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angelsnuffbox · 9 months

Note

Hello dear!

For the ask game:

An Inducement to Marry.

1-15? If you don't mind?

And if you see this then I want you to know that I love every single one of your fics! ❤

Ask me about any of my fics x

Omg thank you so much! It boggles my mind to think that you actually read all of them goshhh all my good words as well as my weird ones. Seriously thank you for putting up with them.

An Inducement to Marry isn't a fic that I usually get asked about, but I remember I had a blast writing it! I'm flattered you'd bring it up <3 It's been a while though, so forgive me if my memory lapses a little on this.

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

Iirc this was my second Regency AU so at the time I was just getting into writing regencyAU fics for Good Omens and it was pandemic lockdowns and I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. I was reading so many books on Regency era customs and culture and I wanted to read regency AUs of A/C so badly but there weren't any of them at the time, so I wrote my own.

2: What scene did you first put down?

I write all the scenes in all my fics in the same order they occur in the story! (With the exception of Strictly Business, which I have had to wrestle with for a bit for various reasons).

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

I remember really liking all the parts where I went into great detail about how attractive Aziraphale was lmao here's one of them in the opening scene:

Mr Fell was also a right stunner, with eyes bright as Tadfield's perfect summer skies and hair soft as its perfect winter's snow. His countenance was strong. He had a stable, stocky build blanketed by the comfortable, if a bit old-fashioned, textiles of his clothing... A perfectly pleasing man, he was, though one who lived only with his mind in his books even when his hands were completely devoid of them.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

From Chapter 9 there's a part where Aziraphale gives Crowley a kiss on the cheek for good luck in his gambling which he says was "In the spirit of keeping you within marriageable conditions" idk why but I thought it's such a funny thing for him to say at the time. Just the most Aziraphale excuse to kiss Crowley ever.

5: What part was hardest to write?

The confession scene with the illumination! It was so emotionally charged and one of the few scenes that made me actually cry as I wrote them.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

I think it's the most Georgette Heyer-ish thing I ever wrote. The plot is a bit more complex than my usual no frills fluff (romance, comedy, banter, adventure). If I ever fulfil my (totally unrealistic) dream of being a published historical romance fiction writer one day I imagine the story would have these exact vibes.

7: Where did the title come from?

It was remixed from a line that Emma Woodhouse says in the beginning part of Jane Austen's 'Emma'. In the novel she says something like "My being charming is not quite enough to induce me to marry". In the 2020 film the line goes "I have none of the usual inducements to marry. Fortune I do not want. Consequence I do not want."

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

The part where Aziraphale talks about a romance book he likes with the line that goes something like 'For the heart has always bested the mind in performance', I made up the novel title and quotations myself but the themes were based off of Jane Austen's 'Persuasion'. I also mentioned "The Beau" in one part I think, which refers to Beau Brummell, a major arbiter of English mens fashion around the 1810s.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

None! I plotted it out on a discord chat from start to finish one lazy afternoon and it behaved exactly like I plotted, thankfully.

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

Do I even write about any other pairings lmao

11: What do you like best about this fic?

See answer for no. 6!

12: What do you like least about this fic?

The opening scene is pretty hefty, and some comments did mention that they had a hard time getting past it. I was new to Regency style writing at the time and got too enthusiastic with trying it out. If I were to write that fic now I probably would be more concise about it. Also would try to make it funnier.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I wrote almost all my Regency AUs while listening to the Pride & Prejudice 2005 and the Emma 2020 OSTs to get me in the old timey mood.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

Cheese ice cream is valid and it's hella fuckin delicious and also coming from an Asian perspective, it's far far from being the weirdest ice cream flavour out there.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

That gambling culture in the Regency era was wild

#ask #ask meme #my fics #thank you #anon #anon ask

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mm2305 · 3 years

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What Ethan & Olivia AU is this? #OpenHeartAU

An eventful encounter

Pairing : Ethan Ramsey x Olivia Valentine || Rating/Genre : Teen+/romance, general || Warnings / Words : none / 2.8k ||Setting : Alternate Universe - Regency Era || Disclaimer : all characters and pictures belong to the rightful owners

Summary : During one of her trips in town, Olivia meets the newly-arrived Dr. Ramsey.

A/N : Let me start by saying that this has been in my inbox for almost a month and I'm so sorry for the long wait. Secondly, this was something completely new to me, since it's set in a different time and universe, but still very fun to write! No beta, so all mistakes are mine. I really hope this comes out good enough :)

Enjoy!

My masterlist

-/-

Somewhere in the England of 1816

Olivia's pov

"Oh come on you little bugger", a young woman sighed exasperated, looking at her reflection in the vanity. She had been trying for the last twenty minutes to gather her long hair with some pins, but it was difficult to contain all of it in them. Finally, she got ready and rushed down the stairs of her home, Edenbrook Manor.

"Mrs Clarke? Where are you?"

"I am in the kitchens Miss Olivia!", the other woman replied.

Olivia followed the stairwell leading to the kitchen and greeted Mrs Clarke, one of the people who worked in her home. She was more than that to her though, since she was the one who practically raised her, her friend and closest confidant. Her father, Ernest Valentine, was a merchant, quite known for his successful business, but was away from home most of the year, coming only a few weeks at a time. Therefore, her mother, Anne Valentine, was left to manage most of the affairs regarding the estate and surrounding grounds they owned. Both did love her dearly, they just didn't have time for her. Since she had no siblings, she was left with no one's company but Mrs Clarke's ,who in her and her family's eyes had become a member of the Valentine family too.

"Do you need anything else from the market Mrs Clarke?"

"No Miss, that's everything we need. Are you sure you want to go, though ?"

Having grown up close to her, Olivia was always helping around the house in whatever ways she could, even though she wasn't expected or needed to do so. Of course, she didn't neglect her occasional music , embroidery and drawing lessons, even though her true passion was biology, anatomy and science. In another world she imagined herself being a doctor, but since that wasn't possible, she just made the best of the situation at home, doing many things to pass her time.

"Of course! It will be a great chance for me to get some fresh air since I have not been out for a while. I promise I will be careful."

"Alright dear. Then you had better go now, it's quite a walk to the market.Who knows, you may meet somebody worth going to a ball with today."

"Not likely Mrs Clarke. And besides, you know I have high standards."

With a slight wave to Mrs Clarke, Olivia took her basket and headed out of the Manor.

----------

After a long, refreshing walk, Olivia reached the local food market. Rows upon rows of products had filled the sides of the road, the smell of flowers, herbs and fresh fruit invading her senses. People moved at their own pace, some slow and others faster, with baskets of their own at hand and doing their shopping. The whole street seemed to have come alive on that warm, autumn afternoon, creating a charming, quaint picture.

In just a few minutes she had gathered everything she needed, her basket full of herbs, vegetables and fruit. Ready to go home, she turned around, towards the end of the market, not noticing the tall man coming her way and colliding with him, the force knocking her down on the ground.

"I am so sorry sir, I did not mean --"

"Forgive me Miss I --", they both started apologizing at the same time. Olivia noticed she was still on the ground and the stranger offered his hand and carefully helped her back on her feet.

Finally looking up at him, she felt her breath catch in her throat.

The stranger was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. He was tall with a strong physique. His hair was a dark mahogany brown color, just visible in his hat, leading to his piercing, ocean blue eyes. He had a sharp jawline with high cheekbones and she was sure that his smile would be just as beautiful as the rest of his face.

His warm hand was still holding hers, the gesture sending sparks through her body. The man, noticing he was still holding her hand, cleared his throat and dropped it gently.

"I am deeply sorry, Miss. I hope you are not hurt.", he said in a deep yet gentle voice.

"I am alright, thank you for your assistance Mr..?"

"Ramsey. Ethan Ramsey. And you are?"

"Olivia Valentine, sir, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine. Oh! You dropped your basket!". He immediately bent down to gather the scattered apples, pears and whatever else could be saved.

"Please allow me, you need not do this…", she also kneeled beside him to gather the items, her hand going to catch an apple at the same time as Mr. Ramsey,their fingers briefly touching. They both locked eyes again, the movement making Olivia's cheeks redden in color. Did he feel that too? Looking away from his eyes for the sake of modesty and back at her now half full basket, she realized that she had to start making her way back home soon, if she wanted to make it before dinner. With a small sigh, she got up and dusted her dress,more than a little disappointed that she hadn't had the time to learn anything about Mr. Ramsey.

"Thank you once more Mr Ramsey. I sincerely apologize for falling onto you. If you'll excuse me, I need to return back home. I wish you a pleasant afternoon. ", she smiled softly at him and curtsied briefly before turning her back to him and starting walking. Hmm… I have never seen him before in town. Maybe Mrs. Clarke knows something about him. She decided she would ask Mrs. Clarke for more information when she reached home. Alas, she had not made it three feet away when Olivia heard him coming behind her.

" Ms. Valentine? "

" Yes? ", Olivia turned around curiously looking at him.

" Would you allow me to walk you back to your house? I… It's the least I could do for you after our eventful encounter", he asked with a hint of a smile on his face.

He really is handsome, she thought wordlessly. Was this her chance to get to know the mysterious man better? Was this a chance for a new friendship to bloom? Maybe something more? "Stop getting ahead of yourself Olivia. You just met this man! He may even be married!", The little voice in her mind warned her, but her heart, full of excitement at the prospect of getting to know him better, had already decided.

" I would love to"

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

Ethan's pov

Ethan was absentmindedly walking across the stone paved streets of the town he had just moved in. Or rather, his new residence was close to this town. Instead of taking his horse, he decided to take a walk from his house to the town, to get a feeling of orientation around this new place. Being prepared and feeling in control, made him feel more confident in himself, particularly since he was not good at social interactions. Being a man of solitude and always focused on his work, made him unwilling to make any meaningless acquaintances, the frivolous events he was often invited to, being of no essence to him. It was because of his work that he decided to move here.

Immersed in his thoughts as he was, he didn't notice the young lady that accidentally ran directly into him. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground, Ethan immediately apologizing and offering his hand to help her back up.

When the young woman looked up at him, he was left speechless.

This lady, whoever she was, was easily the most beautiful woman he had encountered in all the thirty years of his life. She had golden, blond hair that seemed softer than the most expensive silk and a spotless, alabaster skin. Her big, forest green eyes seemed to be able to see right through his soul and her rosy, full lips were in perfect harmony with her features. She was quite shorter than him, her head just reaching his shoulder and he could guess, even through the many layers of clothing, that she had a lean, feminine frame.

Her hand was soft and small in his and that's when he noticed he was still holding it. Clearing his throat to collect himself, he apologized again to her.

"I am alright, thank you for your assistance Mr..?", she asked him, her voice sounding like the most beautiful of melodies.

"Ramsey. Ethan Ramsey. And you are?"

"Olivia Valentine, sir, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Where have I heard that name from though? Catching himself being so entranced in this lady he just met, he allowed his eyes to wander away from her, when he noticed her basket, previously full of products, now scattered on the ground. He set down to gather whatever could be saved, knowing he must seem like a fool for doing what a gentleman would never probably do. All his thoughts flew out of the window, when he felt that spark again from both their fingers closing around an apple. Olivia's cheeks turned in a color close to the apple she was holding, making her seem even more beautiful than before. What is it that has me totally mesmerized by this woman?

To his great displeasure, their brief encounter would have to be cut short, since she had to return back to her house. Wishing him farewell, she began walking away but before he fully thought about what he was about to ask, his feet were carrying him towards her.

"Ms Valentine?"

She turned around, clearly wondering what he wanted to ask from her. "Yes?"

Taking a deep breath he gathered the courage to ask her what he wanted. "Would you allow me to walk you back to your house? I… -he staggered even though he never did before, looking for a reason to convince not only her but himself too as to why he was doing this for someone he just met - It's the least I could do for you after our eventful encounter", he added with a small smile.

For a few seconds that really seemed to stretch into hours, he could see the wheels in her mind turning, before she looked up at him and said the words he so much had come to want to hear.

"I would love to"

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

Olivia's pov

Ethan offered her his arm to take and Olivia weaved hers through it, her hand settled at the crook of his arm.

They began walking and for a few minutes no one said anything, a somewhat awkward silence setting over them. Neither of them seemed sure as to what they should say to break the ice. Finally Ethan, with a small cough, began talking to her.

"Do you live far from town, Miss Valentine?"

"My home, Edenbrook Manor, is about an hour and a half away from here."

"Oh! I actually bought a residence that is, apparently, close to your house."

"So you are the new doctor who bought Kenmore Park!"

"Indeed, I am"

"May I ask what made you choose to come here? I have the feeling you have been offered better and perhaps more, financially speaking, beneficial positions in bigger towns or cities."

He didn't hesitate to answer. "I was offered a position in this hospital and I was instantly aware that here, I could be more useful since there are not many doctors willing to work in a more rural area. Besides, I had missed the countryside. Has my arrival become such a popular issue here? ", he raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"Yes and no, Dr. Ramsey." she put emphasis on the Doctor, teasing him back too.

Ethan lowered his eyes, seeming a little sheepish. "Ah well… I could not find it in my heart to correct you, Miss. I am sorry."

Olivia chuckled, waving her hand dismissively. "You do not need to worry about it, I assure you."

"You see, this is a relatively small town and it is rare that something new happens. People have the tendency to talk. Or rather gossip, if I am being honest. But I actually learnt about you, from my maid, Mrs Clarke. I do not really get out of the house a lot."

"May I ask why?", Mr. Ramsey asked. Then as if considering how indiscreet he must seem, he sucked in a breath and turned to her. "I am sorry, Miss Valentine, it was not my place to ask."

For some reason, Olivia found herself not minding. Normally, she would not be interested in having a conversation with a man, knowing that at her age every move was scrutinized by potential suitors. That is why she remained unmarried at the age of four and twenty, much to society's disappointment. She just could not bind herself to a loveless marriage of interest. However, with Ethan, talking was easy and she felt surprisingly comfortable with this man she only met an hour ago.

"Well. I remain unmarried at the age of four and twenty and people like I said before, tend to talk. I find myself uninterested in what they say but it does make everyday life easier, since I do not have to hear my parents and Mrs Clarke trying to convince me to attend balls at every chance.", she rolled her eyes with what she felt was loving exasperation.

"I honestly could not imagine a woman such as yourself not being asked for her hand in marriage", Dr. Ramsey said, his face carefully neutral at her admission.

"It is not that I have not received any proposals, but it is I who refuses. My father is quite successful at his profession and those suitors were clearly interested in my family's wealth, not me."

"Then yours was a wise decision to make, if you allow me to say this, Miss."

Nodding silently, Olivia contemplated asking the question that had been in her mind ever since they began their walk. Oh just do it already Olivia. Before she could think further about it, she blurted out her question.

" How about you, Dr. Ramsey? Is there a wife waiting for you at home?"

"No, actually. Much like your case, I have no interest in people not caring about the important things in a marriage. That is not to say I stand against the institution. But, there has not been the right person in my life, so far."

A small, imperceptible smile graced her lips at his answer.

