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cesarborjas · 6 years

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“we get dark, only to shine” - chapter one

I’ve been thinking for awhile about posting a cleaned-up version of wgdots, and … I’m in a Renaissance place right now, so it seemed like a good time!

title: we get dark, only to shine verse: wgdots (1/lol) length: 168k, so far (shh) characters: Cesare Borgia, Lucrezia Borgia; Cesare/Lucrezia stuff that happens: Lucrezia, anxious about her forthcoming marriage to Giovanni Sforza, takes her concerns to Cesare.

PART ONE: PESARO

CHAPTER ONE

Lucrezia twirled, laughing as her skirts unfurled around her, a blur of pink and white. She could hear the rustle of the silk, feel her hair swinging out, caught by the breeze. Only a rush of light-headedness stilled her.

“What do you think, brother?” Lucrezia demanded, turning to sit by the fountain. She staggered, a little, dizziness making her graceless as little else did. Elsewhere she might have feared some damage to her dress, but Cesare caught her around the waist, as she had known he would. She smiled up at him, feeling very bright and beautiful. “Well?”

“I think you nearly tipped yourself into the water,” he said, guiding her to the stone rim of the fountain.

Lucrezia pointed imperiously at the place beside her. When Cesare sat down, his red robes settling around him, she tilted her head up to the sun.

“Tell me!”

“What shall I tell you, my love? That your hair is tangled, or that you have a lost a pearl, or—”

Lucrezia wrinkled her nose at him. He laughed, then relented, as he always did.

“You look very, very pretty. If Giovanni Sforza is not pleased, he must be a fool indeed.”

She could see his good humour dimming as he spoke of her betrothed, mouth tightening. But he had never wished her to marry, and she had an idea that he was unhappy over some particular of the betrothal. The husband, perhaps. Still, the affection in his eyes did not fade with his smile.

“But what of my dress?”

Cesare caught a corner of her skirt between his thumb and forefinger, then let it drop, uncreased. “It is lovely, sis.”

She reached out to grasp his hand between both of hers, pressing the long curl of his fingers between her own small ones.

“What is it?” he said.

She glanced down, from his eyes to his mouth, frowning in concern, and back again.

“You will think me ridiculous,” she said.

“Never.”

“I—I am a little afraid.”

“That is not unusual at all,” he said, frown shifting to a sympathetic smile. “You are to leave Rome, to join your life to a stranger, to be mistress of an unfamiliar household—”

“You are not helping.”

Despite themselves, they both laughed.

“Well,” he said, “it is perfectly natural to be afraid—that is all.”

Lucrezia turned that over in her mind. She had worried over those things, but she would not call them fears, exactly. “It is common, you mean. But I am a Borgia. I should not be afraid of anything.”

“Nonsense,” said Cesare. “I fear dozens of things, myself.”

“You?”

“And so does the Holy Father,” he added. He squeezed her fingers. “Why should we not? Della Rovere spreads his plots through all Italy, perhaps beyond. Our father’s papacy hangs by a thread. You are to leave our protection, and I fear most of all for your happiness. I shall not be able to ensure it from so far, no matter how kind your husband.” His lips pressed together. “You must promise to write to me, sis, if there is anything you require, anything I can do. And if he is not kind—”

I shall cut his heart out with a dinner knife, he’d assured her before, long frame bending over her, the curve of his mouth making it a jest, and yet not. Lucrezia had felt less comfort than delight, his blood-red robes draped over her, her heart pounding and eyes drifting to the mouth that had formed the words, as if they still rested there. She almost kissed him, the affectionate sister’s kiss she had hundreds of times pressed to his cheek or lips; and yet she did not. Something stifled the impulse, even with warmth prickling over her skin and her blood running quick in her veins. Instead, it made her fling her arms about his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder.

Now she interrupted him. “There is something I would ask, brother.”

“Ask and it is yours,” he said. She was staring at their joined hands, not his face, but she could hear the sudden smile in his voice. “Within reason.”

“I may not know very much about marriage, but I know a wife should please her husband.” Lucrezia bit her lip and looked up at him. If he had smiled before, he did not now; a familiar unhappy expression had settled over his face. “And I know that, for my dear father’s sake, it is of the utmost importance that I please mine.”

“Lucrezia, the Sforza arms are already promised to us,” said Cesare. “It does not depend on your husband’s—pleasure.” His mouth twisted at the word.

