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allisonreader · 1 year

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Tales Of A Frozen Sailor; Jessica’s Rescue

Growing up he always felt like he had an odd fascination with the Titanic. It wasn’t like he was particularly fond of history. He did alright in his history classes, but there was just something about that ship that set him on edge. Especially when they had to read Jessica Hudson’s letter. In his one class, they had been asked to write an analysis of her letter. Instead of doing that, he wrote an essay on why he thought doing such an analysis was out of place. Explaining that because she had not died in the sinking; it was an invasion of her privacy, to read what she must have thought were her last words. Ones that she had clearly intended for her family. Let alone what her family might think about being thrust into the spotlight. All because the letter revealed the fact that she was a sailor. For those reasons he did not care for that ship, nor the treatment of Jessica’s letter.

When he received the invitation to his friend’s wedding, the theme shocked him. It wasn’t the fact that the event would be formal or that it would be happening on a private cruise. It was the fact that they had decided to get married on the anniversary of the Titanic hitting the iceberg, while using the Titanic as their theme. It left him tempted to say that he couldn’t go. The thought left him a bit unsettled that they wanted to be over the wreck site for their wedding. The gravesite of so many. It was what had brought Jessica’s letter to mind again. A gravesite that had so nearly been hers.

((So to be invited to his friend's wedding that was Titanic themed and to be held on a private yacht, he was not impressed. He could refuse to go on principle. Though that seemed shallow. He’d rather grin and bear it. He cared more about his friends and seeing them married, rather than their questionable wedding theme. He would be gone a few days for this wedding. As not only was it Titanic themed, but it was also going to take place over the wreck site. On the same day that the ship hit the iceberg. Ninety-nine years later.))

Nanna knew what he thought about this wedding and the fact that he wasn’t so thrilled about going. So she took him aside the day before he was supposed to head out.

"You’ll be okay my dear boy. Besides, when you get back, we can read that mysterious letter of mine."

"Okay Nanna. You won’t read it without me?"

"Emery, I have had it for decades already. I can wait a few extra days so we can read it together."

"Thanks Nanna. I look forward to it."

"I know you are. Be safe. We all love you dearly. Phone or text us if you have service."

"Yes Nanna, I will."

Later he wished that he hadn’t been quite so flippant to his grandmother. But he couldn’t have known that at the time.

The trip started off well enough and the real party didn’t start until after the wedding ceremony. Everyone was dressed formally, as per the dress code. Some in more historically inspired outfits than others. His own suit leaned to the more historical side. Which included a pocket watch to complete the look, though it was a little unnecessary- as he was still wearing the watch his grandfather gave him.

The reception started with a five course meal, accompanied by the appropriate wine selections for each. Followed by an open bar and dancing. The music was loud, thumping and modern. The room grew hot with the consumed alcohol and fervent dancing.

He grew warm enough to peel off layers as the night went on. First went his suit jacket, then his tie, which was adorn with gold tie clip from his grandparents. His cuff links came off and into the jacket pocket along with the tie, so he could roll up his sleeves. He even took off his waistcoat, including the pocket watch.

After all of that he was still feeling a bit hot and had probably drank a bit too much himself. So he went on deck to cool down. The air was crisp and the sky was clear. He took a deep breath. No one else was close to him on the deck. There wasn’t much wind and the ocean seemed calm when he looked over the rail. He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but he found himself in the cold water. Struggling to find the surface. If he didn’t, he would die.

Nobody had seen him go over and it took them awhile to notice that he was gone. A search of the yacht began. Only after not finding him anywhere on board, did they try searching the water with low hopes of finding him. Or at least finding him alive. Unaware that they would never find him, his family having to be told that he was lost at sea.

The next thing that he knew after going into the water, was finding a solid sloped landing under his feet. He didn’t know what it was, but it had to be better than being in the water. When he surfaced enough he realized that somehow he was in some sort of white corridor with flickering lights, lined with doors, filling with water. Was he dead or dying? Falling into the open ocean shouldn’t end him in a corridor like this. The only thing to do was to move away from the water. Figuring out where he was, and how he got there could happen later. Finding safety was most important. One thing that did catch his attention was the sound of crying. He couldn’t ignore it. The sound was coming from one of the nearby doors. Though he wasn’t sure which one. After calling out and getting a response he was able to find a young lady, dressed as a sailor with short hair and no visible breasts behind a locked door. The things that she claimed didn’t make sense to him. Things which couldn’t be true. Nor did it make sense how he was on a sinking ship. How it didn’t look anything like the yacht that the wedding was on.

After he had gotten her out of the room she was locked in, all he could do was follow her through the maze of corridors. Until they finally made it to deck. It brought into focus how out of place and lost he was.

There were funnels on the ship. Four funnels. The clothing that people were wearing was like things that he had only seen in movies and museums.

It was starting to sink in. He really might be on the Titanic as it was sinking. He was going to die. Most of the men on board did and he was going to be one of those casualties. It didn’t help that he was already wet, as was the young lady he rescued. Of whom he was starting to expect was Jessica Hudson. At least if that was the case, he knew she’d live. Even if he didn’t.

She lead him to a lifeboat yet. The other sailor there relieved to see her as she took control over the man who was less experienced.

"I’m sorry, I can’t fit you on the lifeboat-"

"It’s okay- I understand-"

"Wait! Listen to me. We can’t take you now- but once we’re on the water- we should be able to take a little more weight on. Once the ship is a little lower in the water- jump- we’ll find you. It should at least give you a chance. You’ve given me a chance." She gave him a grim smile as he nodded. Her plan didn’t seem likely to work. These life vests seemed so janky in comparison to the ones that he was familiar with, but he still had put one on.

He did as she asked. It was his best chance to survive. Much to his surprise, she and the younger sailor were able to pull him out of the water. Just in time to finish watching the large ship finish sinking at the unnatural angle that would leave people fascinated for at least a 100 years.

The cold seemed to seep into his very bones as they waited for rescue. No one was eager to talk after the disaster they had just been through and were still living. Unsure if or when rescue would come. At least he knew that by the morning they would all be safe, as long as they lasted those hours. Trying to keep warm was the priority until then.

It didn’t surprise him when it was the Carpathia that rescued them. Those of them in the lifeboat who had been the wettest, needed a bit of extra medical care. Frost bite and hypothermia were the two biggest concerns. Both of which he did need looking after to some degree. He wasn’t sure how long they’d all be on the Carpathia for. It was one of the details that he was a little fuzzy about. He did manage to corner the sailor he rescued and privately layer out all he knew to her.

"Look, I know that you’re a woman-" A look of fear crossed her face. "I’m not going to say anything about such. You saved my life-"

"You saved mine first."

"We saved each other then. That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn you in. I know who you are. You’re Jessica Hudson. An able seaman, a twin- who while you were locked up you wrote a letter to and sealed it inside a bottle. Which will eventually be found and brought up from the ocean floor. Along with the rubbing of your dad’s name Henry Hudson."

"How do you know that? You can’t know that. I’ve never met you."

"You haven’t, but I do know about you. That you’re friends with a fellow sailor John Winters. That you’re older than you claim to be because you aren’t a boy-"

"Stop."

She was suspicious of him. Rightly so. His story sounded crazy. He shouldn’t know as much about her as he did. He hardly believed his story and he was the one who lived it. It still shouldn’t be possible that he was in 1912. He didn’t want to think about what his future might hold. He had nothing. Literally only having the clothes on his back. He knew no one. His grandparents weren’t even born yet. He had no place to go. Everything that he had once known, was now lost to him. All of which he told her and her friend John.

It lead to a conversation about what they were going to do with him. If they even believed his story about him being from the future. It’s not like his proof was anything spectacular. All he could show them was his watch and tell them that there’d be an inquiry when they reached shore. Though the inquiry could be easily surmised after a disaster like they just lived through. Although knowing that it would be a Senator William Smith leading such, might be a little bit more proof and truthful sounding. It was something that would only be proved on shore.

Between the three of them they decided it was the best for him to go home with John. So he’d be traveling to Maine. Where he’d meet John’s mother Naomi and his little sister Amelia. He’d stay with them until he could find a job and get himself on his feet.

He knew that as much as things might not be as completely foreign to him unlike if either John or Jessica had gone into his time, things were still going to be completely different to him. It was going to be a huge learning curve for him. Computers were a long time away and he’d probably never see the technology reach the same place he was familiar with it being. Let alone the fact that he might have to live through two world wars, the depression, and more. Also, there’d be no Star Wars or Star Trek and he might never watch either property again. He was still ignoring facts about his family. Like that his father and Nanna would never know what happened to him.

He couldn’t think about that now. Learning how to live was going to be more important.

In New York he was given a sum from the collected fund for Titanic survivors. Which would at least help him a little bit to get him off the ground. He remained in New York, waiting for "Jesse" Hudson and John Winters to be released from the inquiry. That way he could travel with John to meet his family. He would also get to say goodbye to Jessica as well then. He also took in the sights of a New York City skyline that didn’t match the one he was familiar with. This skyline was missing a couple of extremely iconic buildings that were a couple of decades away from being built yet. That was certainly an odd thought. Though it got him thinking that at least he’d have an idea of what stocks to invest in and which he’d probably stay away from. Maybe if he did well enough, he could even end up in the same circle as his family again. He could potentially see his grandfather grow up.

John’s family shocked him immediately when he met them.

John’s family was very different from his own. It wasn’t even the fact that Benjamin Winters had passed many years ago. Nor was it the fact that the Winters family didn’t have much in money or possessions. What made them so different from his own family was how close and open-hearted all of the members were. Naomi did not play apparent favourites between John and Amelia. The two siblings were playful and friendly together. Completely unlike the relationship with his sister who thought it best to antagonize him and make him a mark for bullies in his younger school days. He was pretty sure that John would fight anyone who would do that to his sister, or even for Jessica Hudson. Both things a far cry from his own mother who thought her oldest could do no wrong, while he could do no right. While Naomi had hugged him as soon as soon after she had hugged John, when she didn’t even know him. The fact that he was a stranger to their family didn’t matter. He was alone and needed help and they were going to stand up and help him. John had him explain his entire story to Naomi and Amelia. Both listened carefully and while Amelia might have tried to tease him a bit, Naomi took him seriously. Between her and John, they helped him set up his new life. He could be honest about one thing, and that was the fact that he had lost everything when the Titanic sank. Everything else besides his name was a half truth. He was no longer born in the 1980's but the 1880's. The entirety of his past had to be twisted to fit into a believable history which could fit into the time period. The Winters family helping provide him with the information that he needed to know and didn’t have. Like cutting wood with an ax, dishes, helping with laundry, cooking and other chores that he had never done before because he had never needed to. Life was different without computers and tv. At the same time as much as everything was different, it was the same. People still acted like people. Though his mother never would have just taken him in like Naomi had. Not with a crazy story like his and knowing nothing about him. Nanna probably would have. He missed her the most currently. But the Winters family tried hard to make him feel welcome and included in their small family.

It didn’t seem to matter to them that he claimed to be from the future. They just claimed him as their own and helped him get accustomed to the time and helped find him a job when he was ready. He ended up in an office doing work that probably wasn’t much different from what he would have been doing in his own time. One thing that Naomi suggested to him was to keep a journal of everything that he wanted to remember from both his own time and what was happening in his day to day life. That perhaps, if any journals were kept, they could potentially make it into the hands of his loved ones, so they’d know what happened to him. He hadn’t even mentioned that worry to Naomi when she suggested that.

It amazed him how quickly he felt a part of the Winters family. Without being able to be with his own, they filled that space and in someways better than his own family members. By far Naomi was a better mom than his own and honestly he preferred John and Amelia in comparison to Alexandra for siblings. Neither of them made fun of him for his name or not knowing how to do something. Plus Naomi didn’t play favourites between any of them. He became as much as one of her kids as either of her biological ones. There were times where he wished he could have met Ben. He had a feeling the Benjamin Winters would have been a lot like the rest of his family. Then came a day when John was going to go down to Georgia to visit the Hudson family and offered for him to join him. He was curious to see where Jessica lived, and to meet the family members who had been mentioned in her letter. They hadn’t spoken to each other since they split ways in New York, and he felt too awkward to try and write her a letter at all. He didn’t blame her for not writing him at all. He was just that weird guy who claimed things that weren’t possible. Or at least shouldn’t be. But he agreed to go with John down to Georgia, as awkward as it might be.

#tales of a frozen sailor #tales of a frozen sailor jessica’s rescue #messy draft #I can’t seem to get past this point as much as I want to

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alyswritings · 2 years

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New People

Request: Hello!! I wanted to ask you if you wanted to do a fit where Anthony already has a child, like a toddler or young kid, mother died or left them, and I know it would have been scandalous in those times but whatever I don't know, anyways it could be like Kate finding out about them and then her meeting Kate and Edwina like at the beginning of s2, and its just cute?

Anthony Bridgerton x daughter!reader

Summary: Y/N meets the Sharma family.

Warnings: none

a/n: thank you for the request! kind of got carried away and made it longer with more stuff lol hope you all enjoy!

(gif not mine)

Five years ago is when Anthony Bridgerton's life changed forever. The woman he was courting ended up pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl -- his baby girl.

Anthony insisted that they must avoid the scandal and the mother to be should go into hiding or at the very least leave town -- but she did not. People quickly learned that the baby was Anthony's and everybody went crazy.

The Bridgerton family faced some backlash and Anthony and Allison had agreed to marry given the circumstances. Allison demanded a long engagement and Anthony respected that.

The week they were due to marry, Allison gave birth and Y/N was born. Anthony felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and protectiveness from the first moment he held his newborn child.

The wedding was pushed back a few days, but before it could commence, Allison had run out of town.

Leaving Anthony and Y/N on their own -- along with the rest of the Bridgertons, of course.

Anthony did his best and got as much help as he could from his mother and siblings who often offered to watch the baby for him, knowing of his busy work.

Whispers would go around the first two or so years of Y/N's life anytime she was around other people. Whispers that Anthony did his best to protect her from.

Eventually the talk finally stopped for the most part, leaving the Bridgerton family in peace. Even though there was still an occasional look or two.

- - -

The Sharmas and Lady Danbury arrive at the Bridgerton home, the large family exiting to come and greet them.

"Now, the only reason to endure such a journey is to see my great-godson." Lady Danbury states, taking Augie from Violet.

Y/N stays glued to her Aunt Eloise and two oldest uncles while Violet, Daphne, and the youngest two Bridgerton siblings greet Lady Danbury and two of the Sharmas and fawn over Daphne's baby. The third Sharma straying a bit, after curtsying to the family, and she observes the house.

Anthony goes over to Kate, the two sharing small conversation.

"Papa! Papa." Y/N rushes over to her dad and yanks on his waistcoat.

"Y/N, do not tug." Anthony reprimands, lightly grabbing her hands and making her let go.

"Sorry." Y/N says.

"Papa?" Kate questions.

"Yes. Um... Miss Sharma, this is my daughter, Y/N." Anthony introduces. "Y/N, this is Miss Sharma."

Y/N turns to the unfamiliar woman who seems shocked.

"Hi." Y/N smiles at her.

"Hello." Kate greets. "I was not aware you had a child." She says to Anthony.

"Yes, right. I... well, I had mentioned it to your sister at the horse races." Anthony says.

"It must've slipped her mind when we were reminiscing of the day." Kate says.

"Must have." Anthony says.

"Doggy." Y/N points to the animal.

"You may pet him if you like." Kate tells her.

Y/N looks at Anthony who nods. Y/N goes over to the dog and gently pets him, the dog gladly accepting the affection. Anthony frowns, slightly offended the dog likes her but not him.

"Ah, as I said. Excellent judge of character." Kate smirks.

"I'll give him that one, I suppose." Anthony mutters, forcing a smile.

"And you must be Miss Edwina." Daphne walks up.

"No." Anthony denies. "This is her sister. Miss Kate Sharma."

"Ah. Forgive me, Miss Sharma." Daphne says.

"I am entirely flatted, Your Grace." Kate smiles, curtsying. "Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Edwina." Edwina walks over and she curtsies to Daphne.

"It is an honor, Your Grace." Edwina says. Daphne smiles.

"Miss Edwina, I am pleased to introduce you to Aubrey Hall." Anthony says.

"It is a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting us. I very much look forward to spending time with you and your family." Edwina says.

The four adults' gazes turn to the side after hearing a giggle, looking to find Newton licking Y/N's face. Anthony grimaces in disgust slightly, walking over and helping Y/N to her feet.

"Miss Edwina, I am even more pleased to introduce you to my daughter. Y/N." Anthony says, gently lying his hands on the young girl's shoulders, the child smiling up at Edwina. "Y/N, this is Miss Edwina Sharma."

"Hi." Y/N smiles at her.

"Hello, Y/N." Edwina crouches so she's at a more even level with the girl. "You are very beautiful."

"Thank you." Y/N shyly says, ducking her head as an attempt to hide her red cheeks.

"I look forward to getting to know you." Edwina tells her, kindly smiling at her. Y/N simply nods, not certain of how to respond.

- - -

The oldest five Bridgerton siblings and the two Sharma sisters are preparing to go outside with the mothers and Lady Danbury, the seven young adults ready to play pall mall.

"But I wanna play." Y/N whines.

"I know, dearest, but you are too young. Besides there are only seven mallets and there are already seven of us playing. And the mallets are heavy and taller than you." Anthony states making Y/N pout.

"So can I watch?" Y/N asks.

"Wouldn't you much rather stay in here with your Aunt Hyacinth and Uncle Gregory? Spend time with Cousin Augie?" Anthony asks and Y/N shakes her head.

"I wanna spend time with you." Y/N tells him.

"All right then." Anthony says, picking her up and holding her on his hip.

"I still want to play." Y/N says.

"Well, you can't right now. But how about you and I play it by ourselves later." Anthony suggests, a small smile gracing his face. Y/N grows an excited grin, vehemently nodding her head making Anthony chuckle.

Neither noticed the way that both Sharma sisters were watching the interaction with soft smiles.

- - -

After a while, Edwina had quit the pall mall game after her ball went out of bounds. She joined the mothers, Y/N, and Lady Danbury at the pavilion. Y/N went up to her, standing next to her chair.

"You're spending time with my papa, right?" Y/N asks.

"Yes. Yes, I am." Edwina answers, smiling gently at the girl.

"Do you like reading?" Y/N asks.

"I love to read." Edwina states.

"Papa tries to read to me, but he's too busy so Aunt Ellie does it a lot." Y/N says.

"Oh, well, I'm certain he tries his best." Edwina says and Y/N nods. "What books do you enjoy?"

The two continue to converse about books and then whatever comes to Y/N's mind, Edwina enjoying getting to know her possible future stepdaughter.

- - -

After the young adults finished their game and Anthony and Edwina spent some time together discussing their lives and Edwina telling him about books she's read, Anthony soon found Y/N.

"Love?" Anthony calls, getting the young girl's attention away from her Uncle Gregory. "There's some spare time before supper. If you would still like to play a game of pall--"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Please. Yes." Y/N immediately jumps up, bouncing with excitement. Anthony chuckles at her reaction.

"Very well then." Anthony says, taking her hand, the two going outside.

Anthony grabs the black mallet.

"Which one would you like?" Anthony asks the girl.

Y/N points to the mint green one and Anthony picks it out.

"All right, now, you line the mallet up with the ball." Anthony puts his mallet down. He stands behind Y/N, helping her hold the mallet.

"It's heavy." Y/N says, looking at the mallet that goes a few inches above her head.

"I told you so." Anthony says. "Still want to play?" He asks and Y/N nods. "Okay. Line it up and aim for that hoop." He instructs, stepping back a few feet so she can do it herself. Y/N swings the mallet to the greatest of her ability, the ball rolling close to the hoop, but failing to reach it.

"That's all right, darling. There's more rounds." Anthony says.

He lines up his ball and goes to swing, but remembers he probably should not be his usual competitive self when playing against his five year old daughter -- who is not competitive unless she knows how to play the game.

Anthony swings the mallet, letting his ball roll, stopping a few inches away from Y/N's ball.

"See? Neither of us got it in." Anthony says.

"I thought you said you were the best at this game." Y/N says.

"Yes, well... it seems I am having an off day." Anthony says.

From the doors, Kate, Edwina, their mother, and Violet watch the father and daughter play the game.

"They're adorable." Edwina comments.

"Yes. Yes, Anthony is very good to her." Violet states.

"Well, I suppose being a good father counts for something." Kate says, still trying to dislike the man.

- - -

After supper, everybody is tending to their own things and Y/N goes up to Kate who is sitting by the fireplace.

"Do you like reading?" Y/N asks her.

"I suppose so, yes, I do." Kate answers.

"Can you read this?" Y/N asks.

"Oh. Well, wouldn't you much rather one of your aunts or uncles read it? Or your father or grandmother?" Kate asks.

"Papa is working and grandmother is with Lady Danbury. I can't find Aunt Ellie or Uncle Colin, Aunt Daphne is tending to Cousin Augie, Uncle Benny is drawing, and Aunt Hyacinth and Uncle Gregory are playing and arguing with each other."

"I suppose I could then." Kate relents, smiling at the young girl. Y/N holds the book out to her and Kate takes it. Y/N sits next to her, waiting patiently for Kate to begin reading which she soon does so.

- - -

"And now you are all settled." Anthony says, tucking Y/N into bed.

"Thank you." Y/N says.

"Of course, Y/N." Anthony smiles at her. "Good night, my love."

"Night, papa." Y/N yawns making Anthony softly smile. He kisses her on the temple as she closes her eyes, quickly falling asleep.

Anthony leaves the room, quietly shutting the door.

"You're very good with her." Edwina comments, smiling gently at the man.

"Thank you." Anthony smiles. "She is... well, she is my pride and joy."

"She's a lovely little girl." Edwina compliments.

"I will agree to that statement." Kate says.

"Thank you. She definitely gets that from one of her aunts." Anthony says.

"Oh, most definitely." Kate agrees making Anthony force a fake smile, Kate returning one.

"If I may ask... what happened to her mother?" Edwina asks.

"Oh. Well, um... she left. Shortly after Y/N was born." Anthony informs.

"Oh. I'm so sorry." Edwina says.

"No, no, it's quite alright. I understand the curiosity and you didn't know. It's just been me and her the entirety of her life. But hopefully I can find her a lovely new mother some day." Anthony says, smiling at Edwina who smiles back.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x daughter reader #anthony bridgerton x daughter!reader #kate sharma #edwina sharma #bridgerton

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livia-dovehallow · 3 years

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Hello sunshine of my dash! I saw your fic pf Thomas first rune and loved it and wondered if you would consider doing the same but with Christopher by any chance please?

Of course, anon with a heart of gold! Christopher is the love of my life so I will always write about him <3

call my dad | Kit's First Rune -- Christopher Lightwood

Christopher Lightwood was a scientist. A man of logic and fact. He'd seen his cousins and elder sister go through their own training milestones as Nephilim and knew there was nothing to be frightened of. It was an important role he was born into. Though his passion and ambition was elsewhere, he would always answer the call of shadowhunting.

But, perhaps, this call could take a message.

