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dearbraus · 3 months

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Doctor's Orders ೀ

— Wriothesley

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, werewolf!wrio, doctor!reader, reader is from liyue, wrio has boxing injuries, bratty and slightly tsundere reader, banter, teasing, power imbalance, boss!wrio and subordinate!reader, semi public sex, oral sex (reader giving), top!wrio, bottom!reader, vaginal fingering, hair pulling, pussy spanks, knotting, creampies, wrio speaks in french, french petname, french dialogue. ⊹ Run time. 5.0k ⊹ Note. This was originally a part of an event ask game held back in October ,,, Oopsies! But!!! It's finally finished and much longer than it was meant to be but this idea has been rotting my brain since September!! Enjoy lovelies <3

❝After a particularly grueling boxing match, Wriothesley finds himself on the receiving end of a scolding from his subordinate and doctor. Though he supposes he can't be too bothered when your next treatment has you on your knees for him.❞

The Duke’s office smells strongly of antiseptic and sweat. It smothers the usual scent of weathered parchment and fragrant tea that fills the room. The lack of windows and airflow makes the room grow stagnant, and your clothing clings uncomfortably to your skin as it’s dampened by the muggy humidity that claims the Fortress of Meropide. Rolling your neck out, you quickly glance upwards at the man who sits like a kicked puppy before you. His shoulders are slumped forward and he withers under your steely gaze.

It was unusual. Despite his newly elevated status and gruff demeanour, Wriothesley liked to talk, often far more than he should. Now, he remained silent in your care, save for the few pained grunts and whines as you dabbled disinfectant across his split knuckles. His brows are furrowed as he watches your deft fingers wrap gauze around his splintered skin. Your mouth opens and closes as you search for something comforting to say to him but you come up empty.

Not that you had said much to the man since being called from the infirmary to his office.

“All done,” you murmur, setting his nearly limp hand back into his lap, “Do you mind tilting your head for me?”

You nod to gesture at his split lip before turning away to rummage through your medical bag. There wasn’t much left but you had enough to finish patching him up. Soon, you’d need to visit the surface and replenish the infirmary supplies. Your lips dipped into a frown at the thought. Your scarce trips to the surface always seemed to be troublesome in one way or another. Taking Wriothesely’s stubbled chin between your thumb and forefinger, you sigh softly before dabbing at the gnarled gash that cut through his bottom lip.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile,” the Duke quips with a lopsided smile.

He peers up at you for a moment, his pale blue eyes flickering up and down your face as your frown deepens into a scowl.

“You’re an idiot,” the words fly faster out of your mouth than you mean for them to.

Your shoulders tense up as you prepare for a tongue-lashing from your boss. If he’d been a lesser man, you likely would have been sent packing long ago but Wriothesely stares at you long and hard, his long black lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks as he blinks at you. Maybe you’d think he looks rather pretty beneath the scars and bruises with such expressive eyes and doll-like lashes had you not run your mouth. Still, your mind lingers near the shores of murky waters as it begins to consider that he is attractive. Attractive in a way that should he ever wish to leave his life beneath waves behind, he’d find no shortage of suitors knocking down his door, all vying for a crumb of his attention and affections.

Objectively speaking, he was rather good-looking. This you knew, though it was something you refused to allow yourself to acknowledge in all of the years you resided in the fortress. He was your superior, one whose rugged outward appearance projected a far more intimidating and unapproachable mirage than you assume he would have liked. It stunned you into a skittish silence that lasted six months and only ended once you caught him deep in thought over which tea he was going to pick. By the time he had chosen a packet of soothing chamomile, the kettle of boiled water that sat adjacent to his tea cup had cooled and needed to be warmed once more.

“Your Grace, you have my sincerest apologies. I did not-”

“Come now, you don’t have to lie to me,” Wriothesely laughed, his ears twitching with delight, “Though, I must admit I think you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone here who agrees with you.”

You stiffened, your mouth agape with shock, “That is not what I meant, your Grace,” you sputter, drawing your hands away from him. Your mind teeters and you’re nearly thrown off kilter when he laughs again. Had you not been so wrought with surprise, you might have felt insulted, “It’s just … I advised against any formal or informal boxing matches with your shoulder still recovering and you didn’t listen!”

Your shoulders tremble with emotion, it may have been annoyance but you were far too aggravated by how prettily he looked as he stared at you with an amused smirk as you scolded him. Blood dribbles down his chin as his grin widens, aggravating his wound further. Shaking your head at him, you resist the urge to roll your eyes in an act of defiance. It would do little to aid in your plight and your words would deaf upon his fuzzy ears.

“And if I may be frank, because you pushed yourself past your limit, you got your ass handed to you!”

The smug smirk that sits on his stupidly pretty mug makes your skin erupt with goosebumps. He seems far too amused at being scolded and it sets a fire in your belly ablaze, frustration bubbling over the lip of the pot where your emotions are typically stuffed into. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scowl at Wriothesley.

“Oh? You think I lost because I was injured?” He laughs, bemused by how your face is twisted up in annoyance, “I let ‘im win, he needed it far more than I did.”

Your silence only spurs his grin to grow even wider.

“Come now, you think that was my limit?”

Wriothesley asks as if it should be obvious to you as if you should know his body as well as you know his own. Did the other medics around the fortress know him so intimately? Were you supposed to?

Shaking your head to push away those pesky thoughts you sighed, “Yes,” a lump settled in your throat as he stared unabashedly at you, “Do you really expect me to believe you allowed yourself to be beaten to a pulp so your underling could have an ego boost?”

He shrugs his shoulders, slowly lifting one of his hands to curl a single finger around one of your belt loops. His slate blue eyes slide up the length of your torso before settling on your face, “I must admit I’m a bit disappointed in your lack of faith,” he remarks, sending you a playful pout, “But I suppose I could show you where my limits lay, so next time we can skip the scolding and go straight the good part.”

“The good part?” You echo.

“Yeah, you know when you kiss me better.”

Your jaw fell open in shock, eyes widening as you struggled to form words. All that slipped past your lips was a strangled sort of laugh, “What?” You managed to pant between breaths. Your cheeks warmed at the thought, your skin prickling uncomfortably as salacious images filled your mind.

“I’m just playin’ with you,” Wriothesley says, though the expression he wears as he peers up at you is devoid of the same playful lilt it previously had.

Something akin to adoration pools within the depths of his eyes. Your stomach curls in on itself and the urge to look away fills you but you can’t force your eyes away from him. The sight of him is burned beneath your eyelids, almost against your will. Maybe you’ll allow yourself to revisit it late at night once you’ve escaped his clutches and laid your head to rest. Wriothesley’s long, sharp canines bite into the plush flesh of his bottom lip as he bares his teeth to you. The finger that is hooked around your belt loop tugs against the fabric to bring you closer to him. Your feet, heavy like lead weights, trip over themselves as he puppeteers you closer to him.

“Are you?” You question with a tilt of your head, your throat running dry and your belly fluttering with nerves “I’ve worked beneath you for years, I’ve heard just about every joke you’ve ever told, you didn’t sound like you were joking.”

His long, fuzzy tail tickles your thigh as it thumps up and down. Though Wriothesley is able to school his expression down he’s betrayed by his body and its need to act on baser instincts.

“Don’t tell me you’d prefer if I was beneath you, literally?”

Your lip curls upwards as his cheeks fill with blush. It felt good to tease him despite your racing heart and the fear that it may soon stop. Heat blankets your clammy skin, leaving pin prickling goosebumps in their wake. His thick, sturdy thighs trap yours between them. The tip of his finger unfurls and trails up your navel, lightly brushing the sliver of skin above your waistband that reveals itself when you bristle in surprise.

“I like it when you scold me,” he confesses, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, “It’s hot.”

Pressing his calloused thumb to your tummy, he rubs a circle into the flesh just beneath your belly button. Your pussy clenches in anticipation but your brows furrow in something akin to shame. It is shameful, how the slight brush of his bare skin against yours has set your being on fire and plunged you deep within a pit of desire. Your skin prickles as you pathetically lean into his touch.

Cocking your head to the side you try to steady your wobbling voice, “Oh yeah?” You ask, hoping the slight lilt is infused with more confidence than you were capable of possessing, “Does it turn you on?”

You try not to cringe over how your voice crackles with nerves like an old, worn speaker system.

“Maybe it does, but can you blame me?”

You couldn’t not when the sight of him glistening with sweat and dabbled with splattered blood after a boxing match filled your head with thoughts that were far better suited for those Inazuman light novels that your coworker Marguerite often indulged in when Sigewinne didn’t have her tending to patients. The sound of your blood rushing past your ears distracts you from his question as you become acutely aware of how your heart throbs painfully beneath your rib cage. If you didn’t know any better you might’ve thought you were dying from the rushing sense of urgency that quickly filled you. Your fingers twitched by your sides, they ached to press against your pulse point for confirmation that this was real and the Fortress hadn’t yet imploded, sending you straight into some dreamlike afterlife.

The soft call of your voice breaks you away from the murky, spiralling depths of your mind, “Sorry,” you murmur, chewing on your bottom lip, “What did you say?”

“Distracted?” He asks, his voice irritatingly smug, “Come now, I haven’t even touched you and you’re already so dumb for me?”

“Shut up.”

The words fly past your gritted teeth with ease despite his seniority. You peer down at him with furrowed brows and annoyance laced between the buttons of your dress shirt. You blink in shock, still half estranged with yourself and your behaviour. Wriothesley smiles at you, cupping your face with an achingly tender touch. Try as you might, you can’t will yourself to hate his touch. Your tummy dips into a summersault as your nerves crawl up your throat to clog up your vocal chords.

“Archons … You're so cute when you try to be mean,” he muses, biting his lip despite the splintered skin. You’re about to chastise him, but he smooths his thumb across your bottom lip. Dragging the flesh downward, he exposes your bottom row of teeth to him.

Shaking your head you hiss,“I’m not trying … You’re just so annoying!” smack his hand away, you try to keep your stony resolve from crumbling beneath the weight of his heated gaze.

“So I’ve been told.”

You don’t when you dipped your chin down, but you’ve begun to crouch lower so your face is level with his. His warm breath fans across your nose and cheeks. The minty scent of the gum he chewed on all the way to his office lingers on his breath.

“Liar,” you whisper.

The tip of Wriothesley’s nose brushes against yours. Your breathing slows for a moment, the air collecting in your chest as you hold it. You don’t have to see his expression to know there’s a rather pleased smirk on his lips. You sigh, it’s a bit too heavy to be seen as simply a sign of your resigned fate. In the end, it’s you who closes the small gap between your mouths, ending this silly game of chicken and kissing him. It’s better than you could have ever imagined.

Wriothesley tugs you into his lap with an eager fervour, his lips never once leaving yours. His hands slip down to grope your thighs in spite of the thick, unmoving material of your dress pants. He’s warm, surprisingly so. Heat melts off the bare skin of his torso, your face feels hot. You’d rather blame it on him than accept the flush that’s dripping down your neck and leaving you dabbled with clammy perspiration.

“Everyone here loves you,” you grit, your chest heaving as you breathe, “They adore you, I hear the praises they sing for you every day.”

His canines poke against your bottom lip as he nips the flesh, “Are they? Hm, I hadn’t noticed,” he smugly muses, “Do join in? Or, are you strictly an observer?”

Pressing your thumb into the battered, bruised flesh of his shoulder, you give him a pointed look.

Wriothesley winces, “Mon petit agneau,” he growls in warning, “I don’t think you want to do that.”

“Why? You know I’ll just stitch you back up.”

Tangling your fingers into his hair, you pull him in for another kiss. His tail thumps wildly about, slapping against the side of your body as he crushes you into his chest. The sharp edge of his teeth prick your lips as he works to pry your mouth open and lick his tongue inward. He groans into your mouth when your fingers find the base of his ears. They twitch in your hold. You can feel his cock harden against your crotch as you experimentally smooth your fingers around the sensitive flesh.

“That’s what doctors do, isn’t it?” You ask, swiping your tongue across your lip. It tastes metallic but you’re unsure if he’s split your skin or reopened his wound, “They put you back together and make you feel good?”

Wriothesley’s lashes flutter as his eyes roll back slightly, “Kinda hard to do that when you’re purposely trying to get me all riled up.”

He pushed you onto your back before you were able to spin together a response. The sofa he keeps in his office is as uncomfortable as it looks. A rouge spring digs into your spine but it does not yet pierce the fabric, keeping you safe … for now.

“Archons above, have you always been such a brat?”

When he looms over you like this, Wriothesley appears oddly predatory. What’s strange is not how quickly perspective can switch but rather how little fear fills you up. It’s thrill that pours into your lungs and leaves you sputtering in anticipation. Your legs spread a little wider to invite his body to slot between your thighs.

You don’t think when your hands fly to unbutton your shirt, “I’m not,” you smoothly reply, “Don’t pout like a petulant child when I’ve bested you at your own game.”

His teeth glint in the low light.

“You think you’ve bested me?” He questions, grumbling something beneath his breath. You’re unsure what he’s saying, it’s something in his native Fontainian tongue. It sounds rather pretty, you almost want to ask him to repeat himself for the chance to hear it again but he cuts you off in the gruff common tongue you share.

“How foolish you are.”

The metal of his belt clinks as he yanks it open. You’re about to scold him to be mindful of his knuckles but blood soaks through the gauze before you’re able to. His handcuffs jingle loudly as he tosses them to the floor, his belt going with it. Goosebumps prickle your heated skin as the fabric of your shirt falls away from your body. You shiver, nearly flinching as your pants and underwear are tugged down your legs. His palms are calloused, weathered with the signs of time and age, they’re rough against your supple thighs. They drag over your skin in quiet contemplation as Wriothesley sizes you up.

“Am I, though?”

You sharply inhale when you catch sight of his hard, dribbling cock. He slowly strokes his length, his crystalline eyes boring into yours. There’s a small twinkle of mischief that pangs against the surface of his eyes, begging to be let out as you gawk at him. Precum spills over his knuckles and spatters across your pelvis with each shallow thrust of his hand.

Licking your lips, you cast your gaze upwards, “J'ai besoin de toi,” he mutters with a haggard breath of his own, “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You shake your head, feeling a bit shy under his gaze.

“Well, you do.”

“Maybe … Maybe, I should do something about that then?” You suggest, reaching out to encase his hand within yours.

Wriothesley snorts a bit as he chuckles in agreement, “You should.”