“But promises may be broken. Is that not so?” She lifted one of her hands to touch his cheek, anxiety and affection alike thrumming a steady beat under her ribs. “Do not bother trying to deceive me. You cannot hide things from me, brother.” Lucrezia gave an unsteady laugh. “I see them in your eyes. We both know it will be better for his Holiness, for our family, if I … if my husband …”

“Then speak to our mother,” he said at last. Something, perhaps distaste, tugged at his mouth. “Or Giulia Farnese.”

Lucrezia, briefly distracted, tipped her head to the side. “You do not like Giulia?” The idea had never crossed her mind.

“I neither like nor dislike her,” said Cesare. “I am, however, fond of our mother.”

“As am I! But I cannot ask her how to kiss a man!”

They stared at each other. Cesare, seeming only then to recall that his hand still lay in her lap, drew it quickly back.

“And why should you? You have kissed men hundreds of times—even thousands.”

Lucrezia’s mouth dropped open. “I have done nothing of the kind!”

“Father, Juan, me.” He paused. “Prince Djem, perhaps.”

“I never kissed him,” she said, and felt rather than heard his sigh. “And for the rest, that is not the same at all!”

“Exactly,” said Cesare. He tapped her nose. “You cannot learn how to kiss a husband from your brother, my love—your brother who will never be any woman’s husband, no less.”

“Well, I don’t see why not. It is not as if you are celibate.”

He made a strangled sound. Lucrezia grinned, smug, as a flush crept up his cheeks.

“You know what men and women do together,” she persisted. “You know what pleases a man, what—”

His finger pressed against her mouth.

“There lies your first mistake. I know what pleases me. Men do not share all our tastes. I could not guess—do not wish to guess—what pleases our brother, or my manservant, or Giovanni Sforza.”

“I suppose,” said Lucrezia, not entirely convinced. “Juan does prefer dark ladies, and I know you do not particularly. Perhaps—”she brightened—“Lord Sforza will be like you.”

“This is not a conversation a man wishes to have with his sister,” Cesare said, grimacing.

She dimpled. “But I thought all men were different.”

“Not that different!”

She could see him realize his mistake almost as soon as the words left his mouth. Before he could correct it, she said blithely,

“Then you can teach me.”

He released a breath. “I cannot believe I am even considering this.”

Lucrezia’s smile turned triumphant.

“Is there no one else?” he demanded.

She tilted her head inquisitively. “Is there a man you would rather instructed me?” Then she laughed. “Really, is there another man you would permit to touch me? To even remain alone with me? Juan? Should I ask him instead?”

“No!” Cesare scrambled to his feet, skirts billowing out. He glanced around the courtyard, as if Juan—or worse—might emerge at any moment. With a tug of her hand, he pulled her into their mother’s villa: dragged her, Lucrezia might have said, had she not followed so readily that it was more like walking hand-in-hand. They clattered around into his bedchamber.

She perched on the edge of his bed and watched, intrigued, as Cesare latched the doors and closed the window. He was really being very dramatic about all this.

“Well,” she said, “tell me what to do.”

He settled beside her, finally meeting her eyes. “You know how to give a chaste kiss.”

Lucrezia nodded, then smiled and quickly touched her mouth to his, as she had so many times before.

“That is not how I shall kiss my husband.”

“You may, sometimes,” he said. “That kiss speaks of affection. It is for company, and when there is no chance of anything else.”

“And when there is?”

She saw the shudder in his throat as he swallowed. He tilted his head down, towards hers, until their foreheads leaned together and she could feel his nose to the side of hers, his breath on her mouth. That was not new, either, but nevertheless something in her belly fluttered. Lucrezia smiled uncertainly.

“Close your eyes, my love,” he whispered, words but an inch from her.

She obeyed, though she couldn’t help saying, “But I want to—”

Cesare’s lips pressed against hers, lingering a moment, shifting to kiss her again from a different angle, his mouth brushing over hers between kisses. The fluttering deepened to a heavy shiver, radiating out and up her spine, until she was warm and shaking. Like a fever, she thought dimly, except fevers were wretched and this, this was wonderful. Even the skin of her neck prickled pleasantly, though he did not move the hand that rested there. Out of nowhere, she wished he would, slide his hand down her throat or neck—and she wanted to do something with her hands.

He broke away. Lucrezia did not feel any cooler, but her eyes opened in protest. Cesare, she saw, was flushed, too, his eyes very bright.

“What does that one speak of?” She sounded at once breathless and strangely loud.

“Promise,” he said, and nudged her nose. “But you must do your part.”

“Oh! I forgot!” She glanced down at his mouth and then back up. “But where do I put my hands?”