"I assume you are quite taken with your job, no? Since you moved to a different area, just because you want to help here…", Olivia changed the topic after a moment, her tone more cheerful and her heart longing to hear how life as a physician is.

"Indeed I am. Of course I owe all the skills I have acquired, to my mentor, Dr. Naveen Banerji head of Solomon's Hospital in London and professor at --"

"Edinburgh Medical School.",she finished with something that could only be described as wonder in her eyes.

" But how do you know?", he turned to her, surprised that she had heard of Naveen.

Olivia's eyes lowered to the ground, knowing that what she was about to say, would make him laugh at her.

"I… I study biology, anatomy and science whenever I can. I know it is something impossible for a woman in our times, but if I had the chance, I would love to take a proper apprenticeship and become a physician. Naturally, I cannot help but be informed about everything surrounding the medical world. And Dr. Banerji is one of the best doctors in the country. "

When she reluctantly looked back into the eyes that seemed to call for her, she saw an emotion similar to admiration in them. What for, she could not understand , but it made the butterflies in her stomach flutter excitedly.

" Miss Valentine, I've known you for just about two hours and yet, I can confidently say that your intelligence would make you an excellent physician. Please, do not hesitate to ask me anything if you have questions, it would be my pleasure to answer them for you.", Ethan assured her, his voice sincere and the opposite of what she expected to hear.

Olivia's face lightened up at that and she started excitedly asking him several questions, for the rest of the way to her house. It had been a long time since she had met someone not dismissing her love for medicine and even longer since she sincerely enjoyed talking to another person besides her family.

"Maybe this could finally really be the start of something worth exploring", they both thought, grinning happily for the rest of the way back, perfectly content in each other's company.

-/-

A/N : if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

Tags (let me know if you want to be added or removed and if you want to be moved to another category) :

Perma (all edits and fics) : @romewritingshop @codykosuckmytoe @sophxwithers @actuallybored @potionsprefect @ethansramsey @crystalwillow @gryffindordaughterofathena @kiara-36 @mrsethanfreakingramsey @writer-ish @panda9584 @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @queencarb @shanzay44 @nikki-2406 @starryeyedrookie @coffeeheartaddict @schnitzelbutterfingers @mysticaurathings @starrystarrytrouble @lsvdw-blog @izzyourresidentlawyer @silma-words @stygianflood @headoverheelsforramsey @maurine07 @natureblooms24 @a-crepusculo

Fics : @alina-yol-ramsey // Regency era fics : @princess-geek

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gerec · 3 years

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Being terribly afraid your crush will judge you by your family or being caught out in the pouring rain. :D

This is probably nothing like what you had in mind but for some reason I read ‘caught out in the pouring rain’ and immediately thought of the rain scene with Marianne and Colonel Brandon from Sense & Sensibility lol.

Non powered regency au, inspired by S&S but the set up is not directly lifted from the movie.

-----

Logan finds the household in an uproar upon his arrival at Graymalkin, with Mr. McCoy trying to calm his distraught and increasingly panicked wife. Five months into her first pregnancy she might be, but Raven Xavier seems rather determined to head out into the pouring rain, much to her husband's disbelief.

"Please, I'm sure Charles will be back shortly. You can't go out in your condition in this terrible weather--"

"He's been gone for hours, Henry! Whatever Mr. Lehnsherr had to say I'm sure it wouldn't have taken them all afternoon!"

He shares a quick glance with the Xaviers' butler - the kindly, discreet Mr. Stevens - noting the uncharacteristic frown on his face as he takes Logan's umbrella and overcoat. It would appear that Stevens at least shares Mrs. McCoy's concern for her missing brother, knowing better than most how poorly his master had taken the news of the unexpected engagement.

Quickly, he makes his way over to Raven, nodding briefly when Henry spots him and huffs a sigh of relief.

"Look, Colonel Howlett is here. I'm sure he'll agree that Charles is perfectly fine, and likely waiting out the storm somewhere quite safe."

Logan takes Raven's hand and squeezes it gently between his own. "Mr. McCoy is right. Your brother is a sensible man, and not prone to getting himself into trouble."

Her expression hardens at his words, though the sheen in her eyes betray the worry and despair behind her blistering rebuke. "He was sensible, and reasonable before he met Erik Lehnsherr! You do not know what it's done to Charles, to have fallen in love with such a deplorable scoundrel! I say he has lost all his common sense along with his heart, and I fear what might happen if... If..."

He can well imagine the turmoil Charles must be going through, having borne witness to the entirety of his young friend's courtship with Lehnsherr - from Charles' elation at their initial meeting, to the blissful happiness of a first, all encompassing love affair. Logan can even pity the impossible choice Lehnsherr's been forced to make; to marry Emma Frost for the welfare of his family, or to let them suffer for the sake of true love.

It's an understandable choice, perhaps even an admirable one, though he cannot be happy knowing that Charles' tender heart is breaking.

"I will go look for him," he says, noting the relief on both their faces at his offer. "I promise...I'll make sure he's alright and bring him home."

"Take my coat," Henry says, shrugging out of his warm jacket and handing it to Logan. "Yours is wet. And perhaps a fresh umbrella?"

"No need. I shall make haste and take one of the horses."

-----

By the time Logan arrives at the edge of the Lehnsherr property, the steady rain has turned into a downpour, soaking him to the bone. He spots Charles standing on a hill overlooking the manor, like a lone tree swaying in the wind. It might have been minutes, or hours, since he took up this vigil, though there's no way to tell with the state of his clothing. Charles is practically drowning, his hair matted and his jacket and trousers drenched through, prompting Logan to quickly dismount and pull the blanket from his saddle bag to wrap around his shoulders.

At his touch, Charles finally turns to look at him, as though he's just recognized Logan's presence. His eyes are red and bruised, lacking the usual warmth and humor Logan so loves, making it near impossible not to wrap his arms around him to try to ease his pain. Instead, he gently guides an unresisting Charles to his horse and helps him into the saddle, eager to get him out of the rain and into some warm and dry clothing.

Once properly seated, Charles murmurs, "You must think me so foolish."

"No." You are beautiful. And brilliant. Kind and full of life. "I think you have a big heart, Mr. Xavier, and that is something to be admired."

Charles snorts unhappily, shaking his head as he takes a last, lingering look towards the manor - and Lehnsherr - and heaves a tired sigh. "I should like to go home now, Colonel...and thank you. For coming to my aid."

"Always," Logan says, "I am at your service."

#kianspo #gerec writes #regency au #xavierine #cherik mentioned #sense & sensibiity au #sort of

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tazmuir · 5 years

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Hello! I loved Gideon the Ninth so much!! and would like to draw fan art, would you mind sharing any helpful summaries of what each character looks like? or must us fans hunt through the book for every offhand line of description? (not that I'm not planning on rereading it anyway)

I have let myself drift back onto Tumblr after two weeks, am deeply affrighted and excited at the idea that anyone has drawn my kids (I had an AMA on Reddit and as said there, my editor every so often hollered into my inbox about amazing shit people were doing, but I was too busy complaining back to him that my face had gone numb and that I no longer slept, but instead the darkness of the grave claimed me for four to five hours each night). Thank you so much to anyone who has already done this. Many people on my team have yelled and yelled.

Back early on in the piece I made a document for him about what characters looked like in terms of basic ideas/outlines for copyediting, covers and sense purposes, and I’ve dug out that document and slapped it up here for general delectation. As a note: I imagine specific things when it comes to my characters (I am a Kiwi: I write Kiwis In Space as a default) but as I have nothing but joy in my heart for how anyone would want to draw these characters, feel free to glance over this, then toss it out the window. It would bring tears of beauty to my eyes if anyone was like “Yes, but when I was reading I imagined Naberius Tern as a huge monitor lizard,” because absolutely yes, Naberius Tern was just a huge monitor lizard, godspeed.

I had only described below the specific cavalier-necromancer pairs, so that’s what you’ll find below, sorry if anyone wanted Teacher.

SECOND HOUSE

The only ones who seemed even vaguely compos mentis were the Second House: as it turned out, they had been the ones to call Teacher to the access hatch, and now they sat ramrod-straight and resplendent in their Second-styled Cohort uniforms, all scarlet and white. They both affected the same tightly-braided hairstyle and the same amount of extremely gilt braid, and also the same serious-business expression, and they could be told apart by one having a rapier and one quite a lot of pips at her collar.

Captain Judith Deuteros and Lieutenant Marta Dyas are alike in posture, bearing and extremely crisp military uniform (think a cross between US Navy whites and the Regency navy). Unlike every single other necromancer on the cast, Judith never wears necromancer robes, but is dressed in the exact same way as Marta. Judith is somewhat less completely scrawny than other necromancers on the cast, though she should be less built than Marta is; Judith is imposing, solemn-faced and reflective, Marta is more keen-eyed and restless. I imagined both as Tongan.

THIRD HOUSE

[Coronabeth] was tall and regal, with some radiant, butterfly quality – her shirt was haphazardly tucked into her trousers, which were haphazardly tucked into her boots, but she was all topaz and shine and lustre. All necromancers affected robes in the same way cavaliers affected swords, but she hadn’t tucked her arms into hers, and it was a gauzy, gold-shot, transparent thing floating out around her like wings. There were about five rings on each hand and her earrings would’ve put chandeliers to shame, but she had an air of wild and innocent overdecoration, of having put on the prettiest things in her jewellery box and then forgetting to take them off. Her buttery hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat, and she kept tangling a curl of it in one finger and artlessly letting it go.

The second twin was like someone had taken the first to pieces and put her back again without any genius. She wore a robe of the same cloth and colour, but wore it like a very beautiful shroud on a mummy. The cavalier had lots of hair, an aquiline face, and a self-satisfied little jacket.

Coronabeth is massive, taller even than Palamedes, larger-than-life – statuesque, very bright gold hair, golden/bright skin, violet eyes. Ianthe is the same height but gangly and washed out. Skin colour defined heavily in Corona’s case as golden/olive-hued brown/tanned; Ianthe similar, but less radiant/more pallid whatever the case. Both have long hair: Corona’s should be big and bouncy, Ianthe’s flat/sleek.Naberius is shorter than both, brown-haired (brown can be light, medium or dark, it’s not defined) and blue-brown hazel eyes. Also has lots of hair, cut short, but sense of pompadour/waves. I imagined all three as Pakeha/white.FOURTH HOUSEBoth Isaac and Jeannemary are around fourteen and have pretty much the same body shape still: Jeannemary is semi-muscular and has lots of corners, Isaac is skinnier. Both are natural brunettes, though Isaac has bleached hair (orange, fauxhawk) and Jeannemary is described as having curly hair. Both have multiple ear piercings and eyeliner and the visual is somewhat Glassons storecard punk. Both have dark brown eyes. Jeannemary has a somewhat dusty, fierce, monochromatic appearance (brown hair, brown skin), and I imagine her as Māori. Isaac I imagined as NZ Chinese.FIFTH HOUSEMagnus Quinn is a man in his middling to late thirties, with short, curly hair: he is a frank-faced, nice-looking guy of medium build with a face inclined to wholesome smiles. His outfits should be absolutely exceptionally well-tailored and not very flashy. Imagined him as Samoan. His wife Abigail is perpetually neat, wears round spectacles and has long, glossy dark brown hair – she is the least described of a cast not very specifically described. Much like Magnus, she should always be beautifully and tastefully dressed, though in her case she would affect trousers as well as a robe. Imagined her as Pakeha/white.

SIXTH HOUSECrouching in front of the hatch was a rangy, underfed young man: he was wrapped in a grey cloak and the light glinted on the spectacles slipping down his nose. Standing next to him holding a big wedge of broken sculpture and the flashlight was a tall, equally grey-wrappered figure with a scabbard outlined at her hip. She had hair of an indeterminate darkness, cut blunt at her chin.Up close, he was gaunt and ordinary-looking, except for the eyes. His spectacles were set with lenses so thick they could make spaceflight grade, and through these his eyes were a perfectly lambent grey: unflecked, unmurked, even and clear. He had the eyes of a very beautiful person, and the head of someone with resting bitch face.

Palamedes is seriously underfed with a bony, thin face and glasses: medium brown hair cut short and with no particular thought for aesthetics, dresses just in greys, eyes particularly lovely clear grey. Camilla has very dark cold-brown hair – chin-length, straight and with a fringe – dark eyes. She’s compact and has lots of lean muscle, and I imagine her of being Middle Eastern extraction, though due to Sixth House parameters both will be fairly mixed. They’re actually second cousins, so there ought to be a faint resemblance.

SEVENTH HOUSE[Dulcinea] was a slender young thing whose mouth was a brilliant red with blood: her dress was a frivolous concoction of seafoam green frills, and the blood on it seemed more somber against such a backdrop. Her skin seemed transparent – horribly transparent, with the veins at her hands and the sides of her temples a visible cluster of mauve branches and stems. Her eyes fluttered open: they were huge and blue, with velvety brown lashes.

Dulcinea is a girlish woman who looks extremely fragile and sickly, like a neurasthenic Victorian maiden. Eyes should be extremely blue. Hair is light brown in long curls; skin is pale. Pretty in a frivolous, invalid way. Gives the impression of being slight. Outfits should be gauzy and nightgownish. Imagined her as Pakeha/white.

The man who’d put the sword to her neck was uncomfortably buff. He had upsetting biceps. He looked like a collection of lemons in a sack. He didn’t look healthy; he was a dour, bulky young person, whose skin had something of the strange, translucent tinge that the girl’s had. He was waxen-looking in the sunlight […] He was dressed richly, but with clothes that looked as though they’d seen practical wear: a long cape of greyish-green, and a belted kilt and boots. There was a long, shining length of etched chain rolled up and over his arm, and a big one-handed sword hung at his hip.

Protesilaus is massive, buff, and also sort of sickly and indistinct-looking in his colouring – he is described as being made up mainly of muddy, ashen browns. Think Greek warrior, but with no vibrant colouring. Biggest on cast, even bigger than Colum Ash. Imagined him as mixed Pasifika.

EIGHTH HOUSEIt was a pair who were both boys – well – a boy and a man; one was a wan, knife-faced kid dressed in antiseptic whites and useless chainmail you could cut with a fork, it was so delicate. [Silas] was draped in it even down to a kilt, which was strange: necromancers didn’t normally wear that kind of armour, and he was definitely the necromancer. He had necromancer build. […] He gave the impression of being absolutely no fun at all. He was prim and ascetic-looking, and his companion – who was older, a fair bit older than Gideon herself – had the air of the perpetually disgruntled. He was rather more robust, nuggety, and dressed in chippy bleached leathers that looked as though they’d seen genuine use. One finger on his left hand was just a gross-looking stump, which she admired.