Paying no mind to the small wince that he attempts to disguise with a throaty grunt, you wrap your fist around his cock. It throbs in your hold, a few more beads of precum flicking onto your belly.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise as you dip your head down to press your pursed lips to the weeping, red tip, “So, very, sorry.”

“Are you? I think you could do a bit better.”

Humming in contemplation, you squeeze the base of his dick, slowly allowing your tongue to loll out from between your lips to lick at his sweat salted skin. Wriothesley’s nails dig into the worn fabric of the sofa behind your head. The tendons and muscles in his arms flex and throb in the corner of your eye. You nearly moan at the sight alone, his raw strength further stirring up the embers that crackled deep within your tummy. The musk of his sweat fills your nostrils, adding to the intoxicating, heady mixture of precum that dabbles your tongue.

He curses under his breath, tossing his head back as he groans. A bead of sweat dribbles down the column of his neck and gathers within the deep crevice of his collarbone. It was truly criminal that skipped out on so many of his boxing skirmishes. If you hadn’t, you might have realised how gorgeous Wriothesley truly was, ages ago.

Swirling your head around the sensitive tip of his cock, you slowly guide his length into your mouth. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes as your mouth stretches to accommodate his girth.

“That’s it, fucking take it.”

Wriothesley’s eyes roll back into his head for a moment before they’re settled back onto the sight of you swallowing his cock down into your mouth. The intensity that glimmers amongst them makes you squirm, a whimper gathering in the back of your throat. The vibration around his length stirs forth another set of moans that tumble past his lips to form a twinkling melody of music for your ears.

Your hand strokes his shaft, accommodating whatever you struggle to fit into your mouth. The tips of your fingers stroke at the bulbous knot that sits at the base of his cock and occasionally his full, tender balls. You can feel him twitch in your mouth when you focus your efforts on his head, your lashes fluttering to blink away the tears that have continued to pool along your lash line.

“So fucking good,” he grumbles, his chest rumbling with each syllable, “Archons above … I need to be inside of you.”

Wriothesley decides at the drop of a hat. You whine at the loss of weight and warmth filling your mouth when he swiftly pulls away to settle between your spread thighs. His tail tickles your bare skin as he shoves his muscular, scarred arms beneath your torso to press your chest against his. You can’t help but giggle when his thick, scraggly chest hair grazes against your nipples. His stubbly cheek rubs your jaw and neck raw as he settles his face in the crevice.

“Please,” you croak with wanton need, “Please, fuck me.”

His free hand snakes between your bodies. Wriothesley cups your quivering cunt, the heel of his palm grinding into your clit as he sinks a finger into your weeping hole.

Your jaw falls slack as pleasure courses through your veins, “Be patient,” he laughs, his fanged teeth nipping at your shoulder, “I’ve gotta stretch you open first, fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

“Mhm, all for you.”

The rough material of the sofa rubs uncomfortably against your skin as you shift to bring Wriothesley closer to you, but you don’t care. Any of the day's worries slip between your fingers like the sand on the beaches of Yaoguang Shoal where you spent your youth splashing around without a care. Desire pools beneath your bodies and bathes your tangled limbs in liquid gold. It washes away your gathered worries and fears, leaving your body prickled in warmth.

You think there’s irony in the magnetic heat that flickers in and out between where your flesh meets his, being so deep beneath the ocean’s surface that the walls were often cold to the touch. He was cold to the touch, constantly shrouded in elemental residue from his frigid cryo vision.

Sweat dribbles down your brow, the apples of your cheeks burn.

“Oh yeah?”

Your vision blurs for a moment as you nod your head. Wriothelsey’s hair hands limply around his face, it brushes against your forehead when he dips his head to take in the sight of your puffy, wet pussy.

“Yeah.”

It’s cloyingly sweet, the lilt of your voice. You nearly choke on it. Goosebumps follow in the wake of the blanket of embarrassment that flew over you. He pays the way you nervously chuckle no mind, instead cradling the side of your face as he stretches you open with another finger.

“I want more,” you moan between pursed lips, your eyelids fluttering shut, “I can take it.”

The rough pads of his fingers and the stretch just barely satiated your appetite but, your palate had been wet by bulbous knot that teasingly sat pressed against your thigh.

Wriothesley presses a kiss to your sweat dabbled hair line, “I know ya can,” he murmurs, licking his lips as your body trembles beneath him, “But just let me be a gentleman, huh?”

“The gentlemanly thing to do would fuck me instead of making me beg for it.”

“Begging?” That sparks his interest, there's a devilish twinkle in his eye, “I didn’t know begging was on the table.”

Pleasure ripples through you as the heel of his palm grinds against your clit at just the right angle, causing your head to spin with wanton need.

“It’s not, I have enough self respect not to beg for cock.”

“Do you though?”

His smirk makes your need triple in size which in turns makes this game all the more maddening. You question it yourself– your resolve, you already asked politely but were you above begging. If you ruminate on the thought any longer you might’ve just found the answer to be no.

Wriothesley complies nonetheless, giving your pussy a few firm, wet slaps before slipping his hand upward toward your pubic bone. His fingers leave a trail of your arousal on your skin, it dries quickly and leaves you shivering from the cold. Spitting into the palm of his hand, he strokes his cock. Precum oozes out, flicking onto the sofa cushions. Your throat bobs as you swallow, a bundle of nerves gathers at the centre of your chest as he presses the tip of his cock against your pussy. Your cunt squelches lewdly as he slides his length between your sticky folds, light grazing your clit before he settles against your hole.

“Hurry up!” You find yourself saying though your stomach remains clenched in anticipation.

Rolling his eyes, Wriothesley shakes his head, “You have to savour it.”

Still, you feel your cunt stretch open to accommodate the girth of his dick. Your jaw falls slack as the wind is knocked out of your lungs, his visage is a mirror image. Not in mockery, but in relief. A satisfied sigh passed Wriothesley’s split lips as he slowly pushed his cock in deeper.

Wriothesley winces as you dig your nails into the meat of his shoulders, you sigh at the sight of his tensed expression, “Come now push yourself too hard,” you gasp between two wanton moans, “If you do that means I’ll have to patch you up again, would you really want to punish me with more work?”

Your taunts are cut short but a shudder that wracks through your body as he bottoms out. His thick knot teases your whole, just barely stretching you out before Wriothesley begins to thrust. Your nose brushes against his as he leans down, lips ghosting over yours.

“Either way you’ll do it with a smile,” he muses, pecking you on the mouth, “And say “Yes sir””.

You would.

You liked your job and were all too happy to work when needed even at the cost of your own sanity.

“Whatever,” you snip, burying your face into his shoulder blade to hide your smile.

Heat laps at your core, trickling into your chest. It leaves you hot all over. Your cunt throbs with need as you inch closer to orgasm. His cock feels like it’s in your stomach, the fat head uncomfortably kisses your cervix with each shallow thrust.

Pressing your teeth into the firm muscle of his shoulder, you allow a squeal to roll through your throat. You can feel yourself gushing around his length as he mercilessly bullies that spongy spot deep inside you. Warmth coats the apples of your cheeks as the cushion beneath your ass soaks up your juices.

“Je suis à toi,” Wriothesley hisses into your hairline.

The sofa's wooden arm crackles within the palm of his hand as he roughly grips it for purchase. Your heart leaps, there’s something oddly thrilling about the display of raw strength, you’re hardly pressed to consider the fact that the Fortress couldn’t afford to replace it.

Your hands drift upward to tangle into his sweat soaked strands of hair. Your fingers twist the locks between them.

“Tire-moi les cheveux!”

Wriothesely’s chest rumbles as he moans, his rhythm faltering slightly when you unabashedly yank at his tresses, “Harder,” you whimper, your shoulders shaking as pleasure thrums through your veins, “Please Wrio, I need it.”

You can feel yourself teetering on the precipice of orgasm, his sweat is dappled upon your tongue.

“Et t'as l'air bien, tu te sens bien.”

“Wha-”

Your confusion is cut off by a moan which is then followed by a flurry of curses that you didn’t know you had in you. The obscene sound of wet skin slapping together smothers any other questions that may dare to dribble down your lips.

You choke on a gasp as your orgasm washes over you, much like the first time you dove into the frigid waters in search for your place of employment. You’re dunked in a disorienting sea of cold that electrifies every nerve ending in your body. Tremors wrack through your spine and your eyes roll back into your head before you force them shut.

“Wrio,” you moan, your nails clawing at his scalp.

His tail curls possessively around your thigh, snaking its way around your hip to the small of your back. The sofa creaks, scraping loudly across the roughed hardwood floors as Wriothesley’s thrust takes on a new vigour. The hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as his claws tear through the fabric behind your head.

“I want you to knot me!”

Wriothesley’s head bobs in what you assume to be agreement, “Je suis à toi,” he repeats, more to himself than to you.

Your lungs burn from how you hold the air in the centre of your chest, your lips rounded and jaw locked as Wriothesley slowly pushes his knot into you. He growls when your nails break skin as you claw at the nape of his neck. The tinges of pain slowly dissipate with each passing, excruciatingly long second. Your walls flutter, struggling to accommodate for the instruction.

“Fuck,” you curse, your chest heaving as you such in a ragged breath.

Wriothesley all but collapses on top of you with one last week thrust before he cums. His stubbly jaw scratches at your skin as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. Though his knot is supposed to plug your hole up, you can feel some of his thick, sticky cum oozing out of your cunt and lathing across his pelvis.

“What did it mean?” You ask once you’ve regained your breath, your words slightly minced from how your cheek laid flat against his broad shoulder.

“Hm?”

Pausing to lick your chapped lips you wildly gesture around his back though he can’t see you, “The Fontainian, what did it mean?” you clarify, “You said quite a lot.”

“Oh, nothing, don’t worry about it.”

His blaisé tone has those familiar embers of annoyance flickering to life though you were too exhausted to argue. The fur of his tail drags uncomfortably against your sweat damp skin as he possessively holds you close.

“You know me, I always worry.”

“You don’t need to,” he reassures, planting a kiss to your neck, “Everyone adores you.”

It’s almost second nature the way you roll your eyes and huff.

“At least I do.”

#wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x you #gi x reader #gi smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #x reader

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dustofthedailylife · 6 months

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How to Steal the Duke's Heart 101 (2)

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Pairing: Wriothesley x (gn!) Reader

Summary: After Wriothesley managed to get you back out of prison again you wanted to go back to living your life. However, things wouldn't go so smoothly, especially since you missed the man you had grown to love during your time in the Fortress. However, maybe fate is smiling down on you for once...

Tags: Fluff, lots of kissing, you were in prison (but innocent), swearing, french kissing (we're in France after all)

A/N: People asked for a Chapter 2 - I got an idea - here we are. Hope you enjoy and thanks for the crazy support on part 1 ;_; <3

In the following days, you stayed in the Infirmary. Your concussion and the accompanying migraine flare-ups made it hard to do anything but lie in bed with closed eyes.

Sigewinne, who was introduced to you as the head nurse, took care of you during the time you were at the Infirmary. And she religiously made sure that you didn’t leave the bed under any circumstance. She came by twice a day with some funny-tasting shakes which, despite their flavor, worked like a charm against your headache.

Wriothesley also stopped by at least once a day, no matter how occupied he had been around the Fortress otherwise. And every time he walked through the door with confident steps, and pulled a chair by your bedside, your heart was about to burst straight out of your chest. Even more so when he leaned closer to you to press a fleeting kiss to your lips as if it was second nature now.

Both you and him often stayed up late to chat the night away and tonight was no exception to that.

You were leaning against the headboard of the bed, and he was sitting on the opposite side of the bed with his back leaned against the footrest himself. He had brought a thermos flask filled with freshly brewed tea and two cups over to the Infirmary and you were both happily sipping away on it together. A small smile was displayed on his lips as he engaged in conversations with you – just like you had always done while dining together at the Cafeteria. There was just this unspoken feeling of comfort in the room whenever you could spend time with him and you wished it would last forever.

“How are you feeling? Getting any better?” Wriothesley inquired, tapping two fingers against his temple, symbolizing the location of the pain he was speaking about.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it’s getting better finally. Sigewinne’s shakes and potions definitely helped–”

“You can actually drink them?” He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards.

“They’re definitely not good, I won’t lie. They taste like seaweed and sand. It’s like–”

“Like you ate an entire beach and every time you close your mouth it feels like you’re grinding dirt between your teeth.” He finished the sentence for you with another low chuckle that made your heart skip a beat.

“Exactly! How do you–?”

“Well, let’s just say I’ve been on the receiving end of these shakes a couple of times myself.” He smirked, took a sip of tea from the metal cup in his hands, and sighed. “But tea is infinitely better.”

“Oh, without a shadow of a doubt. I agree.”

A comfortable silence settled between you as you each quietly sipped on your tea. You eventually find your eyes wandering across his form - his broad chest and shoulders, to the sliver of skin showing below his neck. Even though he was trying to cover it up with black belts, the deep scars that evidently littered his skin couldn’t be hidden fully. The same applied to the scar right below his enchanting eyes.

Especially the scars around his neck looked like they came from a wound that would take a miracle to heal and recover from and you couldn’t help but wonder what could’ve caused it.

It was as if your body had started moving on its own when you leaned forward, tracing the long scar below his eyes with your index finger, down to the ones down his neck, stopping just short of his collarbone.

Despite the deep scars and slightly bumpy texture, the skin felt soft and you could feel a slight shiver run down his spine as you ran his finger over them. He observed your facial expressions closely as you did and eventually put his bigger hand above yours to stop your motion and pressed your hand against his chest with a smile. Although there was hurt lingering behind his icy blue eyes.

“How did you get these scars?” You mustered up the courage to ask, your eyebrows pulled into a frown.

“Oh, that? I battled a gigantic undersea monster when I conquered the Fortress of Meropide. Guess who emerged victorious?” He smirked.

“Wait… really?” You ushered in surprise.

“No.” He replied dryly while averting his eyes.

You retracted your hand from his chest while apologizing. You felt like you had overstepped a boundary by asking.

“It’s –” He hesitated before pointing to his neck. “This one right here is the reason I’m here.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You reassured, not wanting to pry into his private life if he didn’t want to tell you. He took hold of your hand once more and gave it a reaffirming squeeze before sighing deeply.

