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soulmate-game · 3 years

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New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

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For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

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Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

#maribat #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic jasonette #platonic dickinette #platonic timinette #platonic timari #mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat fic #platonic brucinette #older sister Marinette

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sithsecrets · 3 years

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exchange | din djarin x reader

the crest’s one and only crewmember buys mando a few shirts, and he gives her a gift in return.

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2k words

mentions: none, this is fluff!

this is part 1 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

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You take notice of it when you’re doing the laundry.

Mando’s got the Crest cruising through hyperspace, course set for Nevarro, and you’re catching on up on chores in the meantime. The baby’s three little outfits are clean and stain-free, you’ve set aside a pair of your own pants for mending, and Mando… Mando, you come to find out, has two shirts. Total. As in, two shirts including the one he’s currently wearing under his armor. You know he had more than that the last time you did the washing, but— but shit, he got cut by a quarry last week, and another one of his beat-up long-sleeves ripped and bit the dust shortly after that. So yep, Mando’s small wardrobe is now even smaller, and that makes you sigh. Even now, the brown cloth you have in your hands feels thin and worn, rough fibers catching your fingers every now and then. You think about telling Mando that he needs some new clothes, but you know he’ll just put it off or insist that whatever he has now is fine. And so you decide that you’ll resolve the issue yourself, knowing that something from the bazaar will probably do.

Sure enough, you find just what you need. The textile vendor says he can match Mando’s measurements without a problem after you show him Mando’s singular extra shirt, and a droid whips up the garments for you right there. You come away with two black and two brown, all long-sleeves and all made from the same material Mando seems to preder. Two are a bit thicker than the others— something for him to wear in the cold— and you decide that they’ll do nicely for his needs. Back on the Crest, you leave the stack of clothes on Mando’s bed and then promptly forget about them, distracted by the baby’s antics further back in the hull.

Mando asks you about the shirts later, holding the stack out to you like he’s looking for an explanation.

“What are these?” he asks, and you’re too busy with dinner to make a big deal of it.

“Those are for you,” you tell him, cutting the heat under the stew you’re making. The baby’s trying to get his hands in the pot, so you snatch him up, settling the little green boy on your hip as you add the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. “I realized you had like, two shirts when I was doing laundry on the way here.”

Mando sounds absolutely floored. “You bought these for me?”

That earns him a little laugh, and you hand him the baby. “No, Mando, I stole them off an Imperial transport vessel. Yes, I bought them for you! What kind of crewmember would I be if I let you run around looking ragged?”

“I…” Mando trails off, settling the Child in his arms. “Thank you.”

And then the two of you don’t talk about it again, the matter quickly forgotten in the midst of the evening ritual and your departure from Nevarro.

Week later, the Crest touches down on a distant planet, a place you’ve never been that Mando knows well. He tells you that the three of you will be spending some time here, and that makes you happy. It seems like a nice place, and the locals are kind.

Two days into this little excursion, you’re about to crawl in bed, only or stop short when you see a little satin pouch sitting on top of the covers. It’s pale blue, blue like the sky on your home planet, and no bigger than your palm. Curious, you pick it up gently, examining the little white embroidery on the edge, the way the drawstring pulls the fabric together just so. It pulls open easily, and you dump the contents into your palm without a second thought.

Scores of pale, pearly little beads glint in the light, strung neatly on a thin, delicate chain. Nothing about the trinket is particularly special, but it’s the simplicity that makes it stunning, in your eyes. You’ve had jewelry over the course of your lifetime, naturally, but never anything so dainty and pretty as this. The beads and the way they’re strung are styles unique to this planet, and you’ve seen countless people wearing necklaces similar to this one over the past few days.

There’s only one person that could have placed this here for you to find, and you go up to the cockpit to speak with him not five minutes after his gift falls in your hand.

Mando’s a bit busy when you go up there, fiddling with something on his vambrace in the pilot’s chair. You feel a little shy as you come to stand before him, the string of beads dangling from your fingers.

“Did you buy me this?” you ask softly, and that’s when Mando finally looks up at you.

“I—” The helmet tilts in the direction of your hand, and it’s like he’s a whole different person. Mando becomes nervous, back stiffening in his chair as he looks from you, to the necklace, and then back again. “I, um. Yeah, I did.”

Just hearing him say it makes you feel lightheaded, but you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. “What for?”

Mando stutters terribly, but he does manage to give you an explanation. “You— Well, you got me those shirts a few weeks ago, and you take good care of the baby. And the ship. And me. I just— I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

You study the beads carefully for a moment, admiring the way they shimmer in your hand.

“I don’t just like it,” you declare, “I love it.”

And then you’re threading Mando’s give around your neck, reaching behind your head to do up the clasp. The jewelry is just as light as you thought it would be, sitting daintily against your collarbones. Mando watches you do all of this, and not the hundredth time do you wish you could see his face.

“Thank you, Mando, really.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

---

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct.”

The sound of the fruit vendors voice catches your attention, and you find yourself face-to-face with her satisfied smile when you lift your head up. You’ve been doing business with her every so often for almost a week now, always intrigued by the selection she has to offer. She also likes the baby, and he’s more than happy to coo at her for a free morsel or two.

“Excuse me?” you blurt, completely lost here. The old woman shakes her head at you, white braid swishing from side to side behind her back, and the smile on her face only deepens.

“Your necklace, child,” she says, pointing at the beads strung around your throat. You touch it on impulse, the baby wriggling in your other arm, and grow even more confused.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her, feeling stupid now, but the old woman just laughs. Her wrinkled fingers are soft on your cheek, the mirth in her eyes unmistakable.

“You don’t have to be secretive with me, my dear,” she chuckles, “I knew you were the Mandalorian’s woman from the minute I saw the both of you together. No man watches a woman that closely if he doesn’t care for her. And now he’s gotten you a necklace, so.”

She punctuates this with a shrug, behaving as if the meaning of your new accessory should be obvious, and you think you might actually pass out.

“I—” You huff, grasping for the right words. “I’m not— I don’t know the ways of this planet,” you say finally, mostly because it’s the truth and mostly because you don’t know how to so much as mention anything else the fruit vendor’s said.

It feels like you’ve been slapped across the face, like someone picked you up and shook you and until your brain rattled around too hard in your skull. Mando knows this place, he knows this city... Custom and culture are sacred to him, even if they have nothing to do with his own, and you find it difficult to believe that Mando gave you this gift without first considering its meaning. This is the man who speaks with the Tuskens, a man who has committed himself to a creed, a man who never wants to be rude or imposing unless he’s dealing with an enemy—

No. No, Mando definitely bought this for you on purpose.

In the thirty seconds it takes for you to form these thoughts, the fruit vendor comes to realize that your confusion was no act. You must look terrible, for she puts a hand on your arm as if to keep you upright.

“My dear, surely— I mean, the two of you care for this baby, and he is always watching over you. I simply thought there was something there, several people in this market did. Forgive me, please, I had no idea—”

“No, no, forgive me,” you blurt, rushing to reassure the woman that she has caused no offense. “I had no idea what these meant. I would have— Maker above, I should have—”

The old woman’s bewilderment matches your own, and you realize that you’re raving like a lunatic.

“I have to go!”

And then you are going, going and going until you’re back on the Crest. The baby seems content to laze about in his pram, thank the stars, and you put him down almost without a second thought, mind racing a thousand kilometers a second. You clamor up to the cockpit like a woman possessed, the noise movement drawing you there. Sure enough, Mando’s right where you thought he would be, parked in his pilot’s chair and fiddling with something on one of his blasters. He doesn’t even turn to look at you when you come up, completely calm despite your frantic movement.

“How was the—?”

“Why did you buy me this?” you cut, bisecting his question with one of your own. Mando’s hands still at once, and he tucks the gun back in the holster at his side.

“Someone told you,” he declares, finally turning to face you. All you can do is nod, heart beating so hard it almost hurts. You can almost taste it, this thing you’ve been wanting for months now, it’s right there on your tongue— but you don’t want to speak, don’t want to be the first one to suggest it. It’s never worked out for you in the past, and with a man like Mando thrown into the equation, you’re not sure what that kind of bravery might get you.

Mando sighs, heavy and tired. You watch him more closely than you’ve watched anyone before in your life as he stands, coming to face you. It’s cramped in this little room, and if you took even just half a step forward, the two of you would be pressed flush. He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there and stands there until you can’t take it anymore.

“If you didn’t mean it like that, Mando, it’s fine, but I just want to know—”

“I… I’m not good at talking.” These first words have you cutting yourself short, and Mando continues like you never spoke in the first place. “To people, I mean. I can do what I need to do to conduct business, but other than that, I’m useless when it comes to things like this.”

“You talk to the baby,” you offer, and Mando nods.

“I do talk to the baby. Sometimes I even talk to you, but not enough.” He takes in a deep breath, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. “That’s why I did this.”

Mando runs his fingers along the beads at your throat, and it takes all you have not to fall down.

“This… This said everything for me. Or it was supposed to, at least.”

You melt at that, shoulders sagging. “Mando, I didn’t know, not until today.”

“I know,” he says companionably. “It’s not your fault I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” you declare, shaking your head. Mando brings his hand up, pressing it to your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life.

“If I’m not a coward, what am I then?”

All you can do is smile. “You’re mine.”

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #valentine's week 2021

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heliosthegriffin · 3 years

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Sacred Rites

“Do you swear to honor The Heavenly Champion in all your works, Jaune Arc?”

To be a Paladin, to be servant to the divine and defender of the innocent. That was his dream.

“Yes, I swear, from the day I entered the Victarion to now, I have been the Goddess’s to command and lead.”

“Do you answer to our Goddess, and only our Goddess?”

“To no other, now and forever, never shall I let man, law, or force of nature, interrupt me in my quests and duties, I answer to the Goddess and only the Goddess, or those that she speaks through.”

“Will you uphold the oaths of our order?”

“I will feed the starving,

I will chastise the foolish,

I will forgive the repentant,

I will be generous to the poor,

I will help the needy,

I will act when needed, never just when called upon,

I will protect the young, the weak, the weary, and the innocent, I will fight for the common man!

I will be honorable in all pursuits,

strong in body, faith, and mind,

Never shall greed or callousness, guide my path!

For I make my own!

I will guide the weary, tired, and directionless to the warmth of our hearths, and give them guidance, and I will let them go if they desire to be alone, but never close the door.

I will live with freedom in my servitude, now and forever.”

He didn’t need to look up to know that tears crested the eyes of Champion Maria, with a crack in her normally stern voice she continued.

“Then as Champion of the Victarion, Maria Calavera, I name you Jaune Arc first Paladin of Pyrrha-Nikos, Heavenly Champion, Savior of the Commons, First Apotheosis, she who cast down the Old Tyrants! Hold your head up,”

Jaune did, looking into the silver eyes of the surprisingly youthful looking Champion.

“you will carry your head high, as you are the first and only true Paladin of Pyrrha-Nikos! Take pride in position, but never let humility leave you, you will carry the weight of the faith on your shoulders, but with the strength of all those with the faith! Now go forth child, and meet those you would cherish and protect!”

With a tear going down his cheek, he turned and looked out at the full temple. He had finally realized his dream, one that he would live forever more.

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Entering his chambers Jaune collapsed on the humble bed of his.

It had been a heavenly experience after the ceremony, full of friendship, feasting, games, dancing, along with promises and new memories being made. It beginning and ending on a high note, with friends from across the city and continent showing up, and them promising to meet once again as soon as he has leave to go questing. He couldn’t have had a better day if he tried!

It really made the last eight years seem like nothing in comparison. He let out a happy sigh, truly his hardships and sacrifices had paid off. What would the boy that he was at ten years old think of himself now?

Probably that he should have left home sooner.

Hmm-pf, the thought making him crack up a little.

Laying on his bed looking around his normally bare chamber were full to bursting with the gifts, more than he knew what to do with, but it mattered not, he’d cherish them all.

The masterwork sword that Ruby made him.

The gambeson Coco had made for him.

The tabard Velvet made for him.

The bottle of fine whiskey that Yang made him promise not open till they did quest together.

Emerald had even gotten him back the coin purse that he lost! He enjoyed the embroidery on it that she had gotten done on it.

Brother Ren had come by with Sister Arslan to set up the party, nothing less than what he’d expect from Tenders of Sun Wukong, Second Apotheosis.

Ren had even given him a pair of fine gloves, some potions, and even an alchemy set and basic instructions!

Arslan just promised not to beat him too badly at the next inter temple championship. Also gave him a nice embroidered belt with gold inlays.

Old Port had come by with enough food to feed an army, and left him a nice antler handled skinning knife.

Tukson had brought him some books to read, ranging from philosophy to legend to stories from other continents.

So many gifts.

A sharp knock on the door took him out of his thoughts.

Jaune quickly moved to answer the door.

On the other side, Champion Maria Calavera. A woman many years his senior looking no older than a decade his senior.

Jaune dropped to his knee, and paid respects. “I’m honored by your presence, my champion.”

“Lift your head and stand boy, we are both equals in Her eyes.”

Jaune rose to his feet, the tall young man towering above the champion, and he beckoned Maria in.

Maria entered and sat at his desk, and Jaune took a seat on his bed.

“Pardon, my rudeness, My Champion,-”

“As I said we are both equal in Her eyes, so you may address me as Maria, or not at all. There will be no deferential treatment between the two of us, are we clear?” Maria asked sternly.

Jaune’s face blushed, and he scratched the side of his face. “But, My-” Maria raised an eyebrow sharply. “I mean Maria, how can I compare to a legendary figure of the faith such as yourself, when I just became a Paladin today?” Jaune argued weakly.

“Tut-tut, my boy, you sell yourself short, you are the first Paladin of this faith, a faith over a thousand years old and you are the first paladin, the first to actually channel Her power!” Maria jabbed a slender finger into Jaune’s chest. “The first to not be granted her power, but to be a conduit to her greatest, and the first man to join her side!” Maria sly smirked at him. “What makes you think that the Goddess’s chosen is not worthy to refer to her Champion by name?”

A blood-red color over took the poor young man’s face, and he weakly mumbled. “When you put it that way, I suppose I can’t really refute you, can I?”

“Hmm, nope!” Maria answered cheerfully.

“Hah, so onward we move forward, what brings you here at such a late hour, Ma-Maria,” Jaune asked with effort. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s getting late, and it has been quite the day.”

Maria smiled at him. “Well, that’s because it has passed Midnight and it is officially time for you to perform your first duties as Paladin, as I have been asked by the Goddess to come gather you to bring you to the sanctum.”

Jaune’s brow furrowed with confusion. “She has? Why has she not called me herself?”

Maria let out a laugh. “Oh, she’s just a bit excited, and didn’t think you could handle her voice right now.”

“Oh!” Jaune said understanding, as the power of Gods control directly related to their emotions. If too excited she might blast him with too much power by speaking to his mind. Conduit of her power he might be, but Maria had decades of time to acclimate herself to the presence of the divinity.

Maria nodded and got up, “Now come along, we shall not keep Her waiting, hmm?

Quickly he jumped to his feet ready to go. “Of course not, that would be folly.”

“Indeed.”

In truth Jaune knew his way to the sanctum, but he did doubt his ability to get in without Maria.

“So, do you know my first duty, Maria.” Jaune asked with any trouble this time.

Maria lightly smiled. “Oh, that between you and Her, Jaune. Hehehe.”

Cocking his head in confusion, Jaune could only wonder what she meant, perhaps it was a test of devotion or strength of character, or possibly his first quest!

Yang would be so proud if he got a quest!

They arrived at the sanctum fairly quick, as said before they both knew the way.

The doors that hid the sanctum were taller than two of Jaunes, and big enough for a dozen men to wall shoulder to shoulder to pass through. Made of a beautiful bronze inlaid with artwork of previous champions.

Maria opened the doors with one hand. “Go on now, try not to have too much fun.”

Jaune looked confused, but went inside anyway.

The door closed behind him leaving him facing a pool of steaming water and the idol of Pyrrha Nikos.

The idol stared at Jaune down to his soul seeming to strip him down to his most primal components.

Jaune then fell to his knees. “I have come to you, my Goddess.”

A please hum seemed to come from the statue and the entire room.

“Raise my Paladin, it is time to attend to your duties.” The warm voice of his Goddess seemed to echo from behind his ear.

Jaune did as he was told and rose. “What would you have me do, my Goddess.”

Another pleased hum came forth.

A light whisper seemed to dance in his ear. “Oh yes, I like the way you call me that.”

Jaune looked confused. “Why would I call you anything but that?”

“Oh, you little charmer.”