Silas is in his teens, has shoulder-length white hair in a braid and dark eyes. He has extremely pale skin, and coupled with the white robes and silver chainmail (all of which somewhat swamp him – he’s sort of slender and purse-mouthed) gives the impression of being arrestingly white all over. Pointy chin, oval face, disapproving expression, a little insubstantial. Colum, his older, larger nephew is much taller, broader and in his early thirties. He has medium brown hair in a short back’n’sides crop, dark eyes, and appears jaundiced in skin tone – he’s very weatherbeaten and tan-skinned, scarred, and though he’s dressed in the same colours he tends to contrast heavily with them and his leather armour is also beaten-up. He looks tatty and ill-used, expression is apathetic or forbidding; Silas always looks perfectly clean, crisp and white. Facially there should be a similarity. They’re both Pakeha, with Silas being significantly the palest person on-cast.

NINTH HOUSEThe light fell on [Harrow’s] painted grey face and black-daubed chin, and her short-cropped, dead-crow-coloured hair. […] She had such a peculiarly pointed little face, high-browed and tippy everywhere, and a slanted and vicious mouth.

Harrow is a scrawny teenage girl with black hair cut short (as befits someone in a monastery) and truly black eyes: she never appears except in black and white skull facepaint. She has a pointed, rather triangular face, not very long, a triangular heart rather than a triangular diamond or oval. She wears black robes and long-sleeved, long-trousered clothes – all black – with no skin showing: the main decoration on this is bones. She wears a corset of rib bones and could have any other bone decoration, which has been written of in the book as bone bangles and multiple bone stud piercings in the ears. She’s more femme-androgynous than outright butch; in Book 1 she’s a bit birdlike and free of specific masc or femme gender markers in terms of outfit or build. I imagined her as being mixed Māori.Gideon is true butch: tall of height – at least, taller than Harrow – extremely, shreddedly fit with the muscular arms of a swordswoman or boxer. She should have a strong-jawed, boyishly pretty face with a big douchebag grin. Cropped hair same as Harrow, except that hers as an oblate is more of an in-your-face mop (could be partly-shaved except that implies more care than Gideon possesses) and is intensely, vividly red. I envision her as mixed Māori, darker-skinned than Harrow. She also wears skull facepaint, though hers tends to be much less careful and baroque than Harrow’s. She often affects a pair of black aviator sunglasses. She wears the same black cloak as Harrow, without any decoration, and a plain black shirt and trousers underneath. Her eyes are an extremely vivid amber with more of a yellow/golden tint than a russet one.

#wild spoiler nobody cared about: camilla and palamedes are second cousins #am I allowed to go look at the art now or will I fall about and die of joy #gideon the ninth #appearances etc #I have not come back to the Internet because my inbox was full and I was afraid. Thank you everyone who has read my book.#Naberius Tern is a monitor lizard in a wig. I'm not good at this #reply #otonin

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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Make A Wish

Book passage: Elfriede Jelinek, The Piano Teacher

Me? Posting an unprompted fic? 2021 is starting off wild!

AO3 Link here

Summary: Martin knows just how to celebrate Jon’s 35th birthday. It’s soft and beautiful and speaks of a bright future.

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t really want trinkets or the little gifts Martin would think to buy for a significant other. (If he does want them, at least, he doesn’t say it.) Things he needs, like clothes, he buys himself, doesn’t wait for an occasion. Overall, Martin would not describe Jon as materialistic.

Books are the exception. Books are always the exception for Jon. While Jon is not materialistic, he is usually sentimental. He keeps things for as long as he can, letting them wear and wear til they’re no longer usable, like his shoes. Especially pictures. Jon never throws away pictures. (Martin knows why and snaps as many Polaroids as he can of his partner, himself, their friends, even their cat, hanging them around the house in tiny frames as reminders.) But his books are in and out of the shelves like they run a bookshop of their own. Martin has heard the stories of his partner’s reading habits as a youth, knows that Jon’s reading habits are challenging, to say the least. Before they’d moved in together, though, he hadn’t realized that every time he was at Jon’s the bookshelves were almost entirely unique to the last visit. New titles, rarely the same authors, with no seeming organization to the assemblance. Martin knows this now, knows that once a fortnight Jon packs up all the books he’s read and takes them to their local charity shop. It’s his little ritual, and the bug-eyed look of confusion Martin had received when he had asked him about it the first time was priceless.

“I just--don’t need them anymore?” He says, like it’s a question. “I’m not going to read them again.”

“Really?” Martin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I took you to be a bit of a hoarder when it comes to books, if the statements in your office were any indication. And it’s our flat, so they’re our books. What if I want to read them?”

“Please.” Jon scoffs. “That’s entirely different. I don’t enjoy- well. They’re work, these are not.”

Still, after this, Jon includes Martin in his ritual, giving him synopses from books he thinks Martin might enjoy and adding the Blackwood-Approved books to the other bookshelf. Martin is quite proud of his bookshelf, identical in structure to Jon’s but entirely more organized: books ordered by genre, then by author, with figurines, photos, and plants acting as weights and decor. Jon’s deviates between sparse and overflowing, books stacked however they will fit, with no rhyme or reason to their order.

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon, but he’s learned quickly that Jon isn’t a Things person. Jon is an Experiences person. The moments he treasures are the ones where he and Martin are happy to be in each other’s presence and experiencing new things together. Ice skating, picnics, hiking, cinemas, all the quintessential cheesy dates, the ones he would’ve guessed, way back when, before he knew the real Jon, this Jon, he would have snubbed his nose at.

Jon’s birthday is coming up. He’s turning 35 and is all too self-conscious about the fact. Martin ribs him a little; he’s older by seven months, after all, “you’re making me feel old, Jon!” Their ritual has become to call off work and spend a day together on Jon’s birthday. No gifts, no fanfare, just a day doing an activity Martin has planned. It’s perfect usually, Jon’s delighted smile and bright eyes when he thanks Martin with a kiss is all the satisfaction he needs. But this is 35, it needs to be special. It needs to be perfect.

---

Martin blinks awake to the steady, calming drum of rain on their bedroom window. He pats out blindly for his glasses, haphazardly set on his bedside table, and pushes them on his face, before rolling back onto his side and tucking an arm around Jon’s waist and nuzzling into his neck. “Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs, carding his other hand through Jon’s tangled curls. He smiles softly as he watches his partner; Jon always grumbles that he looks so much older than he is, but when he’s sleeping, Martin swears he looks timeless, a specimen of perfect beauty against the crisp black sheets. Jon shifts in his arms, turning to face him, and squints blearily at Martin. Jon, for all his sleepless nights back at the archives, is not a morning person.

“Hm-mar’in?” he mumbles, irises stained forever green. He clears his throat and scrubs at his eyes. God, he looks just like a cat. “G’mornin’,” he says, a little more comprehensible, voice rough-hewn from sleep.

“Morning, love.” Martin kisses his forehead, between his eyebrows. “Happy birthday,” His nose, cold from a chilly autumn night. “Ready for a good day?” His lips now, soft and warm. Jon sighs underneath him, presses himself into the kiss, slots himself into the Jon-shaped space in Martin’s arms.

When Martin shifts away to sit up, Jon audibly whines, grabbing at Martin’s hand to pull him back. “You’re so warm, don’t go,” he pleads. Martin chuckles and squeezes his hand.

“It’s half nine. You want breakfast, don’t you? We have an agenda to follow, don’t forget.” But Jon shakes his head and tugs again.

“Birthday Ruling,” he cites solemnly, stretching as he says it. (Again, like a cat, the way he arches his back. Is that on purpose? Martin is pretty sure he’s seen Reggie—Her Regency—do the exact same thing.) “By royal decree, you have to stay here until I’m awake enough to help you with breakfast.”

“Well,” Martin chuckles, shaking his head to himself and tucking himself around Jon’s thin form. “I can’t refuse a royal decree, now, can I?”

Breakfast becomes brunch, and once the pair are awake tea, cut fruit, and omelets are prepared and eaten on the couch. Jon being left-handed and Martin right, they sit on their perspective sides so they can hold hands and not inhibit the other from eating.

“So,” Jon prompts, eyeing Martin from his peripheral as he watches him wash dishes. “What are your secret plans? Am I allowed to know yet?”

“Hmm.” Martin considers his question, running a plate through his hands as he dried it, solemn contemplation on his face. “No.”

“Mar-tiiin,” Martin is almost worn down by that plea, a sound he doesn’t think anyone else who has ever met Jonathan Sims could fathom coming from him. A bloom of warmth in his chest; a reminder he will never feel lonely again.

“But I think you’ll figure it out,” he compromises, grinning to himself. His plan had come to him in a sudden realization at work and Martin did think it was some of his best work yet. “Here’s your hint: you may want to bring a canvas.”

Jon’s face is a measured calm. “We’re going shopping?” Martin just shrugs, winking.

They take a cab and the rain pounds down on the roof, the repetitive noise a balm against the cold and wet. Martin really got lucky today; the sound of rain is one of Jon’s favorites. He sighs inwardly as Jon rests his curls, slightly damp from their wait for the cab, on his shoulder and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of his boyfriend and the pleasant drumming.

Jon’s eyes opened when he felt the cab pull to a stop, and he took their surroundings in with the quick analytical eye of an ex-Archivist. Martin felt his cheeks growing warm with excitement as they stepped out of the cab and paid. The building before them, like most Scottish buildings, was made of uneven stone. There was a little garden, mostly rocks with some shrubbery dotted between, and the pathway, also stone, though a flatter smoother variety, led to the door, which read The Watermill in blue and white lettering. “Martin?” Jon threaded his fingers through Martin’s, eyes wide.

“It’s a bookshop, Jon. It’s got reading nooks, and a café, and I swear I’ll buy you any books you want. We can stay as long as we like. We can read as much as we want.”

Three short squeezes to Martin’s hand. Oh. He was starting to ramble. He returns the answering four. “Martin, love, it sounds perfect. But it’s raining.” Right. A drop of rain rolls down Martin’s nose, and he shivers. “Let’s get inside.”

Martin is glad he brought a tote, a canvas bag with the name of Jon’s university emblazoned on the sides. He follows Jon through every aisle as Jon analyzes every book like their dogs in show. He scans the titles, covers and authors with precision, sometimes returning them with delicate hands, sometimes reading descriptions or thumbing through the pages, before deciding their worth and either reshelving it or handing it to Martin. Martin is distinctly reminded of being an Archival Assistant, helping Jon prioritize case files, except the expression on Jon’s face isn’t furrowed and grim, it’s near-rapturous awe as he selects and examines the books. There is no evident consistency to the books Jon picks, ranging from YA fiction to historical documentation to travel books of places he knew they’d probably never visit, though he always takes Martin’s suggested reads, nodding dutifully and running his hand down the spine before placing it in the ever-weighing bag on Martin’s arm.

They spend nearly an hour and a half roaming shelves before Jon is satisfied with this first load. Martin is grateful. His shoulder is starting to hurt from the nearly full canvas he’s hoisted on his shoulder. Martin leads his partner to a small corner, something that can only be described as a nook. There’s a small, well-worn sofa, a table with coasters, and a coffee table in front of the sofa. The whole space is cast in warm orange-yellow light, courtesy of the standing lamps, and Martin can imagine this is a great place to curl up and fall asleep.

Curl up they do, Martin sitting with a few books of his own beside him and Jon leaning against Jon’s side, sprawling over the majority of the couch. Martin tucks an arm over Jon’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of the space where collarbone meets rib, and they read. They read in silence for most of the morning, Jon flipping through his books at a truly astounding pace (Jon thinks its left over from his Archival Spooky Powers, Martin thinks he’s just a nerd), pausing occasionally to read Martin a line he finds interesting. It’s a yellow paperback now, something about psychopathy, and he begins to read out an interview the author had with a man who claims he should not have been diagnosed as a psychopath.

“D’you think Jonah was a psychopath?” Jon asks, brow furrowed as he reads the qualifying characteristics. “He had the ‘grandiose sense of self-worth’ and ‘cunning/manipulation’ down pat.”

Martin hums, glancing over Jon’s shoulder to read the rest of the Psychopath Test. “Lack of remorse,” he points. “Lack of empathy for sure. Someone with empathy doesn’t implant visions of their dead father into the head of their employee. Speaking of, we should have Melanie and Georgie over soon.” Jon nods against his chest. “I’d call him charming, too, actually,” nudging Jon gently. “Especially with new employees. Remember how he—”

“Called me into his office nonstop and ‘checked in?’ Yeah, I remember.” Jon sighed and smoothed the page down. “Can you call it ‘a parasitic lifestyle’ when your employees are bound under your servitude for eternity or until they die?” Jon scoffs. “I don’t think the DSM is ready for Smirke’s Fourteen.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the sixth edition will be.” Martin presses a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and turns back to his own book.

“Hungry?” Martin asks, nudging Jon as his stomach gurgles for the third time in as many minutes. Jon jumps a little, likely having forgotten Martin was there.

“Erm-I mean, a little.” Even after being together for so long, Jon still hesitates to let Martin buy him food. (“Martin, I have money. You don’t- you don’t have to-” but whatever offending muffin or cone of chips would be pressed into his hand and he would thank Martin, sheepish, and take a bite.)

“Chai latte? Something sweet?” Martin asks, nudging Jon out of his side and feeling the cold spot left in his wake. “Its your birthday, come on.” Jon sighs and relents, and Martin swear he can hear him roll his eyes as he walks away.

Martin orders two chais and a few cupcakes (chocolate for Jon, carrot cake for him) from the café in the front of the bookshop and joins an ever-growing queue of patrons waiting to get their own warm treats. The rain must have driven people in in droves. Never mind it, though, their corner feels empty enough. He thinks he sees a spider on the back of a woman’s shirt in front of him, and flinches before realizing, oh, it’s just a bit of string. He takes a slight step back anyways. He didn’t used to do that.

“Order for Martin?” An American voice, uni student probably. He thanks her and makes a point to drop a few quid in the tip jar, seeing it frustratingly empty for such a busy café.

Martin takes a small porcelain plate in each hand, a mug and pastry balanced on each, and makes his way carefully back to the sofa where he had left Jon. Only, he couldn’t see his curly hair, tied up in his half-bun, over the back of the sofa. Did he go to the loo?

It’s when Martin steps over to the side of the couch to set the plates down that he bursts into laughter. Jon is sprawled in a way that seems completely unconducive to reading: his knees are hooked over the sofa, so his socked feet (shoes neatly deposited next to his hips) are on the cushion itself. His torso is stretched on the warm, well-swept wood floor and his head (and his book) are tucked under the coffee table; arms locked over his head so he can read on his back. It looks ridiculous, he cannot fathom what possessed Jon to sit like this and not on his back on the couch.

Jon hears his laughter and arcs his neck, trying to see Martin’s face. “It was…comfortable?” he tries helplessly, giggling awkwardly. “Oh, piss off,” he sighed, inelegantly worming his way out from under the seat.

“Come on, old man.” Martin grins, handing him the cupcake he’d bought for him, with a single purple candle pressed into it. “Make a wish!”

“It’s not even lit,” Jon protested, cheeks flushing.

“Want me to sing instead? I can.” Martin took a deep breath. “Happy Bir-”

“N-no! Martin, no!” Jon pressed a hand over his mouth, though he was giggling madly at Martin’s wild expression. “I’ll blow it out. Just hush.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then let out a breath in a sigh. His eyes were soft, smile to match. “I…I don’t have anything to wish for.”

