mood but right now i have been thinking abt tina and jimmy jr a lot. not even romantically their relationship is just so interesting. jimmy jr/zeke/tina is also great. marshall lee and gary.... bryce and liam??

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

i have like over 30+ wips so thats probably a lot of them FJDMDMSJSKS something i would love to finish at some point but probably never will is a fanfic about how bob and linda overcame the cycle of abuse with their own childhood memories vs how they are with their kids. maybe i could write that with somebody else and we each do like a chapter at a time (they write linda's memories and i write bob's etc)

16. What are your writing strengths?

people always tell me that im really good at capturing character's voices and personalities and making them feel in character?? i always want my stories to feel like something that could actually happen in-universe and make it make sense with the characters etc. i think part of this comes from working w/ my own ocs and thinking so hard about how different people express and communicate things and then applying that to other characters is easy. and bcuz of how my autism works i can memorize how a person or character constructs sentences and create new sentences inside my head in their voice :D i really pay attention to peoples speaking patterns & how they phrase things

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

probably how perfectionist i am about grammar and using certain words phrases punctuation etc that it takes FOREVER to get anything done. i also think im too wordy. i can turn a fifteen word sentence into a fifty word sentence easily which is great for essays but kinda annoying when you're reading a silly bobs burgers fanfic

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

i dont mind doing it for my ocs but to my knowledge none of the bob's burgers characters speak another language as their native language?? so i cant see it coming up in anything i write

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i dont really wanna say bcuz its embarrassing and i was pretty young LMAO but it was like youtuber fanfic on wattpad (wayy before whatever youtubers you're thinking of they were never famous)

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

hmm either my tinimmy week fic or my genderfluid gene fic it changes depending on the day. right now its my tinimmy week fanfic <3

[petrichoraline]

hey who are you and how do you know matsujun were you in the arashi fandom or did you just like his dramas? i must know i keep looking for LJ arashi people circa 2010-2012 and you are right that is the vibe

heyy im sorry to say im not an arashi fan and i know jun from his dramas but youre giving me an opportunity to talk about him and ill go berserk, can i? thanks

im pretty sure i know jun because of hana yori dango (its been so long since i last watched it that i forgot that was my first encounter with him); i was in middle school, the show was everything to me, i had the fattest crush on mr. curls-for-days, you know the drill - checked his age and got depressed - i was like twelve? he hadn't turned 30 yet but it was still a bit too big of a gap for our love to succeed :') (not to mention the gap between japan and and my eastern european ass)

anyways i decided i am here for him, im loyal, lets see what hes all about; so i find out hes a part of arashi and not only that, i find their tv show (in quite the abominable quality cause the good old days); so i started listening to them (i had a fave song, i just remembered it was "bittersweet" smth?) and one thing i remember clearly is how i was determined to learn japanese so i could enjoy their variety show without subs (barely any translations available, saw some subtitled bits here and there that were enough to get me hooked and leave me blueballed) so arashi were, in a way, part of the reason i studied japanese in high school.

i recently sought out matsumoto jun's dramas again so i rewatched kimi wa petto (and loved it sm more??) and watched some other stuff and i just- idk hes just lovely (also i stumbled upon this audio of arashi doing a voiceover of that one domyouji scene; screw it, i just searched for it so ill link it, i still cackle every time i see it)

all in all, im just one of many girls who were honoured with knowledge of matsujun (and arashi) in their tween years

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed- Chapter Three: Red Roses

Chapter Word Count: 7K (Pretty Thick, prepare yourselves, get some water)

Paring: Some Stella/William (but focusing on the tragedy of his infidelity)and eventually Stella/Male OC

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: The Courtship, Betrothal, and Early Marriage of Miss Stella by her admirer, the Curate and later Vicar William Ransome. A sinister omen appears in her garden.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Mentions of sex but no actual smut. Slow Burn to the Drama (tm), Lots of very bittersweet with the foregone conclusion from the prologue fluff, and foreshadowing. Religion, victorian era attitudes, marriage. Eventually being Anti-W*lliam and Anti-C*ra so if you like them or that pairing I wouldn't recommend this fic.

A03 Link

Prologue//Chapter One//Chapter Two

Link to my Ko-Fi

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!!!!

Her, the most excellent of all, The best half of creation’s best, Its heart to feel, its eye to see, The crown and complex of the rest, Its aim and its epitome. Nay, might I utter my conceit, 'Twere after all a vulgar song, For she's so simply, subtly sweet, My deepest rapture does her wrong. Yet is it now my chosen task To sing her worth as Maid and Wife; Nor happier post than this I ask, To live her laureate all my life.

— Part I, Book I, Canto II: I.25–I.44 The Angel in The House by Coventry Patmore

"[The perfect wife] was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She sacrificed daily. [...] Above all, she was pure." — Virginia Woolf, "Professions for Women"

“Pinkerton:...Either in love or insane,

It may be just an infatuation,

She's enchanted me with her innocent charms,

Delicate and fragile as blown glass...

With a sudden movement,

she frees herself like a butterfly,

She flutters and settles

with such quiet grace

that a madness seizes me to pursue her,

even though I might tear off her wings"- Madama Butterfly, English Translation

As we returned home, life carried on as usual. My brothers- two elder, Elliott, Brian, and one younger, Dante- went out to work while my little sister- another light-haired Harris girl christened Edith, and I stayed home, doing chores. It never seemed to end. There was always laundry to do, things to cook, things to clean, and the occasional guest to attend to. Not that I minded that too much. It seemed a better option than laboring with scythes for hours under a brutal sun. I would much rather water the beanstalks and tend to my flowers under that same sun. I would also venture to say there is something oddly beautiful about seeing a dirty floor made shiny with soap and water or bread rising to fullness.

There was one evening when I was tasked with baking the bread for dinner. However, when I pulled it out of the oven and cut it to see the result, I saw that although it was baked thoroughly, part of it was burned black. Dinner was arriving soon with no extra time to bake another. My father insisted bread be served at every meal. I had no choice but to set it on the table.