Jaune’s confusion remained. “Ok, but what is my first duty?”

“STRIP!” His Goddess boomed around him, nearly knocking Jaune onto his butt.

Jaune staggered around drunkenly for a second, a thin stream of blood falling from his ears.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my little Paladin! I got a little excited for this!” His Goddess echoed again, as a holy glow healed Jaune.

“It’s fine, my Goddess, but, um, may I ask why I must remove my clothing?” Jaune innocently asked, finding his clothing rather comfy despite the humidity of the room.

The idol and the room went silent as though his Goddess was in thought, ha, surely not, she must merely be pondering me a fool. Jaune thought to himself.

The Idol’s cut emerald eyes glowed. “My Paladin, my dear sweet Paladin, how am I to embrace you and acclimate you to my power if there is a boundary between us?” The idol's clothes disappeared leaving only a naked metal idol.

Jaune’s face went blush. “Oh, I guess that makes sense...”

The idol seemed to smile at him, a little scary if he might add. “Now once again, STRIP!” The words seemed to drip out of the idols mouth like honey.

Jaune shivered under the Idols words, but did as he was told pulling up his shirt. “WAIT,” The idol cried out as he did. Jaune looked at the Idol again in confusion. “DO IT SLOWLY~”

Shrugging Jaune pulled his shirt down, only to grab it by the hem and then slowly rolled the fabric up, revealing inch by inch the naked, supple and muscular body of Jaune Arc.

The shirt rising like a curtain to show the sharp, deep cut v of his Adonis belt that led into his pants, hiding a treasure Pyrrha would see soon enough. The shirt continued it’s slow trip up, showing one at a time his flat, smooth, uncontainably powerful abs, and smoothly contoured sides of his waist, showing off his powerful core.

The next destination to be revealed was his broad chest that barely contained his two muscular pecs, each looking like they could crush a steel ingot between them! His arms looking like masterfully crafted pieces of art rather than flesh and muscle. Above them was his wide shoulders corded with powerful muscles under his skin, that held up a veiny neck coiled with even more muscles!

Then he folded the shirt and put it on the floor, turning around showing off a wonderfully sculpted back, one so well made she was going to give Maria even more regards. The idol's eyes trailing down his back to see two cute dimples on his back!

Then he pulled down the pants showing off a well rounded ass! They had dimples too! And-

The Idol’s emerald eyes cracked at the sight between his legs, and then instantly reformed.

“Now what would you ask of me, my Goddess?” Jaune said, feeling a little lost about what was going on.

His Goddess said nothing for a while just staring at him.

After a couple minutes passed, Jaune coughed awkwardly into his hand and pronounced. “If you do not speak, my Goddess, I will assume I have displeased you and leave.”

“What, sorry?” His Goddess asked him, must have spoken too quietly.

“I asked if I offended you, my Goddess.”

“Oh, noooo~, I am most pleased, most pleased indeed.” Jaune smiled. If she’s happy, I’m happy, he thought to himself.

“So what would you have me do now?”

“Clean thyself my Paladin, buttttt~, slowly~!” His Goddess asked of him.

Jaune nodded determinedly, as she asked, so it shall it be done!

Jaune slowly walked his way into the languidly steaming water, hissing a little bit at the bite of warmth it shot through his flesh, but endured for his Goddess! Also the hot water started to feel quite nice. Reaching the center of the pool, he was waist deep. He looked around for any soap or oils, a small wooden bowl full of various cleaning agents.

The idol of Pyrrha’s emeralds cracked once again, and then reformed in an instant watching her Paladin bathing.

Jaune eventually emerged from the pool clean as a whistle. “Uuuh, I need to do that more often, I feel brand new. You have my thanks my Goddess.” Jaune said reventently.

His Goddess’s idol did speak, for some reason it’s metal cheeks turning cherry red, why would it do that though?

Finally her voice blessed him again. “And you shall do this sacred rite before me everyday you’re here, my Paladin!”

Jaune then let out a muffled yawn. “Apologize my Goddess, I fear my fatigue has gotten the better of me.”

“It’s fine my Paladin, I have only a few more tasks for you. Anoint yourself with the holy oils, first!”

Jaune did as asked, slowly patting his body with a palm’s worth of holy oil across his body. Smearing a sheen of oil across his sculpted body, all across his body.

A loud crack caught his attention, looking up at his Goddess’s idol to see fragments of emeralds everywhere, but miraculously missing him.

“My Goddess! Are you well, is there an interloper that wishes you harm, please answer me!”

“I’m fine, I’m well! Just a little over excited is all.”

Jaune nodded and returned to finish anointing himself. Finally, his body was ready for whatever his Goddess wished of him.

“I’m finished, my Goddess, what task is next?”

A deep, smile appeared on the idols metal face.

“I require you to cover my idol with various oils to insure that it remain’s form and beauty, this my task for you!”

Jaune nodded. “I will be honored to clean you my Goddess!”

A melodic hum spread throughout the room, giving Jaune a pleasent vibration in his chest.

Jaune knelt before the statue coating his hands in the sacred oils, and put his hands on the feet of the idol, and began working his way up the statue, smearing the oil across the metal of idol, which felt oddly warm, and soft? He didn’t quite understand that, but he was sure that it made sense.

The melodic hum became louder as he worked his way up the legs of the statue making sure to get every inch of it! His duty demanded perfection, and perfection it will have. The grew even louder and louder, practically causing his hands to go numb as he worked in between the legs of the statue, getting each and every surprisingly soft and wet? Inche of the idol till the hum turned into a ringing cry, as he was blasted into the pool, blood leaking out of his eyes and ears.

Jaune would ask his Goddess what he did to offend her when he could see which way was up.

Another holy light descended upon Jaune healing him again.

“My sincerest apology, my Paladin! I merely became over stimulated.”

Jaune gave a shaky thumbs up and got back to work.

Jaune fell from what could only be described as a hole in space into his bed, clearly unconscious, blood leaking from his face before a bronze holy power covered him, cleaning and healing him.

Pyrrha noticed that the power was transfering into him slightly easier than before, her reasoning may have been bullshit, but not complete bullshit, if he was naked he would absorb her power much easier. By the end of the week he might even be able to do small miracles!

That said Pyrrha felt very content with her little Paladin, he even finished caring for her idol! Not even Maria could do that in her first year as her champion, requiring the help of several acolytes each day. Still that was no slight against her Champion, Jaune was just a rare breed that could accept divine power like a sponge absorbing water.

That said she didn’t expect him to make her climax three times, how was that even possible through a statue!

Pyrrha smirked down at her little Paladin, she was very much excited to watch him grow.

Pushing her from the heavens into the earth, Pyrrha put a pair of lips on his, and then whispered, “Oh my little Paladin, you are loved like no other. Now rest, for the world will have need of you soon. Your oaths pusted and pressure, but you’ll endure, and I will support you every step of the way. For you will be my greatest act in this world, this I swear.”

Then she receded back to the heavens. The various gifts in his room briefly shimmering before the light faded.

AN1: This idea came to me as Jaune being a Paladin and Pyrrha being his goddess sugar mama, who constantly feels him up at everychance, but Jaune doesn’t see anything sexual about it so doesn’t mind.

AN2: Unfortunately Jaune is about to learn despite his goddess being good, her mortality is definitely like the Greek gods in terms of consent and free will.

#Jaune Arc #Oblivous Jaune #Pyrrah Nikos #Goddess Pyrrha Nikos #Thristy Pyrrha #Maria Calavera #High Priestess Maria #High Fantasy RWBY AU

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onedivinemisfit · 3 years

Photo

During my recovery, this has been my biggest project, no kidding. I looked but couldn’t find Obi’s witcher!AU body template so I sketched some Bruxa!yuki designs instead. <w< I’ll finalize and colour them when I’m well, or so I hope, unless I forget XD

Pls forgive any mistakes I’m not 100% yet. ^^;

Explanations below the cut~

AnS (c) Akizuki Sorata Witcher (c) Andrzej Sapkowski TW3 models (c) CDPR Art: Me

Disclaimer: I am not a tailor and as such all my opinions are based on preference and evt pushing rules in my favour XD

The main idea with her wardrobe was to underline that whatever she’s doing, Shirayuki is feminine, and wants to present feminine, hence the skirts and ribbons and embroidery. She’s also a person fond of utility, so belts, pockets, and layers that can be added or removed as she fancied, was also an important facet to add. But she’s also bruxae, monster species, so she’s got a few blind spots, so to speak, regarding what is and isn’t proper to wear in human society. But most of all, her clothes make it easy for her to use her bruxa powers to move around swiftly, silently, and with purpose

Around half of these were referenced from the witcher 3 game, with me picking my favourite garb, and what made more sense for her in different situations.

1. Huntress Outfit - this one I made myself, using only some of the basic wardrobe notes from tw3. I’ve a softness for overdresses/kaftans with splits, especially if they’re combined with tights/buckskins. Shirayuki is a poor bruxa living in the woods outside a small human settlement, so she doesn’t have access to a tailor other than on market day, or when peddlers arrive, hence she often has to redesign old/too-small clothing for new purposes. Another point was to reinforce her sleeves, to make it easier to brush away branches and undergrowth, and adding the Skelligan waist shawl, a gift from her half-sister, as recurring themes.

2. Winter Outfit - another I made myself, because I was dying to design something that included a sheepskin jerkin. The waist shawl helps redefine the jerkin and give it a feminine twist, and the wrapped sleeves both reduce noise and keeps her cuffs from leaking precious warmth. The wool tunic could have been a dress, but I wanted to focus on showing off her fur-tucked winter boots and knitted long socks. Shirayuki probably knitted them herself.

3. High Summer Outfit - another self-made design. Made so as to underline her non-humanness, borrowing heavily from witcher elven aesthetics, with lots of exposed skin, crossed fabric, and asymmetrical cuts. This is what she wears when the weather *won’t* allow you to dress decently or you get purged by the sun, basically. Again, since Shirayuki’s often short of fabric, a lot of refashioning going on.

4. Commoner Outfit - A very basic woman’s dress, very presentable, very respectable, especially since Shirayuki is trying to sell the lie that she’s a normal human woman. It’s her go-to outfit for visiting human settlements, or for performing simple chores around the house, such as cooking, sewing, or spinning. Things that keep her in or around her homestead, and not gallivanting in the woods at midnight looking for prey.

5. Relaxing Outfit - merely a dusty day dress pulled over her nightgown, for those chilly nights where Shirayuki doesn’t want to undress for bed until she’s halfway under the covers. When the chores are done and all that’s left to do is sip a cup of blood, read a book beside the hearth and wait for Ryuu to return from his late night wandering, she likes to shed all those layers and relax.

6. Throw-together Outfit - referenced from the game, almost entirely (Keira Metz’ witch model) - save the shoes and headband. After the loss of her home and her more presentable clothing thanks to witcher Obi (who will later admit that yes he does in fact owe her a new dress... and blouse... and apron...) this outfit was assembled through raiding an abandoned witch’s hut. Anything that could suffice as clothing, basically, even the old curtains. Shirayuki doesn’t personally care that some of her *assets* are pretty much on display, but she would like some linen anyway, the cotton does chafe a bit. Aside from the pearl necklace, nothing she’s wearing actually belonged to her in the first place.

7. Formal Commoner Outfit - reffed from the game, (Keira Metz’ second model) the shoes being the sole exception. A dress for special occassions, perhaps May Day, Equinox celebrations, etc. Not that Shirayuki often dared participate in such events, due to the amount of people who show up even in small villages to throw tankards together and dance around bonfires. But she does pilfer the dress from the abandoned witch’s hut anyway, thinking maybe, afterall, since it’s so pretty and it had matching sleeves to go with it... keeping it wasn’t such a dumb idea.

8. Pants Outfit - reffed from the game (juggler npc) A cross between a traveler and a city dweller, a light-weight yet very elegant outfit for strolling in the human cities. The top is presentable enough that she doesn’t look poor as a pauper, while the pants give the impression of someone on the move, a stranger. It also provides the most comfortable riding experience, the few times she does ride, as she has no need for a lady’s saddle.

9. High-Class Outfit - reffed from the game/one of my favourite tw3 modders, (New Sorceress models by Roksa) I only added the shoes and circlet. When Zen has the dress made for her, it is by FAR the most expensive thing she’s ever worn. Not a single thread of the dress isn’t well-made, the dyes are the brightest and most even-coloured, and the silk is light as a touch on her skin. While the dress itself is a demure, feminine dream, what sets the ensemble apart are the dark cat’s eye gems, just hinting at Shirayuki’s darker secrets. They’re set in gold, for obvious, unspoken reasons, as she reacts to silver much like being set on fire...

10. Evening Outfit - reffed from the game, I just changed the necklace (Ida Eméan’s Gwent card art) another very expensive dress, but surprisingly one that Shirayuki tolerates better. No stiff, itchy velvet, no heavy damask, just sheer silk with gold thread (again for reasons obvious to a bruxa) some simple sleeves, and a chain of stones, no gilded jewellry that could empty a bank vault if sold to the right people. She probably takes a fancy to this dress while attempting to woo a certain witcher, which explains the understated beauty, the most daring of cuts, one that screams “look at me, only me” and the simple-at-a-glance design. Much like Shirayuki herself.

11. Skellige Outfit - inspired by the viking-esque game design for Skellige fashion, this dress is for when Shirayuki and her family stay in the Isles, following her sister’s suggestion. A dress that signifies the matron head of a household with its pewter clasps and apron, follows Skellige fashion demanding you wear a shawl with your clan colors (Shirayuki, although clan-less, was given one by Torou) and layers. And armguards. And a split overdress. To show that this is Shirayuki’s choice wear afterall.

#akagami no shirayukihime #ans #snow white with the red hair #shirayuki #witcher!au #in which shirayuki is a bruxa #a sort of all-female vampire #and obi is the witcher #listen I have only been able to sketch so it was only a matter of time before I fell down into the rabbit hole of outfit designs again XD #let's hope I remember to render them later lolol #myart #I also tried to hint to time passing between her outfits #by using different hairstyles #idk if it worked ahahaha

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marshmallow-phd · 3 years

Text

Heart of Thorns

Genre: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Romace, Angst

Paring: Tao x Reader

Inspired by: These moodboards created by @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme (x) (x) and my absolute obsession with Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Lost in a forest during a storm, you find shelter in a crumbling castle that had been hidden away for years. The master of the house shut himself away, refusing to engage with the world. Too intrigued and running away from your own fears, you refuse to leave no matter how much he tells you to, wanting to try and find the heart within the beast.

Part One I Part Two I Part Three

The view of the country manor used to bring a smile to your face. In the past, you would take off in a run in order to meet it quicker. Its walls were like widespread arms waiting for you to enter its embrace. The garden outside had been your enchanted forest. The rabbits and deer that occasionally wandered in were your friends.

But the wonders of the home that had once been your shelter were no longer as welcoming as before. You wanted to turn back, to make your way through the thick trees, finding that blasted castle, and demanding answers from Zitao.

Why had he thrown you out? Why had he turned such a sweet moment bitter? You knew now that you could never give your heart to Gao. It had already been stolen by another. And even if you wanted it back, it wasn’t possible. You had left it behind in the forest to forever wander the halls in hope of the man in the mask coming for you.

But he wouldn’t be coming for you. As Mr. Chan brought the carriage to a stop down the road, you hopped down from your seat, careful to keep the hood of your cloak over your head. Mr. Chan stepped down as well. From the other side of the carriage, he pulled out two large bags and handed them to you. Odd. You didn’t remember having that much with you on your first trip.

“Take care, young miss.”

You were a bit shocked. You hadn’t heard Mr. Chan speak very much, especially directly to you. His tone implied a sense of protectiveness, a fatherly affection you wouldn’t have expected from him. There was still an awkwardness as he patted your shoulder and stepped back up into the carriage to ride away in the opposite direction that you would walk, but you were thankful for him, just as you were thankful for Mrs. Chan.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped tightly to the straps the bags, one in each hand, and headed for the house.

You heard Cosette yelling before you saw her.

“(Y/n) is back! She’s here! She’s back!”

By the time you reached the door, it swung open to reveal your entire family trying to squeeze through the limited space. Lu made it through first. He threw his arms around you, giving you the type of hug that you hadn’t received from since you were a child. The embraced caused you to drop the bags and return the affection with equal force. Your father came next as he squeezed between you and Lu to take your face in his hands.

“(Y/n). My (y/n). I thought I would never see you again.” His eyes were glossing over. You hadn’t seen him cry in years – since you were small – and your own heart was breaking for the pain you had put him through. While you were enjoying yourself with Zitao and avoiding the confrontation of your possible engagement, he was falling apart.