Martin’s turn to blush. “Just-just shut up and eat your cake,” he mumbled, hiding his smile in a sip of his tea.

Maybe its how at-peace he feels, maybe it’s his ADHD (its definitely the ADHD), but Martin has no idea how long he’s been reading. He’s brought out of his reverie, his copy of In Cold Blood almost finished (he’s read it before, but god he loves this book so much), by a low noise he can’t pick out at first. It’s quiet, soothing, its right next to him.

Oh. Oh. It’s Jon. This one, a real compulsion left over from his time as an Archivist, Jon is reading aloud to himself, his voice the sonorous, resonant tone of a man performing for himself. Martin puts his book down carefully, trying not to alert Jon to his awareness, and listens, letting the words wash over him. Jon’s voice has always been able to capture Martin’s attention, even before the Eldritch Spooky Magic that eventually attached itself to it.

“Klemmer stands there, gazing at her. “Erika doesn’t want a silence to develop, so she utters a platitude. Art is platitudinous for Erika because she lives off art. How much easier it is for the artist, says the woman, to hurl feelings or passions out of himself. When an artist resorts to dramatic devices, which you so greatly esteem, Klemmer, he is simply utilizing bogus methods while neglecting authentic ones. She talks to prevent the eruption of silence. I, as a teacher, favor undramatic art – Schumann, for instance. Drama is always easier! Feelings and passions are always merely a substitute, a surrogate for spirituality. The teacher yearns for an earthquake, for a roaring, raging tempest to pounce upon her. That wild Klemmer is so angry that he almost drills his head into the wall. The clarinet class next door, which he, the owner of a second instrument, has been frequenting twice a week, would certainly be astonished if Klemmer’s angry head suddenly emerged from the wall, next to Beethoven’s death mask. Oh, that Erika, that Erika. She doesn’t sense that he is actually talking about her, and naturally about himself as well! He is connecting Erika and himself in a sensual context, ejecting the spirit, that enemy of the senses, that primal foe of the flesh. She thinks he is referring to Schubert, but he really means himself, just as he always means himself whenever he speaks. “He suddenly ventures to adopt a familiar tone with Erika; using a formal tone, she advises him to remain objective! Her mouth puckers, willy-nilly, into a wrinkly rosette; she cannot control it. She controls what the mouth says, but she cannot control the way it presents itself to the outside world. She gets goosebumps all over.”

Martin closes his eyes against the words, a shiver running down his spine, starting at the top of his skull. It’s a feeling he gets so rarely now, the feeling of being so absolutely content in the presence of another person that any fog he may have is physically expunged from him. Not that there is any, but it’s a safeguard; a reminder to himself that he is not Lonely anymore and will never be lonely again. It can’t get him, not here, not with Jon sprawled, almost in his lap, reading and sipping tea and letting the only thing they worry about be whether they fed the cat this morning (Jon did, of course, Reggie is not one to let them forget her morning meal).

“Martin?” Jon’s voice cuts through his quiet contemplation. “You alright?” He’s tilting his head back, almost upside down to look at Martin’s face. “I felt you shudder.” Of course, even deep in his trance of this story he had felt Martin shift.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he smiles reassuringly, carding the hair off Jon’s forehead. “I’m not feeling lonely, not even a little bit.” He used to do it a lot in the safehouse, and fog would roll off him in droves. Jon would hold him through it all. “I think it just happens now like part of an immune system, just checking in when I’m feeling emotional.”

“Emotional?” Jon looks a little relieved, but not entirely. He sits up, glancing down at his page number (Martin could never figure out how Jon did that, remembered his page number instead of using a bookmark) and cups Martin’s face gently, searching it. “What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing, Jon, I promise. That was why I was emotional,” he admits, feeling a little sheepish. “It’s just good to feel happy. It feels good to be with you, to be at peace, to not worry about what is going to happen tomorrow and whether we’re going to die.”

Martin blushes, feeling heat spread through his face. It feels good to say it out loud. “Happy birthday, Jon. I love you.”

They leave with bags full of books, smiles on their faces and the moon casting a faint light on their backs. Martin falls asleep in the cab on the way home, his head lilting onto Jon’s shoulder. When Jon wakes him up, leading his sleepy partner up the stairs,

Jon thinks 35 maybe won’t be so bad, after all.

#tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fluff #birthday #bookshop #cafe #good vibes all around #fanfic to a tea

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maybe-theres-hope · 3 years

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Tarlos Period Drama AU

So @howtosingit received an ask about a Tarlos Bridgerton AU, and to be honest I’ve just binged the whole thing so I commented on that post saying I’d attempt it.

But here’s the thing. I couldn’t make it work with Regency Era. I just...couldn’t. So I have placed them in The Gilded Age in America. If you’re familiar with it, I want you to know that I’m not going to include any ridiculous corruption or monopolies that really...defined the era. Moreso I’m putting them in a time where I think the clothes are pretty, and the aesthetic fits my needs. Everything in this will be very fun and mostly lighthearted with only the perfect amount of angst to satisfy period drama tropes. It will be at times inaccurate, and other times shamelessly self indulgent. Tropes galore.

I also said I would attempt a one-shot but....yeah. This will be...rather long. LOL can’t stop won’t stop.

Under the cut is the opening scene, to give you a feel (not my first attempt at writing in this style, but the first in a LONG while.) I will post link to AO3 when I begin publishing. PLEASE let me know if you are looking forward to it, as it will greatly motivate me!

1885. TK is son of Owen Strand, of Strand Intercontinental Railroad Company. They have traveled to the southern US to cut deals with landowners there to build a lucrative rail line through central Texas. TK is 26, and his father thinks he’s getting rather old to be unmarried. He has warned TK that if he does not find a husband by the end of the year, he will arrange a marriage, as Owen cannot by law bequeath his fortune upon his death unless his son is married. TK is not...vibing with having to hurry his decision to wed. Truly at his heart, he is a romantic and wishes to marry for love. It’s just that love has been hard to come by with the flighty boys of his set back home in New York. He’s not holding out hope for any prospects in whatever back country they’re traveling to either.

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos period drama #911 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #Brooke writes

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thecandywrites · 3 years

Text

Blood For Gold Part 9

Short and sweet but powerful and impactful. Also this is just an excuse to show how GORGEOUS Chinese hanfu is. Look at it. I want to wear it and feel like an empress too. Not that I’m fetishizing it or anything, I just think it’s gorgeous. Thanks to @kriskukko for letting me use that regency orc art. He’s gorgeous. Don’t worry the troll will be coming up soon. I haven’t forgotten about him, not at all. Also thank to you @punkhorse96 for all your amazing feedback.

Blood For Gold

Part 9

Demsey woke up early and quickly got dressed in one of his nicer, and more flattering suits, eager to not miss a moment of your presence before he got out at about the same time as his brothers, also dressed in some of their nicer clothes only to see the moura men come out of their rooms across the hall, all of them wearing silk robe like garments that flowed like water around them, but the way the robes were designed and patterned, they were clearly more than just..robes, at least they looked that way as they all greeted each other good morning cordially before they rounded a corner to see Calla, Bennie and yourself also leaving Bennie’s room, dressed in similar robes, all the women had their hair down and these robes were much prettier and in striking colors as you all kissed each other’s cheeks and warmly murmured your good mornings to each other.

“So what kind of dress is that?” Sierge asked Bennie curiously.

“It’s Chinese hanfu, it’s extremely comfortable, it’s cool in the summer, warm in the winter depending on which layers you use and how many layers you put on and it’s easy enough that you can dress yourself all by yourself and it provides freedom of movement. Mouras really love anything we can move around a lot in and do so comfortably and there’s pants under it so you can ride horses, pegasus’, griffins and dragons easily, we decided earlier this morning that every day for the next two weeks, we would want to show our English counterparts Dorierran culture which is a world culture and show you all the different styles Dorierra has and embraces in all of it’s quarters and we decided that today was hanfu day, we already informed the Dauphine who was delighted at our choice and had her old moura clothes pulled out of storage while Audra gave Charlotte one of her other hanfu dresses to wear since Charlotte and Audra are similar in size.” Bennie revealed just as Demsey’s sisters were coming out of their rooms from across the hall and stared in awed wonder at the clothes.

“Those are gorgeous!” Callie gushed as she came over and looked closely at the dresses.

“Thank you! It’s Chinese hanfu, we have spare dresses, would you like to change into one of ours?” Calla offered before Callie looked to her brothers before her parents came out of their rooms.

“Calla offered me to wear what she’s wearing could I?” Callie asked hopefully.

“Sure.” Gwen, Callie’s mother answered.

“Would anyone else like to change in hanfu?” Bennie asked Demsey’s sisters before they gave a look to each other and nodded yes before all the girls went back into Bennie’s room where you all helped Amara, Kiera and Callie dress into traditional chinese hanfu, taking off their corsets and trading them for the more traditional moura and much more comfortable undergarments which other than securing the bosom were not nearly as restrictive.

“Ooooh, this is nice, I like this.” Amara said as she appraised herself in the mirror as you walked her through tying the sash around her waist before you lent her one of your other fans.

“Isn’t it?” You laughed as Bennie helped Kiera and Calla helped Callie who because of her smaller size ended up needing one of your hanfu outfits to fit her better.

“So what do you think?” Calla asked Callie

“I love it, do you guys just pick whichever kind of dress you want from whatever culture you want every day?” Callie asked.

“Yup. We can dress in Chinese hanfu for breakfast, we can dress in Japanese kimonos for lunch and be in Indian sarees for dinner.” Calla answered.

“But kimonos are very restrictive, and they take at least one or two helpers to get dressed into properly. Because while Chinese hanfu is flowy, kimonos are very stiff and try to put your round body into a straight box shape. But Indian saree’s are like hanfu in that they’re meant to move in, they’re prettiest when you dance and twirl in them actually.” You pointed out.

“But my favorite style is the Dorierrian style, it’s a mixture of all of them, elements of everything all together to make something perfectly unique and it combines comfort, beauty, ease of movement and functionality.” Bennie insisted as she finished getting Kiera put together.

“Now twirl in front of the mirror.” Bennie instructed before Kiera obeyed as she began and couldn’t help but giggle and laugh as she did so before all her sisters did the same, all of you laughing together.

“I’m never going to want to take this off and get back into that blasted corset.” Kiera said as she smoothed her hands down the fabric.

“Me either.” Amara confessed before you all left and went to breakfast where the Raymond’s had already began eating.

“Well aren’t you all just as lovely as pictures.” Yalin cooed when she saw all of you, herself in the royal red and gold hanfu befitting an empress.

“Yes, they duchesses wanted to try out hanfu.” Bennie reported proudly as she took her seat between Sierge and Demsey as Ramsey eagerly had you sit next to him as you reluctantly agreed and sat down in your own seat next to Ramsey but across from Demsey again as Jane meekly sat next to you.

“Do you think my parents would be mad if I dressed in hanfu too?” Jane murmured to you.

“Even if they did, I wouldn’t tell them if you wouldn’t.” You murmured back to her.

“Do you have another hanfu dress?” Jane whispered.

“I do, I can get you changed into it after breakfast if you’d like.” You offered her before she nodded in confirmation.

“And your excellency, how exquisite you look in hanfu, like a proper empress.” You complimented Yalin from her spot next to her husband.

“Thank you so much Sultana,” Yalin thanked you graciously.

“Please, won’t you dispense with the formalities? You may simply call me Audra.” You offered.

“Only if you will call me Mama Yalin.” She returned happily.

“Bennie!” Benyana insisted.

“Calla,” Callalea chimed in.

“Amara,” Amara followed suit before it was quickly agreed to go by first names, even the Dauphin, Gregori agreed to it as Demsey’s parents rose their eyebrows in surprise but agreed to it as well, thinking it was novel and fun and it would give them a chance to get to know the jewel orcs better. But even still, Gwen could see from her spot that Ramsey was already making his intentions towards you crystal clear and feared that Demsey was already in over his head and was headed for at the very least disappointment, if not disaster, but she also knew her son well enough that once he set his mind to something, he wouldn’t quit until it was all said and done, she just hoped he wouldn’t be wounded too deeply or get his hopes too high only for them to be dashed to pieces.

After breakfast, the group decided to tour the grounds where Bennie took Gregori and Yalin aside.

“So I have a report,” Bennie began as Yalin and Gregori turned towards her eagerly.

“Audra states that only love will induce her into matrimony this time around and because of the abusive treatment she received at Broadcove, she is a shell of her former self and it was like trying to pry open an oyster with a wooden spoon to get her to talk about anything. But there is leverage. She insisted that she has “insurance” against the Morrigans should they ever decide to stop paying for her silence, which is smart because she’s used that insurance to double the living Edward afforded her, I think if you enticed her to share that insurance with you, you could double that number even still and gain at least fifty to sixty thousand pounds a year out of the Morrigans because you can “sue” them for damaging Audra who will be a member of the Raymond household and Ramsey especially can sue them for damaging his future fiance and the Morrigans will pay anything to keep whatever insurance Audra has from going public or going to the royal family or whatever. However, if you truly wish for Audra to join your family, there is a simple solution- use a messengerari, use this address at lunchtime because it’ll be breakfast time there, and that is the family’s main one. Tell them that you have Audravienne safely and comfortably at your palace and that they are welcome to come and see her and talk with her with no interference, no strings attached and that she will confide in them how and why she became a shakan and Audravienne will take their council and advice which I can’t imagine them ever giving her any advice that would be against joining your family. Make sure to especially invite her twin brother Axalarize, or Axal for short. And if anyone can bring Audra back to her full glory and most importantly to her senses and her wits so that she can clearly and plainly see that Ramsey is the man for her and allow herself to give her heart to him- it’s Axal, and once she does, the rest of her will follow, you’ll have grateful inlaws, you’ll have a grateful daughter in law and a very healthy and substantial income and an ally under your thumb. Because the Morrigans should know that for every drop of life and blood you squeeze from a moura, must be paid back in gold, and don’t worry about having to pay a fee for them to come, they will come on their own dime and all you need to do is open your house up to them when they come.” Bennie suggested as she handed Yalin and Gregori her slip of paper with the address of the Saharrazat’s messengerari address as Gregori took it and grinned triumphantly.

“Excellent work Bennie.” Gregori praised.

“Well the royal family paid a pretty penny to get us here, it’s the least we can do to make sure you get your monies worth.” Bennie smiled charmingly.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Duke to charm.” Bennie excused herself before she practically skipped away.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Part 9 #Regency orcs #regency era orc period drama #orc love story #moura #orcs #reader insert #Enjoy

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 37

Read on AO3. Part 36 here. Part 38 here.

Summary: There are only so many ways you can deliver news.

Words: 2700

Warnings: dystopia

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I really didn't think I'd get a chapter out today, but I did, so yay!? Sorry it's a bit short (I remember when 2000 words was normal for me!), but I must be on my bullshit, as always.

Thank you very much to everyone who reached out. I had a shitty week this week, and I anticipate things in the next few weeks will not be super great. If there is a week where an update is missed, I hope you can understand.