“Anywhere you like,” said Cesare. He added, “On my shoulders or behind my neck, generally.”

Lucrezia gave a solemn nod and set her hands on his shoulder. She dutifully closed her eyes; when he kissed her again, she kissed back, feeling his lips give way—just a little—under the pressure. Excitement burned through her veins once more. She tried to mimic the slow press of his lips, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her heart was pounding. Then his thumb ran down her throat, almost to her collarbone, and Lucrezia gasped against his mouth.

Should she be …? The thought dissolved with a slide of his thumb against the hollow of her neck. Her mind was empty of anything but his name echoing around and around, Cesare, Cesare, Cesare. And more. She shifted her hands to his face, then locked them behind his neck, holding him as near to her as she could; his leg was already pressed against hers. It wasn’t good enough. She wanted—she wanted—

He stopped again. No, Lucrezia thought dimly, not even bothering to open her eyes; she pressed lingering kisses all along his mouth. In reward, she felt his arms around her waist, hands at her back, holding her close: familiar and new both. But he seemed to be trying to say something. Lucrezia didn’t want to talk. She caught his bottom lip between hers.

Before she could even decide what to do with it, she was tipping backwards onto the bed, Cesare sprawling over her, pressing quick, open-mouthed kisses into her parted mouth. One moment she felt the glide of his tongue over her lip, the next his teeth biting down, and she could only kiss him back, his hair caught in her right hand. She felt the line of his leg trapped between hers, though between her skirts and his she could do little but stir restlessly.

Yet the propped-up weight of his body was more familiar than the robes under her fingers. It shouldn’t have felt like all the other times, the two of them lying together in the courtyard, the gardens, laughing together on this very bed—but it did. It felt exactly like that.

Cesare lifted his mouth, but only to press the same kisses down her throat. Dazed, Lucrezia could only wish there was some way of wrapping herself around him, of—of anything. When his teeth nipped at the skin where her neck met her shoulder, she nearly sobbed.

“Cesare,” she whispered instead.

He instantly froze, then buried his face in her neck. Lucrezia, thoughts a little more coherent, realized that his breath was panting against her throat, his shoulders shaking. She opened her eyes.

“Cesare?” Her voice sounded hoarse. She cleared her throat and he lifted his head, staring at her as if he could not quite believe his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he mumbled.

Lucrezia frowned. “For what? I thought that lesson went very well.”

Her brother shifted off her, lying on his back. It was only then that she realized his cross had been digging uncomfortably into her torso.

“Ah,” he said. “Well, yes.”

Lucrezia turned her head to the side, her hair loose around her brushing her cheek. Cesare looked almost bewildered.

“Did our father kiss our mother thus? And Giulia Farnese, now?”

The solemn set of his mouth turned, quick and easy, to a laughing smile. He tapped her nose.

“I think you know perfectly well how our father kisses women,” he said, with a meaningful glance at the window.

“I do not spy on Papa,” she said, repulsed, and Cesare laughed aloud.

“You reserve that honour for me?”

“Yes,” said Lucrezia, snuggling comfortably against him. She pushed the cross aside.

Cesare drew a deep breath.

“Will my husband kiss me thus, brother?”

“Perhaps,” he said. His expression went grave again. “Perhaps not. He may not be very interested in—niceties. He is a Sforza, after all, and he does not love you as I do.”

“That may be for the best,” said Lucrezia, “for I shall never love him as I do you.”

Cesare just sighed and stroked her hair.

“You will come and visit me? We are not to be separated forever?”

He hesitated.

Lucrezia felt panic welling in her chest. She pushed herself away, lifting horrified eyes to his. “Cesare?”

Cesare bit his lip. Then with a reckless look, he said, “Of course I shall.”

#we get dark only to shine #fic #/#//#///#////#/////#the borgias #cesare borgia #lucrezia borgia #otp: loves you as himself

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anghraine · 10 months

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AO3 stats meme

Tagging: @kareenvorbarra, @squirrelwrangler, @ladytharen, @irresistible-revolution, @elwing, @steinbecks, and anyone else who wants to do it! No need to if you don't want to :)

And thanks to @incognitajones for tagging me!

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, and least words.

Most hits: Season of Courtship, my Darcy/Elizabeth engagement fic from 2006, with 77,033 hits.

Most kudos: same, with 2,648 kudos. Easily my most kudos'd fic.

Most comments: per ardua ad astra, the one where Jyn, Cassian, and Bodhi escape Scarif only to get tractor beamed onto the Death Star and forced to scrape by undercover as Imperials. It lists 1117 comments, but that includes my own replies.