“I’m so sorry.” You sniffed back your own tears as you pressed your face into his chest. The hood of your cloak fell to your shoulders, exposing yourself to the cold.

You felt his chest heave with a sigh as he patted the back of your head. “Where did you go?”

“Yes!” Cosette screeched from the doorway. “Where did you go? Why did you run away and leave us to starve!”

You swallowed back a scoff as you stepped back. They would have hardly starved if you hadn’t come back. “I didn’t run away. The storm hit sooner than expected. The carriage fell into a ravine. I don’t know what happened to the driver. The horse wasn’t moving so I tried to get back here, but I passed out.”

“How did you survive?” Lu asked.

“I-” You bit down on your lower lip. For some reason, you were reluctant to share the truth. Would they even believe you? They rolled their eyes at the village stories as much as you had before. Being from the city, stories like that were considered beneath their intelligence. “I was found by an old woman who lives in a cottage in the forest. I was sick for a long time, but she nursed me back to health. It took several weeks before my strength came back.”

“And I’m so glad that you did,” your father smiled at you.

“As am I.”

Your eyes went wide as Gao stepped out of the home. He looked different from the last time you saw him. He stood tall, carrying around this aura of importance. His ivory jacket was lined with golden embroidery. His black hair was pulled back and tied with a matching ribbon. There was something about him that gave the impression he was always ready for his portrait to be painted. You had to stop yourself from taking a step away from him as he approached you, grabbed your hand, and placed a kiss on your fingers. The contact made your skin crawl. It was only pure will power that kept you from yanking your hand away and wiping the kiss away on your skirts. There wasn’t any logic beyond your response. Gao had never been unkind to you or anyone else in your presence. Perhaps it was merely the fact that he had wanted to trade helping your father for you being his wife.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Gao,” you whispered.

“Let’s get you inside and near a fire,” he replied with a smile.

“Yes, let's get you inside,” your father agreed. He was about to guide you inside when Gao placed his hand on the small of your back and led you inside instead. Lu picked up your bags and followed suit.

Gao sat you down on the couch and motioned for Claudette to add more wood to the fire. You weren’t that cold, but you didn’t protest. Lu disappeared upstairs with your bags before returning and taking a seat next to you. His eyes flickered in an unsure manner towards Gao. Your father took his usual spot in the armchair to your left, leaving the other side of you open for Gao. Cosette did not seem put out by the lack of propriety for her. In fact, she didn’t seem concerned with the conversation at all. She slowly walked around the room, getting closer to the stairs, but you hardly paid attention. Gao’s closeness was taking up your focus.

“Was the old woman kind to you?” Gao clasped a hand around your own. You quickly withdrew your fingers, hiding them in the folds of your skirt so he couldn’t try it again.

“Yes,” you nodded. “She was more than kind.” Mrs. Chan was motherly towards you. She made you laugh and feel comfortable. She also gave you the tools to open your heart to Zitao. She told you of his past. Because of her, you stopped seeing him as a terrifying figure in the shadows and began to discover the human hidden under the mask. You were sure she had a hand in his changed attitude towards you as well.

“You sound almost… sad to have left?” Lu said.

You blinked at your brother. “I-” You swallowed. “I know I will miss her. She’s my friend.”

“Of course, she would be.” Your father smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Gao cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to himself. “(y/n), I know you’ve been through a lot. However, I would like to form-”

“Look! Look at me!”

Cosette came running down the stairs, the force of her hurry causing her hair to flurry behind her. She was dressed in a silver gown with multiple layers, embroidered with green leaves that seemed to dance in the light. Jewels hung from her neck and wrists, sparkling on her fingers, and dangling from her ears. A small circlet sat on top of her head. Where did she get all of that?

As she came to a stop in the living, standing in the middle in the room so all could see her, she sneered in your direction. “Look! Now I can be as flighty and selfish as (y/n)! Her secret lover must be richer than Gao to give her all of this!”

You gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Your bags were filled with more jewels and dresses like this!” Cosette held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Admit it. You didn’t get caught in the storm. And you certainly weren’t staying in a cottage, being looked after by an old woman. You went to see your lover! That’s what you were actually doing on all your walks, wasn’t it?”

Everyone was staring at you. Eyes were wide and mouths slightly agape. Your breath quickened. You thought it strange this morning that you were being sent away with two bags, but you were too upset over Zitao’s words to you and throwing you away to try to understand the possible reason. This only added to your confusion. Did Mrs. Chan pack those valuables to give you leverage against the marriage? Or did Zitao have it done since he felt sorry for you? You could feel the tears welling up behind your eyes as the confusion tore at your heart.

“I don’t have a lover,” you contended in a meek voice. You weren’t sure if any of them believed you, especially since you kept your eyes trained down on the floor. Streaks bounced off weakly off the wood in the sunlight. It wasn’t as reflective as when you left. Someone would have to clean it better.

“Then how do you explain the gifts?” Lu was frowning at you, but it was cast over with a look of concern and confusion. He wasn’t accusatory, simply wanting an explanation.

You shrugged. “I can’t.”

Gao stood up from the couch. Hands behind his back, he walked over to the window that overlooked the front garden and stared passed the glass. Perhaps you should have been feeling guilty, wondering what was going through Gao’s mind at the moment. But he was the least of your concern. It was your father’s judgement that worried you the most. Would he believe your half-truths?

Because you didn’t have a “lover”. You had someone who had stolen your heart and then shoved you away. You had fallen in love with Zitao. He had kissed you and made you feel warm but nothing beyond that. It had ended before it had truly begun.

No. You couldn’t accept the goodbye. Not in this way. You wouldn’t accept that he simply didn’t care for you. There were layers to him that you hadn’t reached. You refused to let go. Not yet.

“If (y/n) says that it wasn’t a lover then I believe her,” your father stated. You let out the air you had been holding in your lungs, the tension in your shoulders rolling away. “Perhaps this old woman is the heir of an old family who simply prefers to be away from others and felt pity for you. We can certainly sell some of the wares to keep our income.” His eyes flickered over to Gao’s back, which did not go unnoticed by your sister.

“Sell them?” Cosette scoffed. “And when that runs out, then what? We need you to get back on your feet, Father! Have you be respectable again!”

Knowing exactly what she was implying your father said, “It is still (y/n)’s choice. That has not changed.”

Without prompt, Gao turned swiftly away from the window. “I feel that this is a matter that should be discussed between the family. I’ll go back to the inn. Until tomorrow.” He bowed, hands still behind him, and left.

It was silence for a minute or two. You wanted someone to speak – anyone. Even Cosette’s screaming would be more tolerable than this pressing quiet. You would break it yourself if you had any idea on how to start. Thankfully, your father took charge of that task.

“Have you decided yet, (y/n)? Will you marry Gao?”

No. No, no, no, no.

“I haven’t decided,” you said as you shook your head.

Your father stood from his chair, grunting from the effort. “Well. Gao had said earlier today that he could only stay the remainder of the week. I wouldn’t be surprised if by that time he formally asks you for your hand. I hope you have an answer for him when he does.” He gave you a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m so happy for your return. My heart would have shattered if something had happened to you.”

You watched with your own broken heart as your father ascended the stairs. Cosette stuck her nose in the air and flitted up after him, possibly to go through the rest of your bags.

Lu scooted closer to you. His eyes were narrowed, but not in a suspicious way. He studied you the same way he would study his mathematics when he was still in school. “Are you sure everything is alright? Nothing happened to you in that cottage, did it?”

Your hands were trembling, but thankfully they were still hidden your skirt. You didn’t lie to your family like this. You had always tried to be open and honest, at least with your father and brother. But you couldn’t bring yourself to let out this secret. That castle in the woods was your burden to endure. Until you were able to figure out where each of you stood, that is. If Zitao truly didn’t care for you… then you would marry Gao. If you couldn’t have love, then you would help your family the best you could.

After a few days spent in the house, adjusting to being back in that space and making up the chores that had been neglected in your absence, you decided to take some time out of the house. Gao had been spending time with your brother and sticking close to you. If he felt that you were overworking yourself or doing work that was “below your station”, he would either call Claudette over or finish it himself. It was a gesture that made you smile out of thankfulness, but nothing more. At this moment, though, you wished his “chivalry” would come to a pause. He’d insisted on escorting you to town. The excuse was so he could eye what wares might be for sale in the market, but you had a feeling is to keep an eye on you, to make sure that you really weren’t sneaking off to see a mysterious lover.

Straw basket hanging from the crook of your elbow, you eyed the meat that was sitting out in front of the butcher’s shop. Mrs. Mooney was busy with another customer so you waited patiently to see if you could haggle with her on the price of a few slices that had caught your eye. Though you could have now paid full price for the items, you rather enjoyed the banter that came with the haggling.

Just Mrs. Mooney had finished up with the other customer, a group of young boys no older than nine came running through the streets.

“We saw him! We saw him!”

Mrs. Mooney put her fists on her hips as she eyed the boys. “What are you going on about?”

“The beast who lives in the woods!” one of the sandy haired boys exclaimed. “We saw him!”

“What on earth were you doing that far in the trees?”

“We didn’t mean to,” another pouted. “Our ball kept rolling and we couldn’t catch it! But we saw him! He was riding a giant black horse with a white spot on its head.”

You nearly choked on the air in your throat. That was Zeus. It had to be.

“He must be a vampire!” a different boy gasped. “Half of his face was stark white, and one hand was covered in scars.”

The first boy hit him over the head with his fist. “He can’t be a vampire, the sun’s out!”

“What is this talk of a vampire?” Gao chuckled as he joined the group.

“It’s not a vampire,” Mrs. Mooney said. “It’s the monstrous lord that lives in the forest, terrorizing anyone who gets too close.”

The grip you had on the basket tightened as you clenched on your back teeth. But you couldn’t say anything and possibly give yourself away.

“I haven’t heard of this lord,” Gao commented.

“He doesn’t exist,” you said in a strained voice.

“Yes, he does!” one of the boys argued. “My mum worked in the castle before he threw everyone out! She says his wife didn’t die because of the fire! She says he killed her! She saw the head wound herself!”

The head would? What was he talking about?

Then you remembered Mrs. Chan saying that there had been an argument the night of the fire. Zitao wouldn’t… sure he wasn’t capable of something like that. It had to have been an accident. Or maybe the boy’s mother was mistaken. Witnesses were always exaggerating what they’d seen.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Mrs. Mooney sniffed. “That boy did have a temper. I bet she found out that he was still sleeping with other girls, threatened to leave him, and he killed her.”

“What do you mean ‘still sleeping with other girls’?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

Mrs. Mooney sneered. “That boy was no prince charming. He chased skirts from here to the capital. It was a shock for us all when he came back engaged and in love. Perhaps it was all a show.”

You stepped back as if Mrs. Mooney’s story had grown a fist and swung at your stomach. Could that be true? Perhaps you were meanly another “skirt” to pass his time. He was probably bored, and you came falling into his lap like a shiny new toy.

Distracted, you left the stall and wandered down the street.

“(y/n)!” Gao ran after you, bringing you to a stop with his hand on your elbow. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No,” you lied. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just not a particular fan of Mrs. Mooney’s gossip. That’s all.”

He stared at you in a manner that let you know that he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t push. For another half hour or so, he continued to escort you around the market. You hardly paid attention to prices or the quality of the wares; your mind was far away, pondering on what was true and what had been a lie. Gao soon excused himself, saying that he had letters waiting for replies by at the inn. You were thankful when he left, giving you space to be alone.

Your feet knew where they were taking you before your mind was aware. The neighing of the horses caught your attention. If you were to rent one, you could be back before dark – if you found him, that is.

Mr. Seo, who owned the horses, was happy to watch your basket while you took the tan mare. You told him that you wanted to go riding for an hour or so, to feel the wind in your hair before it got too cold. You felt horrible for the story, but if anyone came looking for you, that seemed less suspicious.

You took the roundabout way to the woods, entering through the same space of trees Mr. Chan had brought you out of a few days before. You tried to think back to the path that Mr. Chan had taken to bring you home. The trees all looked the same. Most were bare of leaves, the branches looking like bony fingers pointing you along your way. In the distance, the sound thunder echoed. But there were no clouds in the sky. You followed the sound. The closer you reached, the more recognizable the sound became: horse hooves.

You urged the horse to go faster so the originator of the sound did not outrun you. Then, in the distance, you saw a black shape blurring past the trees. The forest broke. There was the castle.

Stopped in the field halfway between the forest line and the castle, Zitao sat atop Zeus, staring at you. When you were close enough, you brought your borrowed horse to a stop and slipped off the saddle.

“What are you doing here?” he growled down at you. His knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the reins. The scars on his left hand stood out even more.

You breathed heavily, suddenly scared as you stood before him. “I have to know why you threw me out.”

“It was time for you to go.”

“That’s a lie. You wouldn’t have-” You stopped. The memory of that night, before the sweet turned sour, sang softly in your head.

But you didn’t need to finish. He knew what you were going to say. “You don’t know what I would and would not have done. I don’t need to explain myself to you. Now go back to your precious fiancé.”

“Did I mean so little to you? Will you really let me go?” You stared intensely, trying to read his features despite the mask giving him perfect cover. He stayed quiet for a moment or two. He kept your gaze steadily. For a make-believe second, you thought that he might ask you to stay. But your instinct was wrong.

“Why would I keep you here?”

He started to turn away. You ran around him to block his path.

“Did all those days really mean nothing to you?”

“Nothing means anything to me. All I want is to go back to my pathetic, peaceful existence in this castle. Alone. Go face your fate. Your family would be better off.” He urged his horse past you. As he galloped towards the stables, you willed for him to look back, to let you know that he didn’t mean the words he’d said.

He never even took a glance.

So, you did as you were told and mounted your horse, vowing never to think about this place again.

When you came back to the house, Gao was there as well. He was sitting at the table with your father and brother.

“I told you she’d be back,” Lu said he clapped Gao on the shoulder. He stood up and came over to you, taking the basket from your hands. “Did you have a nice ride?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Good.” That was all he said as he took the basket into the kitchen. And didn’t come back.

Your father cleared his throat before rising from his chair.

Your pulse quickened as you were left alone with Gao. Without any inclination, you knew what was about to happen. The subtly of your family was nonexistent. Even leaving one by one wasn’t enough to cover up their expectations. A coat of cold sweat covered your palms. You wanted to run. You wanted to go to your sanctuary in the woods. But it was clear that you were no longer welcomed there. Should you do as Zitao said? Should you resign yourself to the fate that was in front of you? You had told yourself that you would if he didn’t want you. Now that you were faced with the choice, you found your resolution faltering.

Gao stood up, giving a quick clearing of the throat before taking the necessary steps towards you to close in the gap. His fingers, warm and soft from lack of hard labor, grasped your own. Any other woman would be swooning at the gesture, but you were already tainted with another’s touch.

If you had never gone through the forest, if the storm had never happened and you’d never gone to the castle, would things be different? Would you have come to love Gao? Or at least accept his love with mild interest? There was no telling of what might have been, only of what was in your heart now. The pieces left behind were marked with fingers that danced across ivory keys. They only saw one pair of dark brown eyes that couldn’t be eclipsed by the lighter shade looking at you now. But the owner of said eyes and fingers had thrown you away, had made it clear that you had not touched him in the same way. And then there were still the secrets of his past. Was he truly a murder?

No, you didn’t want to believe that.

“(y/n)?”

Slightly startled at how far away your mind had gotten, you returned your focus to the matter in front of you. “Yes?”

“I’m not sure if there is any hope in the question I want to ask.” Gao’s voice was soft, comforting, but there was something underneath it that made you question its sincerity. “We’ve known each other a long and I’ve always thought of you as someone special, someone to be cared for. If you would be so willing, I would like to be that person to take care of you.”

You stayed silent. Even now you weren’t sure as to which answer you were going to give. Would you stay firmly in one spot, hoping that he would come for you again? Or did you move forward, taking the necessary steps to go on?

“What I’m trying to ask,” Gao shifted his weight to allow himself to kneel before you, still gripping your fingers, “is if you would do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?”

Everything stopped. Nothing existed anymore. Not you, not Gao, not even language or time. If you could stay in that non-existence than maybe you could be moderately content. But you were a woman. A woman whose father had fallen into ruin, whose love had scorned her, and who’s family was falling apart. How you wished you could be selfish like Cosette. What a life that must be, to be able to one’s self first. But that was not who you were. In truth, was there really any another answer? Yes, you loved another, but love and marriage were not always intertwined.

You let out that single word quickly before you could think about it anymore. If given even a second longer, you would have changed your mind and ran away.