“I… killed my parents. Well, adoptive parents. I’m an orphan.” Another long sigh escaped him as he averted his eyes to where your hands were intertwined. “To keep it short, they seemed like nice and law-abiding citizens at first. Like a picture-perfect family. But eventually, they treated us, me and my siblings, like trash, and sold us out one after another. I know for a fact some of my siblings did not survive because of what they did and one day… I just– snapped and ended things and set the remaining children free. They didn’t go down without a fight and that’s that. As for the others?” He brushed along his arms with the fingers of his right hand. “I’ve gotten into fistfights and the like down here a lot, nothing too special about those, really.”

He fell quiet, fiddling with your thumb, clearly nervous about how you’d possibly react to this revelation. Would you resent him? Push him away?

But you did neither of these things. You couldn’t even imagine how hard growing up must’ve been for him. And then being sent from one hell straight into another because you defended yourself and others from harm? Fontaine’s justice system was a lot – but after your case and especially after hearing his now, one thing was evident: It was everything but just.

“You’ve never been free. Not even for a single day of your life?” You questioned.

“I guess not. Although I can’t really complain. My position allows me more freedom than some people above ground have. My sentence ended a long time ago but I have no reason to go back up permanently now. Besides, I’m needed here.” He chuckled dryly before looking back up into your eyes which were now glistening with tears as you were on the verge of crying.

He took your face between his hands, wiping your eyes gently with the pad of his thumb before bringing it closer to his to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

But it wasn't long before you were interrupted by the door being flung open, swiftly followed by little tippy steps. Looking over Wriothesley's shoulder towards the doorway to the room you spotted a very displeased and borderline angry-looking Sigewinne.

"Your Grace." She almost hissed with one of her little arms stemmed on her hips and the other pointing to the wall clock that read 1 a.m. "My patient needs rest and this doesn't include staying up way past midnight and drinking caffeinated tea!"

He threw you a half-amused, half-apologetic look before sliding off the bed in one smooth motion. Spreading his arms out to both sides, he turned around with a sly smirk and looked at the head nurse.

"Ah, my apologies. It seems I must've forgotten the time again."

"Hmph… and also, while we're at it – you should rest more and drink less black tea as well." Sigewinne remarked matter-of-factly while looking at Wriothesley disapprovingly.

"I'm getting quite enough sleep, thank you very much for your concern."

"Your eyebags would beg to differ."

"Touché."

Sigewinne crossed her arms with a triumphant smile painted on her lips as she watched Wriothesley walk out of the room with an apologetic shrug in your direction.

The head nurse promptly rushed to your bedside to fluff up your pillows and tuck you back into bed. She quickly checked if your bandages needed to be changed again before quickly wishing you goodnight, extinguishing the lights as well and closing the door behind her.

This was what a lot of evenings that week looked like. Staying up late with Wriothesley, chatting the night away, drinking tea with the occasional kiss thrown in.

As soon as the week had passed and Wriothesley had ripped your criminal record into shreds in front of your eyes you would’ve been able to return to your old life. But you still hadn't fully regained your strength yet. So upon doctor's orders, you stayed a little longer than you needed to. Not that you particularly minded - especially since you were allowed to stay in a guest room right below Wriothesley's office, which was infinitely more comfortable than the Infirmary.

Just a couple of weeks ago you could've never imagined staying here longer than you absolutely needed to, but now you found yourself not quite wanting to leave anymore – at least you weren’t in a hurry to do so.

You spent most of your time lounging around in Wriothesley's office, scanning the bookshelves, reading some books, going through his tea collection with growing fascination, and generally just lazing the time away in his presence.

You grew incredibly closer during that week. You spent almost every free minute he had to spare together. Mostly on the sofa in his office with your head resting on his lap while he worked through some files with his feet resting on the coffee table.

But as soon as the day came where you were officially escorted back out of the office he was nowhere to be found. You had been told to pack your things by the guards because you were about to be escorted out of the Fortress again soon. And while you prepared your things you looked for Wriothesley around the Fortress as well, since you didn’t want to leave before saying goodbye.

So, you stopped by the Infirmary, asked Sigewinne if she’d seen him already, asked several guards and Wolsey at the Cafeteria, but to no avail. It was as if the Primordial Sea itself had swallowed him.

And thus you were meeting at the pickup spot with the guards and were escorted out without seeing him again. You knew that, back then, his reassurance that you’d see him again had been a lie and the chances for that to happen were slim. Especially since he seldom ever left the Fortress. So you entered the elevator you had arrived in with a knot in your stomach that was the size of a boulder.

During the ride up you felt how the air that wafted into the elevator shaft became clearer and fresher again and you couldn’t help but wonder about your feelings that had developed for Wriothesley. Did they just emerge out of your circumstances? Was it just because he was the only one you really ever talked to down here? For the sake of your aching heart, you hoped that was the case and you’d forget this little crush once you returned to your old life again.

Surely that would be the case.

The elevator came to a halt and opened with the same mechanical hiss it did back when you arrived at the bottom of the ocean. You stepped outside, breathing in the fresh air as some droplets of rain collided with your skin.

At last. Freedom.

You didn’t even know where to go or what to do first so you simply ventured towards the City. You had exchanged the coupons you had for Mora again and buying some tea and fresh ingredients for your favorite dish sounded like a good start.

You first went back to your house, to drop off your things and change into something more presentable than your inmate clothes that smelled like oily grease.

You took a warm shower and slipped on your favorite clothes before heading back out with a pep in your step. The bruise on your face was still slightly visible but that wouldn’t hinder you from enjoying your regained freedom.

You happily walked into your favorite tea store that was close to your home, greeting the old lady behind the counter enthusiastically whom you always had friendly chats with before your time in prison. She briefly looked up in your direction before knitting her brows and returning to noting things down in her notebook without ushering a single word of greeting in return.

You became slightly unsettled because it seemed like the atmosphere in the room had changed when you entered. You had never seen her behave like this before, she had always been forthcoming, friendly, and extremely chatty. Nonetheless, you went up to the counter with a smile, greeting her once more.

“Hello, it’s great to see you again Madame Dubois. I came to buy a pack of my favorite tea again.” You cheered with a wide smile, feeling ecstatic about being able to do mundane things like grocery shopping again. You fondled with your wallet, taking out the Mora you owed, still remembering how much it cost – but just as you were about to put it on the counter you saw that the woman hadn’t moved an inch and was still scribbling away in her notebook.

“Hello? Madame?” You asked in confusion, trying to gain her attention.

No response.

“Madame?”

She slowly looked up at you again and was now clearly annoyed.

“Please leave my store. I don’t want to have my reputation tarnished by serving a criminal.”

You opened and closed your mouth a couple of times, ringing for words of protest but your mind simply blanked because of the sheer audacity of the situation. So, instead of standing up for yourself you simply walked out without another word.

You were innocent and always had been, so why would she treat you this unfairly? And even if you had actually committed a crime, wouldn’t you have served your sentence and redeemed yourself again now?

With a tarnished mood you continued your way down the street until you came by a clothes store you used to frequent. You began browsing the clothes rack outside to get your mind off of the unpleasant encounter and even found two pieces you wanted to try on.

Throwing them over your arm you walked inside the store and right into the direction of the changing room. But just as you were about to enter it, the store owner stopped you, taking the clothes you had picked out of your hands without a word.

“Uhm, I wanted to… try these on.” You ushered in defeat, already suspecting where the conversation would venture from here. You were beginning to sense a pattern here.

“You can’t try that on.” The vendor said with determination.

“Why?”

“Pft.” She scoffed eyeing you from top to bottom, clearly not in a hurry to give you any sort of reply. “You’re not fooling me. I know that you’re going to steal something if I let you go into the changing room.”

“Madam, I’m innocent. I was never a criminal to begin with. I was falsely accused and convicted.” You protested weakly, feeling the lump in your throat grow in size.

“Mhm, yeah sure. And I’m the Hydro Archon.” She scoffed once more and pointed you towards the exit.

With sagged shoulders and the urge to cry you found yourself outside of the store again and we're just about done with the day at this point. You half-considered just going back home again and pretending this all was just a bad dream but that would mean you'd just give up.

Was this how all former criminals were treated in Fontaine after being released? If so, it was truly no surprise that no one actually ever returned from the Fortress of Meropide if this was how they were welcomed back. Not because the Fortress wouldn't let them leave even after serving their sentence – but because they were unable to leave. Because they were brandished and irredeemable in the eyes of society.

The voice of Wriothesley from months ago now echoed in your head: “Once you get used to the Fortress you’ll find yourself unable to want to leave.”

Back then you had no idea how true that sentence would ring eventually. Not only because you missed him dearly already but also because you knew things would never return to how they had been before you had been to prison. Nothing you could say to the people on the surface would change their perception of you, because they wouldn’t believe you.

You continued to walk down the street and eventually came by your favorite cafeteria. You had often spent time here before being unrightfully incarcerated. You remembered that you had always gotten along well with the owner of it – but you had the suspicion that that would change now as well.

Unsure whether or not you should even try your luck you eventually walked towards a table and sat down. But your suspicions would remain correct – you would be politely asked to leave from here as well by the man you once got along with quite well, too.

He can’t risk the good reputation of his business and the other customers might feel unsafe sitting next to a convict.

How were you ever supposed to return to a normal life again if everyone treated you with so much disdain?

You decided to just give up for today and plopped down on the side of the pavement, next to some small rose bushes out of sight, and started crying. You needed a valve for all the anger and frustration that had accumulated over the day, and if that was it, so be it.

You wanted nothing more than to return to your old life, or heck, even go back to the Fortress of Meropide. But neither of those were possible. Society had decided you were a sinner and the Fortress was off-limits since people without a criminal record couldn’t get back in. Only former prisoners with a record could go back and decide to stay there, normal citizens, however, were not given that opportunity.

“Is everything alright?” A high-pitched voice addressed you with concern.

You looked up and looked into the face of a purple Melusine with blue hair in the famous blue Fontainian officer uniform. Her eyes were filled with worry and she was leaning over slightly so she was on eye-level with you.

“Mhm, everything’s alright.” You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

She didn’t look convinced and her brows furrowed even further. She looked around and hurried off before swiftly returning with a cup of tea and some pastries from the cafeteria you were unable to get even basic decency from just ten minutes ago.

With a genuine smile on her face, she handed you the items proudly.

“Here, take this. Maybe this will make your day a little better. Remember that just like after rainfall the sun will eventually shine again, there will be brighter days after crying again, too!”

Lost for words and touched by the kindness, you accepted the gift from the friendly Melusine who was already happily hopping away again. At the end of the path, she turned around once more waving and pulling the corners of her mouth up with her hands, signaling you to smile, before returning to her job.

You didn’t know whether to continue crying because you were still feeling like you were drowning at the bottom of the sea or because the only one who had shown you an ounce of humanity today had been a being who wasn’t technically human.

Just what were you supposed to do now?

A couple of weeks passed after that day and things had gone just as bad as they had on your first day. You had found a handful of shops that would still accept you as a customer, and while they weren’t your favorite of all time, they served their purpose of letting you survive.

However, you were seemingly unable to find a stable job again. Your old job no longer wanted you as an employee and all the letters of application you had sent out, had stayed unanswered. You still had enough savings to make ends meet ends for a couple more weeks but after that, you would most likely have to start selling your belongings.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough already, the realization that contrary to what you originally wanted to believe – that you’d quickly get over what you and Wriothesley had after being free again – couldn’t be further from the truth. Reintegrating into society was made impossible to you so there was also no way to distract yourself from craving to see him just one more time. Also because he would be the only one who would show you kindness, understanding and love in a time like this.

No day passed where you didn’t find yourself daydreaming about the times you had sat together and chatted the night away, how you had met up for lunch and dinner, how attractive his smile had looked, how good his aftershave had smelled – and how perfectly intoxicating his lips had felt on yours.

Why did he not wish you goodbye when you had to leave?

And much worse was that everything reminded you of him. The coat with the red silk lining you saw while passing the clothes store. The familiar tea smell that lingered around the tea store. The whiff of perfume out of the perfumery that smelled just like him. Everything just made you miss him more and it was beginning to become excruciating.

And on one of those days when you sat alone at home, reminiscing about your time in the Fortress of Meropide you suddenly had an idea. In your present state – without a criminal record – you were legally unable to enter the Fortress… unless-

You jumped up from your seat, your heart practically beating out of your chest over the realization that there was one way out of your predicament.

One solution.

You needed to commit a crime.

You grabbed your jacket and rushed out of your door without a moment of hesitation. You set out for the market and were practically rushing down the street now. You were dead set on your decision. The more you thought about it the more excited you got.

Once you arrived at the plaza you spotted the booth of the jeweler and headed straight in the direction of the table with big, determined steps. You already made out an expensive ruby necklace from afar that was dangling freely from the jewelry stand. That thing must be worth thirty thousand Mora minimum. Stealing that would surely land you a prison sentence for a while – and once you had that, you were free to stay in the Fortress of Meropide for as long as you wished after. You would have the necessary criminal record to make it your forever home.

Smugly smiling to yourself you arrived at the table, eyes still transfixed on the necklace that now dangled teasingly in front of your eyes. Time felt like it was moving in slow motion at this point. You purposefully reached your hand out, clutching the gem with your entire palm. The look on the face of the jeweler was changing with every millisecond that passed. His brows lifted, his eyes became wide and his mouth formed into an o-shape, ready to scream protest over the theft of one of his most precious items on display. Yet, before any of that happened – before you could yank the necklace down from the stand and make a run for it – a bigger hand enveloped your own calmly.

You could feel a chest pressed to your back and a hand on your shoulder, still expecting your plan to work. One of the guards must’ve sensed your intent and just stopped you before you could make a run for it. But the change to a calm look and the smile on the face of the jeweler told you that the situation wasn’t quite like you believed.

“This is the one you like, darling?” A deep smooth, voice inquired from behind you.

Shock shot through your system. You knew that voice like the back of your hand. You had been craving to hear it again for weeks. You had been craving for it since the day you left the prison.

What was Wriothesley doing here?

“We’ll get that one.” He declared towards the jeweler, motioning to the ruby necklace that you still clung to. He handed a small coin pouch to the man behind the booth, who was now happily smiling, weighing the Mora in his hand with a pleasant hum.

Scarred and callused fingers wrapped around your cramped fist and carefully opened your fingers, gently taking the beautiful necklace out of your grasp.

You were still standing on the spot, unable to move as you were frozen in shock about what just happened, while the man of your dreams put the most expensive jewelry you had ever touched around your neck. Where did he even get this much money to splurge for an item like that?