"It'll be perfectly fine, Kit," Anna told him from her sitting position on his bed. She was much taller than him, and Kit mourned the uneven softness of his bed that was going to remain once she left. "It only hurts for a few seconds. After that, getting your Marks will be easy! Mam and Dad have many Marks."

"Mam and Dad are bigger than me," he answered. Christopher stood before the mirror in his room, preparing for his First Runing. He was ten now, old enough to receive his Marks and accompany his parents on patrols. Though, Christopher was not fashion-inclined, not like Anna was, and had put on his red waistcoat backwards.

Anna silently stood from the bed and helped him dress properly. Anna always helped him navigate the world. He had so many questions and so little answers. At least he had Anna. "There you go," she declared, stepping back. This time, he was dressed correctly, head to toe in ceremonial red that matched the shade his sister wore, and what his parents would be wearing. "I must say, Kit, and I mean this with love: red does not suit you very well."

The halls of the Ceremony Hall in Alicante were vast. Christopher had been here many times for his cousins' ceremonies and remembered all the little twists and turns of the buildings that he'd found while waiting until his parents found him and took him along. This time, however, he did not have the luxury of wandering about.

He sat with Thomas, now, against one of the many walls. His sisters, Barbara and Eugenia, whispered together across the way from them. They were never too far from wherever Thomas was, just like Anna was never too far from wherever he was. Thomas would get cross about it sometimes, but Kit didn't mind much.

"I can tell you're worrying," Thomas said after a while of silence. "You haven't told me any new science facts the whole time we've been here."

"Thomas," Christopher said, then sat up straight. "My heartbeat feels quite irregular, and I do believe the air has gotten thicker in here. These are symptoms of something, of course."

Thomas turned to him, wide-eyed. "Well, why are you just sitting there, then?" he asked, wild. "I'll get Aunt Cecily."

Christopher shook his head violently and snatched Thomas's wrist before he could stand. His cousin looked at him, concerned. "Don't get my mum," he told him. "Call my dad. I want my dad."

Thomas's expression went from wild to quizzical, but he only nodded and said okay before dashing off to the room next door, where their parents were putting together the party for after the ceremony. Barbara and Eugenia's whispers vanished. "Kit?" Barbara called, her voice concerned. Barbara was the eldest of his cousins. She was almost eighteen now. "Is everything all right?"

Before he could give an answer that likely would have sent her and Eugenia into a flurry--as what happened often when Thomas was having a fit--the doors to the reception hall opened and Thomas popped out, fiddling with his fingers. Christopher's father emerged behind him. He could always tell when his father was worried because he had a habit of furrowing his eyebrows when he was. Thomas pointed toward Christopher's direction and his father's attention followed until he spotted him. He said something to Thomas, and patted his shoulder, before making his way toward Christopher.

"Girls, would you mind helping finish up in there?" his father said to Barbara and Eugenia, who stood quickly. "Your aunt is fretting about with the final details."

They nodded and moved swiftly inside, right behind Thomas.

Christopher watched his father approach until he was kneeling in front of him. He was wearing a red suit like Christopher's, and his Marks stood out in stark contrast against his skin. His skin would look like that one day, too. "Everything all right, Kit?" his father asked. "Thomas said you were not feeling well."

"There is something wrong with my heart," he said. "The beat is not regular. And there is something wrong with the air, too. It is very thick in here, like it is in London near the Thames."

Gabriel's expression softened and he gave Christopher a small smile before lowering himself to a seated position before him. "That does sound concerning," he pondered. "Do you have an idea of the cause?"

Christopher shook his head.

"I think I do," his father said. "It is similar to fear, though you do not seem afraid. I believe it is hesitancy. Apprehension, perhaps?"

"Apprehension?"

Gabriel nodded. "I know it can be daunting, getting your first Marks, especially when you're the last of your cousins to get them. It is a big milestone, and it is perfectly normal to feel nervous."

"So, there isn't anything wrong with me?"

"Not one bit," Gabriel confirmed. He leaned forward gave Christopher a reassuring smile. "Everyone gets nervous, even me."

This surprised Christopher. His father was the one he always went to for certainty. "Really?"

"Of course," he said. "I was nervous at my First Runing, as well. I was also nervous when I asked your mother to marry me. Then I was nervous at our wedding. I was nervous when you and your sister were born. It is normal to be nervous about big, important things. The key is to remember that and remind yourself it is okay."

Christopher nodded slowly, processing his father's advice. He remembered his mother telling him, once, that his father had a knack for getting quite worked up with worry and nerves when it came to him and Anna. It is because he loves you very much, she had explained. When you love someone very much, you want them to be happy and safe and healthy, and worry when they are not, or may not be.

"Does Mam get nervous?" Christopher asked. His father laughed, looking surprised.

"She does," he answered slowly. "Just, not as much as I do. She is very confident, like your sister. Mostly, she worries about you both."

"Because she loves us?"

Gabriel smiled. "That is exactly why."

Christopher nodded again, and began to feel his heart beat slow and the air becoming breathable. He was grateful his father had come. His family always joked that his mother was always the better one when it cames to words--that his father was known for stumbling over himself and saying odd things. Mam always wore a strange smile whenever someone mentioned it, and Dad turned red and demanded to change the conversation. "Thank you, Dad," Christopher said quietly when he regained his steadiness.

His father let out a deep breath and Kit saw his shoulders drop their tension. He'd been right--his father was concerned, but now he was not. "Do you think I did all right? Your mother is much better at this sort of thing."

"I think so," Christopher answered, a small smile growing. "But, if you didn't think you were any good, why not send Mam instead?"

Gabriel blinked. "Well, because you asked for me," he said as if it was obvious. Christopher's smile grew. "I will always come when you call, Kit. Either of us or both of us. And I'll admit, I am very happy you asked for me. I worry sometimes that you and your sister bore of me."

"Mam does say you worry a lot for no reason."

Gabriel laughed, loud and boistorous, and reached forward to haul Christopher into a bear hug. "How much does she speak of me behind my back?" his father laughed, and kissed his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"Probably not," Christopher agreed.

Gabriel pulled back, looking happy and certain, which made Christopher feel happy and certain, too. "Let's go find your mother and sister, have your ceremony, and then you and I rush back here before everyone else. Your Mam made you lemon tarts and we must beat everyone back if we're to get the good pieces."

Sometimes, his father really did know exactly the right things to say.

#maggie answers #anon #this was so fun and cute to write #my heart is full #we need more father son content #gabriel lightwood #christopher lightwood #anna lightwood #thomas lightwood #barbara lightwood #eugenia lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #the last hours #tlh

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tales-unique · 3 years

Text

MEMORIES OF THE WEST V

Chapter 5

The only time Saint Denis seemed peaceful was early in the morning. The sun had barely risen an hour or so before Arthur found you descending the white steps into the street, dressed in a pale yellow pinstripe blouse and flowing black skirt. Scuffing your tapered boots in annoyance, you look about yourself with a scowl on your face. You have a delicate ornate fan in hand, swatting it ceaselessly to dispel the early morning heat that plagues you. “Mornin’ Miss DuBois,” he calls, tipping his hat in greeting, “you’re out early.” “Mister Morgan, good morning,” you chirp, regarding him with a tight-lipped smile. “I just had to get out,” you hiss, the beating of your fan a sharp tempo accompaniment to your words, “this heat is awful !” Arthur chuckles, motioning for you to walk with him. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees, feeling the sweat bead on the back of his neck where the sun beats down on him relentlessly.

You walk side by side on the cobblestone streets, taking in the relative quiet. A lone carriage rumbles by, a couple strolls past you and you greet them cordially. It's pleasant, but it won't last. "So, what’s the plan?" He asks, hooking his thumb in his belt loop, "how do you wanna approach this whole thing with Jebediah?" Not one to beat around the bush, Arthur wanted to have at least the bare bones of a plan in place. The last thing they needed was to create more problems, especially ones that would involve the law. That arrogant bastard probably had them all on his payroll. "Well, it's not going to be easy," you sigh, coming to a stop outside the tailor's shop, perusing the wares on display in the window. "Jebediah doesn't like you one bit , Arthur," you click your tongue, regarding his reflection. You can certainly see why. He's dressed in a simple white button up with the sleeves rolled up and a fitted blue waistcoat that shows just how broad and defined he is. The faded blue jeans and black cowboy boots complete the look, and you take extra care not to spend too long staring at the way the denim hugs his muscular thighs. He scoffs, shaking his head. If he notices you staring he doesn't say anything, much to your relief. "That so? I really couldn't tell!" He huffs, harsh sarcasm dripping from each word. Turning on your heel you simply smile up at him, you even dare to flutter your lashes. "Don't worry about that Arthur, I've got it handled," you tell him, your smile turning mischievous. "What are you up to?" He asks warily, narrowing his eyes at you. "It's nothing bad !" You grumble, fanning your face. Standing still let the heat cling to you and it was sending you dizzy. Arthur follows your lead when you start walking again, falling into line at your side. You casually make your way towards one of the gardens, trying to keep in the shade and the minimal relief it brings as much as you can. "I just commented on how safe I would feel if I had someone with me, and broached the idea of having my own personal bodyguard, is all," you comment flippantly, glancing at him, "and maybe I managed to convince Jebediah to hire you for just that very position." "Well I'll be damned!" Arthur exclaims, impressed you were able to pull off such a feat. "What can I say? I know how to play the damsel when I need to," you preen, rolling your eyes playfully. Not only was Arthur possibly going to get away with a large sum of money and other riches, but he was going to be paid for the privilege. It's almost too good to be true, but he bites his tongue. You look so proud of yourself and he can't bring himself to rain on your parade. If things go sour he can figure it out, he always manages to somehow. The flow of conversation comes easily as you continue to walk, taking your time leisurely to admire the botanical centerpieces in the gardens. Saint Denis always did have the most beautiful flowers and bushes and you often went there when you needed time to reflect and collect yourself. "We should probably get you back," Arthur hums, "or that brother of yours might send out the whole damn cavalry to find you this time!" The comment forces a snort out of you, hiding your snickering behind your fan. It's funny because it's a scenario you can definitely see happening, not that you'd blame him. William had been overly cautious ever since you had come back, terrified of letting you go out alone even for the simplest of things. While you could appreciate his fears it was becoming stifling and you didn't know how much you could take. "Come on," Arthur chuckles. Neither of you want to go back, especially knowing that you have to force yourselves to perform roles you didn't care for, but do it you must. That doesn't mean you don't take your sweet time doing it, though.

“Don’t walk away from me, William! We are not done talkin’ about this!” “Why do you have to turn everything into an argument?” “Oh, I do apologize! I suppose I shouldn’t be angry when somethin’ is arranged about me when I’m not even in the damn room !” You hadn’t been back in the apartment barely half an hour before you and your brother were embroiled in a heated argument. Arthur stood off to the side, leaning against the wall by the window, deciding right quick that he wasn’t going to get in the middle of it. You more than had this handled, if your imposing stance and downright mean glare had anything to say about it. Even Jebediah, as disgruntled over the whole affair as he was, didn’t interfere when you started biting back. “It’s just for a couple of weeks, sister!” William rebukes in a defensive hiss, throwing his hands up in the air, “Jebediah feels that—” “—Jebediah! So Jebediah feels like I should be plucked from my own home just because he says so! Why didn’t you say so? I’ll go pack my bags right now, shall I?” You snap, hands pinned tightly to your hips. Arthur can see the way you’re gripping the fabric there so tight your knuckles are turning white. You’re angrier than a wildcat with its tail on fire and it’s too much for William to take. He falters, all that built up bravado in front of the man he idolizes, the man who swindled him, suddenly wilting in the face of real fire. “I-I just think it’s a good idea, after everything that’s happened,” William tries to reason with you, but there’s no conviction to his voice, “you know Lady Kramer loves it when you stay with her, and it gives Jebediah time to get the wedding in order!” The mere mention of the wedding makes you bristle and you open your mouth to scream how there will be no damn wedding , but you hesitate. Your fiery gaze flits between William, Jebediah, and Arthur, the last of which regards you with a look of warning. It sobers you, making you think about the consequences of your actions. You inhale deeply, grounding yourself as best you can; you’re still brimming with anger, but at least you’re not ready to commit murder. “I’m not going anywhere , William,” you speak with a sense of finality that has William reeling from the vicious bite of it. The tension is still rife in your stance when you turn away from him to face Jebediah. His sharp eyes watch you closely through the smoke of his lit cigar, regarding you with an air of condescension that you return ten fold before striding towards the door. You stop just before leaving, your hand on the handle. “You coming, Arthur?” It’s subdued, nothing at all like the brimstone and fire you were spitting moments ago. The flames have simmered down until nothing but embers were left, your eyes imploring as they look at him. Arthur stands straighter, sizing up Jebediah as he passes him. The pompous snake seethes as he follows you, noticing the way you smile at him all soft like before shooting him a look of contempt as you leave. Outside the door, you let out a deep breath and rub your face. God, those men made you so mad. Arthur barely closes the door behind him before you’re stalking off, having to hurry his steps just to catch up with you. He matches your pace at the top of the stairs, eyeing you like you’re a coiled viper about to strike. “Well that was something,” he remarks. “Oh, go dunk your head in the river!” There’s no malice in your retort, just an annoyance that isn’t aimed at him. You descend the stairs with a swiftness that catches Arthur off guard, your dress front scrunched up in your hands so you don’t trip. “Don’t fall now,” Arthur mocks, a mix of sardonic humor and genuine concern. The last thing he needs right now is for you to trip down the stairs and break your neck because you’re all wound up. You curse him under your breath, feet hurriedly taking you out into the street without so much as a backwards glance. You just want to get away , but not under someone else's instruction. “What now?” He asks, coming to a stop at your side. A look of consideration crosses your face, your brow creasing

in thought. Then, you perk up, practically glowing. “I think it’s time you meet my Ginger,” you grin, excited as you bounce on the balls on your feet. “Ginger? Who’s Ginger?” “Just c’mon!” You roll your eyes at him, already walking ahead of him. You laugh that pretty laugh you do when you’re all kinds of excited as you quicken your pace to a playful trot just to keep ahead of him, causing Arthur to smile despite his grumblings. You were already feeling lighter now that your mind was taken away from the issues at home, focused instead on the true love of your life. When you come to stop outside of the Saint Denis Stables Arthur stares up at the big painted letters, perplexed. He feels like a goddamn fool ; who in their right mind would name their kid Ginger? “There she is!” You grin, hurrying up to a stall at the far end. The scent of hay and horses is rife inside, but it doesn’t seem to faze you. In fact, Arthur swears you look more at home here than you do in that dollhouse apartment of yours. Seems that country upbringing never left you and he wonders to himself just how you looked out there on the plains, young and spirited, wrangling wild broncos to bring back home. He coughs, the image a little too good for him to be imagining. Instead, he follows after you, noticing how the stable hands all greet you by name. You must spend a lot of time there, but that doesn’t surprise Arthur, given how animated you are about your horse. True to her namesake, a beautiful chestnut Kentucky Saddler mare stands to attention in the stall, ears forward and focused on you. There’s a bold blaze of white down her face that covers her muzzle and her eyes, dark and intense, follow your movements easily as you reach your arms to her. “There’s my good girl,” you coo, giggling when she whinnies in response. The gentleness she shows you as she trots up to you, pressing herself into your awaiting arms, is compelling; the nag truly trusts you, and you clearly love her just as much. Arthur knows how good it feels to have that trusted bond with an animal, feeling the same way about his own stallion. A snort to his right catches his attention; speak of the devil and he shall appear. The Ardennes paws at the ground of his stall, none too pleased at being ignored. Arthur chuckles, moving to scratch his neck as the large beast stretches his head over the gate. “I had him put in the stall next to Ginger,” you explain, smiling warmly at the display, “I thought he’d like the company.” “I imagine he’s grateful for the fine company, thank you,” Arthur chuckles, patting his horse's neck. The display of affection sends your heart aflutter as you watch, colour dusting your cheeks. If he were to ask you’d play it off as the heat, but you knew it was more than that. You could see that Arthur had a soft spot for his horse, treating the stallion with the respect and kindness that he deserved, and you liked that about him. In fact, you were finding a lot to like about the outlaw, now that you actually took the time to think about it, and the thought unsettled you — could you really let yourself fall for a gunslinger?

#RDR2 #RDR2 Imagine #RDR2 Imagines #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Red Dead Redemption 2 Imagine #Red Dead Redemption 2 Imagines #Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan Imagine #Arthur Morgan Imagines #Arthur Morgan x Reader

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ms-march · 3 years

Text

Lead me to the Garden

So I got this originally as a prompt several weeks ago by @anahiranz from the Eye for an Eye playlist prompts list and the quote was "we were so very wild and free" and while I was not able to use all of the quote exactly, I did incorporate it in the piece! While it was probably intended for Thadrienne, I had this John and Adrienne scene from the wedding weeks sitting in my notes app for so long and I could not even stop outthinking about it. Thank you to @tallmadgeandtea and @culper-spymaster for beta reading! If you liked it PLEASE give it a like, comment, and/or reblog!

John finally spoke, “You know I feel horrible about this.” Adrienne snorted, incredibly unladylike, moving around him and wedging herself between him and the railing.

She wrapped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest. She paused, allowing him to wrap an arm around her before she spoke, “So you waited till now to get cold feet?”

John just laughed, his chest shaking her as he laughed. He replied, speaking quietly, “No, I feel horrible taking you from him- your father, I mean. He loves you so much, and I barely know you. It feels like some kind of cruel joke.”

“Well,” Adrienne smiled against his waistcoat, “I, for one, have no regrets for taking you from your father.”

It was John’s turn to release a very un-genteel snort of his own, wrapping a single arm around her petite figure and planting a single hand squarely in the middle of her back to keep her in place before replying. “I do not think that stealing me away from my father is possible. Trust me, I went all the way to London to try.”

Adrienne hummed in agreement, grumbling about the man in her reply. “He is a rather miserable fellow. And, if you would permit me to say, a bit….”

“Perverted? Slimy? A thorough ass?”

“I was going to say discomforting.”

The pair broke out in a peal of happy laughter at their own jokes, all made at the expense of Henry Laurens, for several moments before they were once more rudely interrupted by the silence.

“What about your mother?” It was not a question Adrienne would have dared to ask a week ago. She would never presume that she was close enough to him to be privy to such private knowledge, but it had been eating at her all week. His mother was named Eleanor. She had discovered that while being in the wrong place at the right time.

That was the kinder way to say she had been eavesdropping on Henry Laurens a few days prior.

Adrienne had so many questions. How did she pass? Why did they never speak of her? Did John favor her or his father more in character or appearance? She had so many questions about Eleanor Laurens, and it had been driving her mad for the past week.

So she had asked.

She did not wish to bombard him with all of her questions, not at once. That would only ensure that she did not receive an answer to a single one of them. No, she couldn’t ask it all, so she settled for asking a question about nothing at all. What about his mother?

He was a mama’s boy. That much was evident by the softened look in his eyes and the melancholic smile that graced his face at the mere mention of her. Good, that was good.

“What about her?”

Well, that certainly had not been the answer Adrienne had been expecting to pass from his lips, but she still faulted herself for being surprised. Of course, he would want to evade her question; he had done well covering the coveted memories with his mother from the bald eye, and he was not to stop now. Besides, Adrienne could hardly make a claim of being privy to such personal information.

But it was eating her alive.

She just had to know.

“Anything really,” Was her reply. She had so many questions and not a single clue as to an answer to them. Adrienne would take anything he would give her. “I do not know a thing about her, none beside her name.”

“She was beautiful.”

There was a long pause after his wispy words that almost made her think that he had told her all he was willing to share, but just as she prepared to drop the subject and be consumed by the silence once more, he continued. “She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her hair… Well, I am no student of poetry, Miss Fairfax, so I am afraid I haven’t a poetic comparison to give you, but it was a beautiful golden color. It had streaks of honey and even a few light brown in it, but you could never tell they were different from the rest of her hair unless you got close enough.”

He had paused again, looking out over the railing as he had been before, but this was somehow different. She could not place it precisely, but Adrienne knew better than to interrupt him. She shifted on her feet in his arms, letting out a small yelp in surprise when he suddenly lifted her to sit on the railing, placing the hand that had not been holding her before on her waist as he propped himself up with the other.

“I cannot figure out for the life of me if she would have liked you or not.”

Adrienne was not sure if she should take that as a compliment or an insult, but decided to keep her mouth shut, merely tilting her chin up to look at him, encouraging him to continue with that happily curious smile of hers. “And why,” his eyes dropped to hers at the suddenness of her words as they interrupted his previously silent space, “is that?”

He continued to look at her eyes with quite a quiet intensity that she had become familiar with in the past week before a slight toothy grin spread on his face. “Well, she would have been mortified by such an attraction as this,” he nodded vaguely at the property Belvoir sat on as he spoke, “She was always saying that Mepkin was like an out-of-place monument to material among the natural beauty of the Carolinas. She would have called this a palace. And she would have been mortified by how strictly grown the gardens are.”

“She did not enjoy such things? Even for the sake of the visual beauty?” Adrienne could not help but let the questions slip from her lips and found that she only slightly regretted asking because, much to her surprise, they were met with an answer and an eager one at that. She could see it clear as day in his baby blues, or ought she to say Carolina blues?

“She loved nature as it belonged,” was John’s reply, continuing more with that same smile on his lips, “It was my father’s wedding gift to her. 100 acres around the house to do whatever she pleased with. I think just about everything that could possibly grow in the Carolinas can be found there.”

“And my gardens are a testament to who I am as an individual?” She had meant it as a jest, she really had, but he had other plans in mind for the comment, cupping the hand he had been propping himself up with on the side of her face.

“Yes,” he replied, not noticing just how hard she was trying to regulate her breathing at the soft touch of his bare hand on her cheek. “It says a good deal as a testament to your character.”

Adrienne was not sure why this had affected her constitution so greatly, sinking her heart in her chest as he uttered the words. “Then she would not have liked me?”

Perhaps it had upset her because she rather believed him to favor his mother. The heart in her chest was outweighed by the stone in her stomach, and, were she a weaker-willed woman, there might have been tears sparkling in her eyes. Adrienne, however, would not be moved to tears when she was not entirely confident why she was crying.

“No,” he said tenderly, wickedly interrupting her silence, “I rather think she would have considered it quite a complementary recommendation.”

“She would?”

Who could blame her for being startled at such a sudden change?

“The neat rows of manicured hedge, monuments to towering statues and fountains of marble, and the piles of pure bloom flowers..” he hesitated before continuing, not stopping his tender study of her face, “They are certainly a spectacle, but they are warm. For some reason.”

She understood him immediately. Belvoir was always warm to Adrienne.

The imposing facade, elaborate decor, and imported marble floors were intimidating to most of the guests. It was designed for such an effect. The house was, by the family’s station, public grounds. But William Fairfax made sure that those who entered knew deep down it was not theirs.

Everyone except for John.

Belvoir was always warm to Adrienne, and eventually, it would belong to John.

And it was warm to him.

“And what does that say about me?” It came out as a hushed whisper, not wanting to disturb him when he was so close to her as if any louder might have caused him to rear her off the balcony railing.

“Is it not obvious?”