“Yes.”

You were going home.

Not your true home. The mansion with too many rooms and wonderful hiding spots had been sold off long ago. But you were going back to the city. It was the “proper place for Gao’s fiancé”. You must be reintroduced into society, your status now elevated.

It was hard to say goodbye. You would miss the space this home provided. You would miss the trees that outlined the town and the people who greeted you every time you went to market. The people here were friendlier than in the city. No longer would you go fetch the groceries yourself when Claudette was too busy to do so. You would be back to being waited on hand and foot. You didn’t want to go. But Gao had already sent out the invitations to the engagement party in a week’s time and all the important people of society would be there to watch him parade you around the ballroom rented for the occasion. His own home wasn’t big enough to hold such a party. Yet. Gao had already told you he planned on moving to a bigger house after the wedding.

Hood pulled over your head, you stepped towards the door of the carriage that was to transport you back to the city. Before Gao could help you up inside, you spotted a figure rushing down the dirt path. Your heart jumped in your chest.

Mrs. Chan.

Gathering your dress in your hands, you ran towards her, the hood falling from your head. As soon as she was within reach, you pulled her into your embrace. You hadn’t seen her since you left the castle. Tears trickled down your cheeks. As if nothing had changed, she tutted at you.

“Now, don’t be like that dear. You’ll swelled your beautiful eyes.” Mrs. Chan leaned back and wiped the tears away with her handkerchief. “There. That’s better. You didn’t think I would let you leave without saying goodbye, now did you?”

You couldn’t say either way. You hadn’t wanted to give yourself a chance to hope and then be heartbroken when it didn’t happen.

“I have to say, though, I am surprised at how things have turned out.”

“I didn’t want them to go this way,” you confessed. “I had hoped-” No. Best not to voice that out loud.

Mrs. Chan fixed the hood back onto your crown in her motherly way. “I know, dear, but the thing about hope, it never really dies or goes away. The smallest of embers can ignite it once again.”

You wanted to believe that. It was hard, though. Too much water had been poured on your fire. You pulled Mrs. Chan into another hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“Take care, dear. And don’t forget how strong you are.” She left you with one last pat on the cheek and then turned you around so you would go back to the carriage.

“Who was that?” Gao asked when you returned.

“A friend from the village,” you replied, your eyes on Mrs. Chan’s retreating back.

Gao simply nodded in reply before helping you into the carriage. It was stuffy inside with your family and Gao crowded amongst the seats. Your stomach flipped and churned with every bump. No storm was coming this time, so the driver took the main road, avoiding the forest. By sundown, you had made it the inn that was supposed to be your shelter on the last trip. Cosette filled the silence of your rented room with her talk of parties and what store she wanted to buy a new dress from as soon as you all arrived back in “civilization”. There was even a comment of having one of the dresses from your bags altered to fit with the modern fashion. You wanted to scream at her not to touch them, but the fight inside you was hard to find. Instead, you simply turned your back to her as you lied in the bed and blew out the candle to diminish the small amount of light she could see by.

The family settled into Gao’s two-story house with little difficulty. The servants fulfilled their wishes and took their orders. Most were familiar with your brother already, having been employed by Gao’s family for decades. You still tried to do things for yourself, like tending to the fire in whatever room you were occupying or collecting your laundry. The work was quickly snatched from your hands as soon as one of the servants saw what you were doing.

The head housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, was determined to mold you into the madam of the home. She would come to you with the preparations for dinner, for approval on new curtains for certain rooms, and for anything else she thought you should be informed of or have the final say on. Most of these things you saw as frivolous. She always approached you with the most uptight manners and wouldn’t leave until you made a firm decision.

You hated it here. How many times a day were you questioning your decision? How many different excuses had you come up with to break off the engagement? How many times had you considered running away?

The one thing that stopped you from following through on any of those ideas: your father. He was working again, already. His clientele was back, just as Gao had promised. You hadn’t seen your father smile like this in so long that you couldn’t bare to be the one who made it disappear again.

The day of the party arrived. All day you felt nauseous. Cosette flitted around your room, talking sweetly about the eligible bachelors who had been invited and how much missed dancing properly and not having to suffer through the less formal country dances. You sat perfectly still as one of the servant girls, Mei, pinned back your hair and colored your lips. You didn’t want to dance tonight. The dress you were to wear may have been a golden yellow – the color of happiness – but you felt more like a dark cloud in the night sky. You didn’t want to stand up in front of all those people and pretend to be happy. But you would do it. For your father.

Gao was beaming the entire ride to the ballroom. It was located near the center of the city, grand enough for the king and large enough to hold a hundred guests. You were thankful for the gloves that encased your hands as Gao escorted you inside. You didn’t want to feel his skin on yours.

Dozens upon dozens of people milled about the grand ballroom, drinks in hand as they laughed through shallow conversations. Some faces you recognized. Most you didn’t. Gao would stop at every other group or so and introduce you. None of the names stuck and the unknown faces were nothing more than blurs. When you finally reached the main center, Gao snatched two glasses of wine from a passing server, handing one to you before calling for the talking to cease.

“I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming out to celebrate my approaching marriage,” Gao said loudly as he held his glass high in the in air. The singularity was not missed. Did he forget that two people were involved in this engagement? You barely paid attention to his words, focusing on keeping the smile on your face. A tall figure moving in the back of the room caught your eye, but it disappeared before you could make out who it might be. “This has been a long time coming for me. Watching (y/n) grow into the beautiful young woman she is today was a privilege that I am honored to have been given. I know she will only grow more beautiful in our life together. To (y/n).”

“To (y/n)!” The room echoed. Glasses moved stem side up as the toast was declared finished and the band in the corner struck up a song.

Gao finished his drink as well before pulling you on to the dance floor, not even giving you chance to protest. He whirled you around the polished floor like a prized cow. You didn’t bother with the charade of a smile anymore. It was a relief when the first song faded to a close and Gao let you go. He said something about needing to conduct some business and walked away. You finally felt like you could breathe.

“One shouldn’t leave their fiancé alone on a night like this.”

You gasped as you whirled around. It can’t be. It wasn’t possible for him to be standing here, right now in front of you. But he was here, more elegantly dressed than of the other gentlemen with his blue velvet coat, his white mask shining in the candlelight. Without any explanation, he held his hand out to you. There was no hesitancy in taking it, even if you should have been more cautious.

He was here. Your mind kept repeating that over and over. He was here, he was here, he was here.

Zitao pulled you in close, his hand secured in the curvature of your waist. The other hand cradled your right as your left hand rested comfortably on his shoulder. With the grace of a ballet performer, he glided around the dance floor, making up for any misstep you might take. Now you wore a genuine smile. How could you not when he had come? But even in your joy, the obvious could not be overlooked.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered.

He did not wear the same smile as you. “I… I had to come see you.”

Your heart leapt at that answer. “Why?”

“You’re a hard person to forget.”

At that simple statement your throat closed in. Tears would have burst forth if you hadn’t fought to hold them back. Oh, how you wanted to wrap yourself up in his arms.

“You make no sense,” you said with a shake of your head. “You throw me out, yet send me home with lavish gifts. Then I’m told that you used to chase after women like a hunting dog after birds. Was I just another plaything to you? See if we could get the poor destitute girl before she has to go back to her miserable life?”

“No!” Zitao snapped. A quick glance around and then he lowered his voice, “I will admit that I wasn’t the most respectable person in the past. But I’m not person anymore. And you were never a game. You have always been more.”

You weren’t sure why, but you believed him.

“Why didn’t you come or me sooner?” you questioned. Sooner? Why didn’t he take you away that day in the forest?

“I thought you knew how stubborn I was already?” he said with a half-smile. It faded just as quickly as it had come. “I was content in being alone. I thought it was better for me. You can’t get hurt if you don’t let anyone in.”

“But you can’t live like that,” you urged. “Everyone gets hurt. Besides, you have let people in. Mrs. Chan cares about you like her own son.”

He sighed, the air contorting to a laugh near the end. “She said as much. But you must understand. The last time… the last time I felt this way, I was left broken, a monster—”

“You’re not a monster. This,” you bobbed the hand that he held up and down so he would know what you were referring to, “is nothing more than a scar. It doesn’t make you who you are.” But it did come with a past. “That night of the fire… did you kill her?”

Zitao’s Adam’s apple shuddered as he swallowed thickly. Fear was evident in his eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I did.”

Your feet stopped moving. No. You didn’t want to believe it. He was just trying to push you away again. “Zitao—”

“And who exactly invited you.”

Unbeknownst to you, the music had stopped and all who were gathered in the ballroom were circled around you. Gao had cut through the crowd and now stood behind Zitao, his shoulders pushed back in an intimidating manner. He wouldn’t know that such a tactic wouldn’t work. Letting you go, Zitao turned on the balls of his feet, lacing his hands behind his back. He looked more like a powerful lord in this moment than you’d ever witnessed.

“No one in particular invited me,” Zitao said regally. “But as I’m the one who is going to steal away your fiancé, I thought an appearance was necessary.”

“You?” Gao sneered. “And who exactly do you think you are to attempt such a thing?”

“I am Lord Huang.”

“Lord Huang?” A pause. Then Gao laughed. “Ah. I’ve heard of you. From the dimwitted villagers who fear you. Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of vampire or hideous beast?”

“Countryside rumors are usually exaggerated.”

“Are you sure? Why else would you be wearing a mask like that if not to contain the beast?”

Zitao growled. “It is none of your business.”

“Come on, beast, show us what you’re hiding.”

You stepped around Zitao protectively. “Gao, stop it.”

“No, I don’t’ think I will,” Gao said mockingly. “This man is trying to ruin our party. The least he could do is give us some entertainment.”

“Gao, I said stop—"

Before you could finish, the mask covering Zitao’s scars was snatched off his head. Cosette had snuck up from behind and taken the chance to remove the mask. Zitao scrambled to cover his face. Gao laughed at the humiliation, showing you exactly who he was. Zitao ran from the room. Cosette enjoyed the moment, her eyes shining from the laughter she held inside. Taking the mask from her, you started after Zitao, but Gao caught you by your upper arm.

“Where are you going?”

You refused to answer. You stomped on his foot to make him let go and ran out the door. “Zitao! Zitao!” It was too late. He had already mounted his horse and was getting smaller as he raced down the cobbled road away from the ballroom.

“(y/n)!”

Your father and brother dashed out of the building. To no one’s surprise, Cosette was not to be seen. She was probably hiding, feigning shame from the scene you’d dare to cause in front of some poor sap who was falling for it. Lu stepped next to you, hand on your shoulder. “(y/n)?”

“I want to go home.”

Lu looked to your father, who simply nodded. You were led into their carriage and left the party. No questions were asked, for which you were thankful. You couldn’t do it. Even for your father. You loved Zitao. That wouldn’t change. Besides, after that display, you couldn’t be tied to a man like Gao.

Back at his home, you didn’t go to your room. That might have been the safest place to be, the one area Gao wouldn’t storm into because it belonged to him. No, instead you stayed bravely in the living room. You sat on the couch, hands resting in your lap, as you waited for Gao to return. It took almost an hour, but when he did finally come through the door, you knew that amount of time wasn’t enough to calm him down.

“How dare you humiliate me like that!”

“I didn’t humiliate you,” you said firmly. You looked him directly in the eye so he wouldn’t think that you were going to cower before him. “You did that to yourself.”

“You were carousing with another man!”

“I was dancing with him, nothing else. There was music and other couples. You had left me, so I danced with him.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?” You weren’t even surprised that Gao had put the pieces together. You would think him rather stupid if he hadn’t. Gao stalked towards you. “There was no old woman in a cottage, was there? Cosette was right when she said you had a lover. And here we all thought you were an innocent flower. You are no more than a weed in disguise.”

“And you are as beastly as you claimed Zitao to be!”

Infuriated by your words, Gao reached his hand back, palm flat, to strike. You closed your eyes to brace for the hit. It never came. Opening your eyes, you saw that Lu had intervened, catching Gao’s wrist before he could swing.

“You will not lay a hand on my sister,” Lu commanded through clenched teeth. He didn’t let go until Gao finally wretched his arm away.

“She is still my fiancé!”

“No, I am not.” You yanked the ring that had been drowning you like an anchor at sea off your finger and tossed it so it landed on the floor at Gao’s feet. It clanged and rattled as if angry at the abandonment. “You’re right. I do love him. And as long as he exists, I won’t ever marry you.”

“We will be out of your house by the end of the week,” your father stated from the hallway. You hadn’t realized that he was there. You hoped he hadn’t been witness to all that had transpired.

Gao marched out of the room, muttering under his breath. Lu gave you a look of pity before exiting on his own. Your father continued to stand there for another minute or two. Several times he opened his mouth, but each time he left the words inside. Eventually, he too left you alone.

You couldn’t stay here. You needed to get to Zitao.

You waited a few more hours until you were sure most of the inhabitants were asleep. Then, as quietly as you could, you changed into clothes more fit for a long journey and slipped out the front door. You were sure that Zitao would not stay in town. If he did, well he would just have to be surprised at your appearance at the castle. Mrs. Chan would let you in if need be. You paid for a horse and headed out. Towards your real home.

All night you rode, even when your eyes began to droop, you forced yourself to stay awake, slapping your cheek if needed. You had to put as much space between you and your family. Between you and Gao. When you came to the same small village as the inn that you stayed at, you didn’t stop too long to rest. It was already midday by that time. You switched out horses and ate a quick meal before starting again. You were too determined to be slowed down. It was dark once again when you reached the country manor. Close to midnight if you had to guess. Going into the forest at this time would be reckless. You needed to get to Zitao, but you didn’t want to die in the process. It could wait until morning. You still had a whole day on your family. You tied the horse up near a pile of hay outside then went through the back door that had been kept unlocked. The memory in your feet carried you up the stairs to your room. You didn’t even bother pulling back the sheets. As your head hit the dust-covered pillow you fell asleep.

When your eyes opened, it was still dark. Odd. You felt well rested – more than rested. Leaving the room, you went down the stairs to the living room, where a small clock still sat on the mantle of the fireplace. It read that it was eight o’clock. How?

No. Could you really have slept throughout the entire day? That was what you got for not resting during your trip.

Bang! Bang! Bang! “(Y/n)! (Y/n) are you in there!”

Mrs. Chan?

You rushed to the door to see the old woman looking terrified, her hair falling out in bits from underneath her bonnet.

“Oh, thank goodness!” She threw her arms around you before pulling back and grabbing your hand. “Come! You must come quickly!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Pure fear ran cold through your veins. Was Zitao planning on hurting himself?

“Your fiancé arrived earlier today and started spouting nonsense around town. He started saying that Lord Huang had kidnapped you and that he would kill you like he killed his wife. I knew you weren’t at the castle so I hoped and prayed that you would be here. Your fiancé has convinced the villagers to go after Lord Huang. I’m afraid that they might kill him!”

“What?” What madness was this? Only one thing still gave you hope. “But they can’t find the castle, can they?”

“A few of the previous servants still know the way. Hurry, we don’t have much time!” Mrs. Chan scrambled into the open carriage. That would be too slow if you both rode in it. Hopping on to the other horse, you yelled at Mrs. Chan that you were going ahead. You knew the way now and you had to get to him as quickly as humanly possible. Branches and twigs pulled at your sleeves to slow you down as you galloped though the forest. You batted as many as you could away. Nothing could get in your way.

As the trees broke through to the field, you saw them. A mob of torches and pitch forks breaking through the front doors as they yelled in victory. You pushed the horse faster, up the stairs and through the doors. The villagers had surrounded Zitao in the front hall, shouting curses at him and calling him a murderer as others threw rocks at him as he sat on the ground, taking it.

“Leave him alone!”

Some of the villagers gasped in surprise. You jumped down from the horse and shoved them aside until you reached Zitao. You pushed his hair from his face. He didn’t seem badly injured. A drop of blood ran down his face, but it didn’t look dire. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted as he tried to push away. “Get out of here. Before you get hurt.”

“No!” You sprang to your feet and stared the villagers all down. “You come in here, unprovoked, and call him a monster! The only monsters I see here are you for believing a man like that!” You point to Gao who showed no remorse for his actions.

“He kidnapped you!” a man from the circle yelled.

“No, he didn’t! I left the city of my own accord!”

“He killed his wife!” another argued.

“That is a lie!” The circle parted again as Mrs. Chan came into view. A fury burned in her eyes. “I was there that night. He didn’t kill her. If you have evidence against my word, then get the constable involved. But I will swear in court that he didn’t do it.”