Everyone piled into the dining room, and I took my usual seat next to my brother, Elliott. Dinner began with my father’s prayer for a blessing. Then silverware clicked as we began to eat. Dante began passing the bread plate across and each member took their slices, opting for the bread that was a lighter shade. It went through my parents, past Edith, and Brian, before it arrived to me.

The only sides left were one slice of the properly done and the other of the burnt side. As I reached a hand for the lighter half, my mother’s voice interjected. “Stella! Why are you reaching for that part?”

“Because that is the bread I would like to eat, Mama.”

“But look at your brother’s face, he clearly wants it…”

Glancing, I could see my brother’s small eyes flicker hungrily toward that half.

“He’s been working hard in the field all day, he’s so hungry! The farmers worked him for six hours without a bite! Shouldn’t you feel some pity for him? Why should he get the burnt half?”

“But I made this bread, and I don’t want to eat the burnt half…” I replied quietly.

I heard a deep exhale from my mother. Eyes were turning towards us in tension.

“Give the lighter half to your bother, Stella, please…”

I gave in and passed the plate to him. He took the lighter bread that I coveted.

“That is a good girl, how kind of you Stella…” my mother praised, her shoulders relaxing.

Elliott took the slice of bread and slathered it with butter before wolfing it down. He was sunburnt, his forehead still sweaty. Perhaps he did deserve it. Perhaps I made his life a little easier.

He passed the plate back to me. There was only black bread. And the little pink butter plate was completely empty. I ate it- though the charring felt bitter on my tongue.

“Stella, you did something very sweet for your brother…” my father began.

“Once you are a married woman, Stella, once you are a mother…Edith, you too- listen this is important,”

Edith took the last bite of pickled beef to listen.

“You must learn to leave behind anything you may want for yourself. You must sacrifice yourself for your children, and most especially for your husband.”

“How come?” my sister asked.

I washed down the aftertaste of the burnt bread with my water.

“There is something sweet about sacrifice, love, no matter how small. You must learn to put others before yourself- how else will they feel loved after everything they give you?”

“It’s the Christian thing to do, girls” my father pointed out.

“Your father works very, very hard at the mill to keep a roof over our head and bread on our table so we all may have a comfortable life and for that, I have always made sure I was an obedient, faithful, and devoted wife. I made sure that food was cooked, and the house was clean, and that all of you would be in line…and in turn, you both will have a happy marriage and a fulfilling life…”

Edith blinked and I saw a slight frown. My mother turned to me.

“Stella, as you are the elder sister, you must make sure your sister follows your example! Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“As women, we cannot be ungrateful for what our husbands provide us, so we must sacrifice ourselves daily for them. Or how else will we fulfill our duties as wives? How will they know we love them or show any gratitude? That is what love is for a woman to a man, sacrifice and devotion to his happiness above all else. That is the secret to a fulfilling marriage and to being a wife,” she said.

I nodded.

“I’ll make sure to do that mama,” I replied, quietly cutting my meat into slices before eating it.

Edith tilted her head in thought.

After dinner, we gathered around the fire to sew, drink tea, and hear a book. We even had a piano and Dante, the musician of the family would often play something. That night I began to press a dandelion I found that afternoon into my book as my father opened a collection of mythologies.

“A little pagan, I know, but the stories are most entertaining, dears…here…let me read of the myth of Theseus and the princess Ariadne…”

He began to read it in his sonorous voice. I felt a nudge on my elbow.

It was Elliott, he leaned close to me over his tea and whispered, “Thank you for the bread, Stella, I was actually very, very hungry and it was a hard day for me….”

“I’m glad I could help…” I voiced.

The next month, over breakfast, my parents made a startling announcement. The owner of the mill was so impressed with our father’s work, that he was being promoted. There was another, growing mill in Aldwinter. The very town Elizabeth and Fanny lived! The very place I visited earlier! The job there would pay far more than it did here, and there was already a house for us. The family was going to move to Aldwinter for good.

Packing was all in an excited and tearful rush. Wishing our neighbors goodbye and promises to write seemed to happen hourly. I had to go and have a last tea with Miss Greene, thanking her for teaching me so young about flower pressing. But despite such tears for the change and separation, my mother was joyful. She was going to be near Elizabeth with her grey-streaked hair, dark eyes, joyful laugh, and affinity for card games and picnics, as well as Fanny. We would not be strangers in a strange land.

When the day arrived, we gathered all our things in our boxes onto the first of two carriages. Then we hopped onto another one, squishing in seven people, and set off for a day’s ride to our new home. It was late nightfall by the time we arrived. Edith and I lay on our new bed in our new shared room and slept in until noon. I jumped at the time, dressed, and immediately set to unpacking as she followed my suit, albeit more leisurely in pace.

But my sister and I barely had our clothes out of our boxes and into our chests when there was a knock and then a creak at the door. There were some hearty male voices from downstairs- one sounded familiar, and another was my father's.

My mother rushed inside our room in excitement.

“Girls- we have guests! It’s the parish vicar and his curate! They’ve come to welcome us!”

My heart skipped a hundred beats despite the slowness I had as I walked down the stairs.

Was it? Was it him? I wondered.

It was. There stood the Vicar, and his curate was still Mister Ransome in their black with white collars to greet us. A cake was in the vicar’s hand, claiming his wife was the most excellent baker. Mister Ransome greeted the other five family members but there was a softening of familiarity with my mother. And at me as well.

This was the first of several visits. There was only one church in Aldwinter and only one parish. Now that we were new members, it was the Vicar’s duty to greet us and make us feel like old friends of the congregation. His wife herself would sometimes visit us as well. And as his apprentice, William had to be there every time. And what were we to do? Refuse them and turn them away?

There was one evening, where among our plates, heads turned away from the current vicar’s grey head to the handsome, reddish blonde head of William. Even my sister seemed charmed by him, batting her thick eyelashes when he looked her way.