What kind of answer even was that? Adrienne was not sure to proceed in her questioning, as she did suppose that she could make sense of his comments on her own if she tried, but something in her wanted nothing more than to hear him say it. She wanted it, quite frankly, to pass through his lips rather than be developed in her own mind.

Thankfully, she did have to ask him for such. John took her lack of speech as ignorance and continued. Unfortunately, his continued speech meant a finger— a thumb, to be precise— caressed her cheek as he spoke, “Because somewhere, underneath this beautiful facade, I believe you have a heart.” She laughed suddenly at the solemn tone that accompanied the statement, bringing a smile to his face and humor to his tone as he defended himself. “I am serious! You pretend to be all formalities and— what’s that phrase you just used… the...ah, yes— “visual beauty” I believe that, somewhere, locked away, you have an extraordinarily warm and tender heart.”

“I would not particularly hold your breath for that.”

John had a quite unusual laugh, Adrienne had never paid it any attention till now, and it came from so deep within him it seemed to be a part of his very nature of being. It was oddly warming and made her want to smile to join in his joy. And oh, oh he had called her beautiful, of all things.

“And she jests!” He exclaimed with a grand flourish, lifting her off the railing and giving her a short spin through the air before placing her into the crook of his arm to hold her near him.

Adrienne might never get used to how he looked out of uniform.

She might never become used to it, but, oh, did she love it.

He had called her beautiful.

He had called her beautiful and held her to him as a man and wife ought to be, and, oh, did she love it. For just a moment, they were alone on a beautiful marble balcony, and just for a moment, the two were so at ease.

And for just a moment, they were so very young and wild, free of the burdens of station for a mere moment on that marble balcony.

#lbl #luck be a lady #turn amc #turn: washington's spies #adrienne fairfax #john laurens #henry laurens #william fairfax #turnfic #turn fanfiction #eleanor laurens #prompts and drabbles

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jovialyouthmusic · 3 years

Text

Past Times

Apologies for taking my time over this - blame the January blues (and triple it). In this chapter, we go back to John’s first romantic liaison.

Word Count 3586

A/N I have to admit inspiration came from a certain popular Netflix show, but I’ve given it my own spin.

13 First Voyage

John took a deep steady breath as his Lizzie was taken away to her bedchamber. Her ignorance had been a little worrisome. As many well bred young ladies she knew almost nothing of the intimacies between husband and wife, as had Georgiana. It was a great burden to be responsible for the sexual instruction of an innocent maiden, and he constantly worried as to whether he went too fast, or not fast enough, or whether he would scare or disgust her. He was also under the scrutiny of her parents and his own mother, and his head span. He longed for all the dancing around and posturing and displaying oneself to worthy nobles to be over, and to simply be free to concentrate on making his beloved happy.

He laughed bitterly to himself. If they had been English, all they would have had to do was to elope over the Scottish border to Gretna Green, for in England under the age of 18, the bride’s parents had to give consent for marriage and in Scotland they could marry without it. So it was that technically Elizabeth did not need the consent of Sir James, but it was still not the done thing to disregard her parents wishes if one wanted to be received in polite company. So they followed all the rules and he asked for permission to court Lizzie, and they appeared in public with a chaperone, and attended all the right society events together.

In England, they would also have had to attend the social season and accept invitations to events at which Royalty was present, but thankfully in Scotland it was not quite so formal. Still, there were obligations and rituals that had to be observed, which continued tomorrow when the Ball would be held. His mother had made much of the arrangements, but when Elizabeth was his wife, such events would for her to oversee. Thankfully that would not occur until the following season, and before that they could have a proper honeymoon, and take time to travel a little.

It was the custom for young men of the time to travel around Europe, supposedly touring ruins, theatres and art galleries, but reality was somewhat different. There were those who were truly interested in culture, but many took the opportunity to indulge in various vices before returning to fulfil social obligations – that is to say, the continuation of their bloodline.

John had not made such a tour, having joined the Navy, but nonetheless he had seen something of the world, even if it were only the seaports his ship pulled into. He knew Lizzie wanted to travel, so he planned to take her to all the places he had wished to visit himself, and they would discover all that foreign culture had to offer. But that was a distant dream, for it would be some weeks at least before they would be properly wed. He hoped that very soon he could set a date and all would be fixed.

‘I think I will retire also’ Dorothea announced when Lizzie had gone off with Morag ‘You men may talk without regard for my sensibilities’ Tom rose and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

‘I will not be long my dear’ he said fondly, and she pinched his cheek saucily

‘If you are lucky I may be awake still when you retire’ she whispered. Tom smiled archly, looking sideways at his friend. When she had left, the two friends took another small measure of brandy and sat reflectively.

‘It seems you have had the good luck to find another gem as bright as your first wife, John’ Tom remarked. ‘She is a sweet girl and I can see she is quite struck with you’

‘I am fortunate indeed, and I am sure dear Georgiana would not deny me the company of another’ He smiled at his friend ‘And how are you and Dorothea enjoying married life?’

‘Very much, though it pains my dear wife that she is not yet with child.’ He took a sip of his brandy and gazed into the glass morosely ‘It is not for lack of trying, and Dottie never refuses me. She is enthusiastic – or was at first. She feels herself to blame for our failure, and I fear the day may come when it becomes a duty to go to bed with me rather than a pleasure’

‘That must be hard for you’ John empathised. Tom was the only son in his family and had three sisters. If he bore no heir, his estate would not go to any of them, but to a cousin. His mother was widowed and was anxious for him to continue his father’s bloodline. Tom looked up and pursed his lips in sympathy.

‘And you had a babe that you never saw’ he sighed ‘Let us hope that before too long we are both blessed and can stop worrying about the future’

‘Fate is fickle and we never know what life will bring us my dear Tom. We can hope, and we can enjoy what fortune we have’

‘Indeed, and I know you also favour helping those less fortunate than yourselves. I hope you are getting to grips with managing your father’s estate.’

‘Father’s agent will retire very soon, but Sir James has been good enough to recommend someone who is seeking a place and has good references, so I live in hope that I shall be able to train him up before I take Lizzie away to Europe once we are wed’

‘Excellent, I wish you luck’ Tom looked at his empty glass ‘I think I shall retire, for to drink more of your excellent brandy would be the cause of a sore head in the morning, and the displeasure of my wife’

There was little left for John to do than go to his own rooms to attempt to sleep, so when Tom had left the drawing room he let the staff know that all were abed. He climbed the stairs. Lingering on the landing he looked to the left to the corridor that led to Lizzie’s room, then took a right and went to his own suite.

Like his fiancée had earlier, John took stock of himself in the mirror as he undressed. Unlike the well bred ladies of the time, he needed no-one to help him in or out of his garments, though he often called on his manservant to ensure that he was properly turned out for formal occasions. The staff were also responsible for the proper maintenance, storage and cleaning of his clothes, and he was always meticulous as to how he left them once he had disrobed.

He hung his woollen jacket neatly before he unfastened his cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, storing those on a hanger before starting to unbutton his shirt, which he placed in a basket put aside for soiled linens. Some well dressed dandies in the city were known to change their shirts more than once a day, but he thought that extravagant, although he if he could he chose to have a clean nightshirt and another for the day. His military service made him appreciate the work that went into the laundering of his uniform, as not all officers were fortunate enough to have staff to do that work for them. A clean shirt had often been a luxury and overlooked except when being inspected by senior land based officers. In his early days he had second hand uniform that appeared a little shabby at best, and much of his first wage packet had been spent on new items.

He had already taken off his indoor shoes. During the day for outside pursuits he had worn his high black leather boots, but for dining and dancing he wore something lighter – a finer leather, soft and pliable but with reasonably sturdy smooth soles to suit a wooden dancing floor. He was tall enough not to need stacked heels, unlike Tom who favoured an inch or two in all his footwear. Due to his injury he could only participate in the slower dances, but he was grateful to be able to dance at all. It was not uncommon for sailors to lose limbs in sea battles, or for them never to return home should their ship be sunk in battle.

His retirement from duty had been traumatic – had he not been injured and had to spend time recovering in London before he returned home, he might have seen his wife and new baby son. They might not have fallen ill, or perhaps he would have been taken with them. It was not worth thinking of what might have happened, he told himself. Perhaps his meeting with Elizabeth had been fated from the start and Georgiana was but a stepping stone to his destiny.

He stood in his knee length breeches and stockinged feet, observing that he had lost the hard muscled belly of his days at sea. However, he still cut a fine figure as he made sure to exercise regularly, be it walking or riding at the very least. When in the city he had kept up his fencing and boxing, but that was difficult in the country.

He unfastened the buttons on his breeches, first letting down the front flap, then unbuttoning the waistband. He favoured full length breeches rather than the shorter knee length ones, as he could garter his stockings at a comfortable height that did not irritate or chafe his injured leg. He was still self conscious about the scar that ran from his inner left thigh down to his knee, but it grew less livid by the day. A splinter from the impact of a cannonball into the side of his ship had pieced his flesh and the cut that the ships surgeon had to make to remove it become infected. He had been extremely fortunate not to have lost it and still had not regained the strength in that leg. He had been advised to rub salve into it to keep it soft, and this he did every night. He prayed it would not upset or repulse Elizabeth.

He pulled down his breeches and stepped out of them to fold neatly for the next time he wore them. Tomorrow he would wear a finer pair in the morning, ready to greet visitors later on, and would change again for the ball. He still wore his stockings, and shook his head as he looked at himself in the mirror, thinking of his wedding night. He resolved that on that occasion he would remove his breeches and stockings before his shirt, as that would be more comely for his bride. To suddenly reveal his manhood to her would be alarming, and a shirt that dropped halfway down his thighs could be removed when he deemed she was ready. He sometimes slept in the shirt he had worn in the day anyway, as did many gentlemen with more modest wardrobes.

He peeled off his stockings and realised he had grown hard thinking of his wedding night. That had been a problem of late, and he was conflicted by having such a reaction to an innocent maiden even if she was to be his bride. He had said to her that he thought of her when he went to bed at night, but in truth he tried to keep his thoughts of her relatively chaste. It did not seem right to remember Georgiana either, so his night time fantasies were of another woman.

Most young gentlemen would lose their virginity long before determining on a wife. Some enticed and seduced dairy maids or chambermaids or some other lower class girl, those who lived in or visited the city frequented bawdy houses or visited prostitutes or courtesans, and some made their conquests on their tours of Europe. John had been amongst the minority and had not had any sexual encounters by the time he became midshipman. A good friend and fellow officer, Gerald, knew of this and took him into the city from their barracks at Greenwich a few days before they were to sail together on duty.

Together the two men went to one of the lesser known theatres to see a play, as Gerald knew that John was more interested in culture than in drinking himself silly like many lesser men. He had led him backstage after the performance, and had engaged two comely young actresses in conversation. One thing had lead to another and before he knew it, John was in Miss Alice Bailey’s bedchamber taking his clothes off and enjoying her attentions. He had spent every night of their stay in her company, and whenever he visited the town would go and call on her again. He was not her only male visitor, but he was a favourite and she always made time for him. So it was that he learned many things about what women liked in the bedroom and how to please them as well as himself. This was a skill that not all young gentlemen acquired, and one that had benefitted Georgiana and would do so for Elizabeth.

‘So, John’ the captivating young actress said in a sultry voice ‘Would you care to view my lodging rooms? I fancy my landlady might have a spare room for a night or two, or if you are agreeable I’m sure you could share my bed’ John swallowed, mesmerised by the globes of Alice’s bosom hitched up for display by her corseted dress. Her scent was intoxicating, and he felt himself harden in his breeches. He understood what she offered, for Gerald had given him a broad wink as he had taken the arm of Alice’s friend and declared that they would take a walk in the night air. He had no doubt that he would not see him again until the next day, and he had no clue how to get back to his barracks for the night save to summon a hansom cab. He cleared his throat.

‘I am not sure that would be proper, Mistress Bailey’ She pouted a little.

‘Come sirrah, call me Alice. Your friend has gone, and who will know where you spend the night, and with whom? Will you not walk me home in case some ruffian should accost me on the way?’ John’s resolve crumbled as she made her intention even more obvious.

‘I could not call myself a gentleman if I did not’ he said firmly, and held out his arm for her. Smiling, she took up her cloak and swung it around her shoulders before taking what was offered. Out in the fresh air, he adjusted his tricorn hat and gold braided officer’s jacket and she drew her hood up over her dark curly hair. He cut a fine figure in his naval uniform with snowy white knee length breeches and fine high leather boots, and her cloak was of a fine red velvet, so they turned more than a few heads as he walked her along the street to her lodging house. The streets were dirty, though not as bad as the slum areas near the docks. The place she called home was some degrees above the slums, but not as high or fine as the middle class housing he was used to in his home town.

‘Will you take a drink with me as thanks for my safe delivery?’ she asked at the door of the lodging house. ‘I have other refreshments if you wish for something sweet.’ He hesitated a moment, but she was determined. ‘Are you afraid of being alone with me, sir?’ she asked archly, and he drew himself up, his pride piqued.

‘Of course not. Lead on, Miss Alice’ She smiled and, opening the door, took his hand and lead him inside and up two flights of stairs. There was not a soul in the hall or on the stairwell, and all was quiet. She took him into the room, taking off her cloak and hanging it on a hook on the door. The room was spacious enough, dominated by a goodly sized bed and chest of drawers, a small table and two padded chairs, and a window overlooked the street below. She went to a cupboard by the window and took out a bottle of wine and two glasses. He took off his hat, hanging it over her cloak before removing his jacket and placing that on the back of one of the chairs.

Alice approached handed him a glass of red wine, and they lightly clinked them together before drinking.

‘So what brings you to the city?’ she asked

‘I have some leave whilst I wait for my ship to dock, and Gerald thought it a fine idea to visit the theatre.’

‘You must be a midshipman then’, she said, sipping from her glass. Her tongue traced across her lips to chase a drop of wine, and with that and her soft breasts, he was mesmerised. ‘What did you think of the play?’ she asked, and he snapped back to reality.

‘It was most entertaining’ he said politely, and she laughed.

‘I know it was not high art, but I am glad to hear you enjoyed it. Do you sail soon?’

‘Our ship is refitting and taking on supplies, so it will be two or three days at least’

‘Shall you see battle?’

‘Perhaps. That rather depends on the French, and where the admiralty sends us’ She took his hand and drew closer to him, gazing into his eyes.

‘Many sailors seek the comfort of a woman before they sail on a dangerous mission’ she said in a sultry voice ‘I would be happy to provide that for you’ he cleared his throat and felt his cheeks redden.

‘I have not – that is, I…’ he started, ashamed to admit that he had never been with a woman, but she put her finger to his lips.

‘So I am your first, John’ she murmured ‘It shall be my honour to teach you the delights of intimacy’ Questions crowded his mind, but she seemed to understand. ‘I wish only to give you pleasure, and take some for myself. You need not fear siring a child, for I am barren, and I shall not demand marriage. I have other admirers and love my way of life’ She smiled, and her fingers went to his collar, unfastening his cravat. ‘You are handsome and have a good figure. I wager you are gentle and considerate. I can teach you how to please a woman, which will stand you in good stead whether you marry, or keep a dozen mistresses’

She carried on unbuttoning his shirt, but he caught at her hand and stared down at her, suddenly needing to take charge, if only for a moment. He bent his head to kiss her lips – softly at first, then with passion, her mouth opening to his. She tasted of wine and strawberries, and he could not identify her scent, but it was heady and intoxicating. He did not want his first time to be a quick fumble, but it was hard keeping control of his ardour.

‘Mistress Alice’ he groaned ‘I know not how long I will last. I pray I will not disappoint’ Like most men he knew how to handle his member, and regularly relieved himself, so knew the signs for when he drew near to releasing his seed. The lovely young woman before him was stimulating all his senses and he feared it would all be over too soon. Her hand wandered down to his breeches to feel his hardness, pressing her palm over the bulge and smiling slyly.

‘You will not disappoint, by the size of your cannon’ she laughed softly ‘But you worry about firing before the target is in range. Never fear, your first shot is a gift from me. After that, you will swiftly recover and we will take our time and reach the goal together.’

At this, she pushed him to the door where her cloak hung and knelt in front of him. He gaped at her in amazement as she unfastened the front of his breeches to fondle his privates. He groaned aloud, leaning back into the soft velvet as she moved closer, placing her warm tongue to the base of his shaft and drawing it upward. His legs trembled and his hand went to her head as she placed her lips over the tip. She quickly took him into her mouth, and skilfully applied lips and tongue for his pleasure. Before soon he knew he could not hold back for a second longer, and gave a great groan as he seemed to erupt into the wet warmth of her mouth. She stayed with him as his hips bucked, and swallowed what he gave her. His heart pounded as she sat back, licking her lips before getting up to fetch her wine and take a good mouthful. She put the glass down and beckoned him.

‘Now take off your boots and clothes and come to bed - I have much to teach you’ she purred.

@sirbeepsalot @camillemontespan @dcbbw @rainbowsinthestorm @katedrakeohd @trappedinfandoms @kingliam2019 @nomadics-stuff @texaskitten30 @princess-geek @texaskitten30 @fluffyfirewhiskey

#past times #Captain John Lykel #elizabeth and john #regency drama #regency scotland #perioddrama

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mxstyassasxin · 3 years

Text

Ministry Business or Minister’s Pleasure (E, 20k)

When Minister For Magic Hermione Granger drops her children off at Kings Cross for another year at Hogwarts, she has two problems on her hands. One, her imminent divorce from another third of the Golden Trio, and two, the fallout from her removal of funding for a certain blonde's research project. The first is a given: Her marriage just hasn't been the same since Hugo started Hogwarts, since the emptiness became much more obvious. The second though? Maybe she can use the free time she suddenly finds herself with to help in some way...

on AO3

Excerpt:

“I’m really not in the mood today, Draco,” she groaned into her desk, refusing to lift her head from her arms despite how unprofessional she knew it looked.

“You’re not in the mood?” She heard him ask through gritted teeth before the door slammed shut, presumably in Miranda’s shocked face.

Hermione smirked at the image in her head and then realised that Draco had faltered, halting his attack before it had even begun.

“Why in Merlin’s name are you sat in the dark?” he asked confusedly.

“Because I’ve literally just got back from a very draining meeting and wanted some peace and quiet.”

Hermione lifted her head to glare in his direction and realised just how dark her office was.

“You’re welcome to cast a lumos if you must,” she waved a hand half-heartedly at him and, a second later, a soft glow wordlessly filled the room.

She realised that Draco was not stood near the door as she had assumed. Instead, she had to look up from her desk, squinting in the new light until his face, fury etched into it, came into focus. She sat up straight in her wing-backed chair as he towered over her desk, still in the dark suit he had been wearing at the station, all long, clean lines, broad shoulders and trim waist that was emphasised by the waistcoat visible beneath the matching jacket. He pressed his palms into the toughened leather that topped her desk and, as he leant towards her, she noted that the smell of steam still clung to the material.

The fury she had seen briefly on his face had disappeared during her onceover of him and his sly mask had returned, the only visible sign of his agitation was the wisps of pale hair that had come loose from his usually impeccable braid.

“I don’t care if you’re not in the mood, Minister,” she sneered her title. “I dropped my son off at the Hogwarts Express today for only the third time without his mother, the second since we buried her. I’m sure you noticed the look on his face.”

Hermione nodded, guilt flooding her body again, twisting around her organs.

“How am I supposed to tell him, Astoria’s sweet boy, that the cure I have spent half his life developing is never going to exist now because his mother died.” Draco raised his voice making Hermione flinch inwardly.

“Screw anyone else in the world who might suffer the same curse,” he threw his hands up in the air and slammed them back down on her desk. “Is that it, Granger? Just a big eff you to them?”

Hermione pushed herself out of her chair, glowering at him, and manoeuvred around the end of her desk until she was right in front of him, immediately regretting that she had kicked her heels off under the desk earlier. Those extra few inches would have really helped her out.

“I could still put you on probation for the development of that time-turner, Malfoy,” she snarled as she pointed a scolding finger up underneath his chin. “So, don’t you dare get short with me about this.”

Hermione glared as Draco’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he raised a single eyebrow, looking down at her. She spotted the amused twinkle in his eyes just before he burst into loud guffaws.

“Stop it, Draco. Don’t you dare!” she shouted at him indignantly.

“Short, Granger?” he choked out between the laughter. “I’m getting short, am I?”

Hermione picked up a stack of parchment from her desk and began hitting him in the chest with it while he continued to laugh.

“Oh, stop it, would you?” She groaned, exasperated, as hitting him seemed not to have any effect whatsoever.

“Alright, alright,” Draco said, taking deep breaths until he calmed down, and then sat in the visitor’s chair at her desk, motioning that Hermione should resume her own seat.

She narrowed her eyes at him for ordering her around in her own office but shook her head and took her seat anyways, removing her wand from the pocket sewn specially inside her robes and lighting the lamp on her desk as she did so. Draco followed the motion and quirked an eyebrow as she slid her wand back into the customised pocket.

Hermione laced her fingers together on top of her desk and waited for him to begin the conversation afresh.

“I apologise, Minister, for my behaviour,” he smiled charmingly at her. “I’m sure an intelligent woman with two glorious children like yourself can understand my position.”

“Get your head out of my arse, Draco. It doesn’t suit you,” Hermione grinned back at him causing him to chuckle slightly in response.

“You do understand though,” she continued, “that in my position, I have to make difficult decisions like this. That the Ministry only has a certain budget and I am the one responsible for where those funds are diverted and allocated, even if I don’t like it.”

“Of course I do, Granger. I’ve invested enough over the years to understand those kinds of decisions.”

Draco paused for a second and let out a long sigh, looking down at his hands in his lap where he was twisting his wedding band around his finger.

“Can I at least carry on the project myself? Just, hear me out,” he continued hurriedly when Hermione went to speak. “I’ll instruct my assistants to move on to other projects and I’ll continue researching this one myself. I won’t even make it a priority, but don’t halt it completely.”

Hermione could see him studying her face for any hint as to what she was thinking.

“You don’t even have to pay me for it and we both know it’s the only reason I came on board as an Unspeakable in the first place. I’ve spent so long on this. Please, Granger, don’t throw it away.”

Hermione couldn’t stop her eyes from widening as Draco Malfoy of all people pleaded with her for something. After studying the sincerity in his expression for a moment, she closed her eyes and, letting a sigh escape her lips, she ever so slightly inclined her head to him, giving her ascent.

When she opened her eyes again, his eyes were sparkling and his smile actually showed his perfectly white teeth.

“Thank you, Minister. Thank you,” he reached across the desk and grasped one of her slender hands between his larger ones, squeezing gently with his platinum wedding band scraping her gold one.

“You’ll still get your salary, but the project is still defunded, Draco,” Hermione met his eyes carefully, ensuring he could see the kindness in them. “Any resources you might need, any resources that aren’t already in your lab…” she trailed off and Draco nodded his understanding.

“Of course. I understand.”

#end of year fic countdown #dramione #longest completed fic i've written #first time writing for a mini-fest #so proud of this one #dhr #cc compliant #loved the challenge #my fic

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ikeromantic · 4 years

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Suit

Day 11 of Ikemektober!