No one could argue with a declaration like that. Murmurs began to ripple through the crowd. Glances were exchanged. Then mumble apologies as the villagers lost their fight. In groups of two or three, they began to head towards the door. Letting out a slight groan, Zitao tried to push himself up. You let him lean on you as he made it the rest of the way.

“Where are you going?” Gao shouted at the villagers’ backs. “He’s a monster! A beast! Just look at him! He’ll ruin your village! What about those he cast out? Left jobless through his cruelty? Are you all cowards?” No one even turned to look at him. Furious, Gao turned to the two of you. His eyes were full of hatred. “You will regret this.” He leveled his gun. Aimed at you.

“No!”

Zitao jumped in front of you right as the gun went off. He fell to the ground as he clung to his side. Blood seeped through his fingers. Gao ran off. The real coward.

“No, no, no. Please, no.” You dropped to your knees and forced Zitao’s hands away from the wound. There was so much blood that you couldn’t see how bad it was. Your hands were covered in seconds. Zitao was already beginning to sway back and forth from the loss. Mrs. Chan was by your side in an instant.

“We need to get him into bed so I can see to his wound.”

“Just let it go,” Zitao groaned. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

“Shut up!” you snapped at him. “Don’t talk like that. Now get up.”

Zitao stared at you for a beat before nodding and letting you get him to his feet. Mrs. Chan helped you get him up the stairs and to his room where he lied down on top of the blankets. He protested when Mrs. Chan cut away at his shirt, but a slap of her hand shut him right up.

“Bring me the pitcher,” Mrs. Chan ordered of you. Without thinking twice, you ran to the dresser and brought the pitcher to her. With a clean cloth in her hand, Mrs. Chan washed the wound to get a better look. She let out a sigh of relief. “It only grazed his side. He should be alright. As long as we get it closed and it doesn’t become infected.”

You weren’t sure if you could believe her. Zitao had drifted off, his eyes closed, completely still. Only his chest moving up and down as his lungs filled with air gave you hope. Mrs. Chan stood up and left the room. She came back with a needle and thread in her hand. She didn’t flinch as she pierced his side to stitch the wound closed. Zitao whimpered at the sharp pain. You moved to sit by his head and grabbed his hand. You kissed the back of his fingers in comfort. When Mrs. Chan was finished, she stood up and sighed.

“He’ll be alright. The wound is closed and wasn’t too severe. He’ll have a scar, but at this point….” She shrugged. With her hand crusted with dried blood, she brushed the hair off Zitao’s forehead. “The poor dear.” Then, she left.

Feeling brave and unwilling to leave him in case something else were to happen, you shifted so you were now laying down next to Zitao. He was more peaceful now; his face smooth, no longer revealing discomfort or pain. You rested your chin on his shoulder. With the tip of your finger, you traced the outline of his mask, down his nose to his chin. Then you sat up and let go of his hand to untie the mask. Zitao didn’t move as you pulled the covering from his face and set it down on the nightstand. You kissed his cheek before settling back down and falling asleep yourself.

You woke to a slight tickling sensation on your cheek. Letting your eyelids flutter open, you let out a slight laugh when you saw Zitao awake. He was smiling at you as well while caressing your skin. He hadn’t replaced the mask, letting you see the light, protruding scars on his cheek and forehead.

“Good morning,” he greeted softly.

“You’re alright.”

He nodded. A small tear fell down your cheek. With his thumb, he wiped it away.

Slowly, as if scared you might run away, he leaned in, his eyes drifting down to your lips. At first, the contact was so soft you thought that perhaps he hadn’t kissed you at all. But as the pressure grew, your eyes closed again, and you entangled your fingers in his hair. You were losing yourself in the kiss, happy that he was alive and that you were with him. But his confession at the party pushed itself to the forefront of your mind. You broke off the kiss. Sitting up, you turned away from him.

“What is it?” Zitao asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly? Please?”

He reached out and grabbed your hand, bring it to his chest. “I swear.”

You turned to face him fully. As gently as you could, you placed your fingertips on his scar. He didn’t flinch back. “What happened that night? You said you killed her. But I don’t believe that.”

Zitao cringed as if in pain. He looked off to the side before coming back to you.

“I loved her. I swear I did. And I thought she loved me, too. But I was wrong.” He lowered the hand that held on to your fingers, keeping his focus there. “Soon after we were married, I found out that she had a lover, that she didn’t have any feelings for me. I told her I was going to put in a petition for divorce, that I was going to throw her out. That night, she slipped a sleeping potion into my wine at dinner, but I was too upset to drink it all. It didn’t matter. The servants who saw me thought I was drunk as I stumbled to our room. I woke up before she was expecting. Her lover was there, helping her start a fire. I’m sure they were thinking of killing me so she would inherit everything.”

He took a deep breath. You squeezed his hand to let him know that he hadn’t lost you.

“I fought with the man, trying to stop him from ruining my home. My wife tried to get between us, but… one of us – I don’t know who – shoved her away hard enough that she hit her head on the sharp edge of a dresser, falling to the ground. I called out her name. When I was distracted, the man hit me with something hard, knocking me out. I didn’t come to until the fire was put out. The fire had made it over to me. My left side was wrapped in bandages. The man was gone and my wife was dead.”

He didn’t kill her. You knew that in your heart. He didn’t maliciously set out for her to die. He was only protecting himself, his family’s legacy.

You threw your arms around him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could have been the one who pushed her.”

Leaning back, you repeated, “It wasn’t your fault.” The memory of that final night came back to you. “Is that why you made me leave? Did you think you would hurt me?”

Zitao shook his head. “No. I was scared you might hurt me. When you whispered my name, I heard her again. I couldn’t go through that. I couldn’t risk being used like that again.” His eyes finally raised back up to meet yours. He caressed your cheek with his knuckles, the gesture absent of fear. “But you’re not her. It took me too long to realize that. (Y/n), can you forgive me for being so stupid?”

“Of course,” you said between your tears. “Of course, I can. I love you, Zitao.”

Happiness could not be enough to describe the elation shining from his smile. Encapsulating your face in his hands, he pulled you forward and captured your lips again. He kissed you deeply, wrapping his arms around you until you were pressed tightly against his chest. He ended it only to ask a single question.

“Will you marry me?”

You barely gave a nod before he resumed the kiss.

It was a beautiful day for an outdoor wedding day. The sky was a soft baby blue. A few puffs of white clouds floated through, but nothing gave you worry about rain. It wasn’t too hot or too cold and only a slight breeze interrupted the festivities every once in a while. The guests ran around the field, laughing and playing while you sat in a chair, a veil draped around your shoulders.

“You look beautiful.” Your father beamed with pride as he kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you.” Your face was aching from all the smiling, but you couldn’t stop. Happiness of this level couldn’t be contained or controlled. It needed to be shared.

Lu was standing a few feet away, talking to a baron who had been friends with Zitao’s father. Sitting in a chair with her signature fan in her hand, Cosette wore a snarl on her face. She was probably thinking about how hard it would be to outdo you in marrying a lord. Not that you cared. She would be taken care of, far away from here. Speaking of your husband, he came walking back up with a glass of wine in his hand after making the rounds of thanking guests.

“You will take care of her?” your father asked Zitao for the hundredth time. Your husband took it with stride, beaming in the sunlight.

“Of course,” he answered. “For the rest of my life.” Putting the drink down, he held a hand out to you, but kept his attention on your father. “May I steal her for a moment?”

“Yes, yes,” your father chuckled. “It’s your wedding day after all.”

Zitao tugged you to your feet and led you away from the festivities. He kept going until you were no longer insight of the others. The lone gazebo that sat near the lake on the grounds came closer. Within its walls, no one would be able to find you.

“Finally, I have you alone again.”

You laughed. “You will have me alone for a very long in the future. It’s rude to leave our guests in the middle of the reception.”

“I don’t care if it’s rude,” Zitao stated. You knew he really didn’t care. And ou couldn’t quite find it in yourself to care either. “Dance with me.”

“What?” You looked around but didn’t see a hidden band. “There’s no music.”

“Yes, there is. You are the music.”

You wanted to laugh at his sentimental statement. However, the way he said it melted your heart. So, you gave in, letting him pull you in and rock you back and forth across the wooden floor of the gazebo. He kept his eyes on you, never faltering for a second.

“I love you,” he said suddenly. He’d said it before but your heart still soared whenever you heard that phrase fall from his lips.

“I love you, too.” And you would make sure that he knew it, every day for the rest of your lives. He might not have had the fairy tale ending the first time around, but you were selfishly thankful. Because it gave way for you to meet him and heal his heart. And so, the two of you would live happily ever after.

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andoqin · 3 years

Text

Greetings Ninth Uncle

So I’m reading a het novel called Greetings Ninth uncle and oh my god.

“Duke Cai said that I am an ideal wife and mother, and I think so too.” Cheng Yujin smiled softly. It was the look she used most often in front of people. However, the bright light in her eyes was incompatible with the usually gentle and virtuous eldest Miss Cheng.

“My family has decent status and clean background. Even if we are not of the highest rank, my father is Yichun Marquis Manor’s shizi, soon to be titled marquis, and my mother is Qingfu Junzhu. In the eyes of many prestigious family’s madams, this is an ideal background for a daughter-in-law. There is the saying that ‘Men should take a wife from a lower status, women should marry a man of the higher status.’ My status is neither high nor low, but decent enough and clean. As for myself, I am beautiful and have a gentle disposition. My manner is excellent, I am good at social niceties, and proficient in the four arts of zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. I am also good at cooking, embroidery, and household management. I fulfill all the requirements of a virtuous wife and good mother. Not to mention others, even myself also want to take such a daughter-in-law home.”

Zhai Yanlin frowned. These words made him uncomfortable. Zhai Yanlin curled his eyebrows and said: “Eldest Miss Cheng, as a boudoir girl…”

“As a boudoir girl, how can I say such things, right?” Cheng Yujin still smiled sweetly. “But this is the fact. Everyone acknowledges it. Ah, this is the result of my long years of hard work. From a perfect noble family daughter to a perfect daughter-in-law candidate. In the future, I will become a perfect bride, a perfect wife, and a perfect matriarch. This is my goal. As long as I can get what I want, it’s not hard to maintain this perfect image.”

“After I knew about Cai Duke Manor’s intention, I also carefully considered this matter. I can manage the duke household well. I can manage Zhai Qing well. Although it’s a bit tricky, it’s not impossible to regain the right to manage the household and bring the crooked Zhai Qing back to the right path. But let me ask Duke Cai, what can you bring me in exchange for my hard work?”

When Zhai Yanlin heard this, he was too shocked even to say a word. In the past, women would pounce upon him one after another. Whether it was to be his concubines or second wife, there were countless of them. But no one ever asked him, “what can you bring to me?”

What could he bring to her? Zhai Yanlin’s three views1 were having a violent turbulent. He was the dignified Duke Cai. He possessed wealth and power that made countless people envy him. He was tall, majestic, and had a good look. Shouldn’t women fall in love with him as a matter of fact?

Zhai Yanlin couldn’t believe it. He was used to be the one who chose. He never thought that there would be a woman standing on the opposite side, wantonly evaluating his worth.

Cheng Yujin didn’t care how great an impact was her words brought to Zhai Yanlin’s three views. She continued counting with her fingers: “If Second Madam Zhai’s words are not wrong, then the duke title and all the family property will belong to Zhai Qing in the future. That is to say, after twenty to thirty years of hard work, I have to raise another person’s son and won’t even get large rewards. Then why should I bother to work hard? Even if I give birth to a son, he can’t inherit the family, then why should I risk my life and damage my beauty to give birth to a child? Taking a step back, no matter how good I manage the household, those properties won’t belong to me or my children in the future. So why should I spend so many efforts to accumulate wealth for others?”

Cheng Yujin raised three fingers to Zhai Yanlin. “Wealth, power, comfort. Duke Cai cannot give me any of these. Why should I marry you?”

Zhai Yanlin took a long time to finally regain his ability to speak: “You…you are rebellious. Women should be gentle and tactful, supporting husband and raising children without asking for anything in return. How can you open your mouth so blatantly and talk about benefits and rewards?”

Cheng Yujin was already very impatient: “Duke Cai, I think you are also a high-ranking official of the court. Then let’s just speak openly. Since you want to form a cooperation with me, then you should show sincerity. Don’t bring nonsense like womanly virtue or gentleness to the negotiating table. I can bring peace and order to your family for at least thirty years. If you still want me to take care of Old Madam Zhai and correct Zhai Qing’s behavior, you have to add more bargaining chips. This is my worth. What about you? What can you bring to me?”

Cheng Yujin discussed marriage with the same tone as discussing a business deal. This kind of scene was not unfamiliar to Zhai Yanlin. On the contrary, he dealt with many people in the court and the army on a daily basis, using the same negotiating tactic to exchange interests and test each other’s bottom line. If he was dealing with the court officials, Zhai Yanlin liked this kind of person who showed their demands and worth straightforwardly. But in marriage…

Zhai Yanlin was utterly shocked. Cheng Yujin was like a sharp knife with no emotions. She mercilessly cut open the thick cloth that had blindfolded him over the years and presented the bloody truth before his eyes.

That’s right. Those women who pursued him, did they truly like him as a person? No. His wealth, power, and status were the key.

He had always deceived himself, thinking that he was extraordinarily heroic and charismatic, which attracted so much love from the women. But those women, those concubines in his home and even his late wife, which one didn’t look at his family’s status and future wealth? They all wanted to give birth to a son and gained a part of his family property.

This thought just never occurred to Zhai Yanlin. He maintained his ridiculous, stubborn male self-esteem, pride, and self-confidence he had lived in for most of his life. But at this moment, Cheng Yujin put on all the bargaining chips on the negotiating table, and for the first time ever, Zhai Yanlin realized that his self-confidence was actually so vulnerable. In front of Cheng Yujin’s calm, rational, and ruthless words, it collapsed easily.

Zhai Yanlin was agitated, and switched into the negotiation mode he used at the court. However, he immediately realized that he couldn’t bring anything out. Zhai Yanlin remained still for a long time, and finally said with a dry tone: “If you become my wife, I will treat you well, and you can have any gold and luxury as you want…”

Cheng Yujin laughed. Her voice was not loud, but the laugh directly pierced into Zhai Yanlin’s ears.

Zhai Yanlin felt an indescribable embarrassment.

Talking about feelings at the negotiating table was unbecoming.

“Duke Cai, your feelings are worthless to me. What else can you offer me?”

Zhai Yanlin could not answer. Cheng Yujin also didn’t expect him to answer, and immediately continued: “You cannot give me any benefit, whether in the present or the future. Then why do you want to marry me? And even stop me in the middle of the garden?”

Your feelings are worthless to me—this sentence hit hardly, and gave Zhai Yanlin the final and fatal blow. His male self-esteem was greatly hit. But he couldn’t even refute, because it was a fact.

Many women in the world were soft-hearted, but Cheng Yujin obviously won’t. The affection of her future husband was worthless to her. She wanted money and power, and didn’t want him.

Like a poor, dejected young man, Zhai Yanlin stood in front of the woman he likes, feeling at a loss as to what to do. He watched Cheng Yujin turned around and leave. He didn’t look away for a long time, and just standing there in silent depression.

Is it heavy handed? Sure. But it still works for me, because yeah, why *should* the FL marry this dude. If only more FLs in het C-Novels had this attitude, honestly.

#greetings ninth uncle #cnovel

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peakywitch · 4 years

Text

Cassiopeia - John Shelby

Warnings: mentions of blood, war, curse word...the normal!

A/N: changed John’s kids name! also, it’ll be revised through these days, tell me if you see any mistakes! <3

word count: 2.3k

my masterlist

The small footsteps of two mischievous children were heard throughout the house. It was very early, the sun was still down. The two opposing hands of the children were intertwined, guiding each other through the labyrinth into which the house was transformed when the moon rose. The old wood under their feet creaked with every step, which alerted his not-so-asleep father.

"What if he hits us?" Ben asked nervously.

"James has been telling you stories, right?"

The boy nodded sadly at his sister's question. His friend was frequently punished severely, but at the Shelby household, it was different.

"Don't worry, it's for a good cause. Besides, dad would never hit us." Winnie smiled, trying to see his brother's eyes in the dark.

A good cause? John thought, what would be so important to speak in the moonlight? He knew what his two kids were up to, but he stayed in bed, still being able to listen to the two of them talk. He wasn't going to get up, not until the sun comes up at least.

"Dad?" asked the voice of the girl, with a low and still voice "Are you awake?"