Edith asked him “Where do you get ideas for sermons so much? I think it must be so hard!”

He gave a half laugh and a smile.

“Well, he’s not the one who has to speak most Sundays!” the current Vicar pointed out. His wife smiled and held his hand.

“You find ideas for sermons everywhere- in nature especially. I go on so many walks. I like metaphors I find in nature- such as the ocean tide by the stony beach on a cloudy day. The sun through the clouds after a storm. One sermon I hope to give someday is about a field of sunflowers I saw here…”

“Sunflowers?” I asked.

He looked at me with a smile that made my stomach drop.

“How they turn always to the sun no matter where it is.”

“Where did you find Sunflowers?” I questioned, batting my mouth with the napkin before returning it to my lap.

‘They grow in a field by Mr. Morrison’s pasture…” he explained. “It’s quite a sight.”

I turned around to my parents.

“Mama…sometimes soon, may you accompany us to the field soon? And Mister Ransome, where is this Mr. Morrison? I must ask his permission to collect one, please.”

“Collect? You collect flowers?” he repeated, eyebrows raised in interest.

“I…I like to press flowers into a book. I grow them and then press them inside, so they are preserved forever. It is my hobby.”

My mother reached over closer to Mr. Ransome, “our Stella has developed quite a collection of books full of her flowers and a gift for gardening too,” she boasted.

“I want to see the sunflowers too!” Edith protested.

“Then… then with your permission, Mrs. Harris, we will accompany your daughters to see the sunflowers next Friday…especially if it’s for Miss Harris’s book,” he offered.

My mother looked between him and me. There was a flash in her eye that made me drop my head back down to her napkin.

“Then we shall have to do that.”

We went on that trip. Notably, my mother looped her arm around Edith’s and walked her a further distance away giving me time to walk by Mister Ransome’s side and speak about the weather with him. And indeed, I was given permission to pluck a smaller sunflower to press into one of my beloved books.

Secretly, I was grateful for my mother. I found myself in private admiring Mister Ransome. I am sure I was far from the only one, being a handsome, charismatic, single man with a stable occupation. And especially since he was required to be at the church, he would not be single for long. Especially in that small Essex village with limited options for ladies.

But…who was I, I wondered? He was so intelligent and good. Was I really worthy of him?

The first time my sister and I went to the town hall for dances with all the other young people, I and William danced only one together. Then we partnered with others.

He wouldn’t like me like that, I convinced myself. I was counting myself lucky with the sunflower trip and one dance.

I would toss and turn at night, thinking of him as my sister snored next to me. There were other, more confident, bold, beautiful women, and then there was me. I had to content myself with the odd visit to that village, the church, the occasional event in the church, and only speaking with him there before he moved on to the next ambitious pair of mother and daughter.

Besides, as I recalled our first meeting and the conversations, I had with Elizabeth that day, I had to repeat it like a prayer in my head-Minsters. Aren’t. Romantic. Perhaps I could do better and would meet another man in the town.

Sometime later, there was a parish picnic. It was warm and sunny, a September giving its last farewell to summer before the slow wilt of Autumn. People gathered to sit on their blankets and bring baskets. Children played while laughing as their mothers yelled after them. Men laid down to smoke their pipes. Cakes slowly melted into the plates beneath the sunshine. Sighs accompanied breezes from overindulging in pies baked by the mothers and grandmothers.

I sat with my family on our red and white picnic blanket. The basket was empty of sweetmeats, and everyone was mingling. My brothers and sister were helping to participate in cricket. My parents only sat idly chatting with each other about the new mill.

I was only watching the sky from beneath my blue parasol. How dreamily the clouds shifted- they changed shapes, gathered, and divided from the wind. How eternal it looked and how beautiful. Thank goodness for the shade or else the blare of the sun, despite its warmth, would have blocked such a vision.

I was in such admiration of it I didn’t hear footsteps in the grass towards me.

“Miss Harris, I hoped you would be here.”

I blinked and jumped a little, but the sight of Mister Ransome was welcome.

“It is nice to see you too. It’s a pleasant day for a picnic...and look up! Look at the clouds in the sky. That one seems like an evergreen- and that one a whisp of wheat. I always found it beautiful…” I began.

“Picnic days should be beautiful.”

There was a pause. When I looked back down at him, I saw one hand behind his back.

“I am here because I have a gift for you…” he announced, leaning down on his knees so his eyes would meet mine.

“For me. Why?”

“Because I thought you would like it. I found it and saved it just for you.

From behind his back, he pulled out something long and thin, wrapped in brown tissue paper. He gave it to me. I opened it to be a beautiful white gardenia. It still even smelt fresh.

“It’s for your books, so you may press it.” He said it.

My parents halted in their conversations to watch as if we were a play and they were the audience.

“Mister Ransome…thank you. Thank you very much. It will…remind me of you and how…how good you have been to our family in your parish and how kind your gift was,” I thanked.

We spent that time talking about things other than the weather. Discussing what we thought of God as clouds moved by us in white, fluffy droves. I held the gardenia gently, never letting the flower go or letting it out of my sight. I pressed it once I got home.

We spoke every Sunday from then on and even on the street. And visit us at meals and tea far more frequently.

And the times when we danced increased to two per party.

It was late winter when the snow was melting. I was mending a stocking when my mother walked into the room. She was smiling.

“Stella…you have a letter…” she began.

“Oh, from home? I bet it’s Miss Greene.” I suggested.

She shook her pale head.

“It’s from Mister Ransome,” she explained.

Edith practically threw away her sewing in excitement.

“I knew it, oh I knew it!!” she cheered.

“What do you mean?” I asked sternly.

“Isn’t it obvious?!” she squealed, leaning closer.

I slowly opened the letter and read its contents silently. I heard the sharp exhale and giggles of Edith next to me. My own breath stopped in my body once the contents had registered. I had to reread it again to make sure I was not dreaming.