No. Where did he even come from?!

“Thank you.” He nodded towards the jeweler with a handsome smile before leading you away from the booth calmly. But you could feel how tense he really was, by how hard his digits dug into your shoulder.

He dragged you into a secluded side alley behind some crates that hid you from prying eyes and promptly pushed you against the wall. An icy gaze pinned you down and the iron grip on your shoulder became impossibly tighter.

“What in God's name do you think you’re doing?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

“Nothing.” You feigned innocence. But your voice was barely even above a whisper and you found yourself unable to look him in the eyes.

“Nothing?” He gasped in disbelief. “You were about to steal that necklace just now.”

And to undermine his point he pressed the gem into your skin, which now sat between your collarbones.

“Are you insane?! You only just gained your freedom back!”

“Freedom?!” You bit back exasperated with tears welling up in your eyes out of anger and frustration over the downward spiral your life had been in for so long now. “This ain’t freedom. This is hell. I can’t do this anymore.”

“That’s not a reason to want to go back to prison!” He hissed, pushing your shoulder against the wall even harder.

“Don’t you dare lecture me about anything?! You didn’t even have the courtesy to say goodbye to me when I left.” You hissed.

“I didn’t want to make it harder for you. It was for the best.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You swore fiercely. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know what’s best for me because fuck, this isn’t it. Everyone shuns me, I can’t find a job, I can’t even buy groceries. I don’t have any–”

Before you were able to finish your tirade you were abruptly interrupted by his lips hungrily crashing into yours.

Immediately the million questions you wanted to ask him and the shock about the situation were forgotten.

You inhaled sharply and shut your eyes and your hands immediately reached up to grab a fistful of his hair, lightly tugging on it while deepening the kiss. A low satisfied grunt vibrated through his chest as you did, sending a shiver down your spine in return.

He pressed himself up against you, trapping you between himself and the wall. One of his hands found his way around your waist, greedily squeezing at your flesh below his palms. Further pulling you into him as he held you impossibly closer than you already were while devouring you like he was a man starved for air and you were his oxygen.

His other hand found comfort at the back of your head, preventing it from crashing into the brick wall he pressed you against.

Slightly parted lips danced across your lips down your jaw to your collarbones. Only interrupted by his heavy pants and roaming hands that didn’t seem to know where to touch first.

“Fuck,” he muttered breathlessly with half-lidded eyes, “You drive me insane.”

For someone who had been blessed with a Cryo vision, you were surprised at how his touch could set you ablaze so easily. Pure flames licked at your skin where he touched you. Hot open-mouthed kisses were placed wherever he could reach. Silken lips entangled with yours as you dangled on the edge of consciousness from being overwhelmed with raw emotion.

It was as if time had stopped for both of you. Lost in the intimate moment of your shared passion, somewhere in a back alley of Fontaine.

He was so close yet you wanted him to be closer. You wanted to hold him and never let him go. You wanted him to kiss you until your lips were sore and you no longer had any air to breathe.

If the kisses you had shared in the Fortress of Meropide had been addicting already then this right now was the most dangerous drug in existence. You were intoxicated by the taste and feel of his lips for no one had ever kissed you like this before. Nor did you want anyone but him ever kissing you in the same way.

At this point he wasn't a want, he was a need. You needed him like you needed air to breathe and water to drink. And he felt the same about you.

He carefully parted his lips, prodding the tip of his tongue against your bottom lip, practically begging for entry. And you allowed it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The butterflies in your stomach did somersaults and were about to burst out of your chest when he slung both of his strong arms around your midriff to pull you even closer once again.

A string of saliva connected your lips when he separated from you to catch some air. His eyes were still clouded with emotion as they still hungrily looked at you. His face was still so dangerously close you could feel the tingling sensation of his breath on your lips.

His arms maintained their position around your waist and he pressed his face into the crook of your neck with a deep inhale.

“I missed you so much.” He muttered into your shoulder with a meek tone.

You felt like all the weight of the past weeks was lifted off your shoulders at once and you were finally able to breathe again – all despite being buried between the wall and a 6’3” man who was hugging the dear life out of you right now.

“So did I.” You sniffled, only now realizing you had begun to cry because you were so overwhelmed with joy.

“Please, take me with you. Don’t leave me again.” You pleaded, desperately clasping a fist into the fur of his coat. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Not like this. Not without you.”

He sighed deeply, moving his palms to your shoulders, gently squeezing them. He looked at the floor pondering before directing his gaze back at you again.

“Are you truly sure about that?” He inquired seriously to which you just replied with a determined nod.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” You answered and placed a quick peck on his lips once more. “I’d have committed a crime only so that I could be with you again.”

A low chuckle echoed through his chest and he placed a kiss at the crown of your head.

“Please don’t do that.”

You looked at him with a pout because how were you supposed to come with him when you weren’t allowed at the Fortress?

“I might have a different idea.” He announced smugly.

“And that is?”

“Work at the Fortress.”

“But… I don’t have the required qualifications for the job. I would never get accepted, let alone be even invited for an interview.” You complained, furrowing your brows.

“Well. Are you willing to learn?”

“I-I guess?” You hesitantly answer, looking up at him in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow.”

He took a step back, directed his gaze to the ground, and put his index finger to his chin, acting deep in thought.

“Well, then you’re hired.” He suddenly declared with a smug grin painted on his lips.

“What?” You huffed perplexed, causing him to snort out a laugh.

“My love,” He took your hands into his, lifting them to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Have you already forgotten who I am? I am the one who makes the rules down there.”

After you promptly agreed to his impromptu interview and hiring process, Wriothesley accompanied you back to your house to pack your things. He was barely able to stop himself from smiling from ear to ear. And you reciprocated that feeling. You would be getting a separate room in the Fortress that you could customize to your wishes. And the best part about it was that you technically could always return to the surface still – because, you weren’t imprisoned. You were about to start a new chapter of your life and you couldn’t be more excited.

Sure – things didn’t go like you had expected them to, but all’s well that ends well. Maybe you should stop by your old friend's house sometime to thank her for framing you for the crime you were falsely convicted of back then. After all, it netted you the Warden of the Fortress of Meropide at the end of the day.

As soon as you stood back between the high iron-clad walls that smelled like machine grease and oil you felt right at home. It was as if you had never left. But unlike the first time you arrived here, you were happy.

You were free, you weren’t a criminal, no one would judge you here and you would be able to spend time with the man you loved. In fact, you’d even say you were happier than you probably had ever been.

Wriothesley led you to your new room, which happened to be below his office, and told you to make yourself right at home. He sat down on your bed and stayed around for a while to chat with you while you unpacked and decorated the space to your liking. Ultimately he had to excuse himself because he was called by a guard for some official business. And with a quick kiss that both of you smiled into, he was off.

You continued unpacking for only gods knew how long until your eyes eventually began to fall close on their own. When you checked the clock on the wall again you saw that it was nearly 11 p.m. already and you decided it was probably time to head to bed.

You headed to the bathroom that was next to your room and got ready for the night, brushed your teeth, and washed your face before slipping into your favorite pajamas and settling down on your bed.

But as soon as you turned the lights off and lay down on your pillow, something hard was poking your temple. You reached below the pillow and touched something hard and round that felt incredibly cold to the touch.

What the heck?

You grabbed it and quickly pulled it out from below the pillow. The dimly lit room was immediately enveloped in a light blue light. But whatever it was that you had expected it to be it wasn’t this. The light of the orb in your hands was pulsating steadily like a heartbeat and you were quick to discern what that foreign item in your hand was. A cryo vision.

You furrowed your brows and concluded that it must be Wriothesley’s. He did sit on your bed earlier. Maybe it fell off his coat.

You shuffled out of the bed and headed back upstairs, hoping to find him in his office.

While climbing up the stairs you could quickly make out the smell of fresh tea as well as the quiet notes of a gramophone playing classical music.

As soon as you got a view of the room you found Wriothesley sitting on his desk with closed eyes, a cup of tea held to his lips. Seeing him just enjoying himself made a smile creep up on your face as you approached him.

“Hi.” You whispered as you walked towards him on tippy-toes.

“Hi.” He set down his cup. “Did the music wake you up? I figured you must already be sleeping.”

“No, nothing like that.” You shook your head, taking the hand holding the vision out from behind your back to show it to him. “I found this under my pillow, I think you must’ve lost it earlier.” You discerned, looking at the glowing vision in your hand.

Wriothesley eyed you and then the vision curiously as he jumped up from his desk and walked up to you.

He gently put his palm around your hand that was holding the vision, closing your fingers back around it again with a soft smile.

He lifted your chin so you looked him in the eyes before speaking again.

“It’s yours.” He declared.

“What? Stupid! I can’t keep your vision! You need it!” You began protesting but were quickly shut up when Wriothesley slipped the coat off his shoulder, revealing the blue orb that was still danging down from one shoulder.

“It’s not mine.”

Your mouth fell open and a thousand thoughts started racing in your mind. How could this be? You? A vision bearer? But you didn’t even feel anything. Wouldn’t receiving a vision be more flashy than simply finding it below your pillow?

“It seems like even the gods think you’ve finally found your place in the world.” He ushered proudly, slinging his arms around your shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head with a gentle smile.

“I don’t even know how to use it.” You muttered with uncertainty.

“I’ll show you.”

If the gods think you’ve managed to find your place then you’d simply have to trust their judgement. And if you honestly listened to your heart you would probably agree with them.

Whenever you looked at Wriothesley, you felt like you had finally found the place where you belonged.

You were home.

Because home is where he is.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #astronetwrk #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin wriothesley #genshin x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin brainrot #genshin headcanons #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 gi

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emry-stars-art · 10 months

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Aaaaaaaa I honestly need to know absolutely everything about the royal au!!! I don’t even have a specific question I just would love to hear any of your thoughts on everything. Also I love your art so much!! I might make fanart :p (that’s a big maybe I’ve got massive art block right now but if my brain functions correctly I absolutely will.) 🧡🧡🧡

Hello hi I DO have more :D I have a little pocket notebook that’s been my brainstorming and planning book that I’ve put all the ideas for this au in so far and I’m sure I’ve missed a few points so

There is art in this post, it’s Abram post-Evermore with a knife and very little control of his actions so I’ll stick it under the cut, at the end with some more angst 🙏 ANYWAY let’s see what we got

I haven’t colored it so you can’t tell but the twins frequently wear all white with silver embellishments as official/fancy outfits. They look ethereal. That’s all, next point

Most of them are still bi/multilingual but once again only some of their languages overlap. (I’m going to be keeping all the languages real/ones used in canon for clarities sake but who knows what they actually are in this universe.) Day and Abram can speak some Japanese, Abram doesn’t know a ton, but they only use it if they really really need privacy. Neither of them like using it. They also know some French (again, Abram not as much as Day) and Wymack knows some too (bc diplomacy or smth) and the twins and Nicky (Nicholas?) still know German. I also want Abram to start out knowing a fair amount of Russian (maybe from another ‘coworker’) just because I think it’d be fun, I dunno if that’ll change. These combinations can be used in any amount of fun ways I think

So there’s the obvious rule of ‘don’t get too close to the royal family’ right. Just the basic safety thing. But there’s that rule and then there’s the rule for Prince Andrew, where EVERYONE knows you do not touch the prince. With the king or queen or Duke Nicholas someone could always come forward, pay their respects, or even ask for a dance or something, I’ve decided they’re pretty lax about that kind of thing. But with the prince you can only offer your hand or something and he might just decide Not to shake your hand or whatever. And RIP to whoever tries to touch him without permission. So basically canon. When early story Abram first becomes familiar with this - while he’s still under Day’s supervision - he kind of looks at his arms-length perception of the prince and assumes it’s a ‘holier-than-thou’ bit, that the prince doesn’t want to touch the unwashed masses. One time Abram - Nathaniel at the time - approaches him too quickly too close (for some reason idk) and all Andrew can remember is Day’s heavy warning that no one get too close to Nathaniel without being accompanied and yeah, thinking back to their meeting that sounds about right, so Andrew immediately takes out one of his own hidden blades and stabs it into the table between them. Nathaniel stops short. Andrew says, “I am so clear, and yet people like you must think I’m lying. I don’t like being touched, Wesninski, and I’ll appreciate you to keep your distance.” And EVEN THEN Abram doesn’t realize exactly what that means but he’s a lot more careful after that.

Speaking of: what does make it clear is much later, maybe after Abram becomes officially Abram, they’re out in a parade or at a bazaar or something similar and the prince is in immediate danger, like something-is-falling-and-Andrew’s-gonna-get-crushed type thing, so Abram pulls him to safety. But they’ve been out in public where it’s loud and there’s too many people for long enough that Andrew can’t really help his harsh reaction, and it’s raw enough that Abram realizes “oh he’s serious serious.” So after that he adds ‘don’t let people get too close to or surprise the prince’ to his list of duties.

Okay okay not only does Abram wear a corset but the prince also frequently wears lace up/corset vests to parties and stuff (it’s probably what gives him the idea for Abram’s outfit). But yeah eventually instead of like Aaron or someone else trusted doing it up Andrew asks if Abram will help and pretends to be annoyed when Abram asks twice that it’s really okay, but as we all know he appreciates it and even secretly lets Abram decide for him; (“how much tighter, Your Highness?” “How does it look?” “”Hm. …I do rather think you look ball-worthy more often than not. Still - a little more?”) And then later when Abram gets his gifted outfit he expresses its convenient, but rather a shame it laces from the front, and then can only smile when Andrew tells him it is in fact wearable either way.