I love y'all very much, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! <3

Beyond the sheet, the doctor’s shadow worked in silence, collecting instruments to soon be used to pry and expose your pomegranate flesh. Your monthly exam would never feel routine--prior to the collapse of society, they’d already been unpleasant. But now, separated from the provider by gossamer cloth, scrutinized in anonymity while metal objects cracked you wide, they crushed you in revulsion. The doctor whirled on his stool between your legs, air whispering over your bare skin. You swallowed.

A squeaking, clacking, and the cold metal of the speculum parted your labia and pierced your entrance. You held your breath, willing away the tears that pricked your sight--you’d always cried at this part, even before it became obligatory--drifting to your mind until he was finished.

Kylo Ren had been gone for 18 days, and in his absence, Gilead had drawn from your veins, a vampire of systemic proportions bleeding you not of life, but of the will to live itself. Without his presence, his power, his capability to extract you from bondage, you’d sunk into it like a tarpit, thick sticky ooze edging ever-closer to your throat. Sutures now removed, antibiotics completed, your days consisted of waking, walking, waiting, and, more than once, weeping, before wishing yourself into a witless slumber. Not that you were surprised. After all, before you’d fucked him in secrecy the first time, you’d asked yourself, what was life without living?

As it turned out: pretty fucking awful.

Pain lit up your spine when the doctor dug at your cervix for a swab--you winced, and the exam room door opened.

“Hey, we’re running behind, you do you want me to grab the next one, or--”

“No, no,” your doctor replied. “I’m almost done with this one. Did you get the urinalysis back?”

“Uh, no, sorry, I haven’t checked. I can go do it now.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Oh, hey.” Then he swiveled away--leaving you gaping, a red tunnel open for observation. “Did you hear what the director said this morning?”

The other man hummed in thought. “Something about Commander Pryde. I didn’t really care.”

You stared into the ceiling, hands folded over your stomach, tears stinging again while your thighs began to tremble. Privacy and respect hadn’t been afforded to you in three years; you had long been designated a womb buried in a hunk of meat. But something about having your cervix on display like the Hope Diamond was particularly nauseating. Your stomach groaned in humiliation.

“Yeah. Anyone who’s even spoken with Pryde in the last month is getting rounded up.”

Breath stalled. There was no way the doctor knew who you were--the sheet separating you ensured that. Dread iced over your chest.

“Shit,” the other man replied. “Really? Damn.” A pause, clanging of instruments. “Just questioning, right?”

“For now.” The doctor grumbled. “I just had the tenaculum. What the hell?”

“Isn’t it right over there?”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Wheels squeaked across the floor. “Anyway, it’s just a new round of Ren’s bullshit.” He sighed, scooching between your legs again. Something sharp and cold pinched you--you bit your lip. “Dissenters this, threats to Gilead that. I wouldn’t worry about it. Unless--”

A snort. “I hate the both of ‘em.” The man sighed. “You’d think that fixing the birthrate should be their top priority, the way things are going.”

The doctor grumbled, and something pinched you like talons, shooting pain up your spine. “Yeah. Well. If Ren has his way, half the people in this country are gonna end up dead.”

Your heart was tumbling into a canyon. In the time without him, your belief in your Commander’s defection had dimmed. You’d believed initially that his motivation for Pryde’s capture was revenge--something undesirable, but still understandable--but the longer his campaign went on, the more you realized that there would be nothing that would convince him to release his stranglehold on his position. A gnawing despair within you whispered that whatever Kylo Ren felt for you, he felt it one hundredfold for power and control; convincing him to leave it behind would not only be improbable, but impossible. Yet, as you considered betraying what little affection he might have, sorrow shredded you. The thought of his capture, trial, possible execution--

More tears. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him not here, of being torn from him, of his existence in the past tense. And you also couldn’t sacrifice your freedom for his sins.

The release of the speculum tugged you back to the exam, and you sniffled, clearing your throat. You’d missed the rest of the conversation.

“Whatever happens, at least we won’t be out of a job. They’ll always need someone to make sure the breeding stock is healthy.” A pause, as if to acknowledge that, yes, you were still in the room. “No offense, of course.”

Bile burned your tongue. You said nothing.

“Shit, that reminds me,” said the other man. “I’ll go check the urinalysis.”

“Thanks.”

The door shut. Without warning, latex fingers pushed inside of you, another hand pressing down on your belly. The inspection went on for seconds longer than you thought it should, his fingers curling, as if he was languishing there, reveling in the sensation of feeling your uterus. For a blink, every thought surrounding your Commander’s desertion of Gilead fled your mind, consumed by a venomous desire that he might catch this doctor in the act and crack his skull on the pearly tile, spray his blood, stain the grout. And then the intrusion was over, and your fury dissipated, the ache for retribution hollowing in your heart.

It wouldn’t have mattered, really, if he had been standing in the room when it had happened--the doctor was no anomaly, but a functioning cog in Kylo Ren’s machine. As long as you both remained in clutches of his own creation, he would spend eternity defending you from its design. Even if you could be an exception, other women would suffer in forced silence. And even if he could mould it to your liking, it would still mean he preferred you to exist in subjugation instead of liberation.

Hope had been a security blanket almost three weeks ago, thick and warm around your shoulders while he’d bathed you with gentle hands. Now it clung in tatters to your ribs, the tiny scraps fluttering like tissue with every gust of reality.

The door opened again.

“Hey,” the man said. “Got the results.”

A snap of rubber as the doctor removed his gloves. “And?”

“Look for yourself.”

Shuffling paper stifled the sad knock of your pulse in your ears. Perhaps you knew, and had always known, that Kylo might never come to agree with your perspective. You just frequently forgot to acknowledge that it would mean letting him go. Forever.

“Hey! Okay!” A warm palm slapped your thigh, and you squeaked. “We got another one!”

When no one responded, you realized he had been speaking to you. About a result. A urinalysis. Another one...

You couldn’t speak. Or breathe. Oh--

“You’re pregnant!”

Like a geyser, it burst from you--your sorrow, your fear, your disgust, your absolute joy--and poured in rivers down your cheeks, your hands clapping over your face. There was no one coherent thought that could be plucked from your mind, just a constant tornado of horrific exhilaration, a celebratory mourning that within you, a tangible testament to you and your Commander’s connection beat and pulsed and flourished with life, growing veins like vines and limbs like wings.

His child--your child--a physical entity you could nourish in the wake of his reluctance, an unalterable legacy inside of your womb, one that you, if you were to be denied all else, could adore. Your child, but also his child, descendant to a despondent devil, progeny to a preserver of your own imprisonment. A child that, if born into the realm of its father’s regency, would never know normality, or maybe even you--at all. A heaving sob cracked through, and you shivered, trembling with terrified bliss.

The doctor slapped your thigh again. “Don’t stress!” he said. “According to the chart here, you’re about six weeks along. There’s still a chance for disruption. So I’d stay relaxed, all right?”

Swallowing, you creaked out a noise of assent. There wasn’t a word you could bear to say.

After the doctor left, you slipped back into your red dress and wings--despite Kylo’s words weeks earlier, you had been provided no other options after he’d left, and you suspected he’d meant for you to only be out of uniform in his presence, regardless. You were escorted by an armed nurse out of the clinic, where a Knight--still masked, no cloak, just in tactical gear--was waiting by the black SUV you’d seen a few of them in before. Averting your gaze, you climbed into the back and buckled in. The vehicle started, you coasted through the parking lot, and onto the road.

For the first time in several days, the sun was out--though it would need more than an afternoon to evaporate the muggy air that had accumulated in its absence. You gazed into the stark, cloudless sky, placing your hands on your belly, as if you could commune with the little being inside of you, know it before it knew you. A question, awful and exciting, lingered in your mind as you imagined telling Kylo the news, but no answer revealed itself. You replayed the scenario over and over again, practicing it on your tongue--I’m pregnant--digging deep for his reaction. But it was useless, as initially unknowable as anything else about him. Anxiety constricted your heart, a dam about to crumble behind your eyes.

The Knight turned a corner, and you jostled in the backseat. There couldn’t have been much intimacy between them all. But still.

“How do you think the Commander would respond…” You swallowed again--hesitation kept wadding in your throat. “How do you think he’d respond to a pregnancy?”

Long, sweltering seconds ticked by without a word. Balling your hands in your lap, your palms slipped, heartbeat thumped in your clasped thumbs. You’d never heard a Knight say a word, before--you weren’t sure why you were expecting one to answer you. Lava licked at your neck, dripping down your spine, your teeth tearing at your cheeks.

“Whatever it is,” the Knight said, shattering expectation, “anything in comparison will look like apathy.”

A rush of interminable origin raced your flesh, flushing hot in your blood. That was about as accurate as you could expect. And unsatisfying as you could predict.

When you arrived at home and stepped out of the vehicle, another realization crested over you. Johana. Though your relationship had settled into an uneasy truce since the day the Commander had left, the words she spared you had been few and far between. You knew that your pregnancy was possibly her only dream, but combined with the uncharted territory of her husband’s intentions, you worried it would become her nightmare.

At the same time, perhaps these worries were unfounded--the threats Kylo would face by disrupting his Wife’s right to your child might be too great for him to risk his power. His concessions had been minor and in relative secrecy, affecting only his relationship with you--everything else had the secondary benefit of securing his reign. He’d said plenty, but how much had he meant? After overhearing the discussion in the exam room, you were fairly certain that if made to choose between Gilead and you, you’d lose.

You followed the Knight into the house, relieved to cross into central air. Taking a few slow steps, you drew a deep breath.

“Ms. Johana!” You paused, listening for a response. You heard none. “Ms. Johana?”

She wasn’t in the house--that meant she was likely out in the yard. In the heat. Sighing, you trudged through the halls through the back door, squinting as light smacked your face. In the weeks since Kylo’s departure, the garden had been cleared and mostly restored at Johana’s behest--the grass gleamed gold, summer flowers replanted in over-saturated swirls of color. You hopped over the stones, turning the words on your tongue, hoping to make them real in your mouth.

I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m--

“Ofkylo.”

You stalled, recognizing the moniker as yours, resentful of its familiarity to your ears. Beyond one of the hedges was Johana, prying open a birdfeeder. Heat--though whether it was from the sun or your fear, you didn’t know--sizzled the nape of your neck. You steeled your jaw, grabbing your skirts and tromping through the trimmed lawn in her direction.

“What are you doing out here?” There was a bag of mixed seed at her feet, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows as she wiped the feeder clean with a rag. “I thought you just left for your exam.”

“I did. I’m back,” you said. “I was, um. Looking for you.”

“Oh.” She flipped the top in her little hands, scrubbing it clean, too. “Well, that’s fine. What’s going on? They didn’t find out about the gunshot, right?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no no. That’s fine.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m tired of lying for your benefit. The antibiotics weren’t--”

“I know, Ms. Johana,” you sighed. “So…” The words were so simple, but so difficult to say. “The exam went well.”

She nodded, digging into the seed, scooping a helping. “Uh-huh.”

There was nothing that would make this any less nerve-wracking. You inflated your chest, and let it go. “I’m pregnant.”

Johana stopped, like she’d been shot herself, staring into the ground. The seed fell from her palms and spilled over her shoes. She rose, gaze drifting from your feet, to your hands, to your face, her chin shaking. A smile was threatening to explode across her lips.

“Wait.” She exhaled. “Really?”

Wagging your arms in admission, you nodded. “Yup.”

A human springtrap, she squealed, launching into you and wrapping you in a tight, bony hug. You wheezed from her strength--she squeezed you, pinning your limbs to your sides as she wriggled you like a toy.

“Yes!” She jumped up and down, still holding you. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Yes,” you repeated. “It’s, um, it’s true!”

Johana released you, erupting with elation. “This is amazing!” she said. “Lord, I’m going to have to go see everyone. Yes, we’ll have to have a party.” She clapped her hands and hugged you again. “Can you let the Marthas know to clean this up? I have to get going.” A playful, devious smirk twisted her mouth as she skipped into the house, congratulating herself. “Oh, they’re going to be so jealous! I’m pregnant!”

You stood, staring down at your belly. It wasn’t obvious, yet--but it wouldn’t be long. The thought of Johana preening, presiding over your stomach like it was her work paralyzed your heart. Had it been any other Commander, any other household, you might have even been relieved to incubate your ticket out of the Colonies, but now, you felt only panic. You didn’t want to give this baby up to her--a desire you never would have anticipated.

But then, none of this had been anything you had the ability to anticipate. A Handmaid was not supposed fuck her Commander outside of the Ceremony, or kiss him, or wake up in his embrace. A Handmaid was not supposed to yearn for her Commander, feel comfort from his voice, find companionship in his presence, or feel grateful for his brutality and strength. A Handmaid was not supposed to plan her Commander’s downfall, or plan his escape, and especially not plan his future with her in it.

A Handmaid was not supposed to fall in love with her Commander. But you were a Handmaid. And it was too late.

You left the empty birdfeeder and the bag of seed, slinking up the stairs, creeping back to your room. Throat, chest, face tight, you laid in bed, palms planted on your stomach, and breathed. Shutting your eyes, you hoped for the hundred-thousandth time in three years you would wake up in a different world--a world where the father of your child was not your legal owner, a world where another woman was not claiming it as hers, a world where you opened your eyes and you were not alone, and you were free, and you were truly, deservedly loved.

If you fell asleep, you didn’t know--the next thing you recalled was the familiar rumble of the Audi’s engine, dying as it rolled into the driveway.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #idk I got feelings

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sweeethinny · 3 years

Text

The Duke - Chapter 5

I took a while to update, I thought about quitting sometimes, I won't lie, but, I started reading fanfics and books about Monarchy and regency era theme, and all my creativity came back.

Thank you as always, @theroomofreq who is very kind to me and helps me beta this story And to all my friends who need to listen to my crazy ideas

AO3 | FF.NET | SIYE (soon)

| G. W |

It was barely dawn when that newspaper fell on the Weasleys' door and the elf caught it. It was like every other day, well rolled, with the ink still fresh, full of gossip, important news, and political speculation, in addition to that malicious hint that they introduced in the news, to be just mean to some stupid Viscount that was stolen - and deserved it - or a newly decorated Marquis who married a woman who struck him - and who also deserved it.

It was just another normal day.

Or so it was meant to be.

As soon as Ginny came down to breakfast, she felt that something was different in the air, or maybe it was the fact that her brothers and mother were on top of her father to be able to read the newspaper page too.

‘’Good morning.’’ She called, but no one paid any attention to her. ‘’What’s so important? Did we find a gold mine?’’ Ginny stood next to Ron, needing to tiptoe to read the main and most eye-catching story on the front page of the newspaper.

'’The - yet - Duke and Duchess of Godric’s Hollow, James and Lily Potter, open the doors of their country house, for the first time in 20 years, for the fiftieth Dueling Party.

Check out more information, and the guest list so far, on page 13.’’

‘’Were we invited?’’ Ginny asked, wanting her father to leave that page right away where showed a picture of the couple in front of their huge country house, with the two of them not looking so happy to pose for the camera.