“Miss Harris, I must confess between the time of our first meeting and when you arrived in Aldwinter to now, I have grown fond of you. Very, very fond. And I confess these feelings have grown to where I can no longer deny it. I cannot deny why I walked with you to the sunflowers or gave you that gift. I cannot deny the real reason I gave you the flower. I love and admire you…”

“He certainly knows how to write a good letter! How romantic!!” my sister exclaimed.

I looked up at my mother’s face. She held out a hand and I gave her the letter for her to read as well.

Edith ran over to the end of the steps to yell out the news at Father and our brothers.

“Mister Ransome loves Stella! Mister Ransome loves Stella!” Edith cried.

I hushed her, practically dragging her back to the parlor.

“Why can’t that happen to me, yet Mama??” she complained.

“Edith, you’re only seventeen…you have so much time before you! I’m twenty-four…. just sixty years ago some would have called me a spinster,” I advised.

“I just want someone to love me, now!” she protested.

“Mama, papa, your brothers, and I love you…” I tried to reason.

“But Stella, it’s just not the same!”

“Well…you’re right, it’s not…but someday, you’ll have your turn,” I playfully pinched her cheek “you’re too pretty to be a spinster, anyway!”

She laughed and nursed the spot I pinched her.

“Oh, I must tell Fanny! This is too exciting!” She rushed out to happily gossip to anyone within her ear’s reach.

My mother handed back the letter. “It is a lovely letter. You should feel very, very fortunate a man like him has taken interest in you, my dear.”

I felt dizzy with joy. He loved me! He loved me!

“May I… may I please have the writing desk?” I asked. “I…I would like to write a response.”

“Of course,” my mother replied, beaming.

Immediately I wrote down my response, saying that I felt the same. Once the contents had my mother’s consent, we sent it. I could hardly wait the hours until Sunday morning in my giddiness. It was everything I could to distract myself from my excited impatience.

Once that Sunday morning arrived, I made sure my hair was done as neat as it could be and picked my nicest dress. Any stray strand of hair was tucked and pinned away. When I saw him, we made our glances all throughout the service. Our confirmations of love had to be accompanied by my family in the far corner of that church to give us the illusion of privacy.

“So, you do feel the same, Miss Harris?” he asked. "Truly?"

“You read my letter. I do…and I feel the same to you…would you join us for tea today?” I asked.

“Yes, I shall.”

Finally, the next afternoon as My mother and I were ironing an apron, Mister Ransome knocked on the door and announced himself. But the vicar was not with him for a typical tea.

“Mrs. Harris and Miss Harris, good day…”

“Good day…” we repeated.

His eyes were large and bright with urgency.

“Mrs. Harris, where is your husband? Is he working right now?”

We froze. Only the ticking of the clock in our parlor could be heard.

“He is home now. He’s upstairs in his study, I think,’ my mother answered.

“I would like to speak to him alone, with your permission.”

Another tick, tick, tick from the clock. I nearly dropped the iron in my hand.

My mother accompanied him upstairs as I stayed put. Then she returned to me.

“Come Stella …we need to check on the laundry drying.” She spoke. “And we need to make some tea for our guest…”

She placed a kettle on the stove as a welcome distraction from the voices upstairs. We walked outside to feel the rush of the cold air as we pulled shirts from the line out in our backyard.

I saw a glimpse of his curly head in the window. And he was speaking with my father. They were smiling. I forced my eyes away to the straw basket on the ground.

“What are they discussing?” I asked nervously.

I was no fool, I only wanted confirmation. To get out of my racing mind and feel the earth on my feet and the words from another person and not my imagination. That it all was real.

My mother neatly folded the bedsheet on top of the blanket. Then she approached me and cupped my face gently.

“Mister Ransome is a man of stability for the parish that picks him. And yes, he is handsome and charming but…. If this Is what I think it is…whatever happens, whoever he… decides on is lucky but…there will much responsibility. But you have always been a good, responsible girl. Stella. What matters most now is do you like him?” she asked.

I blinked, a few tears coming out of my eyes despite myself.

“If I didn’t, I’d reject his letter. I like him. More than I can say….” I found myself confessing.

She smiled and kissed my forehead. Saying no other word.

It wasn’t long until Mister Ransome walked out from the back door and approached us.

“Mrs. Harris…will you give me permission to speak in private to Miss Harris in the parlor? It won’t be very long.”

My heart leaped to my throat. I stayed still and yet the world was spinning.

“You may. The tea needs finishing,” She spoke. We were led inside. She briefly squeezed my arm and retreated to the kitchen.

He approached me. He opened his hand for mine. I trembled as I placed mine in his.

“Miss Harris… the current vicar is going to retire in a month. And it is his wish for me to take his place as Vicar for the Aldwinter parish. If I am going to do so…It will be expected of me to marry. Stella I…I would like you to be my wife.”

Before I could answer, he carried on.

“I think of all the women here, you would be the best suited to be a minister’s wife. You’re everything I could ever want my wife to be, what a wife should be. Your father agrees with this and has granted me permission, should you say yes. You will make the most incredible example of a good woman for Aldwinter and…and if that’s not enough, I love you too…”

“Did you forget? I love you too, Mister Ransome…” I was able to voice.

“Could you please call me William, from now on?”

“Alright, then William, I accept you!”

Two rings were pulled from his pocket, and one slipped onto my finger perfectly. He gave me our first kiss then and there. Albeit quickly and chastely- my mother was no doubt listening from the door. We held hands as we walked into the kitchen to confirm the news to my mother and each family member who would return.

Three afternoons later, the current vicar and his wife called. They brought earl grey tea, fresh walnut cake, and a lecture.

“Now, Miss Harris…you are about the become wife to the next vicar of the Aldwinter parish. Are there any ministers in your family at all?” the husband asked, hardly touching the drink.

“There aren’t, really” my father answered.

“Marriage to a head of the church is not to be taken lightly, Miss Harris…” the vicar said.