And yes. Confident no-need-to-hide-his-personality Abram accidentally flirts like A Lot (because why would he hide his opinion, he does think the prince looks good (just not for the purely aesthetic reasons he thinks it is past a point ya know 👀)) and Andrew is so frustrated because it’s an accident until one day it isn’t. Rip Your Highness

WAIT BACK TO NICKY. idk what to call him here, the twins can still call him Nicky but he’s probably formally/publicly known as Nicholas or Nick. Since the world is a little less heteronormative, Luther does not have an issue with Nicky’s sexuality but he is livid that Nicky is trying to get with a commoner. Specifically a cute baker from the next town over that sometimes comes to do the medieval equivalent of catering at the castle for events or something idk. BUT as soon as Luther’s out of the picture for whatever reason Aaron and Andrew have no issue letting their cousin be “abroad” or “off on business” in about as vague of terms for like. A long while at a time. How official and professional of Duke Nicholas. Mhm. No, they will not be taking any more questions

In this au Abram and Aaron are neither friends nor enemies, Aaron would just really love to associate with Abram as little as possible and Abram’s totally fine with that. Absolute masters of staying in their lanes. But when Katelyn gets a little too drunk at a party and wanders away from Aaron and Wilds, for way too long, and Aaron starts getting worried - where is my wife I hope she’s okay - Abram’s found her and has been watching her. Wilds can see Aaron’s relief when he realizes that, because yeah they’re not friends but Aaron knows for a fact that Abram will take as good care of Katelyn as he ever does of Andrew, maybe even more so. That Does Not Mean he likes him any more than he does currently tho. (This becomes a frequent occurrence. Party Queen, Her Majesty Katelyn Minyard)

The prince asks, “When do you relax, Abram.” “Occasionally when I am off duty.” “Are you not off duty now?” Abram smiles. “I am off duty when the only person’s safety in my hands is my own, Your Highness.” (Where does this go? Completely up to you, have a blast)

Okay moving onto the angst.

Abram cannot outrun his past forever, especially since he’s not running at all. And not just from the Moriyamas. I don’t know how, but maybe someone in the general castle ranks figures out where Abram comes from and is (rightfully, unfortunately) immediately on edge. It ends in a mob of castle workers/knights/etc finding Abram and bringing him to the king, queen, and prince, announcing that this man comes from Evermore, he must be a spy, he must be just waiting for an opportunity to cause the royal family harm. He’s stolen into the prince’s good graces with the worst of intentions. And the issue is: I don’t think Day ever told the family he knew this. He kept it hushed for a while as to not cause a panic (part of the reason he was ever lenient and gave Abram a chance was obviously because he himself was in almost the exact same position). And then when Abram proved himself trustworthy he didn’t want to ruin Abram’s chances at having a fresh start. So as far as Aaron and Andrew are aware, the mob is right. That doesn’t make it easier for them - they all trust Abram as much as Day does, they suspect now that Day might have known given his initial reaction to Abram, but what does that matter when Abram’s proven his loyalty so many times - and in the confusion, Andrew has no damn idea what to do. He can hear Aaron whisper beside him, “Andrew,” but even if the mob is right Andrew can’t bring himself to be the one to execute any sort of judgement. He returns, “this is your jurisdiction. Tell me your decision once you’ve made it.” And he can’t stay there any longer. Abram watches him leave silently from the center of the mob.

But Aaron doesn’t want Abram hurt either. He’s sure there must be some misunderstanding, he needs to talk this over with his advisors. So he does nothing more rash than send them all to leave Abram in a holding cell until they can figure it out. When Andrew hears about this, he gives himself the full day to make sure he’s got his head in order before going down to the basement. Abram hardly moves from his place in the corner of the cell. Andrew asks for an explanation and for once, Abram has nothing to say. Nothing more than Andrew’s heard already, he says. Once again, Abram waits to be served a death warrant. And again it is refused him. After it’s more or less cleared up, the biggest issue is getting the general public to even begin to trust their prince’s closest servant again.

(Read a snippet of their conversation in the cell here since this is already so long lol)

Lastly. It’s a good thing, I think, that Day put himself in charge of Abram immediately once he’s back from Evermore. Not for Andrew’s sake this time, though that’s still certainly the case, but I kind of think Abram would have come out worse on the other side even despite Andrew’s best intentions and efforts. And the issue would be that Andrew is too patient and careful with his words. Because while he’s recovering (specifically his sight) Abram is a danger to both himself and the people around him. Like this.

Neither Day nor Andrew are afraid to get a few cuts or bruises; the difference is Andrew would have tried to hold him too gently, just take the blade by force and it probably would have ended with more superficial wounds on them both than Day’s approach. Meanwhile Day isn’t afraid to do what he needs to do to get results. Once he realizes the extent of the trauma around ‘if you are like a dog you will be as obedient and loyal as one’, he can use that. Instead of trying to take the knife by force here, all Day has to do is say “Nathaniel, drop it,” sharply enough, and Abram’s muscles react before his head can. I don’t know how long it would take for Andrew to resort to the same thing. If that makes sense, anyway, I might be wrong on this one. (It’s one of the things I’d have to put a lot of thought and maybe even writing into to be sure of.) Anyway if Andrew heard this happen he’d be incredibly angry, but Day never uses it without very, very good reason. It keeps Abram from hurting himself too much.

So that’s like all the extra random points I had in my book :D once again, no idea where they fit in a timeline but they’re here in my head floating freely around on colorful inner tubes, occasionally bumping into each other. I really appreciate you enjoying this so much, I hope it is everything you wished and more 🥰 also omg… if you make art I’d DIE to see it, I’d be so honored 🥹

#doing the tiniest little dance in my chair at being able to talk about them more #I even have another ask I’m really excited to get to but I want to draw something for it first 👀#hope everyone’s having a good week!#fan art #my art #aftg #all for the game #my writing #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #aaron minyard #Katelyn #nicky hemmick #asks #royal au

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copperbadge · 1 year

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Sometimes you take an edible and write porn. Sometimes you take an edible, fall down a hole researching the Alhambra Decree and the War of the Spanish Succession, and actually write out the history of your Ruritarian romance novel’s fake country.

It actually fits together remarkably well, which is probably because I kept it really vague to begin with. Based on what’s in the books so far, as of the 15th century, we had two countries, Askaz (culturally very French) and Shivadlakia (culturally somewhat Slavic, also heavily Italian-influenced). Presume that they’re in a bit of a geographical “gully” so they’re not remote but they are a bit hard to get to; imagine that the Alps split, and between the two alpine ranges, you’ve got a pair of small countries that are just a pain in the ass to get to and not particularly rich in resources once there. The best way to access Shivadlakia is by boat, and the best way to get to Askaz is through Shivadlakia, which obviously creates some issues for the Askazers.

Now, in the 16th century you get the persecution of Jews really ramping up all over Europe but especially in Italy and Spain. The Alhambra Decree in 1492 starts expelling Jews from Spain, and some of them end up in Shivadlakia. These are primarily Sephardic Jews -- Georgie is descended from Sephardic Jews who arrived from Spain, for example.

Jews in Italy hear that there’s this small country quite nearby that’s taking in persecuted Jews from Spain, probably via Jewish traders who are sailing from the Shivadh port to Italy to do business. And the Shivadh, who were basically farmers until all these cool Spanish Jews showed up, are like “Well, this seems baller to me, they’re buying stuff and opening schools and they’re very quiet neighbors, let’s roll with it.”

So as of 1600, you have roughly three generations of Jews who have settled in Shivadlakia, married the locals, and started spreading into Askaz, since they’re a major trading partner. The countries are still separate, but in 1602 our hero GILLES ROMAN Y ASKAZ is born.

Round about 1625 or so, Gilles Roman y Askaz, ruler of Askaz, meets a pair of siblings, a prince and princess of Shivadlakia. He’s already been trying to figure out how to either conquer or treaty with Shivadlakia, since they have the port and he needs a port. He gets into a fight with them over a possibly-poached deer and falls in love with someone -- purportedly the princess, possibly the prince, depends on how you read it. In any case, he marries the princess and keeps the prince as a very close advisor, uniting the two countries. Sometime thereafter, he grants a dukedom to the prince, creating the Duchy of Shivadlakia, which at that point extends well into what later would become Galia. (This is Jerry’s 9x great-grandfather; one of Gilles’ children with the princess is the ancestor of Alanna and Miranda.)

All goes swimmingly until after Gilles dies; there’s a strong line of succession and the Dukes of Shivadlakia are extremely loyal to the crown. Between the royals and nobility they hold the place together remarkably well until the early 1700s, during the War of the Spanish Succession. The British weren’t super invested in this war but they were invested in stabilizing Europe, so at this point the British sent a fuckton of soldiers, mostly Welsh, into Askazer-Shivadlakia as an access point for both France and Italy. The Shivadh, who don’t have a navy and weren’t expecting a fuckton of Welsh soldiers to show up and threaten their fishing fleet, rolled their eyes and got on with making cheese, but they were forced to learn/speak English by the soldiers. The occupation wasn’t centuries long, but it was long enough for the Welsh soldiers to realize that Askazer-Shivadlakia is very like Wales only with way nicer weather and more gay, so they stayed and intermarried too, which is why everyone speaks a) English with b) a Welsh accent.

When the Shivadh finally lose patience and officially expel English rule, it’s been a short enough time that the royal family just kind of...took a breather for a generation or two, but now they’re BACK and IN CHARGE. (Sometime in here -- probably after the Welsh Invasion, but not by much -- Queen Alekha deposes the king who suborned her husband’s infidelity, beheads him, and takes the throne. She eventually marries a minor royal in order to establish legitimacy for herself.) Anyway, that’s basically how it remains until 1914, when Gregory II is crowned king.

Gregory II gets them through WWI without too much suffering, and decides -- having seen what’s going on in Russia and a couple of other key countries -- to democratize the country. He is re-crowned as the first democratically elected life-term king, and also manages to get the country through WWII, mainly by 1) sending everyone he possibly could somewhere way safer for Jews than Europe and 2) opening his country to the Allies, primarily by sheltering and supporting Allied spies and small raiding parties. This also introduces an entirely new industry to Askazer-Shivadlakia: every Allied spymaster is now aware that they are a quiet, discreet place to have A Meeting That Never Happened, and they become something of a hub for backroom diplomacy.

Gregory II passes in 1952, his son Nathan IV is elected, and Nathan is such a fucking disaster that within two years Jason Michaelis, the son of Greek immigrants to Askazer-Shivadlakia, uses his considerable wealth and political clout to oust Nathan and get himself elected. He rules until 1981, when his son Michaelis ben Jason, married to the many-greats granddaughter of Gilles Roman y Askaz, is elected.

The rest is Romance. :D

#shivadhverse

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henghost · 1 month

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Twig Liveblog for Arc 15

great arc!!!! it all felt so french, somehow, very may '68, with feckless anarchists and student rebellions. sy even starts smoking!!!!!! that was probably my favorite part, sy nervously smoking more and more. i'm beginning to understand how everyone around him finds him so irresistibly attractive...

speaking of: jessie and sy are literally TOO CUTE!! jessie explaining how she likes trains, sy and jessie sleeping with their heads on each other, and then a little peck on the cheek 🥺 they are so perfect for each other! the interlude is probably one of my favorites so far. god that line about how she didn't know jealousy until that episode with lillian killed me. the discussion of "anchors" is so fascinating--and heartbreaking when we realize that the central anchor for all her memories is sylvester. she is cursed/blessed to recount in perfect painstaking detail every encounter, every little instance of neglect. she reroutes every new experience through the complex web of memory, and it feels so agonizing to have even this small exposure to that. every new happiness is tinged with the pain of nostalgia.

there's some kind of parallel between jessie/sy and fray/avis, i think. people who can, by virtue of being victims of fucked up biotechnology, only find solace in one another. the phantom amalgam-fray joining evette was another standout moment--the not-quite-sisters.

fray continues to be enigmatic. her motivations, plans, and pathology are all so murky. does she really have a scheme lurking in the background that she doesn't need to be there for? how will this circumvent the sore-loserdom she describes? (very excited to learn, by the way, that the infante is one of the people who gets to personally condemn whole cities.) sy's long discussion with fray wherein he details how he felt like a dog for the academy was so good.

fray is so fucking cool!! it's crazy that she gives mauer a run for his money in terms of being a badass rebel leader. dolores the octopus 😍😍😍

sad to narrowly miss the lambs :( i hope they can still meet up sometime soon! i want to know what's going on with them too, like for instance if mary and lillian have kissed yet.

final predictions!!!!! (or embarrassing myself for your amusement):

fray is probably right to be more cautious than sy wrt fighting the crown, and sy's recklessness will lead to some unspeakable catastrophe

this catastrophe will probably involve some plan to disseminate the nobles' big secret that backfires horrifically

the plague will be what ultimately does the crown in--too thematically appropriate to have eruptive, spontaneous life triumph over the crown and academy's regime of biocontrol

the duke and the lambs will unite to try and defeat the infante, but will lose

the king will be larger than the infante

sy and jessie will kiss a lot and make love and get married and find some way to have children and name them all sylvester junior or jessie junior and live happily ever after forever :)

#twig #twigblr #twig liveblog #henghost's twig arc #sylvester lambsbridge #jessie ewesmont #yes my lord infante

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marie-swriting · 9 months

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Choice - Benedict Bridgerton

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Summary : You are in love with Benedict but you have to marry another man.

Warning : angst, happy ending, feeling trapped, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.3k

French version

Song inspiration : Speak Now (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

Your wide open eyes on the ring in front of you, you’re speechless. You knew this day would come. This dreadful day where Duke William Edmonstone would put a knee down and would ask you the question that sounds like a death sentence. You raise your gaze and look around you in the ballroom. All the guests of the Duke’s family are waiting for your answer impatiently. It looks like everyone knew this ball was for this specific event.

Setting your eyes on your right, you find your mother. She nods with strength. You look down on the man in front of you and force a smile.

“I would be honoured to be your wife.”

At your sentence, everyone cheers. Glad, William stands up and puts the ring on your finger. He kisses your left hand, knowing it’s the only proper physical contact he can give you.

Your fiancé abandons you to talk with his friends while you stay put, paralysed. You can’t believe you just pronounce your own condemn. You only want one thing : to run away from here as fast as possible. However, the arrival of young women of the ton prevents you from it. They start talking about weddings, decorations, vows and even babies ! You listen to them without giving your full attention and answer from time to time to be polite. The ring on your ring finger weighs more as the second goes by.

During the whole night, you stay in this numb feeling, not knowing how to act. You should be happy to have secured a match yet, you can’t help but feel sad. You wish there had been another man at the end of the ring.

When you come home from the ball, you keep acting like a puppet until you get in your bedroom. As soon as your door is closed, you let go of a sigh. You get closer to your dressing table when your maid enters your room. She invites you to sit down in front of your mirror to undo your hair. She takes two pins off then your mother makes an apparition and she dismisses your maid. Your mom gets behind you and keeps undoing your hair. You don’t know the reason why she came to see you but you know she’s going to tell you in a few minutes. When your hair is finally loose, your mom puts her hands on your shoulders and looks at you through the mirror.

“You do not seem happy, my child.”

“I am, mama. I just cannot believe I am finally getting married.” you say with a fake happy tone.