John turned his face on the pillow, seeing two heads - one with braids and one with blond hair, both disheveled - appear through the door. What the hell were Winnie and Ben doing up at such an early hour?

A sleepy voice invited them to climb onto the bed with them, Ben accepted immediately, almost jumping on his father. Winnie just sat on the end of the bed, watching John hug Ben.

"What are you two doing up so early?" he asked, as he gently combed his son's hair

"It’s Emma’s and Lottie’s birthday on Monday." Winnie whispered, not wanting to wake the smaller Shelbys sleeping in the next room.

"Yes, I know", he smiled "six years ... I don't understand where those six years have gone." He smiled wistfully. But even so, that smile showed a pride that was not visible in the moonlight.

"And we thought about whether we could bake a cake." Ben smiled.

John's eyes went to the boy's sugar-craving gaze. Then he saw her smile, which had a small window.

"So the good cause is cake, huh?" He smiled, giving Winnie a sense that his plan to be quiet had failed.

But even with a defeat, the girl smiled, as her hand traveled through the braid that John had awkwardly made.

“It's already Saturday, you don't have school. Why don't they go back to sleep? he asked, after a chat of flavors, colours and fillings.

Winnie nodded as she listened to Ben, who had been snoring from the beginning of the conversation.

"Aunt Pol, I need a favor." John asked, as he played with the toothpick between his lips.

Polly tore her eyes away from the journal for a few short seconds, seeing her nephew's pleading look. When she read the newspaper again, she spoke:

“I'll take care of the children today, John. But since you are always..."

"Actually, uh... the girls turn 6 on Monday, and I wanted to ask you if you could bake them a cake?" the doubt and confusion in John's voice led her aunt to laugh.

"When in your bloody life have you seen me bake a cake, huh?" she asked, putting the paper aside and taking the last sip of her tea.

"Yeah, well," he laughed, "I don't lose anything by trying, do I?"

Between a nostalgic chat about how they were six years ago, Polly remembered in an instant, interrupting John:

"Y/N!"

Polly's exclamation shook John's comfort, her screams were always sending him to the Calvary.

"Y/N?" he asked.

The name burned on the tip of his tongue and in the back of his head, unable to remember who it was. He had known a nurse of that name, but it couldn't be because some enemies had killed her in front of him.

“Do you remember Karl's cake? That delicacy of chocolate, hazelnut and caramel?” his aunt answered with a question, trying to enliven the memory.

How could he forget that cake.

The cake was soft as a cloud, the chocolate intense and the caramel had a few notes of salt that made your tongue dance. John had never tasted a better cake than that. Also, he had eaten three servings. Faced with the memory, he laughed:

"How could I forget the stomach ache that lasted for two days, ey?" Polly grinned "Never such a beautiful pain."

They both laughed.

John's feet were constantly changing position. He was alone in a neighboring town from Small Heath, an hour away from his home. The address Polly had given him must be wrong since it was not a bakery; it was a simple English house. It had some rose bushes in the small front garden and a bird feeder in a vibrant little lemon tree. The aesthetics of the home were out of tune with John in an extraordinary way. The striking difference between the green of the home and the black of his clothes made him feel like an outcast.

Somewhat uncomfortable and hesitant, he headed for the door. It was then that he could hear the subtle violin that came from the house, also a piano. The atmosphere was so mellow, it almost completely calmed John's nerves. With the piano in the background, he knocked on the door. The music did not stop. From what he knew, the music that was playing came from a gramophone.

A woman in her forties opened the door for him, her blonde hair was down and her eyes were tired, but still had a smile from ear to ear.

"Yes?" she asked, without moving her smile.

"Good afternoon, ma'am" smiled John, taking off his hat "I'm looking for Mrs. Y/N ..."

Mrs? John asked himself, since when did he say he was looking for a Mrs?

The woman called out the name, and within seconds an old woman appeared in front of him.

"Are you Y/N?" asked John.

"So it is, dear." The lady's smile denoted fatigue but a strange feeling of youth.

Uncharacteristically shy, John explained his situation.

"Oh, great, great!" He smiled, and invited him in.

The lady, without asking much, sat the unknown gangster on a pink sofa with flowers and black wooden armrests. John could observe that the music came from a phonograph, it had been almost twenty years since he had seen one, they were not so common anymore.

After a few moments of inspecting the curious and cozy house from that old-fashioned sofa, the lady appeared with two aprons: both pink, with ruffles and embroidery.

"Very good," the lady smiled, "put this on and Y/N is coming."

The old woman did not give Shelby time to complain, leaving him in the company of a pink apron, totally striking.

Polly, what the fuck have you gotten me into?

John walked nervously through the dining room, cooking classes? I'd had enough of Polly's teachings on how to make soup, there was no way I could bake a cake. Less than less, two.

"Are you ready, Mr.?"

The voice... the voice is different.

John turned around, seeing how a girl appeared in front of him.

"And you are?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"I am Y/N."

John was mixing a thick brown mixture, while Y/N a white. The image of the man in a suit, with a chocolate stain on his shirt, made Y/N smile every time she saw him. He had steadfastly refused to wear something as ridiculous and flashy as that pink apron, but he had been persuaded to cook the cake.

"So everyone who wants a cake... comes and has to do it too?" John asked, finishing beating.

"Yes."

"So, my sister Ada...?"

“I end up with her egg-filled apron, but yeah. The cake was made by her with my help. "

John stopped beating, glancing sideways at the baker's smile. He knew that smile, but still not the woman who wore it.

While the cake was baking, they both talked about life, war, music. Sorting things out amid animated chatter, John tried to caress her arms with his. The moles on her arms reminded him of stars.

"You remind me of war." He said, without thinking once.

The look of the young woman was a complete poem.

"You're not good with compliments, are you John?" the girl asked, trying to add laughter to the situation, uncomfortable.

"Hell, I didn't mean that, I..." a chill ran through his body, what the fuck did he just say?

"Do not worry." She smiled, finishing cleaning.

“When I was on the Somme,” John began, “when I was on the Somme I couldn't think of anything other than the smell of blood. I couldn't hear anything other than screams, in a thousand and one languages, be it prayers or calls for help. The sun burned my forehead ... I remember feeling the infinite beads of sweat that dried on my neck. But at night, when death rested and war ceased, he looked at the stars. The sweat of the day made me feel like I was dying of cold in the cruel and dark French trenches. I prayed i would come home safe and sound, or at least alive. And the smell and the screams continued, until i found Cassiopeia in the sky. Then the smell would stop, the screaming too. My body was flooded with the aroma of bread that my mother made, and a lullaby sounded in my head that I heard my aunt sing. "

Y/N's eyes were attentive to every word, unconsciously shedding tears. The boy approached her arm, and slowly traced the W that was seen on her skin. His index finger joined each mole, and he touched the stars of the Samarin sky. He felt that peace, he felt that song and he felt different.

After that, they kissed. It was a bearable kiss, momentary and fleeting but brilliant, like a star. It gave them both that feeling you get on New Year’s: that feeling that, although it is still the same, you have a new opportunity. A fresh start.

“This is how looking up the stars felt.” Said John, while his nose was touching hers.

“How?” Y/n asked.

Both of their eyes were still closed. Their breathing was slow and peaceful.

John couldn’t answer; he felt everything crumble inside of him. Slowly, the disgusting smell of blood was flooding his head again.

“Is the cake ready?” he asked pulling away from her, making the girl sadden.

“Uh…yes, we just have to write their names with icing and it’ll be ready to be eaten.”

Her eyes were trying to connect with his, but he was observing the kitchen anxiously, avoiding her eyes. They both knew that John was evading her, but he didn’t know how she felt.

He left her in the kitchen to finish her work, as he washed the batter off of his hands in the little bathroom. It didn’t matter how many times he used soap, he still saw the red dots of blood on his hands. He felt the dirt under his nails, and the sweat drops on his back were always burning and itching, no matter how many showers he took.

When he left the bathroom, five minutes later, he saw the girl getting ready to write his daughters’ names on both cakes.

With a professional smile on her face, she asked for the names.

“Emma and Charlotte.” he smiled, tiredly.

As he put his coat on again, he watched the girl write both names in pink icing. She had a little bit of her tongue out, and was frowning. John couldn’t help but smile, not realizing how peaceful he was feeling.

One minute after he put on his cap on his the pocket of his coat, the baker gave him two white boxes.

“I really hope you learned something today.” She said with a smile, he smiled back.

“This” he said, giving her money “I believe is yours…”

He was giving her eight quids. Her eyes opened with astonishment.

“It’s two pounds each cake, John. Four in total.”

“Take ‘em, really.” He said, still insisting.

“John, I will accept five, and that’s it.” She said back, trying to act tough. Jesus, eight pounds sounded bloody amazing.

“I compared you to war, c’mon. Take them all.” He insisted agin.

“Six, and if you insist again I will give you both cakes as gifts.” She smiles, feeling the victory in her plan.

John smiled, he couldn’t believe how hard headed she was. He looked away, and let out a little laugh before looking at her, directly in the yes.

“Six it is.”

And when she saw the smile on John’s face, she felt like it was all good again, just like before and during the kiss. Boy was she wrong.

“You know…” the man started “I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m so sorry…m’ wife, well…”

Y/N’s stiffened, her blood became ice. Every cell in her body fell numb.

“Oh…” she said.

John didn’t say a word. Neither did her.

She helped him load the cakes in his car, but the again. None of them said good bye. He took off, having given the girl two quids more.

He paid for the kiss, she though, not because he was sorry of what he said.

That night, she felt as dirty as John felt. The kiss was burning her lips, her consciousness, every inch of her body. She scrubbed her body even harder in the tub, tears were building up in her eyes.

But John, on the other hand, felt peace every time he remembered the kiss. He was in bed, trying to sleep, trying to forget the war on his head. He thought of the kiss, of that bloody kiss that made him tremble and feel nervous again. He tried to understand what it felt, he tried every adjective. He found one, two hours after thinking non-stop about the girl he met that day:

Hope.

The kiss tasted like hope.

taglist: open

@a-golden-sunflower-vol-6

@fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby

@stydia-4-ever

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hobidreams · 4 years

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Moonlit Throne historical clarifications/references

i want to accurately represent the history from the joseon era, but sometimes for the sake of story/ease of accessibility, things had to be minorly changed. the following is a list of creative choices/changes i make in the writing of Moonlit Throne, as well as further information about the history/culture that i’ve found through my own research 💓 i hope this can also provide some more context for those interested. this list is to be updated as the series progresses so i always recommend you read the latest drabble before checking for more info here for risk of spoilers. please correct me if i get any info wrong!!

for even more information about the world, check out the tag #moonlit history!

last updated: after drabble 43!

new information for the latest drabble will be under the moon.

king gwanghae - as mentioned in the line “gwanghae flow” & in the rest of the MV, Daechwita was inspired by this historical king & the movie about him. Moonlit Throne is not inspired by any king. any event that is similar is purely coincidental!

topknot - various sources state that only married men were allowed to wear their hair up, though this is often not the case in popular korean media. even though Yoongi is unmarried, i chose to pay homage to the daechwita MV & give him a topknot throughout the series. *** same goes for the blonde hair color!

months - traditionally, they followed the lunar calendar in the Joseon era. but i thought that that would be a bit difficult to explain for modern audiences so i am choosing to use the months/modern equivalents of dates.

yoongi’s scar - i am aware that Scarlet Heart Ryeo depicts the facial scar as a reason that someone could not become king. i haven’t found much on this in the way of historical sources, so it’s not a factor in my series!

uinyeo - aka. reader’s mom, and eventually reader herself. at the time, it was believed that women could not be treated by male doctors due to the shame of showing a man their body, even in a medical context. this position was generally occupied by a woman that was ranked below middle-class & commoner (think merchants/fishermen/etc.) as it was not a very desireable role. reader’s mom, Eun-a, is the head uinyeo, which is why she is called “su-uinyeo-nim” by others.

***i haven’t found any information that says men couldn’t be treated by women due to the Confucius beliefs, so at least in this story, reader helps out the male physicians from time to time.

eunuch - eunuchs were impotent or castrated men (had all or part of their genitals removed) who worked within the palace walls, serving and attending the royal family. they had their own hierarchy, like head eunuch, etc. it was possible for eunuchs to marry & have families of their own.

***Eunuch Kim has a 🍆! it’s just his testicles that were removed.

yoongi’s name - technically kings use temple names that end in jo or jong instead of their given names, but i’m keeping it as Yoongi!!

age - it’s revealed in the march 1858 drabble that Yoongi is officially turning 10 years old that year, but this is in Korean age. his birth year is 1849, which would make him 9 years old in age as we know it internationally. Korean tradition dictates that people age up at the start of the new year (Jan 1), not on their actual birthday. traditionally, they also add an extra year as they consider the baby 1 year old at birth, not 0 years old. to do the math, reader is two years older than him, which would make her born in 1847 & turning 12 that year!

*** the average life expectancy around that time was ~35-40, so their understanding of a teenager would be very different than ours, at least in terms of maturity. thus, even though the main characters are relatively young by today’s standards, i’ve written them to come off as older. UPDATED INFO: it seems court ladies could live up to rather elderly ages, even up to 70, so i’m not sure if the earlier statistic was just mainly for men.

birthdays - i couldn’t find any information about whether they celebrated the actual day of birth as well back then, only about 100 day milestones, etc. but it is part of Korean culture to celebrate the birthday in modern times, so i kept it in.

jeonha - similar to mama, this is how you refer to the king as an equivalent to “Your Majesty”. wangseja-jeonha is the full title for the crown prince. usually people just call him seja-jeonha.

women’s rights - how much freedom you have kind of depends on what rank you are. most of the upper court/noble ladies (yangban) are born & raised within the palace. they were very, very rarely allowed to leave (& if they were married off, then they would have to leave with like guards/people with them). it’s unfortunate but they were treated like property, passed off from father -> husband. from what i can gather, the lower ranked women (like the uinyeo) had a bit more liberty about going into town (or at least ive seen in media), mostly bc no one cared about them.... sad truth but truth nonetheless.

king’s authority - even though the king is the ruler of the entire land, he doesn’t have absolute authority over everything. generally kings in the joseon era had to listen to the advice of the court officials if they thought he was making the wrong choice.

Minister Choi’s execution - so actually there were several types of executions for people of different ranks. someone of Minister Choi’s status likely would have been given a less gruesome death via. poison (sasa or 사사). but i’m keeping it as a beheading to pay homage to the daechwita MV!

***i also came across an article that said only royal blood could be spilled on the palace grounds so i’m not 100% sure where the public execution square was located, only that there was one & it was separate from the palace. also a lot of dramas seem to ignore this rule, so i’m not sure.

perfume - this existed back then! along with cosmetics. they were a luxury item for mostly the upper class, but they definitely existed.

Queen Jeonghui’s birthday - fun fact! i borrowed this real life queen’s name first, for drabble 3. then i found out, it just so happens that her real birthday falls in November as well. it was a total coincidence haha.

OC’s outfit/hairstyle - this is what she would have worn!

palace - the layout of the series setting is loosely based off Gyeongbokgung Palace! if you look at the map, i’ve set the private gardens at #24 (though the position of the island is different than how it looks in the map. it’s instead from the right side going towards the left), Yoongi’s private residence is #25. reader is moved into #23. #26-28 are libraries, which includes the crown prince’s private library.

*** also the palace is much bigger than you might imagine so to get anywhere takes some time & a bit of walking!

jipgyeongdang (집경당) - #22 on the map. along with #23 (below), were traditionally houses for concubines & palace maids before Yoongi moved them.

hamhwadang (함화당) - #23 on the map. where reader lives post December 1868.

sanggung - the highest rank available for women who served the palace/royal family. a woman could become a “favored sanggung” if she slept with the king, but not a proper concubine. normally from the “commoner” class.

sangmin - “commoner” class. made up about 80% of joseon’s people. were the farmers, fishermen, laborers, etc. these were the people that paid taxes and were ruled over by the nobles!

cheonmin - the rank below commoner, described in English as “vulgar commoner.” the upper classes considered these people “unclean.” among their numbers were butchers, sex workers, performers, shoemakers, and yes, uinyeo. they were normally given little to no respect at all within society.

concubine - women that had the honor of sleeping with the king. concubines had their own ranks within them as the king usually had many (think around a dozen). more info.

town - from what i can gather, directly outside of the palace is a small town. if you think of the Daechwita MV, it’s like the town that Yoongi walks through when he has black hair. this is where mostly people of the middle/lower class, like sangmin & those below that, live.

chuseok - Korean harvest festival! it means “autumn evening with the brightest moon”. it’s usually celebrated on the 15th day of the eighth month in the lunar calendar. that would put it anywhere around sept 9-oct 2 in our modern calendar depending on the year!

yangban - these are the “ruling class” or gentry of the joseon era. generally means their families own land, are somewhat (or very) wealthy, and they are well-educated. (think Mr. Darcy, for a British equivalent)

why does no one recognize the prince in town? - with a lack of access to pictures & internet, it was common for the normal citizens of the country to not know what their monarchs looked like. generally to identify people & rank, they had to rely on appearance. gold was a color only reserved for royalty, so only the king & his sons could wear the royal robes with gold embroidery. once Yoongi takes off those robes, it’d be hard to identify him from among regular yangban!

jeon - these are bits of shrimp/vegetables/fish/other small things that are deep fried in egg batter!

nokdujeon - this is like a small, savory pancake made with, you guessed it, mung beans!