They went on to explain that marrying William meant marrying the church and the parish. The day he wrote that letter it had been in my mind constantly. He had even discussed this and the decision to make me his wife was not a choice given lightly.

“Miss Harris…” the current vicar’s wife voiced. She was tall and slender. Her brown hair had not greyed much. She held herself straight and looked down on me as a queen might from her throne.

“I shall make it easy for you…I shall give you a list of everything you will need to know as a vicar’s wife, and everything you must do in addition to any wife’s duties…here, I have written them down. And I must see you read each aloud and copy it down as well…”

She handed me a small journal bound in red. I opened it to read the list. Then I fetched my own pen and paper and in front of them, read them aloud and copied them down from her clear, beautiful handwriting.

1. No matter what, you must overall support your husband in his ministry, friendship, and partner with him for a loving home atmosphere.

2. You are to maintain daily prayer with God

(Which I already had since childhood)

3. Support him in his emotions without complaint

4. Encourage his advancements while maintaining the balance of his home and family.

It struck me and I paused, a small blot of ink spilling. Did they think I was unable to do so? Would they force the engagement off? Were they testing me? If I failed these, would they find another far more worthy? And would William replace me with another woman, worst of all?? Oh God, God help me! I would prove to them I was worthy to be his wife no matter what, I resolved!

5. Visit members of the congregation as able.

6. Build relationships with women in the church to support, encourage and model Godliness to them.

“That one is especially important, Miss Harris”, she warned “Every woman in Aldwinter will look to you as an example of a Godly woman. It is not that you aren’t Godly, but this will increase. Their eyes will all be watching you as to what to do with their own lives, homes, and marriages. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

7. Reach out to those on the outside and facilitate relationships with all women or men in the congregation or otherwise.

8. Pray intently for your husband’s strength to withstand opposition, temptation, and arrogance

“William is a good, Christian man- that will not be hard, you won’t suffer any grave sin from him” the vicar assured me.

I went down to carefully copy the last ones.

9. Attend Sunday services regularly and sit visibly so your husband always knows he has at least one ally in the congregation.

10. Stay after service to allow people to get to know you.

11. Be consistently humble; appreciating everything while demanding very little.

12. Be a blessing to the women in the church; encourage others to do the same.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

15. Stay married.

Once I wrote the “d” of married, I looked up to them, almost pleading, but staying as calm as I could.

“I will be happy to. For William, it will be my joy to do all these things!”

The vicar’s wife placed a hand under my chin and tipped it to face her in her large blue eyes.

“And still with that loving, sweet spirit of yours, Miss Harris?” she asked kindly.

“Yes, I promise.” And that list I always kept in the pocket of my reticule and read each night before I slept.

In a way her apprentice as her husband and William were. She showed me everywhere around the church and introduced me to the various married women of the congregation. I was now no longer a child or an actress for their private romantic melodramas of local courtship. She let me sit beside her at church in the front row and take note of everything she did.

It felt daunting, but I found comfort in prayer. At last, at long last, my prayer for love and romance was answered! And now that was what I had to do. It was longer than what I initially thought, but so be it. William would know every day that I loved him and would give my life for him, even if it meant staying a little longer in the church. And even after he performed the duties of a curate during the service, he would walk down to that row. We were permitted to hold hands during the service. It was a blissful five months. William alone, no Vicar at his tail, was present for tea and every meal and promenade after, leaving his final, and sweetest goodbye to me. By then the sun cracked the ice so that the rivers, lakes, and ocean would flow again. He was permitted to be in a rowboat with me on lakeside picnics. We would walk by the beach during visits to the sea.

Despite the gossip-hungry eyes of the parish noting our every breath, we were in our own world, smiling. Of course, we exchanged numerous letters. Each one he wrote me was more beautiful and romantic than the last. Of course, these were still checked by my mother for anything inappropriate and then returned to me. Of all the men in that town, he was expected the least to stray from anything improper. And of all the women, I was the one least allowed to be out of line now. Not that one word of his letters during our engagement implied anything at all. They didn’t need to. If he did become a writer, I was convinced, he would make the world fall in love with the power he held in his pen.

He gave me small gifts such as flowers, new books, new journals to press my blooms, gloves, and such. We exchanged our photographs and locks of our hair. I kept his photograph and that reddish-blonde curl on the same page with the gardenia. Now when there was a local dance, we could have three.

That is as well as usual wedding planning. Invitations. Shopping. Recipes and ribbons and the like.

The final two months before the wedding the current vicar retired. Now it was William who was weekly on the pulpit. He immediately won over the parish. His words could move the hardest of hearts and he was immediately beloved. And I was there, on the front row, smiling with his ring on my finger. Counting down until that day of all days. Four weeks. Three weeks.

“I must say, I’m so used to performing weddings I must restrain myself from the speech!” he would whisper with excitement to me at dinner.

Two weeks. One week. Five days. Two. One.

Finally, the wedding arrived. I recall my white dress had a high collar and long sleeves for modesty for the other women to take note of. Modest, but still pretty. My father seemed to glow as he walked me down the aisle of the stone church. I felt genuine that I was beautiful. Beautiful enough that William smiled ear to ear when he turned to see me.

The regional bishop cleared his throat before he began to recite the wedding ceremony, prayers, hymns, and all.

Finally, came the vows. We stood to face each other

I heard the bishop intone:

“William, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife to live in God’s ordinance of the Holy State of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, honor her, keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others keep only her if you both shall live?”

He inhaled deeply and replied, “I will.”

The bishop turned to me.

“Stella, wilt thou have this man to be they wedded husband to live in God’s ordinance of the Holy State of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, obey him, keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others keep only him as long as you both shall live?”

“I will” I said without a second’s hesitation.

More was said. It seemed that I blinked and then rings were exchanged, and he signaled to the congregation.

“I now present to you, under God and this congregation, man and wife, William, and Stella Ransome. William, you may kiss your bride.”