“You have doubts. No need to deny it. I used to be at your place before. Tell me what the matter is.” your mom tells you with a soft voice.

“I am not sure I am made for the Duke.” you admit, avoiding her gaze.

“What do you mean ? You have been raised all your life to marry a man of his rank.”

“Is his rank that important ?”

“Of course, it is !” your mom answers as if it was obvious, “You cannot marry a man whose rank is inferior to ours. The Duke is perfect. Furthermore, he is a nice man and he will give you a decent life.”

“But, I do not love him, mama.”

“Love !” she exclaims, rolling her eyes. “Love is not important when it comes to marriage. You must choose your survival before thinking of something as futile as love.”

“I wish I could have a marriage of love.” you insist, looking down.

Your mother puts a finger under your chin to make you raise your head to her.

“Do not worry about love, you will discover it when you will have children.”

“Do you not love papa ?”

“I care about your father dearly. And one day, so will you with the Duke. Y/N, finding love in a marriage is something rare. The small portion of people who do are lucky.”

“The Bridgertons seem like a lucky family then.” you mutter.

“All of these doubts are because of the second born Bridgerton, is it not ?” your mother questions, arching a brow. “No matter if they are a respectable family, he is a second son and even if he was the first born, he would only be a Viscount. You cannot keep having what you two share.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.” you deny, clearing your throat.

“My child, I see the glances you give to each other.”

“Mama, I promise you-”

“I know nothing happened.” she cuts you off with a smile. “I haven’t said anything because I trust you. I knew when the moment would come, you would make the right choice, in other words : marrying the Duke. However, you must stop talking to him.” she orders with a firm voice. “I noticed it quickly and you should be grateful I was the only one. If Lady Whistledown were to write about it, it could ruin your marriage. Have I made myself clear, Y/N ?”

“Yes, mama.” you sigh.

Satisfied by your reaction, your mom kisses your cheek and leaves the room. Your eyes fill with tears and you quickly make them disappear when your maid comes back to help you out of your ball dress.

Since your proposal, you can’t sleep. Your nights are busy with your thoughts. Your fears are taking over, despites your mother’s attempts to reassure you. Like she confirmed to you several times, you did the right thing by accepting the betrothal, the Duke Edmonstone is a good catch and only three years older than you. He’s also a good looking man and cultured. You should feel fortunate. You could have found yourself with an old and disrespectful man. Yes, the Duke will give you a decent life. Notwithstanding, the Duke is not the only matter in your mind ; you don’t want your life to change. You don’t want to have to leave your childhood home for an unknown place with a man who doesn’t care for your mind. Above all, you don’t want to say goodbye to Benedict.

You two met a few months ago and you bonded instantly. You’ve never felt this before. You feel like someone finally understands you. Your passion for the art has helped your relationship a lot. It’s not rare for you two to sneak out to a more discreet location during social events. Nothing scandalous ever happened, like you promised your mother, unless falling in love is considered as such. Benedict didn't officially court you because your father is always saying his daughter will never marry a man who isn't, at least, an Earl, let alone if he’s not a first born. In other words, your relationship was doomed before it even started but it didn’t stop you from getting closer. Now that you have to marry, you have to leave Benedict behind. Your mom hasn’t stopped reminding you to do it several times. You thought about the way you’re going to tell him ; you ended up deciding it’s better to go straight to the point. You don’t want to make yourself suffer even more so it’s useless to make a tragic speech to bid farewell.

The next vernissage seems the perfect moment to do it. You’re sure he’ll be there. Generally, Benedict avoids balls. He, sometimes, makes an apparition only to see you in a beautiful dress and sneak out with you to discuss your ambitions in life. Consequently, the events regarding art are the only occasions where you know you’ll find him.

Once you’re at the gallery, you walk slowly, admiring the paintings carefully. Your mother is not really far away, even if she keeps a distance to allow Benedict to talk with you.

You enter the second room where there aren’t a lot of people. You stare at the painting depicting a forest during a summer day when Benedict appears next to you. Seeing him, you play with your gloves, needing a way to evacuate your stress. By your side, Benedict smiles as he looks at the tableau in front of him. You turn your head and from afar, your mother gives you a sign to hurry. You sigh before clearing your throat and avoid his gaze.

“Benedict, we should stop seeing each other.”

“Because of your wedding ?” Benedict asks after a long second of silence.

“I cannot risk a scandal now.”

“Of course. Congratulations on your engagements.” he states emotionlessly.

Without holding forth, Benedict doesn’t glance at the other paintings and goes to another room. Your eyes sting however you pay no mind to it. You did the hardest part. You can’t cry now or people will wonder why you’re in such a state after exchanging a few words with Benedict. You quickly blink and when you’re sure you’re not going to cry, you go to your mom. She locks her arms in yours to comfort you.

Benedict is officially a part of your younger self's past. You, now, have to focus on your future newly-wed life.

The next month is rythmed by the wedding preparations. The Duke insisted on having a marriage quickly. You got asked for your opinion for the reception but you let your mother handle everything. You don’t want this wedding so what does it matter if you like it or not ?

You haven’t seen Benedict since then and this hasn't helped with your gloominess. You wish you could leave everything behind and go find him, unfortunately you can’t make this choice so you keep getting ready for your new life. All your life, you have been raised to be the perfect wife but now your mom is taking things to another level. Given that you’re a future Duchess, she wants to ensure you won’t make a single mistake. She wants you to be perfect. If she lets you have one flaw, she’s worried your future husband will decide to abandon you. Lately, the pressure is more suffocating than your corset. You can’t breathe anymore and you feel like you’ve passed out and no one is paying attention to you.

Your last day as a maiden goes by at the speed of light. In a blink, the night has fallen and you’re in your bed staring at your wedding dress. You glare at it, knowing everything it represents. It’s a prison embellished by a white fabric. Objectivally, the dress is beautiful, Madame Delacroix has outdone herself, but you hate it. You keep looking at the object of your fear until you hear something hitting your window. You frown yet don’t move. When you hear the same noise again, you leave your bed, glaring one last time at the dress and open your window. On the ground floor, in your garden, you find Benedict. His tie is untied, the first buttons of his shirt are undone and his hair is messy because of the numerous times he runs his hand through it.

“Benedict, what are you doing here ? You need to go.” you order, trying to not speak too loud.

“Please, I need to talk to you.”

“You cannot be seen here. If Lady Whistledown-”

“Give me five minutes.” he cuts you off with begging eyes.

You stare at him, weighing the pros and cons. You miss him, though talking to him would be a mistake. However, your feelings for Benedict are stronger than your morale.

“Don’t move.”

You close your window and take your dressing gown. Before leaving your bedroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. You put back in place some strands of your hair and open your door. You glance right and left before leaving the room, walking on tiptoe. The light of the moon gives you enough visibility to walk down the stairs without falling.

Once you’re in your garden, you find Benedict pacing back and forth. When he sees you, he moves to hold you in his arms and right away, you take a step back. Noticing your movement, Benedict keeps his distance and his arms fall on his legs.

“You cannot stay here, Benedict. I am to be married tomorrow.” you remind him, crossing your arms on your chest.

“I know but tomorrow, I will not be there and I needed to see you.”

“Why are you not coming ? Your family has been invited.” you question, eyebrows furrowed.

“Your lovely mama paid me a visit and she got me to understand I was to stay away from you.”

Hearing your information, you wish you could feel anger for your mother however you’re grateful. You know if Benedict was here, you wouldn’t be able to marry the Duke. Notwithstanding, having Benedict in your garden the night before your wedding is surely no better.

“Nevertheless, I could not let you marry the Duke without talking to you one last time.” he adds.

“What do you wish to talk about ?”

“Y/N, do not marry him.” he announces point blank. “Tomorrow, do not say ‘yes’ or say a single vow. You deserve to marry another man than him.”

“How dare you say that ? The Duke is a gentleman. He will treat me right.” you get mad.

“But do you love him ?”

“I care about him.” you answer him after a silence.

“So you do not love him.” Benedict specifies, seeing right through you, “You cannot marry a man you do not love. You deserve to be with someone you love and who loves you back.”

“Love is not important. I need to think about what's best for me and the Duke is the best option.” you argue, your mother’s words resonating in your mind.

“The best option according to whom ?”

“I do not have another choice, Benedict. I cannot afford to be picky. I do not have the luxury to tell my mama I want to wait before getting married or to focus on my art. I cannot afford to make that choice, contrary to you.”

“It is not too late to make another one.”

“You are being insensitive right now. You cannot come here, the night before my wedding, and tell me to not marry the Duke.” you retort with teary eyes.

“If you loved him, I would not have uttered a word, but it is not the case.”

“And what do you propose instead ? Because if I leave the Duke at the altar, I will be without an option.”

“I will be here for you.” he promises as if it was a magic remedy.

“You cannot be serious.” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Did you think about the scandal it would cause ? Your family’s reputation would be destroyed and your sisters need to marry as well.”

“It would be worth it. I love you, Y/N and I know you love me, too.”

“The fact is, it does not change anything about my situation. Tomorrow, I will be married and I will finally be what I have been raised for all my life : a faithful wife.”

“Faithful !” Benedict laughs humorlessly, “And you think your dear future husband had the same education as you ? The Duke might act as a gentleman but he keeps seeing other women and he will keep on doing so after you are married. He does not have any regard for you. He just wants a wife. He cannot give you what you truly want.”

“And you think I do not know that ? I am well aware of this fact. Except the world is like this and I cannot change it.” you affirm, desperately.

“Is there not a thing I could say to convince you ?”

“My destiny has been written for a long time. You need to leave me alone.”

“Very well, but before this,” he starts, getting closer to you and you let him do it, “would you allow me to kiss you ? I have wanted to do it since we first talked.” he adds putting his hand on your cheek, “And I wish to do it before you’re someone else’s.”

“Benedict, it is improper.” you object, without moving.

“If your future husband can currently be with another woman, I think you deserve to make the choice of kissing someone you really love before it is too late.” Benedict mutters but you stay sceptical. “No matter if you accept to give me this honour, just know you will not hear from me ever again, I promise you.”

You stare in Benedict’s blue eyes, trying to resist the temptation of tasting his lips. Your mother’s words and the fear of finding yourself on the first page of Lady Whistledown’t next issue are the only things holding you back. However, when Benedict's second hand touches yours, your mind doesn’t think of these things anymore so you hold your hand before whispering.

“You may kiss me.”

With a smile, Benedict leans in and softly presses his lips on yours. You kiss him back in an instant. You wish you could kiss him since the moment your eyes met his. Like you expected, his lips are soft and fit perfectly with yours. You kiss lovingly, enjoying this moment, this last choice you made.

Without adding something else, you leave Benedict alone and get back home while he leaves your grounds.

The guilt isn’t eating you alive, only joy is exploding in yourself. You will always keep this moment in your mind and you know it will nourish a lot of your nights when you’ll be next to your husband. You don’t regret kissing Benedict because, for the first time in your life, you finally put yourself first. Arriving in your bedroom, your wedding dress seems to judge you but you pay it no mind and lay down on your bed. At the same time, the joy leaves your body, not for remorse, but for sadness ; you will never live this moment again. You will never feel this feeling again.

When the sun rises in the sky the next morning, your stomach twists. Meanwhile you’re getting ready, you live an out of body experience. Your body's here and dressed up however your mind is lost in the memory of the night before. This memory is nicer than your reality.

When you’re at the door of the chapel, you gain consciousness again. You know this is your last moment as Y/N Y/L/N. You take a deep breath whilst your father comes next to you. He gives you a comforting smile, seeing your state.

“Do not be afraid, my dearest. You are ready. Your whole life has been made for this moment.”

You cannot count how many times you've been hearing this since you're out in society. It's supposed to make you feel better and yet, it only makes you feel even more trapped.

You don’t answer your father, fearing you might throw up on him due to the stress. Your father makes sure your veil is set correctly on your head then he locks his arms with yours and guides you through to the chapel. The music starts playing and for you, it doesn’t sound like a wedding song but more like a death march. You walk down the aisle, your heart beating loudly in your ears and your flowers are practically strangled by your grip. While walking, you take notice of the guests, wanting to avert your attention from your future husband. When you glance on the right side of the aisle, you find the Bridgerton family. Violet Bridgerton’s eyes are filled with softness that helps you to feel more at ease, despite the fact you’d still like to run away. Taking a closer look at the Bridgerton family, your eyes find Benedict. You do your best to not show your confusion. He wasn’t supposed to be here. You don’t understand what he’s doing here. He cannot be here. You have to go through with this wedding. Not wanting to be more disturbed, you finally dare to watch your future husband. He looks good in his suit yet, you can’t help but think Benedict is more handsome.

When you’re at the altar, your father kisses your forehead before letting you go to the Duke. Once your father lets go of your arm, you want to catch him and beg him to not let you go. You don’t do it. Tightening your grip on your bouquet, you give a forced smile at the Duke. The music stops and the Archbishop announces to the guests they can sit down. When they did and the ceremony has finally started, tears form in your eyes.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony ” he states solemnly.

The word ‘matrimony’ echoes in your mind and you can’t listen to the Archbishop’s voice anymore. You can only watch the scene unfold in front of you until you willingly press a finger on a thorn from your bouquet to bring you back to reality. You can’t dwell in your own world anymore, you have to face your truth. In spite of yourself, you look furtively at Benedict before landing your gaze on the man in front of you again. At the same time you get back in the chapel, you hear the Archbishop exclaim :

“If anyone thinks this man and this woman shall not be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

After the Archbishop's sentence, there is a silence for a second and you’re afraid your fast heartbeats can be heard. You wouldn’t be surprised to find your heart out of your chest.

As there is no protest, the Archbishop opens his mouth again to finish the wedding when your name echoes in the chapel. Every pair of eyes, yours included, land on the same spot, on Benedict, standing on his feet with a broken but determined gaze.

“Y/N, I know I told you I would leave you alone but I cannot.” he starts with trembling hands. “You need to hear me out, do not marry him ! You should not be obliged to marry a man you do not love… I love you too much to let you make this mistake.” he adds and at these words, Anthony tries to make him sit again in vain. “If you become his wife, you will not be happy, you will be miserable. We both know it. You should not be marrying the wrong man. You have always told me you wanted to marry a man you love dearly and who supports you in everything. And this man is not the Duke.” Benedict carries on and you feel the heat in your cheek. “I am not saying you should marry me, if this is not what you wish for, even if I would be honoured to be your husband. Just please, do not become his wife.”