Chun-ja calling Eunuch Kim “Kim-nim” - look. i’ll be straight with you i have no idea how a commoner would refer to a eunuch. i’m flip-flopping between his title (which i also cannot figure out bc idk which of the 18 political ranks he would be, but not for lack of trying y’all T_T) & his name with the respectful -nim. so just to be safe, i’m going with it.

***i also am not 100% on this, but i believe Eunuchs rank higher than commoners because they work in the palace? which is why Eunuch Kim uses “-ssi” for her.

hangul & hanja - so the Korean alphabet as we know it is called hangul, and it was invented in 1443. in the past, they used to use hanja, Chinese characters, to write documents.

female literacy rate - as related to above, it was rare for women to be able to read/write even up until the late 19th century. they weren’t allowed to learn hanja at all & only around 4% could learn hangul. of those 4%, it was mostly noble women, who received good education to be better wives.

***books were then thus read aloud by those literate to crowds, so people could still enjoy stories.

face - the concept of “face” is very much rooted in Asian culture. in Korea, it’s called chemyon, & is basically related to your reputation + how others see you. you can lose, build, or gain face through your actions or what rumors of you spread. for example, if parents have children with bad grades, they + the child lose face. people should strive to do things to build their family’s honor & face up. i’ve experienced firsthand how people go to sometimes extreme lengths to “save face” as the term goes. basically, if you’re going to do something shameful, it’s better to do it where no one can see. (this concept isn’t going to have a huge influence in the series, at least not so far & i use it rather lightheartedly in October 1865 but i just thought that it’s really interesting + important to know about Asian culture!)

French expedition to Korea (Byeong-in yangyo) - in October 1866, the second French empire tried to invade Korea (or Joseon as it was called at the time) because the king at the time executed seven French missionaries. after several months of fighting, Korea won with only four soldiers killed & 3 wounded (compared to France: 3 killed, 35 wounded). Joseon was able to stay relatively isolated from all the other countries, continuing the practice of isolationism.

gossip - i couldn’t find any laws prohibiting people from talking about court going-ons/battles, though i would assume that it’s punishable if you’re doing it to talk badly about the king. but even if there were laws in place, word gets around, as word tends to do. therefore, i’ve given Eunuch Kim a bit more freedom in his letters.

royal funerals - it could actually take up to 5 months for the coffin to begin its journey to the resting tomb, but i’ve expedited the timeline for plot purposes!

coronations - these actually weren’t super common in Korea or Asia in general, but it did happen once in the 1700s for King Yeongjo. i’m using that as inspiration for Yoongi’s crowning.

*** also i couldn’t find info on the exact wording that King Yeongjo used when he announced his succession to his deceased brother’s body so... i took some creative license there.

gama - how yangban & up women travelled, carried by their servants. here’s a visual!

the royal engagement - actually, Beom-su would not have lived within the palace walls. she would have lived in a detached palace that was further away from the main palace, and there would be a whole procession where the king goes to her during their wedding rites. however, i’ve seen several dramas have the bride-to-be hang around a lot, which seems to be true because she would have had to learn the customs of the palace, so i’m not sure how much she would have been around realistically. i’ve just chosen not to address it, like the dramas do.

Beom-su’s name - i chose this name for her because of one of the possible hanja for beom: “犯”, which i would pair with the hanja “秀” for su. her name would basically mean excellent invasion, which i thought was a bit cruel, slightly humorous, & overall fitting. it is normally a masculine name though!

why are Beom-su’s father’s actions such a scandal? - so all the unmarried women living/working in the palace were considered the king’s property. he could sleep with them if he wanted to, but essentially they belonged to him. by laying hands on the maid, the minister committed a double sin because he not only was he assaulting someone, but he was infringing upon the king’s territory.

civil service exam (gwageo) - this is an exam issued every 3 years that any man, commoner rank & above, could take in order to enter into civil service. it’s what Jimin takes to enter into the court! i’m not sure what month these were held or if it was just at the king’s discretion (could not find much info)

more on eunuch kim & the re-marriage process

royal tombs - these were often quite far away from the actual palace but looking on maps, i found that there were a few tombs rather close to the palace that people could have conceivably travelled to within a day, over several long hours on horseback!

on natural disasters - yes, in history, natural disasters like floods/earthquakes/eclipses were said to be the king’s fault because he wasn’t a good enough ruler! things like this could seriously derail the people’s trust in the king and was a big cause of concern.

on Queen Jeonghui being in court meetings - i couldn’t find actual evidence that said the queen couldn’t be at these daily meetings between officials. in fact, the real life Empress Myeongseong in the ~1870s was pretty involved in politics and was quite interested in matters of law, etc. so, i’ve decided to allow Jeonghui to be present and address the ministers alongside Yoongi!

Chunaengjeon - i kind of explain more about this already in the drabble itself but if you’re curious, it’s the only solo court dance in the Joseon era and the highlight of the dance is a moment where the dancer mimics a bird perched on a flower and smiles :’) i thought it was fitting for these two. here’s a video of a performance that i used as reference!

janae - there were quite a few different terms for couples to call each other during this time. “janae” was meant to represent wife and is kind of their equivalent to our... “honey”? it was mostly used among the commoners/lower classes to convey affection and closeness. (aka eunuch kim continues to be the cutest)

on adopting a child as a eunuch - the readings i found say that eunuch kim’s children must be eunuchs themselves if he adopts them directly, but they don’t mention anything about this particular case of a eunuch marrying a widow, aka the child is not directly adopted by Eunuch Kim himself. so Han-jae will not be a eunuch when he grows up!

american invasion of korea (shinmiyangyo) - this is a true historical event, as i’ve mentioned in my author’s note for “June 1871.” Americans repeatedly violated Korean soveriegnty and invaded their land, resulting in many, many deaths for the Korean side. they were hoping this destruction would force Korea to accept the trade treaty. Korea did not, and eventually were able to chase the Americans out of their land a month later. the wikipedia page goes into greater detail if you’re interested, and is a quick overview of the situation.

seong-min’s living situation - as i’ve mentioned earlier with the whole Beom-su situation, i’ve chosen to not use the detached palace again for this engagement as dramas tend to do.

the wedding ceremony - similar to my reasoning about the detached palace, i’ve chosen to focus on only a few parts of the marriage rites while only briefly mentioning the rest. why? well, while i would LOVE to explain all the details and intricacies of such an incredible process, i feel like that would take a lot away from the heart of the story and be distracting, especially at such a critical stage. so i’ve explained what i can, and given brief overviews where i am able. ofc i adjusted the parading ceremony because of the change of the detached palace custom. if you’d like an easy-to-read source on the whole process, please check out this link! basically the MLT chapter depicts a tweaked vers of steps 5 and 6. 1-3 happened behind the scenes, and i mentioned #4 in the “summer 1871″ drabble.

chungin - our equivalent of “white collar” workers, or the upper-middle class. this rank was made up of low-level bureaucrats, accountants, physicians, etc. some royal servants would also be part of this rank because they’re allowed to enter the palace. there is an exam (chapkwa) to become this rank!

conception dreams (taemong) - as uinyeo-nim explains in the drabble, these dreams were often seen as omens of impending pregnancy. depending on what you see in your dream, there are different interpretations. possible symbols are animals, fruits, elements of nature, children, and jewels. eg. if you dreamed of fruits, it was often considered to be a sign of having a baby girl.

other conception myths - i know from my own experience that Asians often have a lot of superstitions regarding conception and pregnancy and medical things in general. however, i couldn’t find any specific conception myths for the time period in question (most of my research only uncovered superstitions for after you’re already pregnant), so i’ve taken some creative license here, using the conception dreams and current beliefs as inspiration!

on Queen Jeonghui calling oc “dear” - since I prefer not to use Y/N, ___, etc. for reader’s name and just generally avoid mentioning it, it’s nearly impossible for me to convey the tone with which Queen Jeonghui would’ve been calling OC in this chapter. in Korean, she would be saying “[name]-yah/ah” depending on the ending syllable of the name. adding that suffix to the end of a name conveys closeness and intimacy between people. I’ve chosen to substitute it for “dear” to make things sound more natural in English. it’s not an exact match, but it’ll have to do!

#moonlit throne #historical context

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lucifer-kane · 3 years

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[Cross posted from World Anvil]

Festival of Nalam

The festival of Nalam is held towards the end of the year, preparing to celebrate the renewal of the new year. It is primarily held during the night, with some events held during the day for those who would rather spend time outside when it's light outside, or those who tend to end their days early. The event celebrates the new year and also gives devotees to the Goddess of death, birth, and renewal a more prominent time to pray and speak to her. Unfortunately, she hasn't spoken back in some years, having gone silent many many years before the time where are story takes place. No one knows why, but the tradition of this ritual and worshiping is still in place after all these years. From good food to beautiful home made trinkets and toys, it's Helimire's largest tradition in its history. While it's not held during the entire month of Nalam, there's still smaller celebrations here and there through out the land and the city of Helimire specifically, that all grows into a larger one during the last week of the month.

The twins have mixed feelings about this time of the year, for one it's the month during which they were created, and two, there was always a feeling in the back of their minds that they should be celebrating more for one reason or another. Neither of them knew that their mother, their other creator, was the goddess Nalam, they only knew her as what she told them. She was a Lost goddess, a lesser deity, but she would later tell her children who she is. When the time is right. When she was done playing.

Christopher was putting up decorations on the front of his Helimire townhouse, a little ways down from the Council building. Dark colored moons and stars, and things primarily found during the night. He didn't put up many decorations when events and holidays came up, but he always went a little bit wild when it came to the festival for Nalam. Something in the back of his head told him he should, but also he was always drawn towards the darker and different aspect when it came to this festival compared to anything else. How he felt more empowered during these times when it came to his own magic as well. He slips inside his home for a moment to change into something more fitting for the night time festival activities, dark and sheer, comfortable against his skin, paired off with a little more jewelry than he usually shows, just like the outfit shows off a bit more skin than normal. Christopher grins at himself in the mirror and ties his hair back in a loose ponytail with a long piece of crimson fabric before he heads out for the night.

The night closes in and the red moon rises over the ocean, full and large. Christopher looks up at it and breaths out a soft, happy sounding sigh, as he finishes paying for some little sun and moon shaped chocolates from one of the stands a few blocks from his home. He's always enjoyed the night in Helimire, the night markets here that have grown since the creation of Helimire are some of his favorite in the world, stalls for just about anything you could think of line the way. He stops at one, running his fingers over a pair of elbow length silk gloves, he also eyes the sign that says they do embroidery for an extra cost.

"How much extra would it be for me to get a snake embroidered on both of them?" The woman behind the stall is younger, and her eyes light up when he gives her the idea. It's not too complicated for her, judging from the premade embroidered ones already laid out for viewing.

"Not too much! Where would you like them placed?" Christopher picks up the gloves and turns them over in his hands, humming to himself as he thinks of where would be the best place.

"How about around the opening? The snake starting and ending at the top?" The woman has a hand on her chin, looking at the gloves. She nods.

"Perfect perfect. Any other suggestions?" She has to look up at Christopher to look at him properly. He shakes his head and smiles warmly.

"I think that's all, if you'd like to add anything else I would love your creative input into it!" She laughs and nods excitedly.

"I can do that! You can come pick them up closer to morning, if I'm not here, just give them your name. Here, first actually." She hands him a small card and a fountain pen so he can fill out his information. After he does that she asks to take some measurements from his arm, just to make any adjustments if needed. Then Christopher pays what she asks before heading off deeper into the festival.

It's a few hours later and Christopher has slowed down in his walking around, wanting to enjoy more of the sights as he gets deeper into the festival. He stands watching some street performers, leaning up against a shorter stone wall, enjoying the warmth of the night.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" There's a voice to his right and he turns towards it, a smile growing on his face when he sees a dear friend walking through the crowed towards him.

"Hello Elijah. And it is a very nice night, a bit cooler than it usually is though." Christopher watches as Elijah stops next to him, their shoulders brushing ever so slightly together. Elijah nods, then pulls a little box from a pocket inside his coat. Christopher narrows his eyes and Elijah leans a bit closer to Christopher to whisper to the man.

"A little cat tells me it's your birthday today. Well... tomorrow technically. But it's close enough to tomorrow for me to give this to you." Christopher sighs and rolls his eyes, but not hiding the grin that comes on his face.

"Morgan is a little shit sometimes. You didn't have to get me anything." Elijah shrugs.

"Felt like it, plus it's fitting, for the festival that is. It's a bit funny to me, how similar you and the supposed Goddess is." Christopher pauses after taking the little box from Elijah, fingers pushing at the ribbon tying it all together.

"....Really now?"

"Something about the two of you, I can't put it together. But any of the tales of her are so long old, it could be just something similar."

"You... wouldn't be the first to say it, and it's not a bad thing. If I were to worship any deity, I think she'd be up there in who I'd pick." Christopher opens the box and sucks in a soft breath at the contents, a thick banded bracelet made of dark metal and stone, lined with bronze. Also etched in bronze, is a small crow, with a red eye. The sign for Nalam.

"I can... see why you got this, thinking of myself and Nalam." He chuckles a bit, pulling the bracelet out of the box and sliding it onto his wrist. It doesn't move around much, and fits pretty much perfectly.

"I was hoping you'd like it." Elijah smiles a nervous smile.

"I do, I very much do." Christopher puts a hand on Elijah's shoulder and leans over, kissing the man softly on the cheek. "I'll treasure it."

Later, as the two men are walking around the festival some more, the moon at its highest in the sky, Elijah asks Christopher a question.

"Is there anything else you do during these festivals?"

"I like to help at the hospitals and such, while Nalam is the goddess of Birth, they're not easier during this time, no matter how much praying. So I help out to the best of my abilities, making sure things go along smoothly if they're looking rough." He runs his thumb over the beak of the raven on his cane. "It gives me something to do anyways. Something I like doing. What about you?"

"Taking things where they need to be, if I'm not in the council building, I like to help with transporting goods. Easy work, something simple that helps out here and there."

Now the two have walked in a full circle, coming to a slow stop in front of Christopher's home.

"Christopher, if you'd like, I'd... Like to treat you to something nice tomorrow, not even just for your birthday, but it's been some time since the both of us have been able to spend time together, and I miss that time." Elijah looks up at Christopher from where the man stands at the top of his stairs, Elijah at the bottom. Christopher smiles softly at the other man and nods.

"A celebration of Nalam then. That's what I'd like for us to do." Elijah nods and smiles.

"Sounds perfect."

The two split for the rest of the night, preparing for the next round of celebration for the next day.

#helimire #spirit of helimire #original character #oc shit #it got a little off the og prompt but oh well here it is

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sitcomified · 3 years

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we can’t make any promises now, can we, babe?

summary: impromptu peraltiago wedding one-shot set in the b99 season three finale word count: 5.4k rating: general

read below or on AO3

A buzz of chatter spills across the bar. Jake, Amy, and Charles are reunited at last, sharing stories the past few weeks over cheap drinks on a sticky wooden countertop. Amy finally tells Jake she loves him so much and he reciprocates without second thought. Charles offers a knowing glance to Amy, but Jake’s phone buzzes before he can follow up.

“Ooh, I'm gonna get this.” Jake excuses himself from the conversation and answers the call from an unknown number on his phone.

“Jake Peralta? This is Jimmy Figgis.” He feels like his throat has been shoved down his stomach. Cases were never truly solved, and usually the perps harbored resentment, but he had never been singled out like this, on his personal phone number. His first instinct is to try to locate Figgis, but even if he wanted to track the call he couldn’t. The voice on the other end has been altered by a robotic filter, and the background noise is indiscernible.

He hesitates for a moment before responding, “oh, uh, hey, dog.”