As simple as that. I was married.

There was much jaunty celebration in the town hall afterwards, fitting the marriage of a minster of a small town. Thankfully, there seemed to be no open ill will from the local female admirers of my husbands. In fact, I got more invitations to tea than I ever thought I would get in my lifetime. I must have shaken hands and been congratulated by every person in England on that day.

Dante cheerfully offered to be one of the musicians for my day for free. As William reached to hold my hand as we greeted his side of the family, Dante began to play one sweet tune with descending notes full of joy. They sparkled and giggled it seemed.

My mother walked over to him, and I overheard their conversation, “what is that song?”

“I got it from a music book in London- it’s an aria called Caro Nome by some Verdi chap, it’s from his opera about a hunchbacked jester, mother!”

She shot him a bemused look.

“The song’s about love! It seemed fitting for today!”

“Well, it is charming…” she said.

After the last line, a violin picked up. Dante played something even faster.

“Oh, we must at our wedding- Dance with me, Stella! Please!” William begged.

As I nodded, he pulled me onto the floor with the other couples.

I can tell you now that I was his most experienced of partners, he wasn’t the best of dancers, but a passionate one, pouring his all as he swayed and swirled me around. The music was the most beautiful I had ever heard. Smiles upon all of us watching how much he loved me despite his feet landing mere centimeters from my toes.

But I felt like I could fly. I never felt more loved from him than in that moment. We danced so much and talked and greeted and celebrated so much we even nearly forgot to eat our own cake.

Now I must recall this. Please do not think I am a certain kind of woman or forward or crude. You know how I began my story. The Marital act and my experience joining William Ransome’s bed must be recalled. But I will refrain from specifics out of politeness. You will understand why I even write at all about our bed later, I hope.

When it came to that evening, the guests were starting to leave. My mother walked up to me.

“Do you have…any last questions before…before tonight?” She asked.

I looked around. No one was listening in. William was splitting a congratulatory pipe with my brothers.

“I don’t mama…I know everything I need for now…” I confirmed.

The sky was black, and the last guest waved goodbye.

He led me to his house. I had never been inside, propriety forbidding of course. It was a tall white house in the middle of a field. Inside was cozy and brown- wooden floors, walls, and steps with not a bit of paint or wallpaper. A small, tight kitchen. A living room with two chairs. And stairs leading to the second floor.

He offered his hand to help me upstairs. Then placed his hand on the knob of a brown door.

“Here, this will be our room from now on.”

It was a bare room. There was a desk, windows, bookshelves, and Knick knacks like that. In the center was a large, blue bed.

I sat on the bed in my wedding gown, yet to undo a button as he knelt to start a kindle in the fireplace for warmth. My heart was starting to race with nerves.

Once he sat down next to me, he turned to me and offered his hand. I accepted it. Then he leaned forward, and I closed my eyes.

He began to kiss me but…differently. It was passionate. Forward. I was surprised a holy man could even kiss like that. He hands wandered down to my waist. He had never done that before and it shot me with electricity. He practically grabbing my dress to pull me onto him as he continued kissing. All my life, I was told to stay away from such desires. The risk of being alone with a man of bad character. The risk of ruin. Now it was no longer a sin, but a required ceremony between a husband and wife.

And that was one of many tests I had to pass for him to be happy. Every bit as much as the list saying to pray for him.

He stopped. His hands landed on my skirt.

He looked at me and said “we…we can wait, Stella, it doesn’t have to be tonight.” I could tell he wished for it to be tonight, but said nothing.

My heart was picking up. We turned away to watch the fire.

It struck me.

I wasn’t afraid of lovemaking. Not at all now. In fact, I wanted it. And I wanted it from him.

I raised my skirt and led his hand to be on my leg. I began to unbutton my dress quickly and his eyes grew into large, blue saucers.

“William, I’d like it to be tonight…” I spoke.

And that was all he needed.

I was delightfully surprised how much I loved it. We fell soundly asleep and the next night we did it again.

I recall that second night he gathered my hair as I laid in bed and played with it, propping the strands on top of my head in a kind of messy bun.

“You are a saint, an angel, Stella, and even your hair is a halo…” he said lovingly.

The following night after that we did it twice.

It was an odd contrast. In the mornings I would help to plan and run the events in the church. I followed the list to the letter. I would attend and even often lead the Bible study of the local women and visit their teas for well-behaved conversations. But once I returned, William and I were anything but well-behaved. But we were married now! How could that be sinful?

I understand many who might read this admire and lust for my husband. Especially for his handsomeness and good character. I will let you imagine privately what it was like in that bed if it pleases you- and I ask your sympathy, for you to understand how much I loved and desired him as a wife. Anything you might imagine was possibly done and correct.

By days, I had my own duties to fulfill. Meals had to be cooked (though legally it was his, he wasn't the cook-my own kitchen! With any recipe William or I wanted!), the house had to be kept tidy (yes it was his but it felt like my own house!), gardening (legally his, but my own garden!), laundry (only mine and Williams!) as well as daily attendance of prayer, scripture reading, as well as visiting and attending all events, ceremonies, and services of the church while keeping visits from the women of town- Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Rogers, Mrs. Finch. Mrs. Bennett, Mrs. Franklin, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Elliott, and so many other names that it made my head spin. However, nights were a different matter.

Anything that could be done in that bed in our marriage that could be done was done. Especially any act that pleased him. I wanted badly to please him. I did please him in any way he wanted. Then in turn, he wanted to please me. And his desire for me was not unwelcomed. He could not finish a sermon on that desk as soon as I was in that room undoing a button of my dress.

Before we slept each night, we did it. After I visited some of the local women and the afternoon was free, we did it. When we were returning home from visits and errands, we did it. We did it before dinner, after dinner, and rainy days, snowy days, sunny days, and even right before church in the early Sunday mornings. Often resulting in secret smiles during the service right after between us two. William had an appetite that could never be quenched.