Following his tirade, Benedict takes a deep breath. The room is filled with horrified looks, especially Anthony’s and your parents. No one knows how to react, not expecting this interruption. Benedict doesn’t pay attention to the others, he is only looking at you as if you were alone in the chapel. You can see all the tenderness and love he has for you.

As for you, your eyes are wide open in shock. Benedict’s intervention cut your growing anxiety off and you stay on your feet, not moving an inch. You don’t dare to say a word, not knowing what is going to happen next. The moment stays frozen in time for a whole minute before Anthony stands up and forces his brother to leave the chapel. Your eyes follow the two Bridgerton brothers until they’re out of sight.

Once everything is calm again, the Duke takes your hand to bring back your attention to him. He asks if they can resume and to answer him, you let your bouquet fall at your feet. You mutter a quick apology and walk up the aisle while your father is ordering you to come back.

As soon as you’re outside, you find Anthony reprimanding Benedict. Without paying a mind to it, you throw yourself at the man you love. Taken aback by your gesture, Anthony takes a step back. Understanding the situation, the Bridgerton first born knows he has to handle a delicate situation so he goes back to the chapel. You keep embracing Benedict in your arms for several seconds before putting your hands on his cheeks and kissing him with passion. Benedict stumbles, surprised by your action, before deepening the kiss. You keep kissing until you’re out of air. When you break the embrace, you keep your hands on both sides of his face, joyful tears in your eyes.

“You are right. I cannot marry him. I know what we have just done will have consequences but I do not care. I want to be with you. I want to be able to choose and I choose you. It is you I want by my side. I love you, Benedict.” you confess with a genuine smile, the first one in a month.

“I love you so much.” he answers, pecking your lips.

“I am so glad you were around when they said ‘speak now’. Had you not intervened, I never would have had the strength to run away.”

“I told you I would be here for you.” Benedict reminds you, stroking your cheeks. “We should leave while they are still in shock.”

You agree and Benedict takes your hand. You look at each other with love and without wasting another second, you run out of the place, you undo your veil and let it fall down on the ground. You know you’re in a complicated situation but it doesn't matter to you. You love each other and you will get married and even if it means going to another city and suffer the wrath of your parents once you’re back. You chose each other, it’s all that matters.

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

#marie swriting in english #benedict bridgerton x fem reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton one shot #bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton one shot #Benedict Bridgerton angst #Spotify #marie swriting with music #marie swriting with speak now tv #marie swriting with taylor swift

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purple-scrunchie · 10 months

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Heathers Headcanons that live Rent-Free in my Head (Pt. 2)

Veronica:

Her birthday is October 29th (Winona Ryder's)

Ambidextrous

Has always been a huge nerd

Before Duke got her into classics, she liked sci-fi stuff like Ender's Game and Dune

Made Duke watch Spaceballs with her at some point (Their friendship has so much untaped potential-)

puts the milk before her cereal (This has made Chandler and Duke cry before)

Has a very noisy brain that refuses to shut up (iykyk), she turns to journaling to organize her thoughts and make sense of things

Often gets lost in her thoughts and forgets to pay attention to her surroundings

Has been known to pace around scribbling furiously in her journal for hours on end

Loves to pick up random things on the ground and keep them (She and Mac exchange shiny things, it's their friendship langauge)

Decent driver, if a little inattentive

Chandler:

Birthday is June 19 (Kim walker's)

Always wanted an older brother (someone who she could look up to & would protect her)

Cheats so hard at boardgames and card games

But never at croquet

So. Many. Freckles. Hides them with an inordinate amount of concealer (ik almost the entire fandom hcs this but I had to hop on the bandwagon too)

Refuses to go anywhere without a clear expectation of the situation

Or her planner and 12 color-coded pens

One time Heather and Heather threw her a surprise party for her birthday and she started sobbing because she thought it was an ambush

World's shittiest sense of smell (that's why she drank the drain cleaner, also she applies absurd amounts of perfume to compensate)

This also kinda affects her sense of taste. That's why she only likes BQ corn nuts, they have a flavor to her

Really likes flowers. She can't smell them well, but she thinks they're gorgeous. All her favorite perfumes are flower scents.

The one she uses most is lavender

Best driver of all the Heathers, which is saying something. This girl is a menace to the road. She goes like 90 in a 50mph zone and loves to run stopsigns/red lights

But she doesn't have road rage, it's honestly a little scary

Duke:

Birthday is April 12 (Shannon Doherty's)

Her favorite book is Catcher in the Rye (and Moby Dick ofc)

Veronica got her into scifi movies

Starwars and Spaceballs are now her guilty pleasure

She was named after some dead great-grandma she never met

her parents named her siblings Hunter and Hannah because they thought "ohho funny matching name children"

Only chews mint gum

doesn't go through as much as Mac, but will put like 2-3 pieces in her mouth at a time

Hums under her breath whenever she does little tasks like washing the dishes/doing her homework

When Gatsby hisses at her, she will hiss right back

Is much smilier around her cat than people

Worse driver than Chandler. Instead of running stop signs/red lights at 80MPH and nearly running people over, Duke swerves like crazy and flips people off through the window (To her the highway is a jigsaw puzzle)

Has somehow never gotten in an accident

She has horrendous road rage

McNamara:

Her birthday is December 3rd (Lisanne Falk's)

LOVE LOVE LOVES Madonna, her favorite song is "like a prayer"

Animal lover and devout vegetarian

also puts the milk before the cereal (this upsets Duke and Chandler less since they're so used to it)

way more observant than people give her credit for

Tries so hard, but just can't keep secrets

Hates lying. One of the only things she gets really mad about is when people lie to her

Has a million jingly key chains

Duke calls her "Macpie" because she loves to collect shiny things

Bonus points if it's shiny AND makes a noise (yes she is obsesed with those tiny jinglebells)

Loves to carry her friends with her cheerleader arms

Can jump freaky high

Coffee quite literally puts this girl to sleep

The worst driver of all the Heathers. She likes to think of road laws as 'guidelines'

JD:

Birthday is October 13th (Firday the 13th in his birth year)

Secretly a Canadian (French-Canadian specifically)

Speaks a little bit of French

He and Chandler argue in French all the time. It's how he brushes up on his conversational skills

Is even more of a cheater than Chandler

Favorite book is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

His favorite Heather is Duke. He likes to talk books with her and respects her sharp sense of humor.

Plays the saxophone (this is technically canon but specifically alto sax in my head), his favorite genres are jazz and blues

We all know he'd listen to modern day emo music without an ounce of shame

And call the stoner kids posers

Compulsively sharpens the few pencils he doesn't lose. Like he writes two or three sentences and then makes it POINTY again

Can't choose between cherry slushies and coke slushies, so he mixes both and goes Cherry Coke

In my AUs where he dies, JD's grave is right next to his mom's

One of the safest drivers you'll ever meet, but likes to go fast on his motorcycle. He thinks he's such a bad boy for going 5 over the speed limit lol

#scrunchie's ramblings #heathers headcanons #heathers 1988 #heathers the musical #veronica sawyer #heather chandler #heather duke #heather mcnamara #jason dean

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scotianostra · 1 month

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On 27th March 1625, King James VI died.

James Charles Stuart has many facts, myths and urban legends surrounding him, this is just one of them.

Rumours have abounded for centuries that James was a homosexual, I'm not saying he wasn't but at very least you might call him bisexual, he did after all father seven children to his wife, only three of whom survived. Known for writing poetry, there is little doubt he loved his wife, Anne, and wrote many poems and love letters to her throughout their marriage. Most of the rumors of James’ sexual orientation came from Sir Anthony Weldon, who was a bitter enemy of the king, whose writings were published long after James was dead.

One of the most amusing quotes from King James regarding marriage and women was when, at the Hampton Court Conference, the Puritan leaders complained of a line in English wedding vows where the groom says to bride “with my body, I thee worship.” James’ response was “If you had a good wife yourself, you would think all worship and honour you could do her, were well bestowed upon her.”

James supposed lover was George Villiers was a courtier who became a favourite of King James I. The King became infatuated with him and made him Viscount in 1616, Earl in 1617, Marquis in 1618 and Duke of Buckingham in 1623. Outmanoeuvring his rivals the Howards, Villiers was appointed Lord High Admiral in 1619. He manipulated the lovestruck King James to gain unprecedented control over royal patronage, rewarding himself and his family generously. He married his relations into the most important families in England. His own marriage was to Lady Catherine Manners, only daughter of the wealthy Earl of Rutland. Was their friendship more than platonic? To coin a Scottish phrase, "

Mibbes aye mibbes naw."

James had a deep and terrible fear of witchcraft and personally oversaw many witch trials while ruling in Scotland. He saw witchcraft as a branch of theology and even wrote a famous treatise titled Daemonologie, in which he dealt with sorcery, magic, and even vampires and werewolves!

James had a relatively peaceful reign, except for the infamous Gunpowder Plot, and kept taxes low. He was known as both the British Solomon and was called “the wisest fool in Christendom” by the King of France. James was both a brute and a gentleman, a sloth and a scholar, a boor and a poet, paranoid and cunning.

Perhaps we should look at his mother's French Emissary Monsieur de Fontenay who had the following to say regarding the young James’ character and traits:

“I have been well received by the king, who has treated me better in reality than in appearance. He give me much credit, but does not show me much kindness. Since the day of my arrival he has ordered me to live in his house along with the earls and lords, and that I shall have access to him in his cabinet just as the others have… .

To tell you truly what I think of him – I consider him the first prince in the world for his age. … . He apprehends and conceives quickly, he judges ripely and with reason, and he retains much and for a long time. In questioning he is quick and piercing, and solid in his answers. … He is learned in many languages, sciences, and affairs of state. more so than probably anyone in his realm. In a word he has a miraculous wit, and moreover is full of noble glory and a good opinion of himself.

Having been brought up in the midst of constant fears, he is timid and will not venture to contradict the great lords; yet he wishes to be thought brave.

He hates dancing and music in general and especially all the mincing affectations of the court … .

From want of proper instruction his manners are boorish and very rough, as well in his way of speaking, eating. dress, amusements and conversation, even in the company of women.

He is never at rest in one place but takes a singular pleasure in walking; but his gait is very ungainly and his step is wandering and unsteady, even in a room. His voice is thick and very deep as he speaks. … He is weak of body … But to sum up, he is an old young man. …

He misunderstands the real extent of his poverty and weakness; he boasts too much of himself and he despises other princes. In the second place, he disregards the wishes of his subjects; and lastly, he is too idle and careless in business and too much addicted to his own pleasures, chiefly hunting. … He told me that he really gave greater attention to business than he seemed to do for he could get through more work in one hour than others could in a day. …"

James ruled Scotland as James VI from 24th July 1567 and, as you might recall from my post a few days ago, ruled in England, Wales and Ireland as James 1st from 24th March, 1603. He died 27th March, 1625 at Theobalds House, and his remains lie in the Henry VII Lady Chapel in Westminster Abbey.

The third pic shows James's body next to Henry VII and his queen in the vault

#scotland #scottish #history #royalty #the stuarts

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 6 months

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tuesday again 10/24/2023

this post and this series not sponsored by hellofresh

listening

caravan palace's new single MAD. genuinely the song i've had on loop while working but i had a very strong "ugh can't use that one it's cringe" reaction while drafting this entry and am trying to sort of sit with myself for a bit and go okay WHY is it cringe? how can we talk about it being cringe other than the fact that steampunk and electroswing are no longer fashionable? some weeks the policy of No Such Thing As A Guilty Pleasure is easier than others

i would not classify this song as electro or swing, and it's considerably jazzier than their more recent dancey pop stuff. more of a languid stroll with enough brass to keep my brain interested while i peer at spreadsheets? spotify

youtube

reading

Alexis Hall's A Lady for a Duke. i liked this quite a bit but i have some longer form thoughts percolating that require a reread. it was a tense but fun read, i do not know that mr hall achieved the goal he set forth below. in a broad initial stroke, there is certainly a great deal of internal conflict not helped by our trans lead’s difficulty seeing her trans self in a loving relationship.

how this conflict resolves did genuinely keep me on the edge of my seat bc i could not fucking figure out how she was going to do it

watching

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951, dir Lewin). this is a movie where (in the immortal words of the switchblade sisters podcast) it’s not what happens, but how it happens. the movie opens with fishermen dredging up two star-crossed lovers. i will not be particularly concerned with spoilers here or in my letterboxd review.

age and a deft scorsese-backed restoration have been very kind to this sea-mist movie. cinnamon fucking topography, technicolor at some of its prettiest and best used. jack cardiff (also did Black Narcissius, The Red Shoes, The African Queen) you've fucking done it again. the restored version is on american tubi and it's so so lush and dreamy. the very first handful of scenes contains a church bell ringing wildly, giving you glimpses of commotion on the beach, and it just keeps getting better from there. the beach party, full of dutch angles and toppled statuary and debauchery and no one dancing the same, is exactly the same as every beach party i have ever been to.

james mason is at his hottest, wettest, and most brooding. not all of our main characters are as openly debauched as pandora, but all of them are just as selfish. i have a lot of fucking beef with some of the letterboxd reviewers, who are simply wrong. pandora is not supposed to be a likeable or redeemable character. i think one of the questions for YOU to answer is whether or not a flighty, homewrecking, irresponsible woman like pandora is redeemed through her willingness to die for true love-- this is generally an admirable quality in myths and fairy tales, but is it cancelled out as just another flight of her fancies that ultimately kills her?

also the people who don't "get" what the film's about and complain it's too slow. it's about insanity and the sea what's not to get!!!

youtube

thank u @dying-suffering-french-stalkers

playing

so we are mostly through the genshin 4.1 part 2 events. i am so tired of the past few battle events cycling through the same arenas; however, this is the first event where i read the directions and was like "augh that's too complicated we'll do that later" and did all my weekly bounties instead. speaking of bounties, i finally did enough to unlock the treasure chest locator and confirmed my suspicions that i have in fact picked over the region pretty well in the last ~two months. the liffey and research institute were at 85% and 95% respectively before i unlocked this thing, but i did almost immediately find two remarkable chests in the far south by the port. augh. would have bit me if they had teeth etc. i would prefer if the regions showed 100% when i have actually 100%ed them instead of whatever margin they have going now, but i recognize that i have brain problems.

making

im MAD bc i was given a singular hellofresh dinner by a friend going on vacation and it was fairly easy to make and tasted good and everything WORKED. and it was like a fun little after work project!!! and the directions said “here’s what to do to the peppers if you don’t want it super spicy” and it most importantly it all WORKED. this is a very expensive thing to have a sudden interest in. i feel like i fuck up most of the food i make and i know that's part of the learning curve but it's SO fucking expensive to fuck up food and i have such a limited amount of energy :<

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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camillemontespan · 11 months

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forever and eternity [drake x camille AU] [chapter two: the descendants]

@karahalloway @sophxwithers @katedrakeohd @angelasscribbles @notoriouscs @jovialyouthmusic @twinkle1973 @gardeningourmet @saivilo

@moonlightgem7

I’m not sure who else is still languishing in this fandom but here is the 2nd chapter of this AU fic that seems to have gotten some popularity. Thank you so much for reading the first chapter, I appreciate your comments.