Most bookmarks: Season of Courtship again, with 585 bookmarks.

Most words: I knew immediately which one this would be: we get dark, only to shine, my big Borgias AU and sole M-rated work (CW for basically everything in the show—murder, incest etc). 168,044 words.

Least words: turns out it's my 2011 fic Real Mothers, about Leia's relationship with her mothers. 48 words.

#i've more or less resigned myself to never surpassing season of courtship in the people's eyes!#anghraine babbles #fic talk #fic talk: season of courtship #death star au #fic talk: wgdots #meme #meme prattle

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anghraine · 6 months

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scattyuk said:

I still read it about once a year. I ended up buying a book of Ausias March (Catalan and English parallel edition) because of it - a decision I do not regret! I loved all the detail.

That is honestly one of the greatest compliments I could receive! Thank you <3

#scattyuk #respuestas #nice things people say to me #fic talk #fic talk: wgdots #political shenanigans and codependent siblings

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anghraine · 6 months

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wgdots is my favorite too! and I'm aware this will sound untrue but it is true— I reread it in full at least four times a year. intrigues and history and romance!

Oh my goodness! I'm very impressed with reading a 170k fic four times a year, much less one that *waves at the Everything*

Since it'd come up, I was just re-reading parts of it to refresh my memory. I remembered that I'd done quite a bit of research (though some was for my MA anyway) but had forgotten how much I was trying to pour on the dramatic irony and intrigue and references (esp later on), so I'm glad it still holds up if you can accept the ... um, premise. Thanks <3

#anon replies #respuestas #nice things people say to me #fic talk #fic talk: wgdots #political shenanigans and codependent siblings #meme prattle

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anghraine · 7 months

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onhersleeve replied to this post:

I'm with anon, it's my favorite as well and I often re-read it!

yavieriel said:

Honestly my favorite too. Been doing a Borgias rewatch lately and planning to re-read it when I'm done with that.

Oh, wow. Thanks, both of you! I put a lot of effort into that fic, of course, but it's got so much ... everything that I really wouldn't have expected that.

(And I hope you're enjoying the rewatch of the show, @yavieriel!)

#onhersleeve #yavieriel #respuestas #nice things people say to me #fic talk #fic talk: wgdots #political shenanigans and codependent siblings #meme prattle

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anghraine · 11 months

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For the memorable fic scene thing: every scene in wgdots, but if I had to pick just one, probably the scene where Cesare returns from killing the baron

Real time reaction:

Wow, that's a lot of scenes. But thank you very much!

#anon replies #respuestas #meme prattle #nice things people say to me #fic talk #fic talk: wgdots #political shenanigans and codependent siblings #gif

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anghraine · 6 months

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Are you considering finishing or expanding on wgdots?

I'd like to say yes, but probably not. I'm busy with other projects that are either more urgent (mostly RL writing I have to do) or have a stronger grip on my imagination at the moment. I might someday write up what was going to happen, since I did have it all planned and really hoped I'd get to it.

#anon replies #respuestas #fic talk #fic talk: wgdots #political shenanigans and codependent siblings

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anghraine · 3 years

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For the fic writer meme: 16, 23, 38

Thanks!

16) Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

I definitely do research, especially for the more historically-oriented fics (e.g., for Austen, The Borgias, that sort of thing). I think the most ridiculous amount of research has to be for my Borgias fic we get dark, only to shine, which is high-octane problematic but also involved looking up medieval Valencian poetry and researching types of chairs and ways of dying hair etc. The furthest I went, I think, was a scene where the Borgias are using Llibre d’Amic e d’Amat from Ramon Llull’s Blanquerna as a cipher, and each translated word actually corresponds to the Catalan text.

23) What’s your absolute favourite trope to write?

Ohh, there are some good tropes out there. But realistically, it has to be m -> f(ish) genderbending. Not my most popular fics, but probably my most beloved!

38) What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)?

2 or so? I tend to either write self-contained one-shots with a clear idea of what points it needs to hit, or elaborate outlines for long fic.

#kazaera #respuestas #fic talk #wgdots #meme prattle #genderbending

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anghraine · 3 years

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fic meme!

Grabbed from shadaras on Dreamwidth:

Name:

Anghraine / Elizabeth

Fandoms:

Tolkien, mainly LOTR; Austen, mainly Darcy/Elizabeth; Star Wars, mainly Skywalkers and Jyn/Cassian

Where you post:

Wherever I happen to be active, but also at AO3 under anghraine.