I was convinced that was for me and me alone, especially as his wife.

One warm night, he kissed the top of my head after the bliss had spiraled down. He then put on his robe and gave me a blanket to cover myself. He walked to the window, gesturing me to follow. He opened the curtains to show the clear night sky. Not one cloud was in sight and there were stars in the thousands.

“Do you see that, all of those stars up there?” he asked, pointing up.

I gasped in awe. He leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“Those are for you, Stella. Your name is Star…they’re for you tonight.”

We embraced, watching the sky. He then turned to me.

“Tomorrow, since my meeting with the choir boys were canceled, there’s a spot I’d like to take you…” he offered.

“Take me there, Will, please!” I replied.

The next afternoon, he led me by his hand as we walked through the woods. We ducked under branches and leaves crunched beneath my shoes. He showed me a trail he had marked and then turned a corner. There was a pond, clear as a mirror right in front of us.

“This is my own spot…I’ve never shown it or discussed it to anyone…except now you,” he said.

“It’s beautiful!” I cried.

He began shedding off his shirt and pants. And he was not stopping at his undergarments.

“Wh…what are you doing?” I asked nervously.

“I’m going swimming…” he answered simply.

“Here!? Without any of your clothes?”

“You can’t swim with clothes on!” he protested.

“But…”

“No one will see us or find us, Stella!” he assured.

He disrobed until not a thing was on him. By then I was used to his attractive nakedness. But it was the sight of his bare torso among the leaves, unroofed sky, and the chatter of birds that shocked me.

“How long have you done this?” I asked.

“As long as I’ve been curate!” He walked down into the water.

“And no one caught you?” I asked.

“None!”

He began to glide through as effortlessly as a dolphin.

“Come Stella! Swim!”

“I…I just…”

I stared down at how the ground was wet with water beneath my shoes.

“Can you swim?”

“I can swim…only…I never have been…not like this!”

“Try it, Stella! Please! The water’s amazing!”

I sighed and nodded.

He got out of the pond and with wet hands helped me out of my dress, stockings, shoes, petticoats, and corset. God forbid a member of our parish pick the place to picnic now, I thought. But I insisted that at least I would be in my shift rather than completely bare, like him. So, help me, should someone see and recognize us, they would think at least I was decent.

He led me into the waters, at a certain depth I slipped and let him catch me as he laughed. We waded and swam joyfully. He was right, it felt amazing. He even placed his arms above my waist, wading up above the depths, he twirled me around. Our wet hair was clinging to our faces as we held each other and kissed as we waded. And no, no one caught us. It was much worth redressing with a wet shift beneath me. Such experiences were two of his many gifts.

Oh yes, He was generous and that expanded in our marriage. Since he knew through our letters and conversations that my favorite color was blue, our room was made to be blue. It was striking considering the rest of that plain house, but it was beautiful. It felt, in a way, like I had my own touch. That it was my room as much as his.

After his payment, he would spare some of it to buy me flower seeds. He gave me flower seeds to plant and water and tend to. Flowers that would bloom into those colorful blooms I adored so much and wished to press in my collection.

One unique flower seed he gave me was that for a Star Lily (“A star for the lady whose name is star!” he said). I planted it and in time it grew into one beautiful, full, white blossom. It was the pride and joy of my flower garden at the time.

One summer day, after watering the vegetables, I turned to my section with flowers to water them. Every rose, peony, and daisy were as normal. I looked everywhere for the Star Lily and could not find it.

Once my head ducked down, I realized why.

There was green Garden Snake right twisting around the Star Lily with its long body. Its weight bent down and broke the stem. It squeezed the flower, like one wringing a cloth. Then it was opening its mouth, eating, and tearing at the petals.

I gave a horrified shriek and retreated a few steps. The creature terrified me so much I could not even as much as find a stick and poke it away. Uselessly, I stood there and watched. William was away, unable to help or hear me.

It slithered further over the flower. The hearty stem grew weak and shriveled. It continued to bite and tear and squeeze the life out of the Star Lily. The tramped petals fell on the brown dirt. The petals beauty was now only memory.

[coffeefromthevoid]

Hollyhock for Bryn and Freddy, Abatina for Tinker and Maz, and Lavender and Larkspur for Taramak <3

Bryn

Hollyhock: What's their biggest goal right now?

Bryn is but an old man. Right now, his biggest goal is honestly just settling down and having a family. It is daunting to him at the moment, considering he’s honestly never even properly dated before, let alone as a werewolf, but he knows he must try if he wants to succeed in his goal.

Freddy

Hollyhock: What's their biggest goal right now?

Actually, his biggest goal right now is finding a goal. He’s just been drifting along aimlessly ever since Adrian died, but there’s always been a voice in the back of his head telling him he can’t do that forever. He knows he doesn’t wanna rejoin the organisation, but he’s also never known any other life. It’ll take him a while to figure that all out, I think.

Tinker

Abatina: Are they very picky or particular about anything?

Strangely, I feel like Tinker would be very particular about his living quarters being clean. His workshop? Messy. The bar? Grimy. But his bedroom, living room, kitchen, etc? Has to be clean. I think it’s probably exactly because his workshop and the bar are always so filthy that he wants everything else to be clean. Not, like, obsessively so, but a stained blanket definitely gets washed straight away.

Maz

Abatina: Are they very picky or particular about anything?

Who goes into his workshop. As we saw last D&D session, even Celeus has never really been in there. It’s honestly sort of his man cave. He just likes having a space where he can be alone with his own thoughts and where he doesn’t have to consider anyone else’s opinions or feelings.

Taramak 

Lavender: If they were going to a masquerade ball, how would they feel and who would they take?

Taramak has VERY FEW FRIENDS and he’s the closest to Seras, so he’d probably take her. If she was unavailable, then Skipper. Aelius would be his last pick. He’d feel incredibly out of place, what with all the pretending and manners and everything. He’s the kinda guy who, when invited to a party, just plays with the host’s pets all night.