I chose Zero because he’s such an adorable character and he needs more love! This one is sweet fluff. Approx. 1100 words.

Zero looked around the clothing shop nervously. He had no idea what a normal person did in a place like this. Surrounded by headless dummies in expensive suits, with boards of fabric swatches and lengths of thread, button displays, buckles, and belts. He swallowed and looked back toward the exit.

“Are you nervous?” Alice returned to his side as if she sensed his discomfort from across the room.

“I don’t feel like I should be in here. I feel . . . out of place.” For Zero, this was a common sensation. It was only Alice that gave him a sense of belonging. And right now, her hand on his arm was the only reason he didn’t leave.

She looked around the shop, trying to determine what unsettled him.

Zero couldn’t put a finger on it himself. There wasn’t any one thing. “It’s just . . . do I really need more clothes? I have my uniform.”

“Ah.” Alice turned and smiled at him sweetly. “You’ve never bought clothes for yourself?”

He shook his head. At school, he had his uniforms. In the Red Army, he had his uniform as well, and the casual clothes Edgar gave him. He’d never considered needing anything else. “I could just wear my uniform to the party. I wear it everywhere else . . .”

“You could. But . . . I’d really like to see you in a suit. Besides, there will be Black Army there too, and regular people from Central. Blanc and Oliver and Dean. You’ll be a lot more comfortable in something else.” Her hand slid down his arm to take his hand.

Zero sighed. “For you, I will do anything.”

Alice brushed a quick kiss to his lips, just in time for the tailor to see as he came to the front of the shop.

“Oh! Ohhh, why hello! Looking for wedding wear I assume? I’ve just gotten in some of the nicest satin -”

Zero heard nothing past the word wedding. He felt his cheeks go hot and struggled to keep his eyebrows down.

“Ah - sir,” Alice tried to interrupt, but the friendly torrent of words didn’t pause or even slow.

The tailor had her by the arm, using it to pull them both toward a panel of cloth samples. “I just love weddings. And designing a tuxedo! Those are my favorite. Now here, we’ve got six of the new satin samples in. A deep scarlet - you look like a red, correct me if I’m wrong -”

Not that he gave them the chance. Zero couldn’t get past the idea of marrying Alice. Marrying. Her. As in, til death do you part, with rings and a ceremony and . . . and he was feeling light-headed.

Thankfully, the tailor didn’t seem to need any actual input from either of them. It was a whirlwind of look, touch, move, look, and then being shuffled off to a dressing room. There was a stool next to the tall mirror and he sat down on it heavily.

“Are you alright in there?” Alice’s voice carried through the heavy velvet curtain that screened the dressing room off from the rest of the shop.

“Y-yeah. Just . . . “

“Overwhelmed?”

He gave a soft laugh. “How do you always know what I’m feeling?”

“I don’t always. But usually, it’s just the same way I do.”

There was a clatter and muttering from the other room as the tailor bustled around, gathering the bits he wanted Zero to try. Then he was handing them through the side of the curtain, still chattering away. “I know the colors on these don’t match but the cut of the jacket and vest will look perfect on you, and this cravat design is my own. Mousse wears one just like it - that’s the senior diplomat, if you know him - and,” on he went. Even when he walked back to the front of the store, he was still talking.

Zero took the clothes he was handed. There was a shirt in a light green, an orange paisley waistcoat, and a jacket in a brilliant robin’s egg blue. The pants were dove grey and fit tightly when he slid them on. The shirt was a little short on his arms, and the waistcoat was too big. But the jacket was a nice fit, and he had to admit, he liked the way he looked in the mirror.

It was almost like a uniform, he thought. Just, wearing this, he wasn’t the Ace of Hearts. It made him a little uneasy.

“Can I see?” Alice’s voice from the other side of the curtain.

“I don’t know if I want to come out.”

She laughed. “I know what you mean. I hate modeling clothes too. Maybe I can just peek past the curtain?”

“Alright.” Zero turned to face the entrance. He felt nervous at the idea of her seeing him in this. Would she laugh?

The curtain twitched open. Alice took him in silently. Her expression was unreadable to Zero. Her lips were a little open, eyes wide. Her gaze traveled top to bottom and back up again.

“I-is it ok?” He shuffled from foot to foot.

Alice smiled at him, finding his eyes with her own. “Mmmm, I think you look really good. That tailor talks a lot, but I think he knows what he’s doing.” She stepped into the small dressing room. “Turn around?”

Zero did what she asked, facing the mirror again. He could just barely see Alice under his arm.

She went up on her tiptoes and brushed her hands across his shoulders. Her warm hands and the shifting, soft fabric made him shiver. “Perfect,” she said, and kissed him just below his ear.

He could see the desire in her eyes, and more than that, love. Zero turned around and took Alice in his arms, pulling her tight to his chest. “You make me feel like I am worth something when you look at me like that.”

“You are worth everything.”

Zero tilted her face up and kissed her. It was like the first kiss, every time. Like falling without ever hitting the ground. It made him feel unsteady and desperate. She must have felt the same.

Alice kissed him back fiercely, her hands holding tight to his shirt. It came untucked from his pants and the buttons on his waistband popped open.

“Ah - Alice, I think -” he gasped between kisses, “the suit -”

She slid her hands under the cloth, her nails drawing sharp little electric lines up his back. “Mmmm, Zero, the best part of trying on a suit is when you get to take it off.”

The tailor stopped just outside the curtain and chuckled at the muffled sounds of pleasure on the other side. Ah to be young and in love, he thought. He went back to the front of the store with a grin, happy to give them a bit more alone time.

#ikemektober #ikemen revolution #ikerev zero #ikemen zero #ace of hearts #otome #otome guys #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

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voidwaren · 3 years

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hey guys, pandemic brain is a bitch so this week we have the first 6k words of an ENTIRELY self-indulgent Sterek royalty AU that was originally an outline for a profic before I went, “you know what. fuck that. make it fanfic.” and did so.

may or may not be what I’ll be working on for NaNoWriMo this year, since I’ve never done fanfic before and have also never once won.

also: ignore the fact this basically starts off in exactly the same formula as Oak and Mistletoe. I am a one-trick pony. yeehaw.

Stiles met him on a balcony bathed in moonlight, shedding glitter and confetti and the half-melted snowflakes that made their slow descent from the sky above, and he realized—before he’d even opened his mouth, before the man had even noticed Stiles was there—that he’d do anything to meet this man again.

The night was alive with the sounds of a party. Lights of every color, food from every land spilling from the kitchens on glittering trays, people laughing and dancing and forgetting their own names beneath the pull of one too many glasses of pearlescent sparkling wine. It was a night of excitement, of merriment and of occasional debauchery. And it was a night Stiles wished he could skip.

Crown Prince Stiles hated parties.

It wasn’t the people he hated. Not the music or the merriment or even the dances he spent months learning properly before each event to make sure he knew all the steps and didn’t trip over himself in front of a hundred or more people. It certainly wasn't the lavish spreads of food that Stiles had made himself sick over many a party before, because that was the best part.

No, the thing Stiles hated about parties was the fact he always had to act like someone he wasn’t. It was the fact he had to dress up in clothes that restricted his movements, the fact he had to waltz around a room with a woman or man whose title he couldn’t care less about and try his best to keep them entertained, the fact he had to act like the proper son of the ruling monarch of the kingdom trussed up like the very same kind of people he used to swear he’d never become, powdered nose and everything. All because of a position he was born into and a title he had no choice but to inherit when the time came. It made him feel like a liar. It made him feel like a fraud, even as he walked around as the person people expected him to be.

Stiles hated everything about it.

It wasn’t like this a few years ago. Hell, a few years ago Stiles had been the picture of mischief among the court, causing all sorts of trouble during the balls and the weddings and the town celebrations, to the point where people came looking for him in the thick of it all asking for him to take them away before they drowned under the pressure of the titles they never asked to bear. And Stiles would do so willingly, easily, taking their hand and leading them on great moonlit adventures through the castle and along the streets of the city in the dead of the night, with nothing but the stars and the creatures of the night to guide them back home at the end of it all.

A few years ago, Stiles had been exactly what he wanted to be—untethered, wild, and uncaring of who would see. He’d been happy, carefree, and so very much alive.

Then his mother had died of an illness that ravaged the city, and reality had come crashing down around his ears. He was the only child of an aging king who refused to separate himself from his people even for the good of his health, and he had to start acting like it.

And, so, he did. The Stiles he had been died with his mother, and there had never been a reason to bring him back to life again.

He was miserable because of it, even as he nipped a chocolate-covered strawberry off a passing tray on its way into the ballroom and stuffed it into his mouth, shedding chocolate all over the carpet below.

“If you get that on your suit, we’ll have a murder on our hands come morning,” a grave voice said from Stiles’ left, and Stiles startled hard enough to nearly rip the curtain he was hiding behind from where it hung.

“Lydia,” he said around the half-chewed strawberry still in his mouth. The woman in question glared at him, then reached out and dusted the shoulder of his red and black party coat. Stiles quickly swallowed. “You’re supposed to be in the ballroom already.”

“I was on my way there when I found your mask” —she paused only long enough to hold the mask in question up in the same hand she already held hers in— “sitting outside your quarters, still in the wrapping paper, and realized I was going to have to find you first.” She narrowed her eyes, and her gold-dusted eyelids sparkled with the movement. “You weren’t planning on hiding all night, were you?”

“No,” Stiles said immediately, sounding about as unconvincing as one possibly could. He winced.

“It’s Scott’s birthday, Stiles. You can’t be a no-show at your best friend’s twentieth birthday party!”

“Sure I can,” Stiles grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lydia actually cringed, then whipped a handkerchief from her decolletage with her free hand and started scrubbing his skin of potential chocolate remnants. Stiles allowed her, if only because he knew fighting it would be futile. “It’s his birthday, no one will notice if I happen to not show up.”

Lydia didn’t deign that with an answer. A smart decision on her part, because even Stiles was fully aware he couldn’t not show up to a party being held in his own castle, regardless of who the party was for. It was just plain rude. Someone would definitely notice, and then his name would be in the papers for weeks afterwards, and not for any reason the king could be proud of. Not to mention Scott himself would probably be put out.

“Two hours,” she said instead. “Just two hours. That should be more than enough for everyone to see you and try to worm a dance out of you. Then you can go back to lurking behind the drapery and stealing food. I won’t even make you sign any dance cards.”

“One hour,” Stiles tried to bargain, but that was quickly shut down with nothing more than a raised eyebrow on Lydia’s part. Honestly, who here was the prince and who was the duchess? Because, somehow, Lydia always seemed to outrank him despite reality being otherwise.

“Enjoy yourself,” Lydia said firmly, handing over his mask, and then she vanished in a swirl of shimmering pink skirts and golden lace. Stiles looked down at the mask and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t surprised—what else would he have been? —but predictable was never a good look on Lydia.

Tonight, Stiles wore the face of a fox.

Not a traditional fox, mind you. That was for the lower ranking individuals currently fawning around in their heavily-decorated clothes and overly-perfumed hair. No, Stiles wore the face of a black fox marked with streaks of red around the ears and muzzle. A unique design, with his sigil hidden in the swirls of fur at the forehead, of a creature people still associated the prince with even years after he stopped acting like one.

Stiles kind of hated how much he liked the damn thing.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he disentangled his limbs from the drapery and emerged into the hallway that led into the ballroom. The guards standing on either side of the entrance watched him, one with an apologetic look on her face. He’d asked them not to say anything with a finger to his lips when he’d first dove behind the heavy fabrics, but Lydia had found him anyway. Using a quick hand gesture, he told them he knew it wasn’t their fault, and the apologetic guard relaxed. The other simply continued watching him.

And with a great sigh, Stiles slipped the mask on and tied the red ribbons tight, then walked through the doors into the throngs of people hidden behind the face of every animal imaginable.

The center of the room was a swirling mass of innumerable colors, all twinkling under the glow of the countless lights with both the glitter most chose to wear to costume parties such as this and the sparkling confetti that floated down from the rafters, spreading itself to every corner of the room and deep into the clothing folds of every patron beneath it. Fast-paced music threaded through the air, mixed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional singing voice as Stiles passed through the layers of people and tried to find the man of the hour. He hadn’t seen Scott since that morning at breakfast before they’d both been whisked away to get ready for the party, and, as a long-standing tradition from when they were young, Stiles owed the birthday boy the worst dance he could possibly have of the night. Stiles was ready to scuff some brand new leather shoes, pop a few buttons straight from their silk-lined waistcoats, and then hide from Lydia’s wrath for the rest of the night.

But Scott was nowhere to be found.

Not willing to drop the hunt so readily, Stiles nestled himself into a corner between two of the food tables—one filled with a rainbow of pastries that Stiles made a mental note to ravish later, the other a sea’s worth of crustaceans and fish and other unnamable things, some of which still gurgled in their shells—and tried to remember what it was Scott was wearing that night. Stiles hadn’t been present for the arrival announcement of the visiting crown prince, too busy sneaking around the curtains just outside the room, but he’d heard it happen, so he knew Scott was already there. He also knew Scott’s preferences when it came to his clothing, so a wolf mask was the key point in Stiles’ search. The only problem was: a wolf was a very common mask choice, and Stiles didn’t know what about Scott’s would be the aspect to set him apart.

A crown, possibly? Scott typically hated wearing his crown to parties, claiming it was difficult to dance when he spent a large amount of time worrying it would slip from his head and embarrass him, so that was probably out of the ruling, unless it was etched directly into the mask itself.

His sigil? Would it be that easy to see a double circle, likely hidden somewhere within the design of the mask itself, without staring the mask-wearer directly in the face? Would Stiles have to dance with every wolf-faced masculine figure just to find the person he was looking for?

His eyes scanned the crowds again, and he felt his gall slowly seep down to his toes. There were dozens of masks even vaguely resembling what could be a wolf—Stiles would be there all night.

He suddenly wished he had thought to ask Lydia before she’d left, assuming she’d even tell him in the first place. She probably thought keeping him on the blind hunt would make him stay at the party longer.

God, he really didn’t want to be there. It might have been a birthday party for his oldest and greatest friend, but it was never fun for him unless he could cause a little trouble.

Nabbing a flute or something pink and bubbly from a tray to his right, Stiles downed the thing in one gulp, stifled the consequential belch that tried to force its way back up his throat, and meandered his way to the other side of the room. Still, there was not a Scott to be seen. There was a Jackson, though, loitering by the unmistakable figures of Stiles’ father and Queen Melissa of their sisterlands, Scott’s mother, dancing together in place on the direct outskirts of the fanfare. Setting his empty glass aside, Stiles locked in on his sights and crept his way over.

Years of sneaking around the castle and poking his nose exactly where it didn’t belong meant Stiles had a relatively good track record of getting to the place he wanted to be without being seen, even in plain sight, and not even Jackson, who had technically been trained specifically with Stiles in mind after growing up as a page under King John’s reign, noticed Stiles sneaking up on him until Stiles was pulling the ribbons of Jackson’s dragon mask free.

Jackson started with a hissed curse, his hand flying up to keep the mask on his face, and in the same motion reached behind him and grabbed Stiles by the upper arm with his free hand.

“Your Grace,” he growled in his Jackson way, loud enough to be heard by Stiles’ dad and his not-a-date-just-a-frequent-guest. Luckily for Stiles, they seemed distracted enough in each other not to notice just yet.

“I’ll put it back on properly if you come with me.” Using the grip Jackson had on him, Stiles quickly maneuvered the both of them back into the shadows of the ballroom before Jackson could give much of an answer. Once safely out of view of the parents, Stiles smacked Jackson’s hand off and motioned for him to turn around.

“What was that all about?” Jackson asked as he complied. There was a note of bitterness to his tone, but that was Jackson for you. Growing up, he’d never been Stiles’ biggest fan, especially not when Stiles’ crush on Lydia had become painfully obvious to everyone who so much as looked his way, but he’d softened to Stiles as a whole after the loss of Queen Claudia when they both were sixteen. Having been the one with Stiles when the news broke, first with the onset of the illness and then her eventual death, he’d been one of the few people to see firsthand just how much a person like Stiles could break, and Stiles was pretty sure Jackson never recovered his full dislike of the crown prince in question after it all had been said and done.

Plus, Jackson had been the one to win Lydia over when they were eighteen, and, while the relationship hadn’t lasted, it had also helped to lessen some of the sour feelings on his end.

Stiles didn’t answer immediately as he tied the ribbons tight, then patted Jackson on the shoulder to signal he was done. “I can’t find Scott,” Stiles explained. “I also don’t really want to be here.”

Jackson scoffed. “Yeah, and what else is new? How long did Lydia tell you to stay this time?”

“Two hours,” Stiles admitted sourly. Jackson laughed. “I was hoping you could cover for me if I happened to suddenly vanish from the party?” he tried hopefully, doing his best to make his eyes look puppy-dog-like behind the confines of his mask.

“Hell no,” Jackson said without missing a beat, then quickly tacked on, “Your Majesty.”

“Come on, Jackson! Please? I’ll come back, I just want to go somewhere else for a little while.”

“And have Lydia breathing down my back for allowing it? I don’t think so.”

“I could order you to, you are my personal guard,” Stiles pointed out, but Jackson just looked at him in that way that told Stiles he was raising a single eyebrow behind his mask. Stiles sighed dramatically. “What’s the point of the title if no one listens to me anyway?”

“Plenty of people listen to you,” Jackson corrected, smacking a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just not me, and especially not tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a fine looking set of specimens waiting for a man such as me to show them how a real dance is done. Have fun finding Scott.”

Stiles made sure his responding scoff was accurately disgusted as Jackson turned and walked off to meet a pair of identical figures in the crowd, one of which Stiles distinctly recalled writing his name on Lydia’s dance card a few parties ago, leaving Stiles glowering to himself alone. Stiles debated marching up and inserting himself into the situation just to be an ass, but quickly rethought the action before he could execute it and get himself stuck in a conversation he didn’t actually want to have.

“May I have this dance?” a voice asked before Stiles could find his way back to the dead fringes of the party instead, and Stiles turned to find Allison smirking at him from behind an owl mask. A quick glance around told him Scott was not with her, and if Scott wasn’t glued to her side like he normally was, that meant he was being forced to dance with some of the other partygoers who had shown up specifically with Scott in mind. Which meant Stiles was certainly not going to see him anytime soon, unless he wanted whoever Scott was dancing with being passed off to him the second Scott spotted him without a partner.

“Absolutely,” Stiles agreed, holding his hand out for Allison to take. She smiled brilliantly as she took his hand in her white-gloved one, and off to the dance floor they went.

Allison was, by far, a much better dancer than Stiles was. Only surpassed by Lydia (and only in some dances, at that), she was swift in every movement and seemed to almost float around the dance floor, even in a dress that looked heavier than she was, made of layers upon layers of feathers and fabric with names Stiles couldn’t guess if he tried. She looked like she belonged in her creature of choice, elegant and deadly if she chose, if the legend of her familial background was to be believed. Beast hunters up until a settlement dozens and dozens of generations back, Stiles typically chose to not believe, but he had seen Allison shoot an arrow straight through an apple exactly as Jackson was taking a bite out of it without doing much more than scaring the shit out of him, so maybe it wasn’t all a myth.

Allison’s bright brown eyes met his as the song changed pace suddenly, picking up to an even faster rhythm, and he only just caught the twinkle in her eye before her hand tightened in his and she took him over completely.

She was so much a better dancer than Stiles (and Scott, though Scott rarely surpassed anyone’s dance skill, so he often wasn’t counted in the first place), that every time Stiles did dance with her, she always somehow managed to lead him without ever taking the position to do so. And she did so by using a pressure method via her fingertips against his shoulder and hand, where her hands were positioned. It had taken Stiles a number of dances to catch onto her antics when she started coming to other courts and stayed for parties, and then a few years on top of that to perfect his understanding of her puppeteering, but he was to the point now where he unconsciously moved in time with her ministrations and didn’t even have to pay them any attention. It made her the easiest person for him to dance with, and he actually kind of hated how much time Scott got to spend dancing with her at these things if only because Stiles rarely got a break where he could dance and not have to constantly make sure he wasn’t about to flatten someone’s toes.

(But they were promised to one another, declared by Scott one day when he was sixteen that he would take her hand when she came of age at twenty-one, so Stiles couldn’t complain as much as he would like. They were four years into their seemingly-never-ending honeymoon period, so they kind of deserved each other at this point.)

“After this song ends,” Allison whispered in his ear as they pulled close and turned, “head for the balconies. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks where you went.”

It took Stiles an embarrassingly long moment to understand that she was giving him an out to escape, at least for a little bit. He couldn’t get much of anywhere by going to the balconies, unless he wanted to climb onto the rooftops or get lost in the gardens before returning to the party again, but it was something.

“I could kiss you,” Stiles replied giddily. Allison flashed him a wide smile.

“I appreciate that you could and yet would never,” she responded sweetly, and Stiles couldn’t help but give a genuine laugh. Friends was all they’d ever be, and neither of them had ever cared to make their relationship anything more. Allison was a fantastic friend. Stiles was lucky to have her, and Scott was luckier still to be promised to her.

True to her word, Allison pulled them close for the closing bow as the orchestra played the last note of the dance, then twisted on her heel and pushed Stiles smoothly in the direction of the doors to the garden balconies in the back before he’d even thought to take the step himself. Stiles, far less graceful even than any singular part of Allison on its own, stumbled a bit as he was thrown into motion, but caught himself quickly and hurried his way over to the doors. He thought he heard his name being called faintly over the sound of the next series of dances starting up, but he ignored it and continued on, twisting around each group of attendees as he met them and hopefully not treading on too many dresses and exposed shoe points as he went.

His mask felt hot against his face, the painted leather slipping along his nose as the heat of the room started to feel unbearably stifling, and the second he broke over the threshold of the opened double doors his fingers were already up and pulling at the ribbons that held it in place. It slid down easily, and he tucked it neatly under his arm as he moved into the shadows of the romantically-lit area and found his way to his favorite foothold, hidden by a large ivy growth, that he’d gone to so many times before. The climb required no thinking on his part; he pulled himself up easily in practiced motions that would give his father a headache if he knew. The gardens below stretched beneath him until, finally, he’d found his favorite haunt.

The autumn air was cold on Stiles’ face when he twisted himself up and onto one of the balcony alcoves, and a fine layer of snow was starting to make its way down from the gloomy sky above. Once used for lookouts, archers, and other war-related things, the alcove Stiles had found his way to was connected to a heavily-locked and incredibly dusty war room that had not seen use in centuries, nevermind Stiles’ lifetime, and was now used solely for decoration. Stiles, personally, liked to use it to stare down at the town, as it overlooked the edge of the cliff face that the castle was built into. He never understood why his father didn’t just move the war room and let Stiles have it as his own, but he had a feeling it was precisely because of Stiles’ love for a balcony that he could easily fall to his death from that his father had said no enough times for Stiles, who rarely gave up on anything, to finally let it go. Yet another reason to never let his father know he often scaled his way along the other balconies from his room to get there in the first place.