‘‘We were.’’ Ron confirmed, still looking at the newspaper. ‘’I think… Did Mr Potter go crazy?’’

‘’Ron! Don't say that!’’ Molly slapped his son on the arm, scolding him. ‘’Arthur dear, do you know why… this? Lily's authorizing something like this to happen?’’

''James had talked about applying some measures at Godric's Hollow and some changes but ... I didn't imagine he would host the Dueling Party ... I mean, they have a pretty big list of guests.'' Father said, still standing at same page of the newspaper.

‘’I heard they think they know where their son is.’’ Fred said, a little quietly, as if saying something terrible.

‘’Lily will die looking for that son.. I don’t blame her, of course, but… It’s been almost 24 years, how does she think she can find the boy? Only Merlin knows who took him, where they took him…’’ Her mother put her hand on her chest, facing Ginny. ‘’We need to find you with a new dress.’’

‘‘No mom, please.’’ Ginny denied, looking back at the newspaper. ‘’But what if he’s really alive? How will they find him? Is that why they’re having the party this year?’’

‘’James says the boy was born with a brand.’‘ The father clarified. ‘’But I don’t know if that’s why they decided-- ’’

‘‘-- I’m sorry.’’ Henry’s voice interrupted Arthur’s, and the man bowed to everyone in the room. ''Mr. Weasley, I think you would like to accompany me.'' The man did not look at Ginny, as if he was afraid to show too much, holding a torn piece of paper tightly and having his left forearm grated and dirty. Had he fallen?

'‘Of course, Mr Figg. Excuse me, love.’’ Arthur kissed his wife respectfully and then followed Henry out of the dining room. Ginny almost ran after them, knowing it seemed to have something to do with her, just from the way Henry avoided looking at her.

She hated it when they made her look like a damsel in distress who couldn't distinguish fire from ice.

''Ginny, we will see this afternoon about your dress, and Ron, we also need to decide on new clothes for you ...'' Her mother continued to talk about the duties they would have for the next few days, but all Ginny could pay attention to was in Henry walking away. His cloak was torn in the back and it looked like he had just arrived - which was strange, because he never left in the morning, always preferring to go out in the afternoon when Ginny was at tea time with her mother, or at night, at dinner time. Henry always said that in the morning, it was the time that crazy people wake up and make a mess.

He looked over his shoulder after her dad turned the corner of the hall and disappeared towards the office, but he also followed the path before Ginny was able to have any appropriate reaction.

After his intrusion, and the delay for her father to return, Ginny had to be taken care of by another Auror (she was told that Henry needed to go to his office), and nowhere was Thomas as gentle and nice to her as Henry was.

All morning, Ginny felt like she was being followed by a ghost, in silence for all the hours that passed, a little disconcerted that Thomas didn't like talking to her like Henry did - even though sometimes it was just yes and no - and when she had to leave the house to keep her mother company on the way to the center, Ginny was excited to at least hear different voices.

''Does Mrs. Potter know that I need to bring Mr. Figg?'' Ginny asked, looking at the windows they passed, daydreaming about those colorful and well-sewn dresses.

Even though her father was a Viscount, Arthur had been decorated one after the other 10 in front of him died, so there was not much inheritance for them to benefit from. They weren't really poor, Ginny could still choose a dress sewn by a top dressmaker on special occasions, but she knew that the family had far more limitations than other families who had a wardrobe all made just for them.

‘’I wouldn’t like you to bring him,’’ The mother started, raising her gloved hand as if she already knew that Ginny was going to interrupt her. "It's always quite threatening when he stays behind you wherever you go, and maybe that's what limits gentlemen to ask you out." The younger redhead bit her cheek, swallowing the urge to say what prevented men from getting close to her was that she was seen as crazy. ‘‘But your father would never let us leave the property without him following, so… Yes, Mrs. Potter already knows that Mr. Figg will be with you.’’

‘‘I thought they didn’t throw parties anymore.’’ She commented quietly, smiling at a lady who was looking at her a little terrified, pulling her little daughter aside when Ginny passed.

Ah, London hospitality, always so pleasant.

‘’We all thought so.’’ Molly spread the fan in her hands, fanning herself because of the heat that seemed to be almost deadly. ‘‘But it looks like Mrs. Potter is tired of leaving the doors closed.’’

‘’I don’t remember visiting their house.’’

‘’You first came right when you were born, we introduced you to them. We have a picture of you and little Harry in the crib.'' Her mother sighed, stopping in front of the shop for hats, gloves and other accessories (not as chic as the one on the top street where jewelry was sold) and smiled at Ginny . ‘’Let's go in, I want to see if we can find some hats for you. Maybe there is a suitor who captures your heart during the Dueling Party.’’

[...]

‘'The Dueling Party …’’ Ginny repeated, rereading the news for the tenth time. ‘’Do you know what they say about this party?’’ She asked, looking over her shoulder at Thomas, standing behind her, while she was dining alone.

He denied. Ginny snorted, annoyed by the silence.

‘’Do you know where Mr. Figg is?’’ It was a lot more fun to have dinner with his company.

‘’No, Miss.’’

‘’Do you know when he comes back?’’

‘‘No, Miss.’’ Ginny turned to the untouched plate in front of her. Her father had spent the day outside, just like Henry, Ron had gone out with Fred somewhere, and her mother had already gone to bed, saying she was having a headache from the heat. She sighed, alone.

Thomas was married, not that he told her, she had seen the ring in his hand, and Ginny hoped he would be more talkative outside of work, or she would send her condolences to the poor woman who was married to a ghost.

The day had been quite boring, even after going out with her mother - which resulted in her buying a new hat - her father had sent a Patron with strict orders not to leave the house. Not even to fly. So Ginny spent the afternoon reading, knitting, and even pruning some flowers. All without saying much, since Thomas seemed to hate any human interaction.

At first, Henry was like that, too, quietly, until he seemed to feel sorry for Ginny's loneliness (and his own, since he was 24/7 by her side), and they started talking and she was even able to convince him sit at the table with her when no one was attending dinner.

But today, even after Thomas has been with her a few times, he still seemed to completely ignore the warmth and preferred to remain silent, leaving Ginny talking to herself.

When she thought about starting dinner - even though the chicken looked pale and the potatoes didn't look so appetizing - she heard footsteps toward the dining room, and before she could understand who was coming in, his voice boomed through the quiet room; ‘’Mr. Thomas, you can go to your home. Thank you very much.’’ Henry bowed to her a little. ‘’Good night, Miss Weasley, forgive me for being late.’’

‘’Good night, Mr. Figg.’’ ’Ginny had to bite her cheek to avoid the smile that wanted to break her face. The other Auror bowed to her and left the room, looking even relieved of an unknown tension that weighed on his shoulders. ‘’He doesn’t seem to like me very much.’’ She continued to look at the door through which the man had disappeared.

‘’If you want to know a secret,’’ Henry spoke softly, and approached her a little. ‘‘I don’t think he even likes himself.’’ Ginny laughed, her chest seeming to burn with that feeling of comfort that the man gave to her. It was always so simple to be around him, even when they were around several people and Henry was not allowed to give his real opinions (he would never give them, anyway, but Ginny knew that when it was just the two of them, he could be one little less judicious)

‘’May I know where you and my father have been?’’ She gave up on dinner, turning entirely to Henry and putting her arms on the back of the chair, resting her head there and staring at him curiously. ‘’It was a very boring day.’’

‘’Sorry to leave you, Miss.’’ Like a great gentleman he was, he nodded politely. ‘’But unfortunately I can’t tell you where we went. You’ll have to ask your father.’’

‘’And will he tell me?’’ She tried hopefully.

''I do not think so. Sorry.''

‘‘It’s not your fault.’’ She shrugged, only then really looking at him. Henry was still as he was yesterday; his slightly old and crooked glasses made his green eyes even bigger, Auror's clothes were so tightly buttoned and without any wrinkles that Ginny was embarrassed about her dress, which had a slightly worn hem. But unlike yesterday, she realized that his left hand was bandaged. ''What happened?''

‘’Ah… problems.’’ Henry shrugged. ‘’Another time we can discuss this, but I don’t think it is an issue for a lady who… still needs dinner.’’ He looked over her shoulder at her untouched plate - which now seemed to have gained color and life.

‘’Have you eaten yet?’’ Ginny turned around, slicing the chicken and smiling eagerly for him to sit with her.

''Already, Miss. Sorry.’’ Ginny could even hear his sad smile.

"But sit still, you know I hate to eat alone." She helped herself to the wine, having to bite her cheek again to keep from smiling and bursting into words she swallowed all day, when he sat in front of her. ‘’Can I ask you just one thing?’’

‘’For sure, Miss.’’ Henry seemed to want to disagree when Ginny spilled wine in his glass, but said nothing.

''Your bruised hand, the disappearance for the whole day, and the bloody story... has to do with me?'' She said, filling her mouth with a good forkful of chicken, peas and puree, staring at Henry with a pink color on his cheeks and he looked away from hers for a second.

‘’Yes, Miss.’’ He sighed, looking tense. ‘’But I’m not allowed to say more than that.’’ And then Henry pointed his finger at the walls around them, silent, and then at his own ear.

The walls have ears.

Ginny could not contain the reaction of bulging her eyes and looking at the large window beside them, which showed the entire backyard of the dark and lost yard in the darkness of the night, the trees making a lot of noise, as well as the wind whistling in the small openings of the glass and some old wood.

Henry was still staring at her, his green eyes almost seemed to enter her mind.

‘’What was I doing when I got the scar on my leg?’’ Ginny was alarmed, placing her hand on the wand at her waist, and the other holding the knife even stronger.

‘’You went up on the roof to save a cat, and when I thought was safe and tried to go up too, you slipped and cut your leg on a loose tile.’’ She blew out the air she seemed to be holding. ‘’I’m glad you remember to ask this, but it would have been too late,’’ Henry said, without taking his eyes off her. ‘’You have to do this when I arrive, not after inviting me to sit.’’ He warned her, his eyebrow dark and cut in half by the scar, rising and arching.

‘’I would know if you were an impostor.’’ For some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off him, feeling her chest burn and her hands tremble. And unlike any other time this happened, it was as if her magic was more controlled rather than totally insane inside Ginny.

‘’Miss didn’t seem so sure of that.’’ Henry didn’t seem bothered to look her in the eye either.

‘’I just doubted it. But I would know.’’ She didn’t know how, but something inside her said she would know.

‘’I’m happy that no imposter would take my place.’’ Henry smirked. ‘’I would also know how to differentiate you from an impostor.’’ And then he looked away at the window, and Ginny’s chest seemed to almost break without the pressure that was building there.

She even managed to fill her lungs with air.

| H. F |

‘’If you allow me to ask..’’ Ginny started, as they walked to the place where they were training duels. A place that Mr. Weasley had built after the clearing, where no one would get hurt or end up drawing much attention. It was not respectful for girls born in good families to know the art of dueling.

It was another day, nearly seven in the morning when Henry had to wake Ginny up so they could train the duel. After yesterday's threat, it would be necessary for her to be more than prepared if he could not defend her alone - but he was training even more so that it would not happen.

‘’Where do your scars come from? The one you have on your forehead. I mean.'' She pointed with her gloved hand at his forehead, almost touching where the lightning-like scar was marked on his skin.

‘’It’s too bloody a story for seven in the morning. And for a lady like you.’’ He kept up his education, already seeing the hut they haven’t visited in a few months, trying to ignore the feeling of failure due to having to make a woman like her, needing to learn the art of dueling. Dueling with an auror, to top it off, and not with figures he would transfigure, as he did for the boys who had been a tutor a few years ago.

No Auror learned to duel as Ginny Weasley needed to learn.

Women usually - if they learned to duel - did it with transfigured birds, wooden figures, and sometimes, if it was very necessary, the teacher would participate or call another woman who also trained, so that they would duel.

Ginny was dueling with an Auror who could do this even with his eyes closed, and who had already killed so many men that he almost needed a third hand to count how many.

''Well, if I'm asking for the story of your scar, I'm wise enough to know that I'm going to hear a bloody story.'' Henry opened the wooden hut door for her to enter first, and the smell of damp wood and dust entered their noses. Sunlight passed through broken planks and windows, and the lack of furniture (or what was left over and already broken) caused their voices to echo.

‘’They tried to kill me when I was a kid.’’ He didn’t have to look at her to see her eyes bulge, instead he walked to his usual place and started getting ready for them to start dueling.

‘’Who would do that ?! This is ... This is horrible!’’

‘’I know, Miss.’’ Henry never doubted that. ''But you would be astonished at how many crazy people there are.'' He saw her getting ready across the room, taking off the cloak, gloves and hat that her mother insisted she really wear, even inside the property.

‘’How did you get out alive?’’ Her brown eyes looked a little horrified and a little angry, as if she wanted to protect him. Henry wanted to laugh at the concern of a Viscount's daughter, at a poor man like him. In no dream or hallucination would a woman so above him look at him and speak as she did, always so friendly, seeming not even to notice how foolish she left him.

Henry was only above the bourgeois and, obviously, the miserable and squib (a class that his mother, unfortunately, belonged to), and by very little yet. If it weren't for sheer luck and being in the right place at the right time, Henry would never know what it was like to step inside the Auror Department.

‘‘My mom saved me.’’ He said, simply, but Ginny was still staring at him absurdly. ‘’In fact, she’s not my birth mother… My birth mother died at the hands of the Death Eaters. But she has looked after me since one of the Death Eaters tried to kill me, and here I am, safe and sound.’’

''I've never seen a spell that left a scar.'' She approached, eyes fixed on Henry's forehead, and her bare hand touched his skin, making him shiver and make him walk away in fright, as if her touch burned his face. ‘‘Sorry.’’ Ginny blushed furiously, still looking more scared, withdrawing her hand.

'’It's okay, Miss.’’ Henry swallowed, the wand in his hand shaking slightly, as if the magic wanted to explode out of it at all costs. ‘’And, I don’t know how I came out with just a scar. Maybe my magic saved me.’’

‘’Yeah… maybe it is.’’ Ginny now looked into his eyes, looking a little too serious, the brown eyes that Henry thought were so beautiful, seemed to carry a mountain of feelings that she would never let out. At least, not for him. ‘’Come on… let’s train.’’ And then she turned her back on him, the purple robes making her look like a witch from a Muggle fairy tale. Her hair tied tightly in the braid made her look a little more challenging than she usually was.

Henry knew he would never find a woman more beautiful than she was, and he cursed himself for thinking of her that way.

‘’We’re going to start.’’ He had to breathe deeply, before getting back in line and starting.

They bowed to each other in a sign of respect - if there was any respect in a duel - and then raised their wands.

Ginny and Henry had already dueled a few times, much more than a lady should, and he knew that she was really good and that if they accepted women at the Auror Academy, she would be even better than most the men who worked there. But whenever they dueled, Henry felt that electricity running in his wand, making it difficult to keep the spells for a long time, as if his wands refused to duel.