Larkspur: How do they feel about their home country?

CONFLICTED. On the one hand, he’s never really known any other place and there are definitely places he cares a lot about. On the other hand, the Barovia he left behind isn’t the Barovia he’d known all his life, what with Strahd being gone. On top of that, the land also carries a lot of his misery with it, so it’ll always be tainted by that. It’s a mixed bag, really. Bittersweet.

[faaun]

.

[pearlywritings]

Dawn without you

synopsis: Dainsleif watches as the new day begins and relishes in the memories he shared with you five hundred years ago.

pairing: Dainsleif x fem!reader

tw: bittersweet fluff and angst, established relationship in the past

word count: 1.1k+ words

author’s note: the idea came spontaneously, when i heard a small bit of a song and translated it into English to use somehow later. So yeah, here it is, heh

I am taking pictures of the dawn…

"Hey, Dainsleif, do you find dawns beautiful?"

That was a strange question Traveler once asked him. Throughout those long five hundred years as Dainsleif has been cursed with immortality he has seen how the sun rose and set thousands of times, and the beauty of it has long but faded in his eyes.

Dawns mean the beginning of a new day, a world basking in a warm light that reaches earth and saves it from night's darkness. But his nation lived in that darkness for a long time. In Khaenri'ah there were no dawns, nor were there sunsets - it was underground realm mostly barren of natural life. However they had science, they could create life, they could create light, they could create everything to live happily.

For the longest time they did, they lived happily, and he was among these people, those who knew what it meant to be joyful. His memory is fading, and he doesn't remember his human life before his nation's fall in miniscule detail, however some things stay unchanged within the confines of his brain. Many faces were wiped away and he can't imagine them no matter how hard he tries, but yours is still clear. 

He remembers your smile - soft lips, he married so many times with his own, stretched delicately. He remembers your eyes - two shining gems that looked at him with nothing but devotion and love. Light was captured in them, illuminating his path. Path to you, no matter where he was, no matter how busy he was, he always found his way back to your loving embrace, to your soft gaze cast upon him, to your lips pressing against his cheeks, murmuring sweet nothings and everythings.

Your hand would brush against his, and he'd feel relief as a cold metal band touched his skin, the similar wrapped around his ring finger. You were everything a man could wish for, he was so incredibly lucky to have a wife like you. 

He remembers how you'd drop by his headquarters, effortlessly passing right into the palace since everyone knew you - they loved your presence. Everyone would turn a blind eye and let you and your husband slip out in the early hours of the morning - the only time you managed to be alone for the most cases. Knights knew the mission put on their shoulders and could carry on with their duties immaculately even with the supervisor absent for a couple of hours. They were aware of how hard their commander worked, so a small walk with his wife must've been a blessing. Halfdain would always cast a glance at your linked fingers and smile, nodding as you passed by. 'I'll take care of your duties, don't worry.'

And Dainsleif didn't. Holding your hand, being led by you in the gardens he felt tension from night duties leaving his body. He'd happily listen to your voice, telling him about your day before, and smile guiltily once you’d start lightheartedly complaining about your shared bed not being shared again. He knew you didn't really mean it, you married him with a full understanding of who he was and what his job was, which he greatly appreciated it.

He'd bring your hands to his lips and kiss every knuckle as you cooed about his chivalry behavior. You'd escape his hold for a moment with a soft chuckle, running forward to make a distance. Then you'd turn around, skirt twirling and hands clasped behind your back as your lips formed a smile - you were beckoning him to chase you in the early hours of the morning, the artificial light slowly brightening your homeland and you looked beautiful in it. He never could fight the attraction and always made his way to you.

You did the same for him. If he had to leave for a relatively safe mission, he was always taking you with him and you followed happily, not minding one bit the nights spent in a tent, if only it meant they were shared with you both wrapped in each other's embrace.

That was one of those times when the two of you witnessed the dawn for the first time together. Dainsleif can't remember why his troops were out of Khaenri'ah in the first place, but he remembers being out there with you. How you woke him up disgustingly early on his only day when he could sleep in with someone else taking care of guarding duties. Excitement and joy was written all over your face as you impatiently tugged on his hand.

Abandoning his attempts to dress in armor, he let you drag him out in only his pants and a shirt, as he tried to rub the sleep out of his tired deep blue eyes.

And then he felt it first rather than saw - a  light, caressing his cheek and trying to creep into his sight with its annoying blinding brightness. Getting eyes used to it was a bit of a challenge but once he did, he couldn't tear his gaze off of the view. 

You, a couple of steps ahead already, with your arms spread and head thrown back, were twirling in place with the colors of rich red, orange and yellow as your background. You were looking like a perfect picture, and if it wasn't for your movements and soft giggles falling and taking their flight from your lips, he would've thought it was a painting.

And your eyes... How precious the look of them was, with the real burning sun reflecting there, creating the prettiest loveliest gleam…

He swore he lost his heart in them and found it again.

Dainsleif knew he'd have to thank you for convincing him to purchase a recent invention that allowed to memorize a moment in the material form of an identical picture. Having retrieved it from his bag, he returned to you, ready to capture that morning, that dawn and you, his precious wife, the love of his life.

He brings Kamera - a replica created in Fontaine this time and given to him by the Traveler - closer to his face; a starish eye is looking straight through the lenses, watching the skies change their color as the sun is taking them in its possession. He knows you'd like that view even hundreds of years later. He knows you'd still look magical, right with this five hundred years old dawn as your background.

He imagines your figure, wind caught in your hair, slightly ruining flowers woven between strands, loose sleeves and long skirt fluttering around your arms and legs, and you smile. You smile, lips stretched wide, eyes, with sun captured in their depths, semi-closed and cheeks rosy, caressed by warm rays. He can almost hear his name leaving your phantom mouth, echoing in the soft click as his finger presses the button.

I am taking pictures of the dawn

Just like many years before

Without you

Without you

Without you