As it was a balcony alcove to a room that was never used, there was only ever Stiles who occupied it. So, to say he was startled nearly out of his skin when another figure emerged from the shadows of the alcove’s corner would be to put it incredibly lightly.

In fact—Stiles had very nearly screamed. He definitely let out a very unmasculine noise, though he would never admit to the fact if questioned about it at a later point in time. Unfortunately for him, that would be the thing to alert the other figure to his presence in the first place. Which was a shame, he would later think when he ran this encounter through his head over and over again like the action could bring a kind clarity the memory of the event itself simply did not have, because, for the split seconds before Stiles had made his presence known, the man had looked perfect where he stood in the shadows, and Stiles had been immediately infatuated with the sight of him.

But, of course, Stiles could not have nice things, and it was usually because of his mouth. Now was not an exception to the matter.

Stiles let out his noise, and the man startled out of the shadows and into the moonlight like he was expecting a fight. Stiles, though trained to defend himself if need be, did nothing more than scramble back on shoes that slipped dangerously on the snow-slicked stone beneath their feet. The man stopped abruptly, his eyes darting from Stiles’ face, down to his clothing, and back up again. And then, all at once, he relaxed completely, looking strangely put out that it was clear Stiles was not here to fight him. With a sigh that sounded suspiciously disappointed, the man in question turned his face away briefly as if expecting someone else, and that was when Stiles got his first good look at his surprise guest.

He noticed the ear cuff first, flashing in the light of the moon. Made of some kind of golden metal, it sat on the whole curve of his outer ear, nearly obscuring the ear itself completely. It flashed again as the man turned his face back, his features pulled into a completely different expression than they had been in just before, and Stiles found himself staring directly into a pair of cloudy green eyes.

Stiles had no idea who this man was, but he found that he desperately wanted to know. It was like a tugging sensation from somewhere behind his heart.

Silence stretched between them as neither moved, marred only by the faint noises of the party down below, and then Stiles realized something.

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t dressed for the party. Except for the golden cuff he wore on his ear and the thin gold chain around his neck that disappeared into his shirt, he was free of flashy adornments and heavy finery usually worn to parties such as the one being held tonight. In fact, he seemed rather underdressed considering the weather, in nothing but dark pants, a shirt, and a deep red waistcoat hanging undone from his torso. His moonlight-washed hair was unstyled, hanging around his face in that way Stiles’ hair also did when he ran his fingers through it at the end of the night after he’d washed all the grease from it. The man had either attended the party and left immediately, or he hadn’t gone at all.

He seemed just as surprised to see Stiles on that balcony as Stiles was him, too, his eyes drifting slowly down to the mask Stiles held clutched in both hands and narrowing. It made Stiles want to hide the thing behind his back, like he’d just been caught doing something wrong.

“It was hot inside,” he explained quickly, then had to refrain from slapping his hand over his mouth for saying anything at all. He wasn’t sure where the knee-jerk reaction to explain himself had come from exactly, because this was his homeland, and he was the prince of it. Whoever this man was, he didn’t rank above Stiles on his own turf.

And yet, here he was, feeling an ever-increasing need to keep the strange man standing before him, completely underdressed for the snow that was falling around them, from thinking Stiles was weird for being on the roof when a party was happening elsewhere.

Unsure of his actions, Stiles looked away, directing his gaze over the curb of the stone railing. The town below lit up with lights strung from rooftops and streetlights, a sign of the upcoming festival to celebrate the arrival of harvest season, where there would be markets every night and dancing in the squares, with the largest celebration with a potluck at the very end. Scott always had the best birthday out of all of them, because it kicked off the season, taking place what was usually just a few days before the town celebrations started. He’d have a big party, and then he’d continue to celebrate with the townsfolk of both his land and Stiles’, as they were sisterlands and shared the same traditions. Stiles, having been born in the spring, didn’t get to have quite the same experience.

“Do they know you’re gone?” the man asked quietly, his voice nothing like Stiles was expecting from looks alone. Stiles turned his attention back embarrassingly fast all the same.

“Do they…?” he repeated in confusion before he realized what the man was talking about. “Oh! Oh, no. I mean, probably? Someone’s likely noticed. But I don’t think they’re paying attention to where I am, really. It’s not my birthday.”

Shut up, Stiles, Stiles thought frantically. Lord, please, shut up.

The man’s brow furrowed. Stiles took the moment to admire his eyebrows, which were well-suited for his face. Stiles was pretty sure the man could hold conversations with them, if he tried. He could absolutely look menacing, with just the right expression. Stiles knew he could find himself easily terrified of this man. He just had that look about him.

And then, as Stiles was admiring, it occurred to him that he’d never seen this person before in his life, despite him standing right on the rooftop of where Stiles lived. Which, considering who Stiles was, shouldn’t be possible.

How had he never met this person before? Did he climb onto the roof from below? How did he get past the guards?

“Why aren’t you at the party?” Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself, then winced. Strike two. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t had that much to drink, had he?

The man eyed him warily, then seemed to come to some kind of a conclusion and sighed. “You have no idea who I am.”

Stiles frowned in turn. “Should I?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, the moonlight washing his features out until he looked nearly a ghost, those cloudy green eyes narrowed. “No,” he said finally. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

Stiles opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, then, miracle of all miracles, thought better of the action and shut it again. Surprise flashed in the man’s eyes, and Stiles could swear the corner of the man’s mouth quirked up, but he knew he had to have imagined it. Because the man’s mouth seemed permanently set in a frown. He hadn’t smiled once, and he had a very strong frown. The man turned his face away again, but Stiles couldn’t stop looking at him.

The moonlight caught off the ear cuff as he turned again, catching Stiles’ attention easily and giving him a better view of its overall shape. Covering the entire curve of his outer ear, the cuff the man wore was shaped like a curling line of crescents and circles in a pattern that tickled some vague part of the back of Stiles’ brain without any true recognition to show for the efforts. He’d seen the exact pattern before, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t place where or when, or what kind of meaning it could hold. It was a curious design, all the same, with smaller chains of gold hanging in loops from the bottom, some kind of bead or gemstone nestled in each center. The entire thing was also, Stiles noticed, studded with the same kind of gemstone that glinted with the light, though the strong tint of the oncoming full moon made everything seem too washed out to really tell any true color.

It was a strange thing to see, even on a night like this. Ear cuffs were found in other lands, but ear jewelry didn’t often extend beyond earrings in Stiles’ land. In fact, adornments in general usually came in the form of necklaces, rings, and makeup and rarely extended beyond that, and Stiles had never thought to question the reason why something so obviously stunning had never become popular in his, or Scott’s, realm. Even Allison’s kingdom, known famously for their silver jewelry and intricate designs, did not show any favor towards such specific things.

Until now, apparently, because Stiles couldn’t think of where else the man could have climbed up to the alcove from if not the party or the town. Though, if something like that was becoming popular, Stiles felt like he would have heard Lydia talking about it at some point. It was very possible she had and he’d simply not listened, however. Stiles’ attention was a fickle thing.

“Are you from town?” Stiles heard himself ask. He was starting to understand why his dad winced each time Stiles opened his mouth, because, right now, he’d soder the damn thing shut if he only had the chance. “Did you climb up here from the streets?”

A soft huffing sound met his unfortunate inquiry, and it took Stiles a moment to realize the man had just laughed.

“No,” he replied quietly, eyes still on the town in question. “I came from inside the castle.”

That stumped Stiles. So he… had come from the party? How had he gotten himself in such disarray? Stiles might not have been paying the best attention to the comings and goings of the event, especially considering the size of the attendance, but he’s pretty sure he would have heard someone say something if someone had shown up in the state the man was in. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Unless he’d gained his current state somewhere between the party and the balcony, which meant he must have done something relatively quick to become that way.

Stiles felt a heat crawl up his neck, swift and relentless, as an idea of what the man might have done occurred to him. The war room was empty and supposedly locked at all times because of its disuse, but Stiles had never actually bothered to check that. At least, not since he’d learned to climb to the balcony instead of going through the room itself, and that had been years ago.

Quickly, Stiles walked over to the large double doors that connected the balcony to the room and wrapped his hand around one of the huge handles. It barely budged an inch beneath the pressure he exerted on it, and even less when he tried with his weight added onto the attempt.

Locked. Absolutely, undeniably locked.

Stiles twisted back around. The man was watching him again, those eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. He still stood at the railing, not having moved an inch except to face where Stiles now stood. Very rarely did Stiles feel any kind of embarrassment for his actions, but something about this man and his strangeness kept the embarrassment coming in waves. Stiles prayed his face, definitely red at this point due to the man’s reaction, couldn’t be seen too well in the dark of the small overhang of the doorway.

“How did you get up here?” Stiles demanded hotly. He thrust a finger at the door handles. “These are locked.”

And, to Stiles’ utter shock, the man actually smiled.

It was by no means sunny, and maybe not even a true smile, but his lips were undoubtedly pulled back from his teeth in at least a smirk. “As you suggested before,” he said simply. “I climbed.”

“From—where?” Stiles spluttered. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the man merely tilted his head as if pondering Stiles’ question. He met Stiles’ eyes again, rendering Stiles slightly more dumb than usual with their strange color, and then, in one fluid motion, he bent at the waist in a bow.

“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” the man said, taking one last glance up from beneath his lashes to meet Stiles’ eyes.

And then he backed up, turned the same corner he’d emerged from, and was gone.

Stiles watched the empty air for a shocked heartbeat. One quickly became two, then three, and then he was tripping over himself as he launched at the space the man had left behind in a desperate scramble to catch up. Unfortunately, his shoes, more equipped for dancing than any other kind of foot movement, slipped on the slick stone floor and he went sprawling instead, knocking his chin hard enough to rattle his teeth and stun him momentarily. His mask went flying, smacking against the ground and skidding a few feet away.

Stiles groaned as he hauled himself up again, clawing his way to the side of the balcony railing where the man must have left, only to remember, with a shock, that this was the side that met the cliff face. There was no way down but a sheer drop to the rocks below.

A white noise started up between Stiles’ ears as he stared down the drop, the disappearance and the lack of a body below not adding up in his brain. A cold wind blew past briefly, rustling his stiff collar against his cheeks and bringing him back to himself enough for him to twist at the waist and look directly up. The action brought no more clarity than the previous one had, and the cold feeling of dread started up in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

The man was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

#I somehow already have 12k written for this #and I'm not done #Sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #royalty AU #WIP Wednesday #work in progress wednesday

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shochmonster · 4 years

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84 Questions

original: https://fuckyeahsurveys.tumblr.com/post/61049002526/84-questions

Put your music player of choice on shuffle and list the first 10 songs Guns of Brixton - The Clash Holiday in Cambodia - Dead Kennedys Chainsaw - Nick Jonas California - Joni Mitchell Make It Wit Chu - Queens of the Stone Age This Woman’s Work - Kate Bush The Bad Thing - Arctic Monkeys Between the Bars - Eliot Smith Drown - The Smashing Pumpkins Different People - No Doubt

If you could spend a week anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? Would you take anyone with you? I’d take @duoloopo to the UK. I’d like to see places other than London.

What is your preferred writing implement? (eg. Blue pen, pencil, green pen) I use my iPad stylus the most, but I have this heavy mechanical pencil I really like for drawing.

Favourite month and why? October. I just love the fall vibe.

Do you have connections to any celebrities (even minor)? List them. I went to undergraduate school with Rebecca Sugar. We used to ride the bus between NYC and DC together on holidays.

Name 3 items you could pick up from where you are. Can of seltzer, pencil case, stack of bills

What brand logo is closest to you currently? REAL Skateboards

Do you ever play board games or other non-computer games? Got any favourites? I love Small World and Munchkin.

A musical artist you love that isn’t well known Laura Stevenson and the Cans

A musical artist you love that is well known Red Hot Chili Peppers

What is your desktop background currently? Thomas Barrow on the beach in the Season 4 Christmas Special

Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them @duomaxwell02 with my face :O

First colour name you can think of that isn’t in the rainbow White

What timekeeping devices are in the room you are currently in? Two wall clocks, though one is very old and doesn’t wind anymore. I also have a clock @duoloopo ‘s dad made for me. It’s on the piano.

What kind of headphones do you use? JBL Bluetooth, noise canceling

What musical artists have you seen perform live? Foo Fighters (3x), Incubus (3x), Red Hot Chili Peppers, Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, Audioslave, Justin Timberlake, Troy Sivan, Arctic Monkeys, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Queen (but with Roger Daughtry, not Freddy... for obvious reasons.). Probably a whole bunch of others I’m blanking on.

Does virginity matter to you? Not really.

What gaming consoles do you or your family own? PS4, PS2, PS1, XBox 360, N64, Gamecube, Wii, NES, SNES, various Gameboys, Nintendo DS, PSP

What pets do you have? What are their names? Two cats, Hemingway and Renji

What’s the best job you’ve ever had? I like freelance art gigs the best. As for ‘normal people jobs’, I once was a sign painter for Whole Foods. That was pretty fun, minus the work drama.

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? Food service.

What magazines do you read, if any? I’ll pick up Time once in a while

Inspiration behind your URL? My classic original URL was LinkWorshiper and had been since AIM first existed. I picked it because Zelda was the first fandom I ever joined. Now I’ve changed all my handles (except on AO3) to reflect my actual name, as my literary agent thinks it’s more professional.

Inspiration behind your blog title? Mean Girls. I always chuckle imagining Thomas and Jimmy as some Edwardian version of the Plastics.

Favourite item of clothing? My Downton livery waistcoat. And the stiff bosomed shirt and collars I have to go with it.

Are you friends with any exes? Nah. By the time I felt comfortable enough to possibly try, I also didn’t care enough to.

Name at least one book you loved as a child. His Dark Materials (the trilogy by Philip Pullman). I still love them and am jazzed that he’s writing more these days.

What’s your native language? If that language has distinct regional variations, which variation? (eg. AU English, US English) US English, mostly a northeastern dialect/accent

What email service do you use? Gmail

Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in? So much stuff. I have a mood board full of Downtons stuff over my desk, various DA posters and memorabilia, plus some artwork I’ve done, and some of my JC Leyendecker collection. The aforementioned wall clocks, a San Francisco cable car bell, Sailor Moon and a few other little knickknacks, like my hamsa. To name a few lol.

What’s your favourite number, and why? 212 because it’s Manhattan’s area code and also because it used to be the notation for one of my favorite ships in an old fandom.

Earliest moment in your life you can remember? Sitting under the table and looking at my grandma, who was wearing a Cruella Deville dress she’d knit herself. Like, it had the actual Disney character on it. Pretty cool to a little guy, I guess!

What did you have for dinner yesterday? Quesadilla

How often do you brush your teeth? Whenever they feel gross

What’s your favourite candy/chocolate? Lately, I’ve been into Junior Mints.

Have you had other blogs on Tumblr? Do you have any other blogs currently? This blog used to have my old handle, linkworshiper. I did a small Whole Foods blog when I worked with them, but it never went anywhere.

If you were suddenly really hungry, what would you choose to eat? Sushi

What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of? Downton Abbey, though lately I’ve been crazy busy and not as active as I once was. Casually still poking at old fandoms like Zelda and Gundam Wing to name a few.

If you could study anything, what would it be? More art education can’t hurt. Maybe some formal history education.

Do you use anything on your lips? (eg. Chapstick, gloss, balm, lipstick) Chapstick

How would you describe your sense of humour? Seinfeld

What things annoy you more than anything else? Mouth noises

What kind of position are you in at the moment? Sitting

Do you wear much jewellery? Nope

Who is the leader of your country, currently? Any other levels of government with leaders? (State, region, province, county, district, municipality, etc) Three supposedly equal branches of government, currently being run into the ground by a clown

Last 3 blogs on your dashboard, not including any of your own @halcyondaze @mab1905 @lavender-hued-melancholy

What do you carry your money in? I try to never carry cash, but I carry a small wallet

Do you enjoy driving? Why or why not? I like it but sometimes it feels like a chore, especially during a commute. @duoloopo thinks I’m a shit driver so she tries to drive whenever she can, which has pluses and minuses.

Longest drive you have ever been on? Savannah GA to San Francisco, CA in a UHaul

Furthest away from home you have ever been? Germany

How many times have you moved house? God, I don’t even know. More than ten.

What is on the floor of the room you’re currently in, not including furniture? Cat toys, unused canvases

How many devices do you own which can access the internet? Phone, computer, iPad, various game consoles

Is there is anything that is guaranteed to always make you happy? Thomas and Jimmy <3 <3

Is there anything that always makes you sad? Thinking too hard about being a failure

What programs do you currently have open? I just rebooted, so only Chrome, Spotify and Photoshop

What do you associate the colour red with? This line in the Kate Bush Song Blue Symphony, which goes, ‘I associate love with red, the color of my heart when she’s dead.’

Last strong smell you can remember smelling? The Greek food I ordered in for dinner

Last healthy thing you ate? Roasted veggies

Do you drink tea or coffee, and how much per day? I prefer tea, and I drink coffee for energy, though sometimes I think it just makes me crash harder.

What do you associate the colour blue with? The sky

How long is the closest ruler you can find? 12 inches

What colour pants/skirt/etc are you currently wearing? Dark blue

When was the last time you drank water? About a minute ago

How often do you clear your browser history? Rarely

Do you believe nude photos can be artistic, rather than erotic? Yes

Ever written fanfiction for anything? Oh God, yes. You can still find it under Link Worshiper on AO3, though some of my ‘classics’ have been removed since I turned them into original manuscripts

Last formal event you attended My cousin’s wedding

If you had to move your birthday to another date, which one would you choose and why? Maybe inch my birth year up just by two so that I’d stop being called a damn millennial. At my age, I really just don’t relate to the generation even though technicalities make me a part of it.

Would you prefer to be at a beach or in the countryside? Beach

Roughly how many people live in your town? 52,000

Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you? Leonard Nimoy :D

Favourite place to shop? Can be a certain store or a place where there are multiple stores I haven’t really gone shopping since the pandemic. Right now, it feels like the only place to buy anything is Amazon XD

Do you have a smartphone? What kind? If you don’t, do you want one? Samsung. It’s not a Galaxy but is a new model and a fraction of the price.

What is your least favourite colour, and why? I don’t think I dislike any colors honestly.

How do you spell grey/gray? Grey. I’ve got too many British online associates to ever go back.

Go to your dashboard and describe the image shown in the radar section (below the “Find blogs” link) It’s Umbrella Academy fanart of Klaus. He’s in black and white with this hands over his eyes and the background is red. It’s very graphic.

What difference is there between how many followers you have, and the number of blogs you follow? 736

How many posts do you have? 8,859

How many posts have you liked? I can’t find the stat D:

Do you post mainly reblogs, or your own content? Mainly reblogs but I pepper in my own content when I can. Lately, I haven’t had time to do as much fanart though, and I kind of feel like it’s not worth bothering to post my original stuff. Nobody follows my blog for that.

Do you track any tags? No.

What time is it currently? 7:33 PM CMT

Is there anything you should be doing right now? Waking up @duoloopo. TIME TO JUMP ON THE BED.

tagging, if they feel like it: @abbys-little-whippersnapper @bumblebarrow @irrationalgame @downtoncat @mab1905 @duoloopo

and everyone who I’ve forgotten

#personal #about me #questions

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actuallymuffet · 4 years

Text

“I do.”

It was going to be the perfect day. A day that Muffet used to only know in her dreams, her wildest fantasies that would never come true. One part of her wishes she could go back and excitedly tell her past self what wonderful memories and events her future held, but the other part of her would hate to have spoiled the surprise.

Their wedding was going to be small, somewhat informal, attended by only a small group of their closest friends. It’s what Muffet felt most comfortable with—it was their special day, after all, and why would she want to share it with a huge crowd of people she barely knew? No, it was going to be much better this way she thought, they both thought. A small wedding held in their own mansion officiated by a friend. Not the most traditional, but not any less important for it.

And yet there were still so many details for Muffet to fuss over! She wanted everything to go smoothly, she still wanted to include as many traditional wedding things as they could, she wanted their guests to enjoy themselves, and most of all she wanted Nami to be happy with how it all went. Of course Muffet knew that Nami would be happy no matter what, but she didn’t see that as a reason to be careless.

The ceremony was set up to take place in the Great Room, with the reception in the ballroom just next door. An altar had been set up and adorned with spider silk curtains and flowers, lilies mainly as they were Nami’s favourite. Just enough chairs were set up for their guest list, which left perhaps an awkward amount of empty space in the room, but that empty space was then taken up by many spiderwebs filled with many, many spiders and one very bear-sized cupcake spider.

In attendance was Gaster, one of Muffet’s oldest and therefore best friends still remaining in the city and his significant other, Loghain. She’d also invited Rui because as far as Muffet was concerned, he was a part of her spider family, along with Kay! Kay was invited by both Muffet and Nami, though. They adored her way too much to not have her around for this.

Nami invited two of her best friends, Gin and Clint. Nami’s known them longer than Muffet’s known her, so their invitation didn’t surprise Muffet in the least and she was happy to have them in attendance. Tuyin’Asai was here as well, one of Nami’s ‘seabudz’ as Nami put it. Only for ninety minutes, though… shapeshifting limitations, or something like that.

They invited their mutual friend Crow as well, and of course Crow’s girlfriend Memo was here. Actually, Memo was their officiant! Memo was, in her own words, ‘somewhat close to a religious official, I guess, maybe?’ and so not a bad choice for an officiant, all things considered. Her offering to fill that role in the ceremony meant a lot to Muffet and was something that she would be sure to repay later whether the Jirachi wanted her to or not.

The sun had long since set by the time guests arrived…most of them. Memo and Crow arrived earlier than that, both to help set up and to be the ones to greet the rest. The latter fell more on Crow’s shoulders, something that Muffet and Nami had been assured by Memo that she’d practiced for. Kay had arrived early as well, though not by too much because Muffet didn’t want her traveling more than necessary during the day.

Muffet could hear the other guests arriving from the other room, left mostly alone for the time being with her anxieties. She wasn’t supposed to see Nami and likewise Nami was not supposed to see her, not until they were meant to walk down the aisle together. Though the tarantula she was with now (one of her oldest and most treasured spiders, a longtime family member) assured her that things were going fine, and the lovely Kay that was with her too told Muffet that she looked very pretty, Muffet still couldn’t help but fret, at least a little bit, and would probably continue to fret until she reached the altar.

There were some traditional wedding things that they couldn’t properly recreate in this city. There would be no parents walking them down the aisle. There were so few guests in attendance, there was little delineation between ordinary guests and bridesmaids/groomsmen. They didn’t have anyone to be a proper ringbearer, either. But they had a flower girl, and she was adorable.

—

Love is something that Kay will be the first to admit that she doesn’t completely understand. A lot of people have told her she’ll understand once she’s older, and she knows she loves Muffet and Nami, but it’s never been something she can wrap her head around. But more than anything, she knows weddings are important.

She fiddles with her hair clip—a mix of the lilies and spider lilies in her basket, trying it on both the right and the left. Which one would look better, she wonders? She’d seen part of the Great Room during the rehearsal, but what if everyone’s sitting in different places now? The best time to make this decision probably isn’t two seconds before heading down the aisle, but she wants everything to be perfect for Muffet and Nami’s big day!