The magic was out of control - that's why Mr. Weasley had a hut built away from everyone and empty - and he could see the intensity of her magic almost greater than his. There always seemed to be something missing to make his strengths equal, and Henry thought that maybe it was the fact that he always feared for hurting her, while Ginny was instructed to use all her strength.

‘’Expelliarmus.’’ He whispered to himself

‘‘Estupor.’’ Ginny also spoke in an almost lower tone than Henry, and then the spells dueled, and the electricity almost looked like it was about to kill him. His arm was shaking, and the strength of the spells facing each other made the boards tremble and the rest of the entire furniture began to want to dismantle.

But for some reason Ginny lost her focus, and then Henry's magic won and her wand flew into his hands, just as her body stumbled over the furniture behind her.

He also lost his balance, and had it not been for the table well placed behind him, he would have been shamefully thrown back.

‘’I heard a noise.’’ She said, startled. ''I saw someone passing by, behind the house.'' And as if all the strength was suddenly recovered, Henry stood up and looked behind him, through the gaps in the wood where all you could see was the forest.

‘’Are you sure?’’ He asked, already casting a protective spell around them and throwing her wand at her, walking towards her and keeping her behind him - even though she insisted on going to his side.

''Yes. I saw someone. It wasn't a deer or anything. It was a person.’’ Henry’s magic trembled again, and just for safety, he cast three more protective spells around them, and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the house. ''Don't let me stay behind, someone can hit me from behind and you won't even see.'' She complained when he once again put his body in front of hers, stamping her feet next to Henry, who was looking at the forest silent around them.

‘’Miss, you will stay in the circle of protection, while I will see if there is anyone, understood?’’ He stared at her, the taste of blood dominating the palate with the idea of yet another crazy men trying to kill her.

''But I--''

‘’--Don’t make me petrify you. And I will. ’’ Henry didn’t even give her time to complain, throwing more protections around her, stepping out of the circle and preparing to grab another idiot who tried to get close to Ginny.

Yesterday morning Henry had found a miserable boy, doing the dirty work for wealthy people, bringing with him a cursed Ginny doll and a letter detailing exactly what they would do when they caught her. Henry didn't even like to remember the fury that surrounded him when he read what they intended to do. Not even over his corpse, would anyone touch her.

They were starting to be more creative now. It was the second cursed item they tried to get to Ginny.

Making sure she was still safe - and she looked furious in the circle Henry had created - he started walking around, looking at the sides of the house and a little way through the trees, but never losing sight of Ginny, who was so well protected that he could barely hear her voice.

But maybe Henry should have paid attention to what she was screaming, or trying to scream, because when a spell tried to hit him and ricocheted away, he knew it was she who was protecting him, and that they were with visitors. But he saw no one.

Turning to her, even more furious, Henry felt protected once again, seeing that Ginny was also surrounding him with protective spells, and he made the sign that she needed to leave. He told her to Apparate, but Ginny stayed there, denying it while Henry felt his protective sense scream inside him.

Better him than her.

He hid behind a tree, still feeling protected, and concentrating on the image of Ginny and her mesmerizing eyes, Henry struggled to enter her mind, as they had trained exhaustively. But it always seemed easier with her.

''Apparate out of here.. Now.''

He ordered, even though that part of the Forest was strangely quiet. Had they given up?

‘’Not without you.’’ She snapped in his mind, and Henry wished he could shake her shoulders.

‘’You are more important than me.Get out. They won’t see you, you’re protected.’’

''Not. Without. You.''

Henry took a deep breath and looked behind the tree, looking for whoever it was, wondering what he would do with that stubborn woman. There was no more noise, no spell shining, everything was silent. Which was even more dangerous.

They wouldn't come and just shoot Henry and leave without even fighting. But he was not staying to see.

And if he could bet, he knew it was more dangerous for them to stay there, waiting for them to come back. They had done this once, killed a deer as a threat, so Henry knew there must be a dead animal somewhere nearby.

He would send a patronus to Robards.

'’Apparate to our safe place. I will meet you there.’’ He spoke to her, still in mind.

‘’Do you promise to go?’’

‘’I’m right behind you, Miss.’’

#hinny #hinny au #harry x ginny #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #Harry and Ginny #hp au #read-a-hinny-fic #Aristocrat and Bodyguard trope

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desiree-harding-fic · 4 years

Text

More Regency Au

I’m just writing fun little snippets when I’m feeling it you know?

*~*~*~*~*

The room is warm, but then these things always are, bodies and candles packed into parlors and sitting rooms and halls, all manner of satins and feathers and pearls adorning the ladies and the men in starched white collars and tails. It’s a stark contrast from the outside, cold and vaguely wet and slushy. Lup counts herself lucky that she managed to keep her gown from dragging in it all on her way in.

She sips at the glass of punch in her hand and scans the crowd.

Lup has no great fortune to her name, but if one locates the right bachelor, these things matter less and less. She’s pretty, and single men will ignore a great number of disadvantages if the object of their affections is pretty enough. She has a good complexion and a graceful brow and elegant curls and a bright, fine eye, and these things are her best weapons.

Speak little, smile a lot, flutter your lashes and whisper behind your hands. These are the things that garner the affections of rich men, Auntie said, as she pinned up Lup’s hair and fastened a ribbon around her neck. Sure, you may be a country mouse, but even a country mouse can be a novelty worth having in the eyes of a foolish wealthy man.

She should be taking Auntie’s words into account as she scans the room for such men, but the thing is, she’s been standing so long in the corner and perhaps a bit longer near the punch bowl than she should have been. And Lydia is a bad influence, she knows this. But she’s also fun, and makes these parties more fun, and she’s a twin too, which made Lup laugh when she met her.

And she and Lup have a custom at these things, which is to sit and watch the passerby and murmur scathing remarks between them and laugh at the utter silliness of London society. These people are so stiff and puffed-up. So self-important and ridiculous. So boring. Lydia is interesting.

And Lydia knows the local gossip on nearly everyone, though Lup hasn’t any idea how.

“Who’s that?” she asks, pointing to a stout man in conversation with a small party opposite the room. He’s got spectacles on, and looks deeply uncomfortable and like he’s trying his best not to look so. It’s rather comical, Lup thinks.

Lydia’s eyes widen at the sight of him.

“Oh, that’s a Mister Bluejeans,” she whispers back, “owner of a small estate in the southern countryside, near the sea. No great fortune, but apparently a fair bit of land worth a little something from what I hear.” Lup watches as he clumsily handles his glass and spills a small portion of punch down his front and turns nearly as red as the liquid in his glass as he pulls out a handkerchief to mop at it.

"He looks quite the life of the party,” she whispers, and Lydia giggles. “Do you think he swallowed a swarm of bees before he came or is that just his typical expression?"

"Lup you’re terrible,” Lydia titters, “But apparently he is awful with company. My cousin met him last season, says she's never met a gentleman so incapable of carrying on a pleasant conversation. And he’s something of an eccentric, though she didn’t give me any details. Supposedly he's nearly forty and never been married."

"I can't imagine why,” Lup says drily as she watches the poor man mop at the front of his clothes. The small party with which he was engaged has moved away, seemingly quite without him noticing. He fumbles with the handkerchief in one hand and the glass in the other, and Lup watches his ill-fitting spectacles slip slowly down his nose.

"I'll give you sixpence if you dance with him,” Lydia says suddenly. Lup snorts.

"You don't have sixpence."

"Well next time I do it'll go straight to you," she answers back, quick as a whip. Lup considers. If he can’t hold a punch glass and talk at the same time he’s bound to be an awful dancer. But she is bored...

".....make it nine." Lydia huffs.

"Oh very well. Two dances then."

"Just the one and you'll pay ninepence for it,” Lup says evenly, watching Mister Bluejeans all the while. He’s just noticed his party has abandoned him. He looks around the room for a moment, and just there. For a second, his eyes catch Lup’s who blinks for a moment, and then looks back to Lydia.

"Oh fine, Lup,” she hisses. She must be bored as well. “You really are impossible."

“Thank you very much.” Lup holds up her hand, crinkles up her right eye that’s still facing Mister Bluejeans’ vantage point so she’ll appear merry. She can almost see him in her periphery.

"But only if you get a dance,” Lydia says, now looking reluctant (likely at the thought of losing ninepence), “and my cousin said she didn’t see him dance once last season. And you can’t ask him.”

Lup slides her eyes over to Mister Bluejeans again, smiling, and catches his glance for just a moment before his eyes dart away. She can see a flush rising in his cheeks.

“Oh I won’t have to ask him,” Lup says, watching as the man finds a convenient table on which to set his now mostly empty glass and ruined handkerchief. She watches him straighten his coat, and smiles. “He’s going to ask me.”

*~*~*~*~*

#taz balance #barry bluejeans #lup taaco #blupjeans #reJEANcy #regency au #blupjeans regency au #uh oh it's becoming a tag #you better watch out

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healinghyunjin · 3 years

Note

Moonrise! I loved it! I hope you’re ready to be subjected to excited praise, because that’s all I have for you 😂

I’m a sucker for princes being thrust onto the throne after unexpected deaths of parents. The drama~

Reader’s conversation with Chan was really effective at setting the stage for Reader’s emotions going into this marriage, you get a real good sense of the mix of emotions and the inner conflict she has in wanting to resent the situation but not resenting Hyunjin himself.

(Literally just wanted to make a separate note that I really liked the phrase “Chan smoothed his hand over your head”. The verb ‘smoothed’ just feels so calming, I love it.)

Minho being the best big bro, we love to see it. I love the breaking carriages detail, it’s so striking. Also, isolated readers always make me feel feelings.

Reader trying to pay attention to inner circle details but getting distracted by Hyunjin’s ✨pretty✨ made me chuckle. Who wouldn’t be? And Reader later getting Hyunjin flustered about visiting her at night delighted me.

THEY’RE JUST TWO LONELY PEOPLE GETTING TO LOVE EACH OTHER AHHH. Hyunjin wanting Reader to be comfortable so he made sure Minho would be coming to the wedding was such a cute detail.

By the way, there is so much really good description of setting and clothes, the wedding vow scene is the example that stands out the most to me but really all the way through, you’re very good at painting a picture.

OK, so the spicy scenes:

CHOICE. CONSENT. CHOICE AND CONSENT. YES. Hyunjin has an exhibition kink and I’m here for it. And he just wants her to feel so comfortable and safe and trust him and AHHH

In conclusion: this is just so nice and cute and just…I love it. Like I said, two lonely isolated people get to let their guards down with each other and it’s so lovely to see. Also, the spice 🥵 very good, much thirst

WAHHHH THE QUEEN HERSELF - Fi omg thank you SO much for these thoughts!!!

I'm very much a sucker for tropey cuteness and romanticness and shit lol, so I very much stuck to that here XD I really would like to challenge myself with some more angst later, but I feel like I need to build up to that (I have a monster of an idea for an angsty, heartbreak-y but it works out in the end regency!Changbin fic, but I've been super scared to attempt it LOL).

I so overthought putting in a lot of these details (like the carriage thing lol or the wedding dress details) so I'm glad that it translated okay!! Going forward, I definitely do want to work on flow these disparate things together more though - hopefully will come with practice!!

And LOL the spicy stuff - FI you can't imagine HOW pressed I was trying to write that smut lmaoooo I personally think consent and checking in and stuff is super sexy, but writing it out without making it cringe is SO hard. I mean, there's a reason why Moonlight ended up being a separate fic lolol.

Thoughts continued in your other ask! 😊

#fifi asks #fizzydrink698 #asks 💛#moonrise

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lyricfulloflight · 4 years

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Random Encounters: Part 3

Part 1& 2:

https://lyricfulloflight.tumblr.com/post/611328294123651072/random-encounter-part-2

Part 3

“I was starting to worry about you.” Kitty looked at him from across her desk. “But then you sent me this manuscript...”

“You liked it?” Charles asked tentatively.

“I loved it.” Kitty smiled. “And I figured it explained why I hadn’t heard from you in three months. You must have been huddle over your computer every day to produce something of this quality so quickly.”

“I… thank you. I may have sequestered myself slightly.” Charles admitted, cheeks flushing.

“Well, I had to get you out of the house for this.” Kitty grinned broadly. “I have excellent news. The novella you wrote – about the dancer and the business man – was picked up almost immediately. Freedom Press is interested in publishing it in a collection of modern gay erotic fiction. But the novel, well we’ve had an offer – from Eisenhardt Publishing.”

“I wasn’t aware they published romantic fiction.” Charles replied, puzzled.

As far as he could remember – and he had an excellent memory for publishers – Eisenhardt Publishing was known for promoting mostly non-fiction, with forays into fiction in the last decade, but only in the historic and literary genres.

“Apparently they’re expanding their horizons. I received a notice several weeks ago that they’re interested in ‘Queer Fiction’. I sent your manuscript in right away. The regency setting wasn’t going to appeal to Freedom Press, they’re all about contemporary, modern settings, pushing the envelope and shocking readers. Your manuscript – as wonderful as it is – is a departure for you and doesn’t fit their mandate.”

Charles frowned and looked down at his hands.

“I didn’t mean that as an insult, Charles.” Kitty said softly. “You are an amazing writer. You’re ability to write an erotic scene is second to none. This latest novel is sexy as hell, but its romantic. Its full of longing, overcoming barriers, and, well, love. It’s refreshing to see you try something different. Eisenhardt Publishing clearly agrees. We have a meeting with them two weeks from now.”

“They can’t just send an offer over?”

“Have you become a recluse in the last few months?” Kitty arched a brow. “They hinted they wanted to offer you a multiple book deal – you’re meeting with them in person. Understood?”

“Yes, yes of course. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. A multi-book deal is… I’m quite astounded.” Charles babbled out, excitement mixed with trepidation swirling in his belly.

“Good. We’re meeting at their office, Thursday next week at 9:30am. I’ll meet you there.”

Charles promised he would be there, and made a mental noted to set his alarm and plan to arrive early (which tended to be the only way he ended up anywhere on time). He paused at the door to give Kitty a wave goodbye, only to find he giving him a thorough once over.

“Maybe wear something more… youthful?” She suggested.

Charles gave Kitty his best reassuring smile and scooted out of the office.

***

Charles sighed in relief when he reached his perfect little terraced house in Hampstead, collapsing in a heap onto his bed.

The past three months had been… trying to say the least.

All those months ago, he had had every intention of waking up on Monday morning and pathetically walking to the tube and hoping to see The Man again. He was half terrified at the prospect of encountering him again, now that it seemed The Man had noticed Charles. But he couldn’t resist the chance to see him again.

Except on that glowing Monday morning, when the sun peaked in through his window, Charles hadn’t gotten out of bed. He’d barely gotten out of bed for the rest of the week he was so sick. A very aggressive strain of the flu had knocked him right out and he became so ill, his friend Moira had dragged him to the hospital after she’d stopped over for a visit and Charles couldn’t hold a coherent conversation.

He’d spent a couple days in the hospital, hooked up to monitors and being pumped full of fluids until he was finally coherent and keeping food down.

When he’d gotten back home, all he’d wanted to do was write. During his illness he’d been filled with detailed dreams about The Man; always dressed in a waistcoat, perfectly gorgeous and staring at him with those steely eyes.