Chapter One here

In my head canon, Camille is actually a descendant of Madame de Montespan, purely because I LOVE Montespan’s story. It might seem a bit silly writing her into it like this but this is my fic so...

********************************* It had been 96 years since Camille Montespan had seen Drake Walker.

She rounded the corner around the back of the diner and pitched up against the brick wall, leaning her hands on the wall so she could steady herself. Hot tears blinded her vision as she struggled to breathe.

‘Camille!’

His voice. His voice had a certain softness underneath the deep tones. So familiar to her.

She slowly turned around to face Drake. He looked like he had seen a ghost. She imagined that she did too.

‘How are.. How are you still alive?’ Camille asked, knowing her question sounded incredibly weird to a casual observer but to her, it meant the world.

‘How are YOU still alive?’ Drake hurled back. His skin had gone back to normal but his eyes were still wild. ‘Camille, what the fuck?’

Camille raised a hand. ‘Hey, don’t start interrogating me, Drake! I have questions for you too!’

Drake stepped back. His eyes now narrowed.

‘You’ve got questions for me?’ he asked. ‘Seriously? Camille, you’re the one who upped and left! You didn’t even leave a note! I woke up and you were gone!’

As his voice began to rise, Camille’s eyes filled with fresh tears. She brought her hands up to grip her head as she turned around in a circle, trying to make sense of what was happening right now.

‘It’s been 96 years,’ Drake went on, his voice harsh, ‘I have thought about you every fucking day for 96 years. I thought you were gone. Dead. But no. Here you are, working in this shitty diner looking like you haven’t aged a day!’

Camille rubbed her eyes fiercely. When she looked up at him, he was staring at her, waiting for her to speak.

‘I didn’t know-’ she began.

‘Didn’t know what?’ Drake interrupted.

Camille bit her lip and looked down at the ground, wringing her hands together. ‘I didn’t know you were like me..’

Drake swallowed. ‘I didn’t know you were like me either.’

Camille felt a sob escape her throat. She could feel tears slowly sliding down her cheeks as she felt every emotion a human could feel.

Sadness. Guilt. Shame. Love. Joy. Confusion. Anger.

Anger.

Yes, she was more angry. Angry at herself. Angry at the universe.

96 years she had thought about Drake Walker. 96 years she thought he was dead. But here he was, alive and well, looking exactly as he did when she left him.

96 years wasted.

*************************************

Throughout her time on earth, Camille Montespan had lived many lives. She had been poor, she had been rich. She had travelled the globe. She had loved and she had lost.

She had loved one more than most.

Camille’s beginnings were confined to the history books. Her name - her real name - was Francois-Athenais (Athenais being her preferred name) and she was born in 1640. The daughter of a French duke, she became a prolific member of the royal court, serving as a lady in waiting for the Queen. Her wit and beauty had soon earned her a place in the king’s bed.

Louis, the Sun King, had fallen for her and she became his favourite. Until she wasn’t anymore.

Sometimes, when Camille waited tables and locked up the diner at midnight, she thought back to her time amongst the gold silk sheets of Louis’ bed, and laughed at how different her life was now.

Camille came to the slow, haunting realisation that she was in fact, immortal, when she reached her 60th birthday yet still looked 27.

She had suspicions, of course. But it was on her 60th birthday that she truly accepted the fact. France had become a place of suspicion and death; many people believed that ordinary women were witches. If they looked at her and saw her unlined face and smooth skin, the accusations would be life threatening.

Camille left France in 1700, deciding to travel to the New World to see where life would take her.

And what a life.

It was a life she could never tell anyone about. She changed her name to Camille Montespan; she wanted to hold onto that integral part of her identity that had shaped her. If anyone studied French history and thought it was funny that she shared a name with the infamous Madame de Montespan, who was the Sun King’s favourite mistress and who was embroiled in one of the most deadly events at Versailles, she simply said that she was her descendant.

Because at this point, she felt like a descendant. She had lived this long.

********************

‘We need to talk,’ Drake said, interrupting Camille’s thoughts. ‘You owe me that much.’

Camille pressed her lips together and nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s talk. I know a bar down the street.’

Drake smirked and Camille felt her stomach flip. God, that smirk. She forgot the impact it always had on her.

‘Hey!’

Camille turned to see a tall blonde man walking towards them. He nodded at Drake. ‘You okay, man?’

Drake laughed bitterly. ‘I’m alive.’

The man cast a long glance at Camille. ‘So she’s one of us.’

Camille frowned. ‘Who are you?’

‘Leo,’ he said. ‘And I know exactly who you are, Camille. This guy hasn’t shut up about you for 96 years.’

Drake turned red. Camille’s eyes widened. ‘You’re like us?’

Leo nodded. ‘Unfortunately.’

Camille’s head swam with more thoughts. How many people were out there who were like her? She thought she was the only one.

‘I need a drink..’ she muttered.

Leo laughed. ‘I second that. Drake?’

‘I need a whisky,’ Drake said. ‘A bottle.’

Leo pointed down the street. ‘I know this bar-’

‘We’re going there,’ Camille interrupted.

Leo glanced between Camille and Drake. ‘God, I can see why you guys got together.’

Drake let out a groan. ‘Leo, man!’

‘I’m KIDDING,’ Leo protested. ‘Alright, let’s go. Camille can explain what she’s been doing.’

The three of them began to make their way down the street towards the bar. Camille’s heart hammered in her chest. How could she explain? How could she tell Drake what happened?

96 years wasted.

#the royal romance #drake walker #drake x camille #drake x camille au #choices fanfic

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mamelukeraza · 1 year

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My relations with the Duke of Reichstadt (2/?)

Hi guys! Here is the second part for this series! Thanks for anyone who supported the first post! Making content about the King of Rome/Napoleon II always makes me happy and fills my heart with joy. I hope you enjoy it!

The next day, that is to say, June 24, I addressed the following lines to Count Dietrichstein: "I have been pleasantly impressed by the spirit, knowledge and judgment that your august pupil displayed in yesterday's interview; therefore I deeply regret to have neglected in the past the opportunity of an interview that honored and delighted me as much as yesterday's. When we bear such a great name and know from childhood that we are called to such high destinies; when, moreover, we are so well gifted like Your Highness and we live in times similar to our own, it is because Providence has appointed us for great things. Ordinary men, regardless of the rank in which they have been placed by birth, aspire and achieve only ordinary things. But men out of line, and among these I dare to count the eminent student of Your Excellency, they have duties towards society and history, from which they are not allowed to evade. I look forward to the time when I am granted to renew my visit of yesterday, and I desire nothing more ardently than to maintain His Highness in the opinion that he has formed of me and to which our interview the day before, as well as the favorable idea that he was able to conceive the content of some of my military writings, will certainly contribute. only to a small extent. Please accept with my best wishes, etc."

In response to this letter, I received a very friendly invitation for the next morning. This one came across the kindest orders of His Excellency the Emperor, who called me to met him that same morning. On my arrival, I saw so many people waiting in the antechambers that I thought I had the patience to see the duke. We talked to each other with all the grace of people who understand each other. I again expressed my wish to see him claim the throne of Greece, free to set whatever conditions he saw fit. This idea made him smile; but I clearly noticed that his desires and hopes were tending higher, moreover, he was trying to abuse of himself, pretending that he was too young by a few years to wear the Hellenic crown, and seeming to fear that we would not let him rule alone. Then, abruptly, he returned with marked interest to the duties and qualities of the commander-in-chief. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks burned. Count Dietrichstein left us alone for a few moments, and the young prince held me tightly with both hands:

"Speak to me frankly," he exclaimed, "do I have some merit, and am I called to a great future, or is there nothing in me that is worthy of ending up like this? What do you think, what do you hope for my future? What will happen to the son of the great emperor? Will Europe support him in taking some kind of independent position? How do I balance my French duty with my Austrian duty? Yes, if France called me, not the France of anarchy, but the one that has faith in the Imperial principle, I would run to her, and if Europe tried to expel me from my father's throne, I would draw the sword against all Europe. But is there an imperial France today? I don't know! A few isolated voices, a few voices without influence, they cannot carry any weight. Such serious resolutions deserve and require more solid foundations. If my destiny is never to return to France, I seriously wish to become another Prince Eugene for Austria. I love my grandfather; I feel that I am a member of his family, and for Austria I would gladly draw my sword against the whole world, except France."

He spoke to me as one speaks to a confessor, and I received his confidences in the same way. These were projects, of course, very legitimate in themselves and that could only become dangerous in a single hypothesis, the realization of which, in truth, was not at all impossible, but seemed at least very distant. Once again he gave vent to the feelings of filial affection. He said that no one had understood his father; that it was pitiful, that it was slanderous not to give his actions any motive other than ambition; that all his life and all his conduct had been consumed by the great and salutary projects which he had conceived for the happiness of Europe; that Austria, in particular, had ignored him and his own interests; that he had played into the hands of the Russians. The duke added that he wanted nothing more than to earn his spurs by fighting them. He spoke with warmth, but also with that frank and intimate conviction of youth. Then, hearing Count Dietrichstein's voice in the next room, he abruptly changed the subject to address this question to me:

— What memory do you have of my father in Egypt? — The memory of a great figure — I answered. — I understand, if you are talking about Ibrahim, the viceroy; but the populations? They have not yet returned from their surprise; this astonishment, however, has not been followed by any irritation, for the Arabs and the Turks, though they have the same faith, do not get along with each other, and one heavy yoke succeeded another still heavier. — Yes, this is an explanation; but the masses see in a great man only a freak of nature, a meteor that shines for a moment and immediately disappears.

At that moment he exclaimed again: — Oh! If only you stayed with me; but before you, opens a path full of smiling perspectives capable of tempting you. I shook his hand and said; "We'll talk about this later."

And we separated after kissing.

Only three days after this interview, and since in the meantime I had only been able to meet the Duke under unfavorable circumstances, I had a special interview with him that lasted for more than two hours. On the morning of that day, Count Dietrichstein had come to visit me and had complained, with the bad temper of a mother, about the duke's stubbornness and his aversion to any study except military art and mathematics; there wasn't even a german spelling that he didn't want to treat his way.

The count recognized that his student had a good nature, which, however, was hardened by indocility and pride. The duke, to whom I shared, insofar as I thought useful, these reproaches, did full justice to the count, especially to his excellent heart, but in short he praised nothing else in him. He had a definite opinion of his entourage, and he spoke to me frankly and forthrightly about the Emperor and the court, with the accent of an upright heart, but also of self-assured intelligence. He loved his grandfather with a filial love; for from the day he was brought to Vienna as a child, he had found in him the tenderness of a father. He had his ittle corner to play in the Emperor's room, spent half the days by his side, ate with him when the Emperor dined alone, shared with him the pleasures of the resort, finally grew close to him, like a branch grafted onto a foreign stump. He told me all this; but he added that he had not forgotten for a moment whose day he kept and in what place his father's ashes lay. He painted the court for me in colors that were often not very favorable, revealing, being honest, only the nature, the judgment, the heart, the garb of Archduke John. It was impossible for me to dispute the accuracy of his assessments. In many people he thought precisely like me, and, inside him, he did not compromise more than I did.

Like the agitated traveler who sighs after a fountain of living water, he thirsted for information about the situation in Europe. I told him everything I knew and thought. Although in my opinion the fall of Charles X was inevitable, I was far from expecting that it would be soon; as for Louis Philippe and the younger branch, I didn't even think about it.

Rather, I believed in a period of anarchy, out of which the new government would emerge. To whom would this government fall divided? Could it be the Napoleonic party? This point was beyond my judgment. I could give the duke no other advice than to strengthen his judgment by reading the history of past times, in order to appreciate contemporary events; thus learning to distinguish reality and truth from appearances and illusions, above all, meditating on his father's story, realizing the current situation of the world, which contains in germ the near future that will be the result by virtue of the irresistible logic of things; furthermore, to affirm his person in the army and in the diplomatic spheres, to attract to him capable men of great experience, of whom I named several, finally, to enlighten himself by all possible means on the internal situation of France. With a wave of his hand, he indicated his book collection, which contained several hundred volumes. They were historical works and memoirs, all related to the war and his father.

This precious treasure was increasing day by day, to which no obstacle was placed. I promised him that I would choose the best among these works, that I would be a very devoted friend of his and that I would complement with my reflections the observations that the general state of politics would suggest to him; finally I begged him not to confuse legitimate desires with achievable desires, but to never lose sight of them. He was so well trained by his young enthusiasm that he called me his Posa(1). I replied to him: — That's the language of a twenty-year-old. Is there any consistency in this will? That is what, at the moment, it is difficult for me to know.” My defiance seemed to sadden him. He kissed me, telling me: — You're right, I don't deserve you to see in me the son of Napoleon. I comforted him with these words: — Your Posa, yes, but on the condition that you do not imitate don Carlos; I will be for your whole life, and I hope, that it will be a glorious life. He reviewed the entire series of steps to be taken so that, once his military house was established, it could be linked to his person. We had time ahead of us in this regard. He thought he would achieve his ends through his grandfather, the Emperor. I authorized him to do everything he could for this purpose. As for him, he no longer doubted success. (1) Allusion to the tragedy of Schiller Don Carlos.

Source: Mes relations avec le duc de Reichstadt : mémoire posthume / par le comte de Prokesch-Osten,. . . ; traduit de l’allemand [par A. de Prokesch-Osten fils]. (s. f.). Gallica. https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k6536278r/f39.item.zoom

#duke of reichstadt #l'aiglon #napoleon ii #the king of rome #napoleon's son #napoleon's family #anton prokesch-osten #hasburg #memoirs

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