Kay’s taking her job as flower girl very seriously; after all, this is their wedding; the last thing she’d want to do is mess it up. She hasn’t stolen anything all day, either! (Though Muffet mentioned the silverware at the reception might be fair game, and Kay can’t help herself if that’s the case.)

Her ears perk up as she hears the music start, and she hastily decides to pin the clip on the left, grabbing for her basket. That’s her cue! She turns before the doors open, giving Muffet a thumbs-up as she moves into her spot.

The doors open in front of her, and Kay takes a deep breath, giving the brides one final smile as she walks down the aisle in front of them. It’s not a huge crowd—composed of Muffet and Nami’s closest friends, but she’s determined to do her best for all of them. She smiles at the few faces she recognizes, waving to Rui and Muffen in between tossing flower petals.

Each step is very deliberate, scattering the petals to form a pretty path for the brides to walk down. Toe, heel, toe heel… just the way Muffet showed her during practice. Occasionally she’ll pause to shoo a spider or two out from the aisle so they don’t get stepped on, but she keeps her eye on her goal—where Memo’s standing at the front. When she arrives, she thinks fast, dumping her remaining petals on the ground in the prettiest array she can manage.

She exchanges a sheepish grin with Memo, giggling as she takes her place at the side of the hall. Muffet wouldn’t have asked her to do this job if she wasn’t allowed to have a little fun with it, right? However, once the music starts, and the doors to the Great Room creak open, Kay straightens up, gaze following everyone else’s as the brides start their walk down the aisle. They’re both so beautiful, Kay thinks, and they look so happy!

Love isn’t always something Kay understands, but maybe sometimes it’s a helping hand (or six?), when you need a friend. Maybe it’s in the way someone helps you attach spider silk to your dress, or fusses over the lilies in your hair.

And maybe, it’s in the way Miss Muffet and Miss Nami look at each other as they stand side-by-side in their prettiest outfits. She may not completely understand it, but… when she looks at those two?

Kay thinks love might be pretty great after all.

(Big thanks to @spiderstaff for writing this section of the drabble! 💜)

—

Once the door closed behind Kay, Muffet became much more aware of how soon she would be doing the same. But before that was one more important thing, a moment shared only between her and the love of her life. Since they would be walking down the aisle together, the first time Muffet and Nami would see each other would be behind this door, out of view of the other guests, just before making their entrance.

Her SOUL had been practically beating out of her chest before she saw Nami, but when Muffet finally saw her she’d swear that it stopped.

Nami was gorgeous. Muffet had always known that, but it was more apparent now, dressed in an outfit as regal as she was. She was wearing a white waistcoat that followed the form of her lapel fins down her torso, with white detached sleeves hanging translucent pink veils. The headpiece she was wearing looked better than any crown Muffet could imagine on her, with the pink leafy stylings on the side accenting the rest of her outfit perfectly.

Muffet almost couldn’t keep herself from crying at the sight so beautiful and breathtaking, and how she did manage to keep her composure will be a mystery forever. Though they each had their own door to enter from, neither of them needed to speak to tell the other to meet in the middle first. Muffet opened with a quick kiss on Nami’s cheek, nothing too long or pressed. She wouldn’t want to leave a lipstick mark, evidence of how much she’d just bucked the tradition of saving the kiss for the altar. Rules be damned, no force in the world could’ve kept that kiss from her. Her SOUL glowed bright through her dress, evidence that her happiness was through the roof right now.

“You look more beautiful than I ever could have imagined, ma chérie,” Muffet said, lightly cupping one of Nami’s cheeks with two of her hands. “How did I ever get so lucky…?”

“Oh, hush,” Nami replied, in a voice Muffet could recognize as ‘trying not to happy-cry’ only because she was sure her voice sounded the same. “I’m the lucky one, here.”

The musical cue was their signal to go to their respective doors, and even though they both knew they would be hand in hand in just a few moments, it was still difficult for Muffet to pull herself away from her. Nami took her place in front of the door on the left and Muffet the right, with her head still turned to smile wide and bright at Nami right up until the moment they pushed open the doors.

Because there were two doors into the Great Room and neither in the center, the aisle was split, and so Muffet and Nami had to walk alone for a few slow paces before meeting in the center of the room where the aisle became one again. Every pair of eyes was on them, but Muffet, for once, didn’t mind that. As soon as she’d stepped into the room all of her worries, her anxieties, her fretting disappeared. There was no going back now, not that she’d ever want to, and that feeling of ‘this is it’ is what she’d needed to finally calm down.

Muffet linked each of her left hands with Nami’s right as soon as they got close enough, gently pulling the two of them close enough to press their shoulders together. Muffet could only hope that it wasn’t obvious to everyone else how misty-eyed she was beginning to feel as they approached the aisle. The light of her SOUL somehow managed to increase even though it was already rather bright; normally Muffet might feel self-conscious about that, but not right now.

This walk meant so much to Muffet, far more than she could ever put into words. She’s lived for many, many years now, but never did she think she’d have her day like this. Nor could she have imagined how perfect her spouse would be for her. She’s been with Nami for years now, and they’d been the best years of her life. From their first date to their first anniversary to the proposal, every mundane day or city-wide event in between, they’d been with each other. They’ve found each other in both worlds they’ve been taken to now, their love has lasted despite both of them spending time away from the city before. Nothing, not even the Stars above, could separate them.

If Muffet couldn’t call this fate, there was nothing else deserving of the word.

The two of them reached the altar and again Muffet was reluctant to want to make more space between them, but they had to leave at least some room between the two of them even as they held hand at the center of the altar, facing each other now with Memo at their one side and their friends at the other.

“Friends, family, and spiders,” Memo opened, “We’ve gathered here tonight to share in the moment the union of these dearly beloved, and be witness to an everlasting bond made ceremoniously official. Everyone here tonight has been invited because you hold a special role in Muffet and Nami’s lives, you are present to celebrate their marriage and witness their vows of love to one another. Will all of you gathered here do all in your power to love and support this couple now and in the times ahead? If so please respond, ‘we will.’”

Again Muffet found herself trying very hard to keep tears from flowing as she heard her friends, the people she considered family in their own right, repeat their affirmations after Memo.

“And Nami and Muffet, have you come here today with the intention to be joined in marriage? Do you pledge to choose respect, kindness, and compassion towards one another, to listen deeply to one another, and to speak truthfully to one another, today and always?”

Memo, for how much she was worried about messing up, was reciting her words pretty well. She practiced. A lot.

“We do.” said in unison with wavering voices.

“Muffet and Nami, your true love is something that you both cherish, and today you dedicate the rest of your lives to giving one another happiness and support. Your marriage is based on your heartfelt and sincere acceptance of one another, as you are, in each moment. Today, in the presence of those you consider your friends and family, you pronounce your love for each other and make a pledge, a lifelong commitment to one another, and the words spoken here will support your marriage and your declarations of love.”

Nami’s vows came first, which had the side effect of being great for Muffet as it allowed her time to make sure her voice wouldn’t break as soon as she tried to speak aloud.

“In my old world I only really had one friend on the surface, we were two people at odds with… Well, at odds with a lot up there. We were the only two who really had each other’s backs and times were often hard, but when they were hardest I could always look at her and say ‘I believe in you’. It felt like I was talking to a dear friend, someone I loved who no matter what happened I knew would have my back as I had hers. Muffet, more than anyone else I’ve ever met I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I believe in you.

You are everything to me. The person who makes my heart beat the fastest, who makes me laugh the hardest and smile the widest. We met in one world and followed each other to another. They say fate moves in strange ways but I think it's acted quite clearly here.

You are my best friend. You are the love of my life. You are my partner across worlds and I’d cross countless more to stay with you. You are my muse and inspiration. You are the part of me I didn’t know I didn’t have. I love you, Muffet.”

Muffet was now more sure that she would be able to speak coherently, but she was no longer sure she could hold tears back. In fact, she was one hundred percent certain that tears were now streaming down her cheeks. She felt she could hardly be blamed for crying here, though. Her smile was still a mile wide, her fangs on full display as she felt the love behind every word Nami spoke.

“Nami, it was fate’s decision to bring you to me, but my decision to love you as I do. I’d spent centuries underground and could only ever dream of having a wedding of my own, but never did I believe I would be lucky enough, in that world or any other, to find someone I would want to plan the rest of my life with. Nami, lucky is too weak a word to properly describe how I feel with you.

I feel completed, like I’ve found a piece of my SOUL that I did not even know it was missing. You’ve helped me grow and learn to love, both you and myself, more than I thought would be possible for a monster like me. You’ve shown me time and time again that your love for me is without condition, and I can only hope that I’ve done a good enough job in returning that sentiment.

I vow to you that I will commit my life to you, whether we live it in this city or the next. I vow to you that my SOUL will never feel dimmed again, that I will always be able to smile and enjoy living so long as I may do it with you. You are the one for me, Nami, and I love you.”

Muffet could see that Memo was having a hard time not getting teary eyed too, but only because Memo was so close. She wondered briefly what the other guests were thinking, but she didn’t necessarily care. All she knew for certain right now was Nami’s love for her, and that’s all she needed. But Memo continued, because they had only just gotten started, really.

“Nami, do you take Muffet to be your cosmically fated wife?”

“I do.”

“Muffet, do you take Nami to be your cosmically fated wife?”

“I do.”

“Then may I have the rings, please?” the Jirachi said. Gin from Nami’s side handed Memo the ring he held, and Gaster from Muffet’s handed his held ring over as well. “These rings are not what hold your love for each other, but may they serve as reminders of your bond and your commitment to each other, to both you and others, to show the love between you two in a form other than words. Nami,” she said, handing Nami one of the wedding rings, “placing the ring on Muffet’s finger, repeat after me: With this ring, I give you my promise, to honour you, to be faithful to you, and to share my love and life with you, in all ways and all worlds, forever.”

Nami took the ring from Memo and took Muffet’s upper left hand with one of her own. Her touch was gentle, Muffet felt, caring, loving, and said so much in such a simple physical gesture.

“With this ring, I give you my promise, to honour you, to be faithful to you, and to share my love and life with you, in all ways and all worlds, forever.” The rest of the world might as well not have existed in that moment to Muffet as Nami repeated those words and slipped the ring onto her finger, which was made to mesh perfectly against the shape of her engagement ring that she wore. Every moment tonight was a memory she would cherish forever, but this specific instance would be held especially dear to her.

“And Muffet,” Memo continued, after giving just enough time to treasure that moment, “placing the ring on Nami’s finger, repeat after me: With this ring, I give you my promise, to honour you, to be faithful to you, and to share my love and life with you, in all ways and all worlds, forever.”

Muffet took a subtle and deep breath as she took the ring from Memo, trusting in herself that her hands would not shake too much as she took Nami’s hand in her own. “With this ring, I give you my promise, to honour you, to be faithful to you, and to share my love and life with you, in all ways and all worlds, forever.”

She brushed her thumb across the back of Nami’s fingers for a moment before sliding the ring onto her love’s finger, similarly formed to fit against the engagement ring Nami wore on the same finger. Her SOUL felt ready to escape from her chest as she looked back up to meet Nami’s eyes, all five of her own completely focused on her. Memo’s voice was there again, but it almost barely registered in Muffet’s mind.

“And now, after the exchanging of vows and the giving and receiving of the rings, by the power invested in me,” Memo said, lighting up her wish tags and streamers for added effect, “I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may now seal your bond, with a kiss.”

It couldn’t be said that either of the two of them moved first. Rather, they moved at one, closing the gap between them as they’ve patiently been waiting so long now to do. Not just waiting throughout this ceremony, but for the past many months, ever since the proposal when they both knew this time would come.

Their lips met as more happy tears fell. Muffet wrapped one pair of arms around Nami’s neck and the other two around Nami’s waist, while Nami’s arms went to Muffet’s shoulders. Muffet could feel Nami squeezed her and squeezed her in return, wishing that they could somehow be physically closer still than they already were. Muffet leaned a little more into the kiss, pushing Nami backwards so that with her grip around the Marai’s waist she could dip her and hold her at a slight downward angle.

The kiss lasted as long as it needed to, but still felt simultaneously not long enough and longer than a lifetime. The kisses that came immediately after, with Muffet seizing the opportunity to pepper Nami’s face in kisses as long as she was still dipping her, were each much shorter but no less full of love.

—

The reception may have only been for a small number of people, but considering this is Muffet we’re talking about, of course she filled the room with what was probably way too much food and drink. There were loads of freshly baked pastries and desserts, and more on demand if anyone wanted to ask her for some, and plenty of drink choices both alcoholic and not.

Muffet had a few glasses of cider herself and far too many cupcakes, but really she spent a lot of the reception talking to her different friends, and thanking them for coming. She spent some time with Rui, since she was worried he might feel awkward or out of place, but him and Muffen were getting along fantastically. She also spoke to Kay, if you count ‘picking her up in a tight spinning hug and telling her she did so good’ as speaking.

Muffet also had her dance with Nami, something you could really say she’s spent years practicing for since it was never her strong suit before meeting the Marai. But she was proud of how well she danced with Nami and how intimate a dance that was so simple and usual before felt simply because it was repeated on this night.

Muffet also made a quick trip back into the Great Room to grab a bouquet she’d attached to the altar. It wasn’t held during the ceremony nor thrown immediately afterwards, since they’d opted not to fuss about that particular tradition, but that didn’t mean Muffet didn’t have a plan for it.

With the bouquet in hand (and another cupcake in another, as she passed by the snack table again) she cornered Gaster, a smile so innocent set on her face.

“Deary, it really does mean so much to me that you and Loghain joined us tonight. I would’ve been distraught without you here, not in the least because it would mean I’d be unable to give you this.”

She held the bouquet of flowers out to Gaster, that innocent smile replaced now with a more fangy smirk.

“I told myself, why throw it when I can just give it to you directly, hm? Don’t keep me waiting too long, Gaster dear~” She finished with a triple wink before leaving him with the bouquet, off to find her wife.

#♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥#mellifluencex #{spider babbles}#{Sea Silk}

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rpsquad · 3 years

Text

The Best Man - Thim, Aeno, Shula

The windows were dressed in bright red, gold, and white. The fabric lit up beautifully against the light of the dawn, and the light filtered through the colors and onto the statue’s face. Golden light shed upon the pews; depictions of the goddesses painted themselves upon the floor, and a single tear fell upon his shoe.

Thim tore his attention away from the chapel around him and back towards the bustle behind him, the servants already up and preparing for the day. This included the preparations for the... ceremony, later that day. Even after all the preparations leading up to this day, Thim could still hardly believe it was the day of the wedding.

If only it was his own.

---

Thim rushed back to Aeno's dressing room, having found the correct corsage for himself and his friend. He indulged in the happy excitement buzzing throughout the hallways as he went. It was rare that emotions were so united as this, especially positive ones.

Thim entered Aeno’s room with a smile. His friend had his back turned to him and was buttoning up his waistcoat, but looked up and grinned as Thim entered "Thim! Wonderful, could you help me with this? I'm afraid that my hands are shaking, and I am taking far too long."

Thim shook his head with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. Of course he was shaking, his emotions were so bright and loud. Thim was shocked that everyone else couldn't feel them too. "Well, I do believe it is my sworn duty to get you through today, so I suppose I must." Thim teased as he stepped closer and began to button the waistcoat. "I've retrieved your flowers, by the way. I'm fairly certain the preservation magic will last the rest of the day as well."

Aeno nodded and looked down at the table where Thim had left the corsage "Thanks. They’re quite beautiful roses, aren’t they?" He let out a small laugh “Almost as beautiful as my soon-to-be wife. I can’t wait to see her…” Aeno said with a small sigh.

“I know, my friend. You’re practically glowing with excitement.” Thim kept his smile and voice polite and warm, even if the armor he’d been building for the last few months gained a small crack, “I’ve yet to see her either, but I’m sure she looks positively radiant.” That, at least, was not a lie. Shula was sure to look lovely in the white and gold.

Thim affixed the red cape trimmed with gold to Aeno and patted his friend on the shoulder “There you are. Dashing young lord, ready to sweep the maiden off her feet.” Or the knight, if he wanted. Thim turned away and rolled his eyes. Today wasn’t about him, he needed to remember that.

Aeno chuckled, warm and full of joy and... Not strictly relevant, “I believe the opposite is much more likely, friend, but thank you.” Aeno ran his fingers over the cape’s silky material with a small smile, then looked up at Thim “Well, I do believe you still have a thing or two to prepare before I stand at the altar. I don’t want to keep you from them, especially when I’m the reason for them.”

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint” Thim smiled, “I’ll get out of your… hair…” Thim looked at Aeno again, realizing his friend’s hair was just as curly and messy as always. Both men’s eyes widened, and Aeno’s hand went up to his hair, messing it up more in the process. “I’ll get someone to fix that nest you call a head of hair first.” Thim finally said, smirking when he felt his friend’s indignation at the remark.

---

After organizing for a servant to tame Aeno’s hair, Thim went to go check on Faux. The demon had been put in charge of the kitchen, even if he hadn’t truly wanted to. Thim needed to make sure the preparations were going as planned, so that the reception wouldn’t have to be subtly pushed back in order to give the kitchen more time.

Thim walked through the hallways with purpose, still taking in the glowing feeling of the castle. It really was rare for so many people to be so generally happy. Even if Thim didn’t quite share the excitement (not that he would ever admit it), he could appreciate the warm glow it caused everyone to radiate.

As Thim passed by the rooms set aside for Shula, Aeno’s bride, he paused, frowning. There was hardly any happiness coming from the other side of the door, and instead a gaping hole of anxiety and.. sadness?

Thim took a calming breath and knocked on the door. He quietly shored up his mental walls as he waited for an answer. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he let the other’s emotions affect him. He’d very likely need to comfort whoever it was.

A small looking serving girl opened the door. She was trying her best to not let him see into the room, but he was at least a head taller and could see a darker skinned woman in a plain white dress within. The woman, who Thim could now see was Shula, was sitting in front of a vanity. She was making eye contact with him through the mirror, and her shoulders looked very tense.

Thim looked back down to the serving girl (he thought she looked familiar, maybe Mary?) “May I come in? I wish to speak to the bride.” He glanced back up at Shula, who nodded. Probably Mary allowed him in with a grumble. She was apparently taking the schedule very seriously.

Shula smiled thinly as Thim pulled a chair closer to the vanity and sat down “What can I do for you, Sir Naisthim?” Thim took a moment to take a closer look at her appearance. Her face was painted, and her hair had been done into a fishtail braid with shimmering gold threads woven in. Even as she was now, Thim knew Aeno would be stunned when he saw her.

“Please, call me Thim. The whole thing has always been rather unwieldy.” Thim smiled, trying to put her at ease. It seemed to work a bit, but there was still a knot of unhappiness in her mind, “I wanted to check in on you. I know a wedding day can be rather.. turbulent for the parties involved.” Thim fought the urge to bite his lip, an old habit when he was nervous. He thanked Hylia she had know way of knowing what the colors in his eyes meant.

Shula was surprised for a moment before seeming to realize something “You’re a natural empath if I remember right.” Thim smiled sadly and nodded. She sighed and looked away. Thim could feel the embarrassment coming from her and frowned.

“I’ll be alright, thank you.” Shula finally said, surprising Thim “I’m sure you’re very busy today as well, and I don’t want to be a bother- or, well, take up your time.”

Thim sighed warily “If you want me to leave, I will. I know we don’t know each other at all really, but-” He grimaced, trying to think of something to say, “I could feel the way you felt through the door, and I hate to see anyone feel like that. Especially on their wedding day. Even more so when I know my best friend thinks the world of that person.” Thim sighed again and busied his fingers with the end of his hair, which had come to rest over his shoulder, “So, with that in mind, can I help in any way?”

Shula blinked up at him for a moment before smiling shyly “I can see why you and Aeno get along so well.” Thim smiled as well and tried to not let any bitterness tinge it. She sighed “I suppose I was worrying about, well, everyone. Before I came here, I’d never seen so many people and buildings all crowded together. Or met so many important people, especially so quickly. I mean, you all literally run the kingdom! I met the King the other day! I just.. I can’t help but think that I don’t belong here. I’m just a girl from some village no one’s heard of.”

“Sabla” Thim interrupted “You were born and grew up in a small, sandy village named Sabla, which was somewhat recently an operation base for a group of rather pesky rebels. That’s why Aeno was there in the first place. You were one of the natives who helped him, and from what I hear you were invaluable. Even if you two hadn’t sparked something, Aeno might have tried to take you back anyways to train as a tactician.” Thim smiled at Shula, who seemed rather shocked he’d known so much. It was one of the benefits of reading over Aeno’s letters so often, “I’ll admit that high class culture can take some time to become used to, but I think you’re smart enough to do it, and charming enough to make your way while you’re still learning. And I know you’ll have plenty of support from the people around you as well, Aeno most of all.”

“I- Thank you.” Shula choked out. Thim saw tears glimmering in her eyes, but he was reassured by the bright hope he could feel coming from here. He smiled at her. She took a calming breath before continuing “I honestly hadn’t expected you to know so much about me. Aeno wrote to you about me, I presume?”

Thim rolled his eyes and nodded “Wrote is a bit of an understatement.” He said with a conspiratorial grin. It only barely stung “It was more than he waxed poetic about the color of your eyes and the joy of your smile. While I’m very happy for you both,” It was true, except when it wasn’t, “I never want to have to read anything like that again. Aeno has never been a writer.”

Shula giggled and shook her head “He really isn’t, is he. He let me read some of the poetry, and it was… very heartfelt, if nothing else.” Thim snickered as well. They both eventually regained their composure, and Shula smiled at him. She looked much better now, much more free and happy, “Thank you very much for this, Thim.” She said the name like it felt awkward in her mouth, and Thim hoped she would have the chance to get used to it soon “I think I’m ready now.”

“Really?” Thim raised an eyebrow at her, gesturing to her clothes, “Because while I’m sure Aeno will think you’re stunning either way, I believe you got a dress made specifically for this occasion. It’d be a bit of a waste to not wear it, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah, of course. Mia!” Shula called over her shoulder, and the serving girl from earlier was back, a dress covered in a large clothing bag trailing behind her “Sorry for the interruption. I know you’re worried about me being ready in time.”

Thim raised an eyebrow “I can stall for you a little while, if you want. I was already considering doing so if the kitchens weren’t going to be ready.”

“Thank you for the kind offer, my lord. But I believe Lady Shula will be ready in time.” Thim shrugged, and Shula wrinkled her nose. Thim suspected she wasn’t used to the title yet.

Shula smiled and stood up “Now, I’ll have to ask you to leave now, as I need to put on this excessively expensive dress.” Her smile turned into a mischievous smirk and she glanced at him “Unless you’d like to watch, Lord Commander.”

Thim blinked and felt his face heat up “No, uh- No, thank you. I don’t think your soon-to-be husband would much approve, my lady.” He quickly stood up and went to the door “I do need to check up on Faux in the kitchens, anyways.” Thim smiled as he opened the door “I’ll see you soon.”

Shula grinned back “See you soon.”