Oh, how Charles wanted him. He wanted The Man above him, covering every inch of him with his lean body. He wanted to slip his hand into The Man jeans and stroke his cock until he was hard and ready. He wanted to ride him, sinking down and taking every inch of him, straddling his lap so he could watch those mysterious eyes on him the whole time they fucked.

Charles knew it would never happen. If he’d been unimpressive before his illness, he was even less so now. When he’d returned from the hospital, his ribs had stuck out and he had somehow become even paler. Moira had been so concerned she’d come over every other day for two weeks, bringing him take out, or cooking him meals.

Even Raven had stopped by, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he seldom had the chance to see his sister and a curse because she’d wrung his secret out of him (he’d never been able to keep a thing from her), and then laughed uproariously at the very idea of Charles’ crush on a random man on the tube.

“It’s ridiculous Charles! You’ve never even spoken to him! He’s probably straight, or taken, or both.” Raven had scoffed. “Your overactive imagination is impossible. If you want a date, let me set you up or download a dating app!”

Charles had spent the rest of the night plying Raven with pizza and ice cream and distracting her by having a sing-a-long movie marathon to the Pitch Perfect movies, all in the name of deterring her from asking more about his crush or, god forbid, signing him up for a dating app.

He’d never bothered to take the morning tube into the city after that.

But then, he’d also written an entire novel in two months. One so good, a new publisher was interested in his work. He certainly couldn’t mope about after that bit of good news, could he?

Charles woke up bright and early on Thursday morning. He showered and shaved and made a valiant effort to tame his unruly hair. He stared into his closet and wish in vain that hip, modern and fashionable clothes might suddenly appear. In the end, he settled on wearing a suit, but skipped the tie, hoping it might make him seem more… well, more like someone who could pull off a casually professionals vibe.

By 9:10am, he was pacing in front of the British Museum, clutching a travel mug of Earl Grey in his hand, wondering if he would arrive too early if he started walking to the Eisenhardt Publishing office just a few blocks away.

“Charles!” Charles turned to find Kitty hurrying across the street in his direction. “I cannot believe we managed to meet like this, but its absolutely perfect. Walk with me.”

Kitty linked her arm into his and they set off together. Charles let Kitty talk excitedly and found himself easily swept away by her enthusiasm. If they could make this deal happen today, it would be, by far, the biggest success of his career. Kitty’s energy was contagious and Charles quickly found himself sitting in the waiting area at the Eisenhardt main office, smiling at Kitty as her knee bounced up and down rhythmically beside him.

In fact, Charles was beginning to feel quite positive about the upcoming meeting. He could do this. If anyone could talk with genuine passion about the novel it was him – the novel was (not that Charles would ever, ever tell a soul) basically a fantasy of his own creation where a bastard son of Duke, known for his wild ways and hatred of the peerage, feel in love in an unassuming, rule governed young man who’d unexpectedly inherited an Earldom after being groomed his whole life to join the clergy. It was a story of opposites attract, of love overcoming all obstacles. Charles had spent the last three months totally engrossed in the tale, surely he could sell the idea to someone else.

Walking with his head held high and his shoulders back, Charles was determined to put his best foot forward. That determination lasted until he and Kitty waked into the office of the head editor and Charles laid eyes on the man standing behind the desk waiting to greet them.

It was him.

#lyric writes #random encounters #cherik #cherik fic #part 3 #shameless self promotion #will also be posting on ao3 #hope you enjoy!

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

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Mistletoe Manor - Part 3

Summary: Christmas is the most important time of year for all those who live within Mistletoe Manor. From the staff to the Hawthorne family themselves, everyone works hard to ensure that the festive season is a success every year! We invite you to see if everyone can pull off another magical Christmas at the manor this year.

Pairing: Park Seo Joon, Bang Yongguk, Brian Kang, Jung Daehyun, Jung Jaehyun, Lee Taeyong and OCs.

Genre: regency au / romance / christmas au

A/N: Becky ( @noona-clock ) and I wanted to create a magical Christmas for everyone and what better way to do that than at Mistletoe Manor! Because of the nature of having several idols, we chose to work with OCs and we hope you love them as much as we do.

Mistletoe Manor will be posted daily at 10am NZST / 4pm EST daily.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Activity within the manor had increased with the countdown to the opening of the Winter Festival. It was rather chaotic at times and as Cassie made her way downstairs, she almost knocked into Anna carrying a large pile of linen up them.

“Careful, Anna!” she exclaimed and the housemaid sidestepped immediately, balancing the load within her arms precariously. Cassie held out a prepared hand in case the pile began to fall. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’ve got two to spare,” a voice called and Cassie grinned as Taeyong jogged up the stairs to take half of the pile away from the maid.

“What would we do without you, Taeyong?”

“I was doing just fine, My Lady,” Anna mentioned gruffly, shooting the footman a brief glare that made Cassie chuckle as she continued down the stairs. Tensions were heightened because of the flurry in events, though today Cassie’s mood was rather jubilant. Even if she had to step around a stack of deliveries in the foyer, Percy promptly informing her that the back entry was entirely full.

“And you have another letter from the Earl,” the old butler announced, pulling it out from within his breast pocket and handing it over.

“Thank you, Percy. I’ll see to it when I have some time. Is the car ready for our trip to the market setup?”

“It is, My Lady.”

“I’m coming also, sister!” Josephine called from the other end of the foyer, placing on a hat along with her gloves. She came to a hasty stop at Cassie’s side before she grinned. “You cannot leave without me.”

“Why, I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing! What of Evie?”

“Something about a critical moment in a book. I swear, she will never see much of the world if she keeps searching for it within the pages written by others!”

“Perhaps she’s well-versed more than we are, cousin,” Grace mentioned, appearing from the library with a warm smile, reaching out fondly to take Cassie’s hand. “You needn’t worry. Evie has been working on the final touches to the lineup for the festival opening.”

“I never worry when it comes to Evie.”

“Just me?!” Joey concluded and the other two laughed, stepping out into the brisk morning. Winter felt as if it would come early this year, and as Cassie looked to the skies, she was certain it wouldn’t be long until snow was upon the ground.

It made her grip at the letter within her gloved hand more tightly.

“Good morning,” Seo Joon, the family’s chauffeur greeted, opening the back door to the car. Joey got in first and Cassie hesitated, her eyes returning to the front door of the house.

“Is Lydia coming as well?”

“She is just finishing up on a task asked of her, she told me to send her apologies for making our journey to the town delayed,” Seo Joon mentioned and Cassie smiled at him.

“It is no problem to wait. Grace, why don’t you get in next?”

“I have another ride of my own.”

“You do?”

Seo Joon nodded, gesturing to down the drive. “Jaehyun has the cart hooked up with supplies and is waiting not far from here. Safe travels, Miss Grace.”

As Cassie watched her cousin almost run down the driveway to where Jaehyun had indeed been waiting, she couldn’t help but let out a hollow laugh. Directing her gaze back to their chauffeur, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why, I feel you know a great more than I do right now.”

“I am not privy to all knowledge but I do feel Miss Grace enjoys sitting up front in that cart with Jaehyun these days.”

Joey laughed, shaking her head. “It would be such a bumpy ride compared to your smooth driving, Seo Joon.”

“I’ll accept your compliment,” Seo Joon answered with a grin and then gestured for Cassie to climb into the car. She did, and before she could ponder in wonderment over the progression of Grace and Jaehyun’s budding romance, Lydia came rushing through the front door, out of breath.

“I am truly sorry I was so late.”

“Shut the door, Seo Joon,” Cassie instructed and he frowned, looking at Lydia waiting to get in.

“Cassie! Lydia has to get in and with Grace not riding with us she can sit in the back.”

“Nonsense, I need this space here for my uh – my gloves.”

Taking them off immediately, everyone stared at her irrational movement.

“Shall I travel in the front with Seo Joon, My Lady?” Lydia implored, clicking onto Cassie’s mannerisms. Her cheeks were still flushed, though Cassie was certain it was now because of her generous offer.

It wasn’t just Jaehyun and Grace who were feeling things that hadn’t quite been spoken into public knowledge as of yet.

With Lydia in the front and Cassie’s gloves safely on the seat beside her, they started off to the village, both sisters discussing plans in the back seat whilst subtle advances happened in the front. Everyone seemed to be full of spirit once they arrived at the market site, and there was much to go through. Cassie checked the layout of the stalls, the setup up of the lanterns and even spoke with the labourer who had built the stage for the Christmas carollers to stand upon.

“Are you certain it is stable enough? It will hold thirty people most nights,” Lydia, who had spent the majority of her time at Cassie’s side, inquired, her brows knitting together with doubt.

“It does look rather thin in the base, you are right.”

“My Lady, do not fear. The wood I have sourced is incredibly sturdy!” And to make his point, the man climbed onto the stage, welcoming others to join him. Several workers stopped to assist him in his plight and Grace and Jaehyun came over to where they stood.

“I fear it’s not safe wood, if I may speak up about it,” Jaehyun murmured and Cassie glanced up at him, her eyes widening.

“Are you certain? It seems to be holding them well.”

“If we get snow or rain before the cover is erected, it will soften. It’s been cut against the grain.”

“You can tell that from one look?” Seo Joon asked and the gardener nodded. Cassie grew concerned; they had already paid for these materials weeks ago.

“My Lady, it is holding up,” Lydia attempted to console her right when there was a deafening crack. There were several gasps and shrieks as the stage collapsed into its base, cries of pain emanating from several of those within it.

Racing forward, Cassie helped a man out and then looked at the disaster before her. “The festival starts in five days. What will we do?”

It was a nightmare no one had expected so close to the big day. And with the accident, several of the workers were injured, mostly the man who was behind it all.

“I got a good deal on these supplies,” he exclaimed woefully and Josephine patted his lower arm gently before looking to her sister.

“Cassie, I’ll go with the injured to the physician. I know you’ll find a solution whilst I am gone.”

“We have one already,” Seo Joon announced when Cassie moved back to the group from the manor house, pointing at Jaehyun working with a sheet of paper from Grace’s journal. He was sketching out a new stage, and as Cassie looked at his design, she was amazed.

“Are you a carpenter?” Jaehyun glanced up at her and then shook his head. “No, My Lady, but my father is. I learned a lot of his trade when I was still at home.”

“Is there anything you cannot do?” Grace breathed and Cassie smiled momentarily.

Only for her hopes to fall short. “This is wonderful but where will we source materials from and have everything done within five days?”

“Now stop your worrying, My Lady,” Lydia replied firmly, taking Cassie’s hand in hers. “If there’s one thing I know about the staff at Mistletoe Manor is that we rise to the challenge. It will be done.”

Seo Joon had already loosened off a few buttons to his shirt and rolled up his sleeves once his coat was off, conversing with Jaehyun over how to start the structure first. Even Grace had begun helping with the planning; pointing out where she felt the stage would need extra reinforcement. Sharing a somewhat troubled smile with Lydia, Cassie stepped forward to assist as much as she could as well.

By the time they returned home, everyone was exhausted and hungry. Dinner was sombre, Lord Hawthorne making new arrangements to assist Jaehyun and Seo Joon with the project. Their mother had retired early over concerns that the festival may not start on time and Cassie was subdued, forgoing the evening meeting with her sisters and Grace in the drawing room.

It was when she was removing her clothing that she felt the letter she had carried around all day, hesitating to sit down and open it. She craved promising news and with Daehyun’s last letter, Cassie feared it would only bring forth more troubles for her to make her way through.

Still, she needed comfort right now and Daehyun’s letters had become an incredible source of that for her. Just seeing her name scrawled at the top of the letter made her feel some ease from the familiarity of his handwriting. She read through the first two pages that documented his journey of late, and of his questions for her, laughing when he told a tale of how the King had fallen into a mud patch and he hadn’t been able to hold his tongue conservatively. She had discovered her husband was easily amused and could just imagine Daehyun’s improper conduct and his sleepless night before meeting with the King the following day to apologise.

There was no news whether his schedule had changed yet, though he did speak of another Earl, one she had heard of when researching Daehyun. It appeared Yongguk had no plans after the expedition and would accompany him back to the manor.

Still, Cassie didn’t know when that would be and her smile soon faded with his final words.

I do not know when I will see you next but know my heart is with you this season. As it always will be,

Daehyun.

The tears soon began to fall, Cassie overcome with the emotions of everything lately. She had held it together for as long as she could, knowing so many relied on her to be strong and lead the way. It was a curse; she had always been headstrong in a way that made even Josephine turn to her for the right direction whenever she was lost.

But she had no idea which direction she was meant to be going in and it was maddening. Cassie needed someone who would just come in and support her, to allow her to be weak for once. She knew Grace would be there, and yet with her relationship with Jaehyun forming, Cassie didn’t wish to burden her cousin when she was experiencing such joy. And she didn’t want to turn to her parents either. Her father had already been disappointed tonight and he had tasked Cassie with this to do herself. She was prideful, wanting to be successful even if she was exhausted from trying so hard.

Cassie didn’t hear the door open; however, she felt the arms that wrapped around her, gazing through her tears at Lydia before burying herself into the woman. If there was anyone who had seen Cassie at her absolute worst, it was her. They were close and the lines often blurred between their roles and friendship. Breaking down further, Cassie didn’t wish to imagine life when she left the manor.

Even if she was eager to start her married life with Daehyun now, she didn’t wish to lose the strongest ally she had at her side either.

“Let us get up from the floor, hm?” Lydia coaxed, helping Cassie to her feet and over to her bed. She remained in a daze and Lydia removed her stockings, patting her knees gently when she was done. “Is it not good news with your husband?”

“I…” Cassie started, knowing there had been so much she had kept within. She had spoken of her concerns with Daehyun’s delay to Grace and felt much better after doing so. There was so much more troubling her though and Lydia’s gentle encouragement opened the floodgates. It took her some time to explain all her worries, with some breaks needed as the fresh tears fell and soaked into her nightgown. Lydia hadn’t said much; in fact, the only constant was her hand in Cassie’s, prompting her words out until there were no more to give.

Hugging her, Lydia finally took in a breath before speaking. “For this moment in time, I will speak to you as a friend and not someone who serves this family, okay? Cassie, you are placing too much onto your shoulders. We are all here for you and this festival will go off without a hitch. You have worked too hard for it not to. I know the setback startled you but you are surrounded by so many people who wish to help you. And they will if you just ask that of them.”

“I feel so lost, I-I don’t even know who to talk to or who to ask what of.”

Lydia smiled, brushing the remnants of her tears away. “So tell them. Tomorrow at the meeting, tell everyone. Allow others to lead until you are ready to do so again.”

“Oh, I couldn’t burden-”

“When is it ever a burden when it comes to you, Cassandra Hawthorne? You have given up so much of yourself for everyone else. Let us carry you just this once.”

_________________

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#kwritersworldnet #pwyl; mistletoe manor #pwyl; christmas #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop angst #daehyun fiction #park seo joon fiction #taeyong fiction #jaehyun fiction #yongguk fiction #young k fiction

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