---

The ceremony was, of course, beautiful. The two of them looked stunning together, dressed up in golds and whites and reds. The matching bright grins and shine in their eyes only made them more stunning. Thim could spot many in the pews holding back tears, even through his own watering eyes.

Most everyone could agree, there must have been quite a lot of dust suddenly stirred up.

(And, if the impaired vision of everyone helped to hide the dark blue black of Thim’s eyes, then it was only another thing to be happy for)

---

Thim sat at the table, watching the people trickle into the hall with a mixture of apprehension and nervousness. He was the Lord Commander of the King’s Royal Armies, but… Well, any speeches he’d given to his troops weren’t nearly as personal as the one he was about to give. Those were easy, this was decidedly not.

Something must have shown on his face, because Aeno elbowed him lightly and grinned “You can’t be worried about this crowd.” Aeno whispered, “Most of them are idiots anyways.”

Thim rolled his eyes and elbowed him back “The only idiot I see here is you.” he paused “And your younger brother, who I’m surprised hasn’t made a ruckus yet.” Aeno snickered back quietly. They both glanced at Arthur, who was staring at a wall with a particularly vacant expression while his current fiancée was trying to engage the demon next to her in an intelligent looking debate. They both started snickering harder, and Shula looked over at them with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

Soon enough, the man at the door announced the first course’s arrival, and the conversation quieted down while everyone enjoyed the food. Faux must have learned to cook so that people would stop talking, Thim thought to himself. He shared the thought with Aeno, who very nearly avoided choking on his drink.

The rest of the meal went just as smoothly, with only the smallest of hiccups. Arthur did eventually make some noise, after interrupting his fiancée with a truly ignorant comment. Thim almost felt bad for the man, he’s more confused than genuinely malicious. But, all things come to an end eventually.

Thim cleared his throat and stood up, automatically commanding the attention of the entire room. He stopped himself from shrinking away from the people’s eyes or fidgeting, except to take out the papers he’s kept in his jacket. Thim took a breath, and began:

“Hello, everyone. You probably know me, I am Lord Commander Naisthim Skyos. More importantly, today I am Aeno Inges’ best man. I say with the most sincerity I possibly can, that I am proud to be standing here today as this man’s best friend.” Thim looked down at Aeno and grinned, and Aeno smiled back despite his already watering eyes.

Thim chuckled “Alright, someone’s had too many emotions today. Calm down, Lord Waterworks.” The comment earned a laugh from some, and a few disapproving looks as well. Whatever. “Anyways, first up is messages from those who sadly couldn’t be here with us today.” Thim looked down at the papers in his hands “We’ve got Shula’s eldest sister, Carmen, who was too unwell to travel. She wishes the lovely couple a wonderful day and a happy, strong marriage.” Thim sets the letter down for Aeno and Shula to read later, “And here’s one from Aeno’s aunt and uncle, who needed to stay with some family. They wish you both the best as well… “ Thim trails off. There’s more to the letter, but it’s far too long and he figures Aeno and Shula can read it later. “And, finally, here’s a message from Aeno’s cousin, Damien, who has recently had a child with his wife.” He smiles at that one and sets it down with others off to the side. Thim looks at Aeno once more, and then to Shula, who smiles brightly at him.

“And now, back to the two people everyone is here for today. Aeno Ignes and Shula Lucir Ignes. I have yet to get to know the lovely bride so far, but what I have seen has already convinced me that she is a truly lovely woman with a lot of character. I’m looking forward to becoming better friends in the future.” Thim grinned, and was thankful that he actually felt it. He didn’t know how he’d hide dark eyes with a room full of people all focused on him “But Aeno, I know him well. We squired together to a couple of knights at this very castle in our youth. We got along extremely well, except when we roomed together and got into plenty of disagreements as to who left their training equipment or underclothes on the floor.” Thim grinned and pretended to whisper to the rest of the room “I still hold to this day that I would never do such things, you can ask my squire.” A younger boy in the back laughed loudly, and the rest of the room chuckled as well. Thim smiled warmly before continuing

“There’s plenty more funny or interesting stories I could tell you all about the man sitting next to me, especially about the in-betweens of the skirmishes to the north. Especially after said man had been awake for over 48 hours.” Thim grinned as he held back a full bodied laugh, and Aeno next to him groaned and mumbled something about sworn oaths of brotherhood and betrayal. “But I want to end this with something I consider more important than that.” He turned slightly to face the couple next to him as well as the room “Aeno and Shula, I wish you both the absolute best in your now joint lives. I swear to you both, I’ll be there whenever you need me. And I pray to the goddesses that you have her blessing going forth in life.”

Thim smiled at them both one last time before picking up his glass and raising it to the rest of the room “To the happy couple everybody, and to their good fortune!”

---

Later, much, much later, when everything had gone softer and the walls became harder to maintain, Thim quietly wandered out of the grand hall and aimlessly around the castle as a whole. He eventually found his way to the temple, which was still decorated after the wedding. The curtains were still up and still bright and fiery in their colors, the fabric still glowed beautifully (though now in the light of the moon and candles), and the Goddess’s statue was as lovely to look upon as ever.

It really had been a perfect day.

#hello and welcome to my 6 page 3k essay on why thim is amazing #because i love my man and he deserves to be happy #even if he must suffer first #also i wrote pretty much all of this in 24 hours what is life #so if some of it isnt too great #(and i know some is)#thats why #but ye #i love everyone in here and am so glad they all love each other #i struggled so much writing the scene with thim and shula tho #i hope it doesnt show too much #but anyways lol #i hope you enjoyed #and got sad lol #thanks for reading #written by cambrie #loz rp #prompt

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shardminds · 4 years

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The Swan that fell for the Sea (1/3)

To @itsfabianadocarmo ♥ It is me, your Secret Santa!

You've been the most lovely giftee and gave me LOADS of free reign on this one and, as a result, you're receiving one of the longest works I've ever written! I went off your love of Captain Duckling and Silver Fox!Killian, wove in some Christmas elements and a sweet epilogue and sprinkled in some ~drama~ and here we are! You're a fantastic part of this fandom, my love ♥ Here’s to a wonderful Christmas and I hope that 2020 brings you love and joy and lots of good times! also, this monster is the reason I haven't got around to posting the drabble prompt you requested yet ;)

Thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this event! You’re a star and have brought so many people joy! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas ♥

And, finally, a HUGE thanks to @thisonesatellite for whipping me into shape and helping me mould the idea of this into a story. I owe you a million hugs and a bottle of something nice. ‘Tis the season, after all!

Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.

He does, and things will never be the same again.

Part 2 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠

Emma had never wanted for much in her life.

A sunny day, here and there, perhaps. A brief reprieve from the mundanities of her duties, now and again.

Here, now, there is nothing she wants more than for time to stop.

It’s selfish, to want one moment to last an eternity, not to mention impossible. At many points in her twenty-one summers, she’d been told falling in love was an impossibility too.

Yet, here she is.

The far off crash of the waves and the gentle ebbing of the ship had awoken her far earlier than anticipated. Sleep still grips at her lids, her wrists, her ankles, and though its draw is ever so tempting, to bathe in the ignorant bliss of it all, she wills away its tendrils and lets the familiarity of worn sheets keep her company. Through the cabin window, the sun has not yet breached the horizon and the stars still stand prominent between scattered clouds, the collection he’d named for her glinting softly. A reminder.

He hadn’t named it after her, he’d named her after it.

Cygnus.

Swan.

She’s already forgotten the moniker she’d used before that. Her true name, she remembers, and, more than anything, she longs to tell him. Just once, she wants to hear him say it, to hear it fall from his mouth in the throes of passion, to hear it whispered in her ear when there’s no one else around, to hear it spoken proudly in front of an audience at their wedding.

But there’s no time; no time for questions, no time for confessions. There’s only time for this.

Killian holds her tighter, his arm tight around her bare waist as his solid chest presses to her back in the same way they’d spent all previous nights that summer, with the scruff of his beard catching at her temple along with the brief softness of his lips. It’s sweet, reverent, and it takes everything in her power not to meet him in a fierce kiss and resume their activities from the evening before and somehow sear his touch into her flesh so she’ll never truly be without him.

He’s leaving in the morning.

She cannot stand to see him go.

It had been early summer when The Jolly Roger had first made port in Misthaven. The solstice celebrations had come and gone, but the cool ocean breeze and promise of excitement coaxed Emma to the docks each night, visiting taverns in tattered skirts, drinking from bottles of cheap wine and cheaper ale, dancing barefoot in the streets around glowing embers of what were once fires and just being in a way that was so foreign and yet so familiar that existing among it made Emma’s heart swell. By beggar and thief, soldier and sailor, wench and widow, she’d found a place for herself.

That’s where they met.

Ruby, her friend, barmaid of the tavern closest to the shorefront, and always dressed in shades of red, had brought it to her attention first.

“It seems you have an admirer.” She noted, toothy smile parting her red-stained lips while slamming an overflowing tankard on the table beside where Emma sat, tucked into the corner just enough to avoid unwanted attention while still being able to see the commotions of the crowded inn unfold. “This is from him.”

“Ruby–”

“Trust me on this.” Flashing the five gold she’d taken as payment, Ruby smirked. Five gold. To most people, five gold would fund an entire week of celebration with a few silver to spare. But not Emma. She flashed her friend a smile, bringing the tankard up in thanks before taking a sip. She let the flavours dance on her tongue before swallowing. Wiping the foam that had escaped her lips with the sleeve of her dress, she looked in the direction of her admirer.

Candlelight painted him in a warm glow, catching on his worn leather overcoat, embroidered crimson waistcoat, and the chain around his neck that lay nestled in the dark hair of his chest. Dragging her eyes up, she caught sight of his face. He was older, significantly so, but he still held a youthful essence in the strength of his jaw and the quirk of his brow, it caught her off guard in a way she hadn’t expected. Grey and white teased at his temples and in the stubble of his beard but despite it all, he was captivating. In fact, it enhanced his appeal.

In his eyes, blue as the summer sea, a brewing storm.

With a knowing smile, he raised his tankard and took a deep gulp, mirroring her as he wiped the moisture from his lips with the cuff of his sleeve. Her eyes followed the movement intently, transfixed on the brass buttons and definitely not on the softness of his lips. She didn’t even realise she was staring until he winked and she abruptly turned to focus on her own drink.

Surrounded on all sides by crowds of drunkards, cowards and fools, the only sound in the room was the beat of Emma’s heart and the rush of blood in her ears. The tingle of a smile creeping to her lips.

She’d avoided looking his way again that night, knowing that she’d find him looking right back, with eyes dark and dangerous. It didn’t stop her thinking about what his lips would taste like.

The next few nights were more of the same. She’d dance in the late evening with the children out way past their bedtime, sing with the sailors sat atop empty barrels, drink and laugh inside the tavern on that same little table tucked away in the corner, but he never came over. He sat a fair distance away, sending her a tankard of the sweetest ale each night along with smiles, winks, stolen glances and nothing more.

His friends each had a woman in their lap most nights, sometimes two, but he never did.

It was five days before she even learned his name.

“Captain Jones.” Ruby yawned, on a rare break from her duties, sipping a cup of something with a sweet and spiced scent. “Story says he’s moored here all summer but one of his men let slip that he’s waiting on an important contract from the palace.”

“So they’re sellswords?” Hiding her surprise, Emma finished off the dregs of her brew. It’s not likely that anyone in the palace would stoop to such levels. They had armies, navies, dedicated men who would lay their life on the line for the crown. They had no use for pirates. That’s not how they do things in Misthaven.

Two tankards thunked to the table, catching both women by surprise.

“Pirates, actually.”

It’s an accent she couldn’t quite place but there’s no mistaking who it belonged to. Her stomach dropped as he took a seat beside her, not imposing on her personal space but still close enough that the scent of the sea air rolled off him, enveloping her in its comforting embrace. “It seems our favourite maid is taking a reprieve, so I took it upon myself to bring this over in person. I gathered it’s well past due that I make your acquaintance.”

Up close, the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes were unmissable, but they didn’t distract from the intensity of his gaze. His whole look had an ageless and yet ancient quality to it, like somebody who’d seen too much and yet still longed for more. Emma searched his face for any sign of threat, ill will or nefarious intent but found none, only met with a soft smile and eyes she could drown in. She wanted to.

“I do believe you have my name already.” Honey. It’s what was in the beer, and what coated his voice, thick and deep and teased with a sharp edge. Her name sat on her tongue, heavy as lead, and she reluctantly swallowed it back. Here, Emma did not exist. Here, she was someone else.

She allowed herself to smile, or really, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. There was something about him, something intriguing that drew her in deeper each time their eyes met. Against her better judgement, she wanted to know him and, more worryingly, she wanted him to know her. Lifting up the drink he’d provided in thanks, Emma responded.

“Leia.”

His focus shifted from her eyes to her lips and, instinctively, she darted her tongue out to wet them. Averting his gaze with a smile, he shook his head, dismissive.

“No, that’s not it,” Emma’s kept her face blank, fighting the urge to react to his observation. How had he seen through her so easily? How had he been able to hear one word from her mouth and know, instantly, that it was a lie? His eyes still held no trace of malice, a softness coming over them in a familiar understanding and she wanted to trust him. “but your secrets can be yours.”

He didn’t push further and Emma didn’t offer an invitation to, but the conversation flowed comfortably, well into the night, until the shimmer of dawn lightened the horizon as they walked along the empty beach and he, Captain Jones, pointed up to the barely visible stars, reciting long forgotten stories of men that lost themselves in the sun and their lovers who mourned them.

“Swan.” He said, with an outstretched finger pressed to her chest, just above the neckline of her dress. Had it been any lower, she’d have given him a playful smack but, as it was, the contact made her smile, warmth emanating from his touch. The smile he wore in return was free and open, with straight white teeth and lips pink as middlemist petals. How he managed to captivate her, with the threat of sunrise rapidly approaching, was beyond her comprehension, her alcohol-addled mind thinking far too deeply into things better left unsaid.

“Pardon?” She started, looking up from his finger into his eyes, dark in the predawn haze but kind in ways she didn’t then understand.

“That’s what I’ll call you.” His eyes lingered for a second too long on her lips, something he’d been doing a lot, not that Emma minded.

She found herself doing the same thing.

“Why?” She hummed, placing one hand on his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart. She could’ve danced to it, a waltz at a masquerade ball, with full skirts and sharp suits and masks slowly slipping. A memory of another life.

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” The words reverberated through his chest beneath her fingers and, more than anything else, she wanted to kiss him. The alcohol was probably to blame, and the rush that comes with welcome attention from a handsome stranger but, above all else, it was the ease of their conversations that night, how no matter what subjects or topics they veered down, they were there together, unravelling each other in a much more intimate way than ever expected.

She wanted to be Emma with him. Just Emma.

Maybe one day she’d allow herself that privilege.

She wanted to kiss him, drunk on ale and good conversation and something else.

So she did.

Rum and salt. A calloused hand holding her cheek. Stubble teasing at her chin. Soft hair beneath her palms. Heart hammering against her chest.

It was gentle, a press of lips before the rising sun bathed them in an angelic glow. He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers to catch his breath, eyes closed and still smiling, but Emma leaned in for more, catching his lips again in something deeper, only satisfied when his other hand found its way to the small of her back and he pulled her close until not an inch of space was between them. She was on fire, from the tips of her fingers, one with a fist full of hair and the other still over his heart, right down to her toes, where the ocean lapped at her bare feet, shoes forgotten in the sand.

The next night was a similar evening spent enjoying the summer festivities, and when she found him at Ruby’s tavern, he greeted her with a slow kiss. She leaned into it, deepening it with a press of her tongue against his lips until her breath was short and his hands made their way to her hair. Before he could take control, she pulled away, catching the end of a quiet curse under his breath. His men cheered on and the Captain threw some colourful expletives their way, all the while following Emma to her corner table. They spent the night there, drinking and talking and laughing and existing until need got the better of her and she pulled Killian by the sleeve of his coat out of the tavern and towards The Jolly Roger.

She held onto him the whole way, fearing that losing his touch would cause her newfound courage to dissipate into the sea. She wanted this, this spark of elation that had overcome her so suddenly, and the anticipation of what it could bring, no matter how temporary. Emma knew that summer romances weren’t meant to last – she’d heard as much from the hushed voices of maids and servants when no one thought she was listening, stories of hope and desire, falling with the umber leaves come the first touch of chill – but she couldn’t not chase this feeling.

It was something new, dangerous and it left her soaring, light as a feather, released from all the burdens of the life she’d have to return to in the morning. It was escape in its basest form. She had not felt anything as intoxicating in her life.

She had not known him long, less than a day, really, but her mind was made up.

He tasted of laughter and smiles and the sweetness of summer wine when she kissed him on the deck. The moon their only audience.

“Swan,” He sighed, her name a whisper on his lips, as Emma let the cloak around her shoulders drop to the wood below and reached to unlace her bodice, urgency coursing through her, a fire in her veins. Her dress was simple, only slightly nicer than what she would’ve usually worn, with fewer tatters at the hem and tighter lacing that enhanced her chest. It was a world away from what she would have worn at home but then again that’s exactly where she was. A world away.

He caught her hand in one of his own, untangling her fingers from the leather ties as he brought them to his lips. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t truly want to. I don’t want you to think I expect this from you.”

Confused, she searched his face, finding a conflicted frown there. Did her inexperience show that badly? Yes, the nerves were there, simmering within her as he kissed the pad of each finger but, at that moment, she’d never wanted anything more than to be one with him. She’d waited a long time to feel that way about anyone. No pressure, no expectations, nothing guiding her other than her own agency.

Reaching for him, she let her thumb trail his jaw and trace his lips. He smiled, focused on the path of her thumb as she stepped into his space.

“I do want to, Captain–” His eyes snapped up to hers and she almost lost herself in them, their depth threatening to swallow her whole. If it was his intention to devour her with one look alone, he’d succeeded.

“Killian. Please call me Killian.”

Below deck, two pairs of hands worked at Emma’s bodice.

His and hers.

Naked together, exploring each other, she felt part of herself slip away, finding its home in the gaps between his ribs, in the scars of his back, in the hair below his navel. She felt a part of him too, in the hollow of her collar bone, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her spine.

It was slow, exhilarating in a way that had the hairs of her arms standing on end, gooseflesh spreading across her thighs as Killian caressed her in all the places she’d craved to be touched. He built her up to a precipice she’d only ever reached by her own hand and encouraged her over the edge with his tongue. Her legs trembled as she fell, clenching around his ears, orgasm overtaking every atom of her being with a rush of energy emanating from her core. If she screamed out, it was lost to the crash of the waves and, later, Killian’s greedy kisses stealing her breath.

“You’re divine, my Swan.” He whispered the words against her mouth, lips slick with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant tang. It took her a second, world slowly becoming clearer through the haze of her orgasm, to realise that the unfamiliar taste was her own.

When he finally came to enter her, she was beyond ready, begging for his touch with nails biting into the flesh of his shoulders from sheer want alone. Gasps of please fell from her parted lips as he pressed kisses into her skin, some delicate as butterfly wings, others fierce and sharp that she hoped would leave bruises, some kind of token that the pleasure she gained at his touch was real.

He built a rhythm, gentle at first, easing her through the discomfort with words of encouragement and languid kisses. Emma felt as the uncomfortable stretch of him faded away with each slow entrance of him, replaced only by her own urgency to reach her peak. When her hips bucked up to meet him, unsatisfied each time he wasn’t fully seated inside, he knew she was ready.

One finger trailed over her breast, circling her peaked nipple and teasing the pebbled flesh there, and in his eyes was pure lust. The touch of it enveloped them both in a fog that had her reaching out for him, a single whine falling between them as the angle of them shifted and he met her in a kiss that ignited fire beneath her flesh. He rocked deeper, faster and soon they were both clinging to each other, awaiting release on each thrust, gasping with the sensation of it.

They fell apart together, with Killian using two fingers to stroke at the apex of her thighs as his rhythm became quick and uneven, and Emma not able to hold back the moans that tore their way out of her throat, rough and broken but oh, so good. It was blinding. Emma couldn’t help but arch against him, hair frayed from its usual braid and eyes squeezed shut as the entire world flashed white behind her eyelids.

She awoke in the dark, sore, sated and happy, not quite remembering how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, only knowing that she didn’t want to leave.

“Cygnus.” With a kiss pressed just below her ear, Killian started, his voice deep and husky. The roughness of his beard tickled her skin and sent promising shivers down her spine, her body already anticipating where his touch might lead her.

“Cygnus?” Emma prompted, turning in his arms so she could look upon his face, see the satisfied smile and unruly hair and know that it was all her doing. Her own smile followed and she pushed herself up from his chest to greet him with a kiss, languid and warm. He tasted of her and his hand fit just right against her lower back, stroking soothing patterns with his fingers. Two unlikely puzzle pieces slotting together so perfectly. The Pirate and the–

“It’s a group of stars above this realm. You can see it so clearly in these parts.” He nodded towards the far side of the room where the window was and the stars beyond it. “There, can you see?” Through the wind-beaten cabin window, a cluster of lights shone back at her, a stark contrast to the canvas of black. She knew nothing of the stars but he told her anyway of the stories that predate the histories of all realms, the love and the loss and the pain they’ve suffered and yet, through it all, how they still manage to shine. He told her how it was his favourite, with heavy lids and a slow smile. How, whenever he saw it, he felt a little more at peace.

Emma let herself fall again into his arms, dragging him with her by the chain around his neck for a kiss that sent heat to all her most intimate parts. A boldness the had taken root in her, the nerves from earlier were nowhere to be found, and she revelled in it, taking advantage of the feeling while power still fizzled in the tips of her fingers. Killian let her roll him onto his back, sat astride his hips as she kissed him with a passion she’d always craved to possess. She only came up again for air, softly gasping as his smile against her lips sent her heart fluttering, pace as erratic as a rabbit escaping a fox.

“In the common tongue,” He said, quiet as a whisper, free hand making its way to pull out the braid in her hair, letting the blonde fall from its restraints and unfurl in a curtain around them. “Cygnus means Swan.”

She kissed him again.

And again.

Until the stars were no longer their witness and Emma left his bed with a soft smile, reluctant to leave but dreading the consequences if she stayed, as she laced herself back into her dress and made her way through the back streets, trailing in the dim morning shadows until she reached her home.

The Palace.

In the months between then and now, something changed. Whatever tied her to this earth before; her father, her mother, her people, her responsibilities, none of that matters now. She’s never felt more whole, more at home, than she does with him.

And that worries her.

He doesn’t even know who she is, not really. He knows her, body and soul, he knows his Swan with her love for seashells and the acquired taste of sweet rum, he knows she carries more secrets than she lets on and more than she could ever tell, but he doesn’t know Emma.

Princess Emma, sole heir to the Misthaven throne.

Future Queen.

No one does.

Between song and dance and kiss and touch, Emma had convinced herself that she was only Swan; that she was born of normal birth and had no ties to the crown, that the money lining her purse was from adventure and gambit rather than allowance, that the dresses cinched to her form were her best and not stolen from the maid’s quarters. In his arms, surrounded by a brand of adoration and care she’d never known before, she believed it too.

She can’t lie to him forever.

He shifts behind her and she turns to face him, to take him in, perhaps for the last time. His beard is longer, what once was trim to his face now developed into a thicker scruff streaked with grey and ginger, and his face glows with the kiss of summer sun, but it’s more than just that.

He’d shown her more of herself than she ever thought she could know.

He’d taught her to seek freedom and rebellion and excitement and love in all its many forms. He accepted her in rage and fury at the truth kept locked behind the prison of her teeth, bitten off before she can reveal it. He never pushed for her history, or how she knew so much about what occurred behind the palace walls, or how occasionally she’d hide behind his form when the King’s soldiers drank themself stupid on the shorefront, with kisses to her knuckles and a wisened smile saying only “when you’re ready, my Swan, I’m here.”.

She fell for him somewhere between their first kiss and now, slowly coming to the terrifying realisation that, her life would be bleaker without him in it. The docks would become the dirty, sullen place they were before his time here, the taverns sapped of their joy, the beach a place of driftwood and windburn.

And she would be alone.

No matter her company, loyal subject or bar rat alike, without him, there is an emptiness, unlike anything she’s ever felt. It’s overwhelming how she’s let herself become so dependent on the presence of another person in her life in such a short amount of time that, without them, she is destitute.

No.

She can, and will, survive his absence. She will come through it stronger and when he returns she will tell him her name.

Because now, with his sleeping face mere inches from her own, she is a child in a glass house preparing to throw a rock, willing the glass to not shatter and for her heart to not break. The confession is stone, jagged and true, and in her hand, it draws blood.

There are tear stains on her cheek when he opens his eyes. She pretends they’re not there, letting a smile fall into place while she’s greeted with the sleep-darkened blue that she’s come to look forward to every morning. She’ll miss them the most.

He smiles sadly at her, bringing a calloused thumb to wipe the wetness from her cheek with such reverence she could swear he was savouring it.

“Come with me.” It’s barely a whisper, carried on the borrowed breath between them but it hits Emma like a punch to the gut.

If she were anyone else, if she were just ‘Swan’ or ‘Leia’ or any of the countless personas she’d curated, there would be no doubt about her answer. His eyes are hopeful and honest and open and it breaks her heart to see how much he wants her to accept.

She can’t look at him directly, choosing instead to bury her face in his chest, the soft hair caressing her cheek, listening out for the comforting beat that lulled her to sleep many a time before. Tears come but they do not escape.

She has to be strong for this.

“I can’t.”

Quiet falls, as if not even the sea wants to disturb them, and Emma counts the seconds before he responds, his arms winding their way around her back and holding her there. She’d come to associate his embrace with good things, safety and protection and warmth and peace, and she wants to melt into it, forget about her responsibilities and agree to his request, setting sail by his side.

But she can’t.

Fifteen.

Fifteen seconds of silence.

“Swan–”

“Killian,” She pleads, unable to stop her voice from breaking. It’s too much. It’s all too much. “Please don’t, I won’t be able to say no again.”

The weight of the crown sits heavy on her head; a chain she can’t break, a burden that only she can carry.

Killian lets his fingers tangle in her hair, the same way he does before drifting off to sleep only now he’s wide awake and tense in a way that Emma wishes she could smooth out. She wants to kiss him and feel as the tension bleeds out of him with the pressure of her tongue.

But it’s too late for that now.

“I don’t know what keeps you here, lass,” He hums. She can’t see his face but she can hear his frown – a mix of concern, frustration and something else, something more. His lips press to her crown and her stomach flips at the feeling. “I wish I did. I don’t trust half the bastards in this kingdom.”

Emma leans up until she can meet his eyes, wearing a matching frown. “I can take care of myself.”

“And I don’t doubt that.” He laughs, and Emma wishes she could trap it in a conch shell and listen to it forever, light and carefree and hers. He kisses the crease from her brow and she lets him, leaning into it before pressing their foreheads together.

He loves her.

He loves her and she can see it in his eyes, how they’re creased with a smile but still fogged by sadness at the thought of distance between them.

“I think what I’m really trying to say is… I don’t want to be apart from you.” His lips are so close, slightly parted, his warm breath ghosting her own.

“And I you.”

The kiss itself is smouldering and inevitable, fire and passion and so much more. It burns away every modicum of doubt in her mind, everything that had tried to convince her against this man who held her as if she was someone to be cherished and celebrated.

She pushes everything she can into it, a goodbye passed between their tongues in a language no one else can speak.

Time passes as it does, each grain of sand in the hourglass bearing the weight of a thousand things left unsaid.

“My Swan,” He sighs, pulling away to bury his face in her hair, inhaling as if to commit her scent to memory. Emma does the same, breathing him in. “I will show you the world one day. That is a promise.”

“You’ll come back for me?” She asks, softly, shifting so she can see his face.

“Aye, Always.”

Emma has always been able to decipher lies, being such a compulsive liar herself, but there’s nothing short of the truth in his voice. Her heart hurts all over again.

“I’ll be back when solstice comes.” Her blood turns to ice at his words. Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Four months away.

If he comes during solstice, there will be no hiding. He’ll see her paraded through town, the prized jewel of the kingdom, and she doesn’t know how he’ll react to that.

“When I see you again,” Her voice begs to crack under the weight of her promise. She does not let it. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Now, that’s one way to guarantee a man’s return.” The chuckle catches her off guard, it’s short-lived as he brushes the stray hairs that managed to fall in front of her face so gently she barely feels it.

“And what’s the other?”

“I do believe we’re already quite familiar with that particular activity.”

She bats at his chest, only causing him to laugh more before he pulls her close again, any distance between them proving too much. “You really are a dirty old man.”

“I bathe quite frequently, thank you very much.” Raising an eyebrow in his typical fashion, he takes a sniff of his own underarm. She can’t help but laugh as he does so, peels of laughter cutting through the silence of the night.

It’s this that she’ll miss. The effortlessness of their relationship. There’s a piece of her in Killian Jones, it snuck beneath his skin while she wasn’t looking and now it lives there, staring back at her from his eyes, wearing his smile.

“I’ll miss you.” It’s out before she can stop it.

She watches the smirk die on his lips, replaced with only a sad smile. This is the oldest she’s seen him, ocean eyes dark and misty and filled with so much love she feels her own tears spring from where they lay dormant.

He shushes her sobs, in the safety of his arms.

“And I you, my Swan.”

There’s a shallow clink of metal before an unfamiliar weight falls to her chest. His chain, it’s pendant the thick iron ring that once belonged, as Killian put it, to a far better man than him, rests heavy between her breasts. In the starlight, it glints, the robust scarlet gem reflecting dull pink facets on her skin.

“Look after it for me.”

#itsfabianadocarmo #cssecretsanta19 #captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfic #ficminds #the swan that fell for the sea #merry christmas everyone!

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amodicumofdutch · 5 years

Text

💍headcanons: being married to Dutch💍

ask: “General headcanons for being in a long term relationship w dutch? Like them having gotten together as teenagers and then gone on to marry? How would they celebrate their anniversary? How often would they argue? Kids? I'm so in love w dutch😩”

// Thank you for this interesting ask! And my apologies - I tried my best to make it nice and fluffy, but somehow that didn’t quite work out as planned.. I hope you still like it!!

(As long as you kinda squint at the no-same-sex-marriage-in-the-19th-century issue, this works for a gender neutral!reader.)

content warning: unhealthy relationship dynamics

When you first met Dutch, he was nothing like the great gang leader he is now. He was sixteen, skinny as a rake, with worried eyes, clearly on the run from something.

But even back then, he had a certain charismatic fire to him, an energy you were immediately drawn to. The way he looked didn’t hurt either, of course. You were fifteen.

Ever the romantic, Dutch started out your relationship with a grand declaration of love on your very first date. “You and me, we’re meant to be, I can see that clear as day. Don’t you ever leave me, and I will never leave you. We’ll build our future together, from nothing, cause now that I have you I have everything.” You shivered at that, looking into his dark eyes, eyes full of a passionate intensity that seemed completely out of step with Dutch’s age and station in life. You had never met anyone even remotely like him. You told him you loved him, then, and you meant it. You were fifteen and you had never felt so sure of any decision in your life before. “And I love you, y/n”, Dutch had replied, without a moment’s hesitation. You had kissed him, then, at the edge of that lake, and you would remember that moment many, many times in the years to come.

Dutch asking you to marry him came as a surprise. You hadn’t taken him to be traditional like that, and it wasn’t like either of you had any living family you were on speaking terms with. You had noone but each other. You had to sneak into the church at night, Dutch being a wanted man and all. You got married in a dimly lit church, by a drunken reverend who said he owed Dutch a favour. The only witnesses were two shady-looking, burly men Dutch had found in a saloon the other day, but you didn’t mind. Dutch gave the speech himself, and when you kissed him afterwards you knew you’d never want to be with anyone but him ever again.

Dutch and the two burly men had to shoot your way out of town afterwards. You escaped, carrying the drunken reverend with you on the back of Dutch’s horse. It set the tone for the years to follow - always on the run, never a moment’s respite from the pressure, sleeping rough, sometimes not enough food. But Dutch retained an energetic, hopeful determination throughout it all, and you retained your love for him.

You really only got to know him after you’d gotten married, and you discovered new sides of him each and every day. Not all of them were good.

It didn’t take you long to find out that Dutch was intensely jealous and got angry and agitated if you so much as breathed near another man. You would tell him he was overreacting, and he would tell you to shut your damn mouth and stop behaving like that. He had a way of making you feel like a small, utterly worthless piece of shit with just a handful of words.

Afterwards, you’d always reconcile, Dutch bringing you flowers or new clothes or something else he had “come across” in town. You telling him you’d never, ever leave him so he had nothing to fear. And you’d kiss him and everything would be alright again. Until your next argument.

Over the years, the arguments would grow more frequent and intense. Most of the time they were entirely your own fault though, you told yourself, cause you had this tendency to be willful and difficult and to not have enough trust in Dutch. You knew Dutch only wanted the best for you, that he knew what was right, what should be done. And yet you couldn’t keep yourself from second-guessing him. You resolved to change that. To become more loyal.

And besides, not all was bad. In fact, almost everything was wonderful and almost exactly like you had imagined it on that fateful day when you had been fifteen. Being married to Dutch genuinely was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and he always kept you safe, and even when he hurt you he didn’t hurt you all that much and most of the time he didn’t mean to. Most of the time it was your own fault.

Despite living rough with a bunch of outlaws you never felt like you were living a tough life since you never wanted for anything. Dutch made sure you had every little comfort you could possibly ask for and more, and showered you with love and gentle attention to boot.

You knew life was quite different for the other gang members, who had to do hard chores and ride out with Dutch and carry guns at all times. You, on the other hand, never even learned how to shoot a rifle. Dutch wouldn’t let you. He said it wasn’t necessary since he would always keep you safe. And he did, and anyway you didn’t want to start up another argument over a small insignificant thing like that.

On each of your wedding anniversaries, Dutch would take you into town, whatever town it was at the time. You’d have an actual candlelight dinner in an actual fancy restaurant, and Dutch would wear his best waistcoat and pull out your chair and talk about how you had made it, by being faithful and staying together despite everything, and for those few hours each year you would feel as if everything would be alright, no matter how conflicted or worn out or bruised you had felt before. You cherished and treasured your anniversaries, and you knew Dutch did the same.

Over the years, you had your suspicions that Dutch might have cheated on you with one of those women, but you never brought it up.

During the first few years of your marriage, you didn’t want kids - you were still half a child yourself, you thought, and besides, all this running and hiding didn’t lend itself to child-rearing anyway.

But over the years, you changed your mind. You asked Dutch what he thought about having a baby, and this was the first time you saw your husband, Dutch van der Linde, the man who had saved you in so many ways, look genuinely lost and scared. He told you no, harshly, and left for a while, fuming and upset. He came back and apologized to you later, and the two of you had a long talk as the sun went down and the noises of the distant coyotes grew louder.

You had many of these quiet, intense talks over the years, but Dutch’s answer stayed the same: No. He gave you many reasons for why he didn’t want children, but you always knew he was just making them up, same way he made up his speeches. When you pressured him to tell you the real reason, Dutch cracked. This was one of those rare times he truly lost his temper with you, you recall, and it wasn’t pretty. After everything had calmed down again, he had told you softly that he didn’t think he’d make a good father. You had just nodded at that, hadn’t found it in you to argue against it.

So your marriage remained childless, and you accepted it, accepted it and moved on with daily life the way you always did, with your “stubborn strength and perseverance” Dutch had always told you he admired. You watched Dutch adopt stray children and rowdy teenagers and straighten them out as you kept a careful distance. You watched some of them get shot, watched others grow up into fine young men as your husband grew into an ever more brilliant, ever more violent, ever more terrifying man. You thought a lot about the choices you had made when you were fifteen, when you had gone with this man without so much as asking for his real name, but it hardly mattered now. Whatever Dutch was, he was your Dutch after all, and that would have to be enough. And in the end, it was all fine, really. It really was fine.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr 2 #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #orville swanson #red dead redemption 2 imagines #my headcanons #my writing #requests #anon #god I'm so so sorry for how this turned out I swear I

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seeroftodayandtomorrow · 5 years

Text

A Musical Affair

Rating: M

Summary: Blaine's life has been shaped by scandal. Now his livelihood and, it sometimes seems, his sanity depend on him being as inconspicuous as possible. But a group of unusual friends cause his resolve to totter, and a beautiful singer might shatter it completely.

Historical AU

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Blaine's life changed, quite literally, with a bang.

It was the noise his father's pistol made when it went off, leaving his father lying crumbled on the floor of his study, the pistol still clutched in his lifeless hand.

The maid who found him kept her head, and quietly alerted the butler, who in turn alerted the lady of the house, Blaine's mother, and after that, the authorities.

The policeman who arrived was rather more flustered than such an obvious suicide seemed to justify, while Lady Dalton seemed unusually calm for the occasion. She glanced once at her husband's body and then retreated to her own study to write a note to her modiste, ordering mourning clothes, and then a letter to her son, ordering him home from school.

By the time Blaine arrived, things had cleared up a little, and the reasons for his father's suicide were slowly coming to light. He had not been prone to depression, instead being in the lucky condition of always considering himself in the right and everyone else inherently inferior. His wealth and position in life had confirmed him in that opinion. For him to take his own life would have been unimaginable only a week ago. Yet there he was, laid out in his bedroom, awaiting his funeral that a generous sum given to the vicar ensured would be inside the graveyard instead of outside its walls, despite the blasphemous nature of his death.

In the end, his suicide was labeled as “doing the honorable thing”. It meant that what he had done was too bad to live with it—or not exactly bad, because surely a peer of the realm was above such behavior—but unworthy enough that only death could atone for it, and that seeking it for himself was acting honorably. To Blaine, it mostly meant that he acted like a coward, leaving his family to deal with the repercussions by themselves.

Or, as it turned out, his families.

“What do you mean, you are not his wife?” he could not help interrupting when his mother and their family solicitor sat him down in the library to explain the situation.

“It turns out your father was a bigamist,” Blaine's mother said bitterly, turning her head away. “And to think I always hesitated to leave him, because of the scandal....”

Blaine turned helplessly towards the solicitor, hoping for him to explain the situation.

The solicitor actually blushed. “It appears that the late Lord Dalton was already married when he wed your honored mother. He managed to hide the marriage, which he seemed to regret after a very short time, but that doesn't change that this lady, not your mother, was—she is recently deceased—the real countess.”

“But -”

“No but. I am not and have never been a countess. And you, dear Blaine, are not an earl.”

“But I am my father's son,” Blaine protested, although he silently wondered if another surprise was coming his way in that regard. The coldness of his parents' marriage had been no secret. But no, he looked like his father too much for there to be any doubt about his parentage.

“Illegitimate son, since your parents were not actually married,” the solicitor said. “In addition to that, your father's marriage to his lady was blessed with offspring.”

“I have siblings?” Blaine's elder brother Cooper had died when Blaine was still a toddler. He hardly remembered him, but had always wished for a brother.

“You have an older half-brother. He is the new Lord Dalton. He also wishes no contact with you or your mother, but instead is eager to claim his inheritance.”

Blaine's excitement that had barely dared lift its head died again. He swallowed. “So what about us?”

“We move in with my mother,” his mother said, “and live out our days in genteel poverty.”

It was not poverty, not even genteel. Blaine only had an inkling about what real poverty looked like—he had been advised to avoid certain regions of the city if he wanted his purse and his body intact—but it wasn't this. His grandmother lived in a spacious town house that was close enough to Mayfair to be almost fashionable, with enough staff to make them comfortable, and an excellent cook.

But that didn't mean there were no differences to his old life. His valet was given notice and replaced with the occasional services of his grandmother's footman. He was taken out of school completely, the fees being too high to let him complete even his last year. He was given the choice between a different, cheaper school, and staying home with his mother and grandmother and thinking about maybe finding some sort of work. His mother gasped at that word, but Blaine knew he was educated enough to make him eligible for work as a clerk or some such, and he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

He chose to stay home, to give himself the opportunity to get used to his new situation as much as to avoid being the subject of gossip by his classmates.

But there was no avoiding being the subject of gossip by society in general.

Everything happened very fast after that talk in the library. Blaine and his mother packed their things and moved in with Blaine's grandmother, who graciously, as she explained, opened her home to them on the condition that they, on their part, accept a few conditions of their own.

“I have been the cause of scandal once,” she declared. “Now you have been as well, through no fault of your own, but that is it. Not even the shadow of any new scandal will taint this house or any that live in it.”

Blaine, he often thought, took the restrictions on his behavior with more ease then his mother. Declaring herself too young still to be a matron, she longed to be the belle of the ball again, reliving that one season she had danced through before being married off—or so everyone thought—to the older, sedate and as it turned out, ill-tempered, neglectful and deceitful Earl of Dalton.

Almost from the first day of their stay, she began arguing with Grandmother.

“What does it matter if I cause any more scandal? They can hardly gossip any more than they already do! What scandal could possibly surpass a case of bigamy?”

But since Grandmama held the purse strings, Mother was forced to relent and accept the more appropriate diversions she was allowed, and to make the most of them.

“There is one good thing about all this mess after all,” she said, not being one to dwell on the negative, “I don't have to wear black.”

While Mother reworked her gowns in the most colorful and fanciful way she could while still adhering to Grandmama's idea of good taste, Blaine quietly and regretfully banned his patterned waistcoats with their mother-of-pearl buttons to the back of his closet. He felt that the sedately striped ones in various shades of gray were more fitting for his own desire to be noticed as little as possible.

But of course, even the most inconspicuous waistcoat was no use against gossip. Mother was right: they were a source of scandal, and until the next came along and diverted society's attention, they would be stared at and talked about wherever they went.

Blaine stood against a wall, to his one side an ornate column, to his other a decorative plant. He was balancing a saucer and cup of tea in one hand, but the tea had long since grown cold, as he had only accepted it in order to have something to do with his hands.

He was chaperoning, as Grandmama had called it, his mother to a musical soiree. For his mother, it was much needed society, talk and flirting; for Blaine, it was...well. He was aware that a musical soiree was an opportunity for the young ladies to exhibit their talents and accomplishments, and for the gentlemen, it was an opportunity to admire them and maybe even dare propose the occasional duet. In short, it meant that Grandmama had not given up hope that despite being merely the illegitimate son of a disgraced earl, he might make an eligible match.

Blaine did not share that hope. In fact, not being required to marry might be the one good thing to come out of this mess. Having had only his parents' marriage—or what passed as a marriage—as an example, he did not think sharing his life with someone in that way was a good idea.

Although he had heard his grandparents' marriage had been loving and happy and that his grandfather had never rued the day he had almost made himself an outcast in polite society when he brought home his bride from the Philippines after the British Invasion.

He wouldn't mind the companionship a good marriage would bring, but he somehow didn't expect to make a good marriage.

In the meantime, being forced to attend these soirees and parties was little short of torture. They were stared at and whispered about at every turn, conversations would suddenly and awkwardly cease when he came into the vicinity of any group of people, and every greeting, or so he imagined, was followed by the whispered question of, “Isn't that the one who...?”

Mother mostly enjoyed the attention. But then, she was the wronged woman, the betrayed bride, and still young and beautiful enough to attract the right kind of sympathy.

Blaine was...merely a side effect, his very existence the result of deception. There were, he thought, still people who might think that being conceived in such a way would influence his character.

And so he leaned against the wall, seeking to disappear between the column and the plant until the blessed hour when they would finally be able to leave.

He winced at a sharp note from the girl currently singing.

“Terrible, isn't it?” a low voice came from the plant. A young lady, scarcely taller than the plant and in a dress in a similar color, that, Blaine thought, any self-respecting maid would never let her mistress leave the house in, glanced towards the group assembled around the piano and then back at him.

He recognized her, of course. Anyone who was anyone would. Rachel St. James, obscenely rich heiress who wore her married name that suggested the King's court with an attitude that seemed to regard this proximity to royalty as a birthright. She and her husband were so rich and had made themselves such an integral part of society that people all but overlooked Rachel's Jewish background and the fact that her father had made his fortune as a merchant.

By her next words, it was obvious she had recognized him as well. “How do I address you now that you're not Lord Dalton anymore?”

“Um...Blaine Anderson will do at the moment. My mother's maiden name. My grandfather was a baronet, but it's yet to be decided if I am allowed to bear his title.”

“Well, Mr. Anderson, I know and understand that you're unhappy to be here. Who wouldn't be, with these performances? But don't you dare leave. I'm singing later tonight, and you don't want to miss that.”

Then she was gone, mingling with the guests in her awful green dress, diminutive in stature but still standing out. Leaving him leaning against his wall, sipping his cold tea.

He would have risked her wrath by leaving early, had only his mother shown any inclination to do so. But she was sitting on an overstuffed chaiselongue in the back of the room, a glass of wine in her hand, and various men offering her sweetmeats on trays, competing for a glance from her eyes or a smile from her lips. Or so Blaine imagined. He wouldn't go back there for the world, not even to escape the newest singer.

Later tonight didn't arrive fast enough. He leaned against the wall, managed to avoid being talked to but not being stared at. Twice, he left his hiding place, once to use the gentlemen's room and once to acquire a second cup of tea, since he had somehow drained the first after all. He listened to the singers and the pianists, bad ones and good, and watched the people wander around the room, talking above the music.

Then, finally, the last performance of the evening was announced. The lady in question didn't need to put herself forward in order to find a husband anymore. She sang purely from love of the music—and, Blaine suspected, from a love of putting herself forward.

She was also very talented. It made Blaine actually glad he had stayed that long, and he closed his eyes to shut out the awful green dress and just listened to the music.

Afterwards, as the guests slowly began to search for their coats and shawls and head towards the entry, Rachel came up to him.

“Well, aren't you glad you stayed?” she asked, not at all shy in demanding the compliments her due.

“I am,” Blaine said and couldn't help but smile. “You have an amazing voice.”

“Since you obviously have good taste, I want to give you this.”

She handed him a small, surprisingly tasteful calling card; it stated that Lady St. James was “at home” on Wednesday morning.

“Only for a small group of very special friends,” she said. “Do come.”

#new story #klaine fanfiction #fic: a musical affair

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