“You and Ray Holt took down my operation. Now I'm gonna kill you both.” Jake squints across the room in search of anyone remotely suspicious. Unfortunately, he could read too much into anyone when given the chance. He doesn’t recognize the new bartender, and he’s been less chatty than the others. There’s a lady squeezing her purse against her chest as she looks in his direction. His anxieties boil over in his throat as he tries to stammer out a response, but Figgis ends the conversation before he has time to interject: “later, dog.”

Jake’s hand is still shaking as he lowers his phone. His eyes dart around the room. “Uh, Captain Holt?”

“Peralta,” Holt says from across the bar, approaching the counter after politely excusing himself from an odious conversation with Hitchcock and Scully. His arrival catches the attention of Amy and Charles, who drop their conversation about where to find the best sundaes.

Jake scans the room once more before speaking in a low voice. “I just got a call. From Figgis. He knows that you and I busted his operation and he’s coming for us.” He sighs and his shoulders fall down with defeat. Amy instinctively reaches for Jake’s hand.

“Oh dear,” Holt replies. Even his ever-emotionless expression is disturbed by the news, with raised eyebrows and a slight frown. “Well that is certainly unfortunate.”

“What does this mean?” Amy asks, her voice trembling. Jake squeezes her hand, in a futile attempt to calm the storm of worst-case scenarios she’s piecing together.

“We’re screwed,” Charles says, “don’t worry Jake, I’ll make sure to tell your story.”

“We are not ‘screwed’,” Holt replies, “however, we should discuss proper procedure in a more private place.” He gestures to the couple making out at the table to their left. The group nods in agreement. “Go ahead to the precinct, I will meet you there.” He exits the conversation just as swiftly as he arrived, sparing no second in rallying his—albeit somewhat tipsy—squad.

The walk to the precinct is uncharacteristically somber. Charles doesn’t even comment on the fact that Jake draped his jacket on Amy’s shoulders the second they left the bar. The omnipresent breeze of arguments between neighbors, loud music, and traffic goes still and the only noises they can hear are their own footsteps, and the occasional sigh.

The precinct is at least familiar, but laced with uncertainty as night shift officers occupy the bullpen. The trio make their way to the empty briefing room, which is fortunately unlocked. Amy takes a seat in the back, and Jake hops on the table next to her. Charles heads for the bathroom to face the consequences of the “Authentic Asian-Mexican Fusion” cocktail he tried earlier.

“It’ll be okay,” Amy says, gently stroking Jake’s palm. His blank gaze is fixed at the wall in front of him for minutes that seem like hours, and he still hasn’t said a word. Usually when he was worried, she couldn’t get him to shut up. Seeing him silenced sent an eerie chill across her. “At least for now, Figgis and his guys are way too smart to infiltrate an active precinct.”

He finally replies, “So you want me to live the rest of my life here?” He lets out a meek chuckle. “I think that would be worse than getting shot.”

“Oh, come on, it wouldn’t be that bad. I’d see you every day, you already eat most of your meals out of a vending machine, and the bathrooms are nicer than your apartment.” Amy jokes.

“Hey, one day that will be our apartment, watch your mouth.” He cracks a smile. For just a moment he allows himself to forget about the immediate danger surrounding him and indulges in the idea of a daily life with Amy. They would order takeout and sit on the couch watching an action movie, and she would be curled up with her embroidery and he could smell her eucalyptus shampoo. Or maybe he'd learn to cook, and she'd put on another nature documentary, and he'd get to listen to her laugh at the stupid voices he did for the animals. He runs his fingers absentmindedly through her ponytail. That’s a life he would buy a million mattresses and toss his grey towel thousands of times over for.

His fantasy is, however tragically, cut short by the Captain’s arrival. “Peralta, a word, in my office please.” Jake nods and follows him through the bullpen, without even bothering to greet any of the officers. It's as if he was watching himself enter the room, rather than actually experiencing it.

“Take a seat,” Holt gestures to the chair across from where Jake was standing awkwardly across the desk, and he hadn’t thought about sitting down. To be completely honest, he wasn’t entirely aware of the fact that he had a body. “I have contacted the U.S. Marshall’s office to make arrangements to send the two of us into Witness Protection. I know that this comes as a disappointment, but I believe that this level of security is necessary to avoid the threat.”

The news hits Jake like a punch to the gut. It’s a new type of dread, one that’s crushing him in instead of pulling him apart. He had worked on high stakes cases before, but this was a new level of imminent danger. He’d always been able to talk his way out of any threat; the squad was always there to help him. Even without them, he could fend for himself. Hell, he survived six months undercover in the frickin mob. Jake clenches his fingers against the captain’s desk. “Captain, with all due respect, is that really necessary–”

“–I understand your hesitancy, but it is absolutely critical that we take the utmost caution, but this is non-negotiable. Our Marshall will be here in two hours. Sergeant Jeffords is on his way to brief the squad on necessary protocols right now.”

“How long will we need to stay in WITSEC for?” Jake tried to reason with himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. It could be a couple weeks, a month tops. It would hurt like hell, but it’s nothing he couldn’t handle. If it was somewhere cool, then he could also get a killer story out of it.

“Indefinitely,” Holt responds, as if it was obvious and insignificant as the color of the sky. His answer severs the last thread holding Jake’s sanity together. He bangs his fists on the table.

“What the hell? You just assumed I would be okay with all this?” he shouts, “I can handle myself. I don't need to be babysat. I've been a detective for ten years!”

“Precisely, that's why I assumed you would react like an adult, and not like a petulant child.” Holt retorts. His dismissive delivery only fuels Jake’s anger.

“What did you expect me to do? I just got to see Amy for the first time in weeks and now my life is at risk because of some stupid case?” He pauses for a moment, recalling the ridiculous conversation from the briefing room moments ago. “Let me stay here, I’ll take down Figgis. I’ll even live in the precinct.”

Holt manages to convey a magnificent lack of amusement. “I don’t have time to deal with your immaturity right now. There are several arrangements I need to attend to, for your safety, If I may add.”

Jake’s heart is still pounding as he storms out of the captain's office. A pair of officers look up at him with concern before returning to their paperwork. He walks directly to the evidence lock up. As much as he wanted to squeeze out every last moment he could with Amy, he couldn't risk ruining it with some impulsive hot-headed remark.

He paces around the room before eventually landing on a box to rifle through. If he couldn’t address his feelings, he could certainly distract himself from them. It’s an old case—from before Holt became Captain. From what he could remember, the perp was busted for poisoning victims she catfished, and stealing their identities. When he opens the box, a puff of dust fills the air, hitting him with the heavy reality of just how much time had passed. He occupies himself by sifting through the contents of the box: the bracelet she used to store arsenic, the harddrives containing compromised information, and the perfectly crafted report that Amy had spent their whole lunch break editing. He really didn’t know how lucky he was then. He spent every day with the most wonderful woman alive and wasted it by teasing her.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps. He would recognize Amy’s awkward clunking in her “going-out heels” anywhere. Even if he was deep undercover all the way across the country. “I knew I’d find you in here,” she greets him, standing in the door frame with a bunched up tissue in hand.

“It’s like you’re a detective or something,” Jake says. He aims for the light flirtatious tone that the two have grown so accustomed to, but it comes out too aggressive for either of their comfort.

Amy hesitates before clearing her throat and approaching him. She closes the lid and returns the box of evidence to the shelf, and reaches an arm across his back. She notices Jake’s widening eyes, slowing heart rate, and just as he opens his lips she accepts his implicit apology. “This is stressful, I understand.” She pauses and Jake can hear the soft popping of her lips; she's choosing her words very carefully. “I was thinking. Figgis will take a while to track down. I can’t let you go alone for that long.”

Immediately Jake tenses back up. He felt that they were in an awkward stage relationship wise, even before Amy went undercover. He worried she thought that he was moving too fast too soon. That he wasn’t serious or responsible enough. He can’t stop himself from vocalizing his anxieties. “Ames, are you breaking up with me?”

Luckily for him, Amy looks equally horrified at the idea. “No, the opposite, actually—” she takes a deep breath, as Jake violently racks his mind for what that could possibly mean,“—I think we should get married. I know this is all really soon and we haven’t hit all the relationship milestones, but WITSEC only allows contact with immediate family, and after what we just went through I can’t imagine—”

He interrupts without a second thought. “—Duh-doy, of course I’ll marry you.”

Although the proposal was a mere technicality, excitement washes over the room. Amy launches herself at Jake with wide-open arms. He squeezes her tightly and lifts her up. Figgis was still on the loose and his life was still in jeopardy, but it all seemed insignificant when he knew Amy would be by his side. He slowly lowers her down onto a pile of boxes. With their faces pulled back from each other, Jake can actually see Amy’s brilliant smile. He almost feels guilty for dampening it. “Uh, the Captain said the Marshall would be here in two hours, and everything’s closed.”

Her eyes are illuminated by that specific laser-focused excitement that was reserved for completing a crossword puzzle, or, choosing a new notebook, or, someone concerningly, receiving praise from her captain. “Leave that to me,” she says.

Jake can barely muster a response as Amy races to her desk. “You’re my dream girl.”

“I know,” she replies from across the precinct, no doubt doing one of her lovable dork dances from behind the door. The officers must assume that they’re somehow crazier than they already do, but Jake doesn’t care. Amy’s voice is still echoing in his ears when he returns to the captain’s office. His senses return to him, and he’s even grateful for the precinct’s faint smell of metal and burnt-coffee.

Holt seems to have calmed down from earlier, or at the very least, he’s so immersed he can’t be bothered to deal with Jake’s crap right now. He has a pile of binders on his desk and his reading glasses are on the verge of sliding off the tip of his nose. Seeing Holt in serious action almost makes Jake feel guilty for acting out earlier.

He enters the room awkwardly, and Holt looks up from a particularly thick file and clears his throat. “Detective, I noticed you and Santiago were conversing. I trust that you have sufficiently addressed any emotional concerns this process might have, given the romantic nature of your relationship. I understand that the prolonged separation can be quite challenging to navigate. Kevin and I recently had quite an emotional conversation ourselves.”

“Hello Kevin, it is I, your husband Raymond Holt.”

“May I inquire about the occasion? This is a rather unusual time to call.”

“I agree it is quite unorthodox, but this news is urgent. I just completed a very dangerous case and my life is in danger. I am headed into a Witness Protection program indefinitely.”

“I understand. I am quite disappointed by this news.”

“As am I.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Jake replies. In any other circumstance he would declare his eternal love for Amy from the top of the Brooklyn Bridge, making sure that the whole city could hear. But, although he would never admit it, he cares just as much about the Captain’s approval as she does. Whenever he imagined proposing to Amy, years down the line, he knew it would be elaborate and tasteful (to the extent he was capable of it) and when both of them were ready. He knew that’s what Amy deserved, and Holt knew it too.

“Pardon?” Holt takes his eyes off the monitor and folds his arms, and Jake feels as if he’s being interrogated. Through the glass, he watches Amy at her desk frantically typing and scribbling down notes.

He purses his lips in anticipation. He doesn’t have time to do a bit or give a fake story to dull the big news like usual, and that makes the ripping off of the bandaid even more painful. “It is possible that Amy and I maybe just decided to get married before the Marshall gets here.”

Holt opens his mouth with a slight indication of confusion, before swallowing a gulp of air. “I see…and you’re sure that you will be able to file the requisite paperwork in time?” An entirely unremarkable—and characteristic—reaction to the situation. No hints of judgement or celebration, just an acknowledgement of simple facts. Jake supposes that he filed any emotional response away to be processed at a later point.

“Don’t worry sir, we have a plan,” Jake assures his still-skeptical Captain. “Well, Amy has a plan,” he clarifies, and Holt indicates marginal relief.

Holt sighs, “I know I am not one to talk you out of your schemes—”

“—It’s not a scheme, it's a plan, and it’s a great one. Amy and I are going to go to whatever craphole state the Marshalls send us to, solve the case in no time and then make out 24/7,” Jake says with a new rush of adrenaline.

“As I was saying, you seem to be quite confident,” Holt continues, “which is why I’m not going to attempt to negotiate with you. You are excellent detectives and you clearly care a lot about each other. Congratulations to you both.” He gestures to Amy, who has her face nearly pressed to the glass behind the shades, as she tries to listen to their conversation. “Santiago, you may enter.”

Amy almost trips on her way into the office, and Jake greets her with a hug, “Did you hear that? The Captain approves!”

Her face floods pink, undermining her already futile efforts to maintain composure. “Thank you sir, it means a lot.”

“Of course. It’s highly enjoyable to see a couple as compatible as yourselves.” Jake has to bite his tongue to avoid mocking his word choice. “Now, given that time is of the utmost essence, I urge you two to go home and gather personal documents. I’ve already spoken to the night shift’s Sergeant, and he has agreed to lend officers to escort each of you.”

“We need to get all the marriage paperwork sorted out, I can just stay here,” Jake adds, turning to his girlfriend, “Amy, all my important stuff is under my beanbag chair.”

“That's why it's so lumpy!”

“I’m sure Detective Boyle would be more than happy to help out with your nuptials,” Holt replies, pushing aside his disgust with his Detective’s living situation. “Here is a list of things that the Marshall will need,” he hands over two slim printouts from one of the many binders on his desk. “You are dismissed.”

“Thanks,” Jake says, flipping through the sheets. He would be so screwed trying to find this all in his apartment.

“See you on the other side, babe,” Amy whispers as she leaves the office.

“See you on the other side,” Jake says, planting a soft kiss on her forehead before heading downstairs.

///////

One hour later.

Amy returns to the precinct with a sleek folder containing every document the Marshall requested. While gathering her necessities, she changed into her old graduation dress. It’s knee length with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, not nearly formal enough for the wedding she had several binders dedicated to, but for all she cared she would marry Jake in sweatpants and grandma glasses.

Her jaw drops as she enters the break room. As it turns out, Charles wasn’t the only one in the squad ecstatic about a Peralta-Santiago wedding, even if it was just a formality. As soon as the rest of the squad found out, they volunteered to help in any way possible. Rosa took her motorcycle to the City Clerk’s office where she obtained a Marriage Certificate and License, though she wouldn’t disclose how she got into the locked rooms. Terry convinced his neighbor who worked in the State Court to begrudgingly sign a letter authorizing the marriage in under 24 hours (“Theirs is a love story for the ages, for the ages Margo!”) Hitchcock and Scully even rearranged the furniture to form a sort of mock-chapel although it didn’t help that Scully was asleep on one of the couches in the back.

Charles himself went full-Boyle. The room is decorated with a beautiful miss-match of flowers from the 24/7 bodega down the street, and soft classical music was playing over the precinct’s sound system. It’s enough to make the holding cell containing a single perp with thirteen charges of public urination seem miles away. “Amy!” he turns around when he sees her, letting the banner of post-it's he’s hanging drop to the floor.

“Charles, this is incredible!” Amy exclaims.

“Thank you, it's not the wedding I dreamed about for you two,—that one has far more exotic birds involved, both for eating and for pleasure,—but I figured it was my job to step up as Jake’s de facto best man,” he says, pulling her into a hug. “If you hurt him I swear to god I will make you suffer for the rest of your life,” he whispers into her ear.

Amy pulls back hesitantly, “yeah, of course I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Jake.” She laughs, but no one joins.

“Seriously, we mean it,” Rosa adds, her tone somewhat undercut by the bouquet of roses she’s tying together.

“Everybody, leave Santiago alone, she’s not going to do anything,” Terry says, but his authority is undermined by the mouthful of tape from hanging up decorations.

At that moment Jake walks in, “Leave Santiago Alone, She’s Not Going To Do Anything: title of Amy’s sex tape.” He’s changed into a white button up shirt under his leather jacket and dark jeans. His red tie and scuffed sneakers match the flower petals around them. Charles must’ve coordinated this, Amy thinks. He looks so handsome that she forgives the insult. Besides, they both knew he wasn’t speaking from experience.

“Dude, you’re literally getting married,” Rosa says, as Jake rolls his eyes. He saunters over to Amy and gives her a quick kiss. She takes his arm around her, and they walk to the back of the room for a semblance of privacy, taking a seat on the couch opposite Scully.

“Hello future wife,” Jake greets Amy.

“Hi future Mr. Santiago,” she responds, with a slightly smug smile.

“Wait, what are we going to do about last names? Should we hyphenate?” Jake asks, frazzled. He’s still processing everything that’s happened that day.

“We can work all that out later, but it would make paperwork a nightmare,” Amy says, as she tucks a tiny curl behind his ear. It immediately bounces back. Jake smiles at her. Of course she could still be thinking about paperwork at a time like this.

“I know it’s cliche, but I really do feel like the luckiest man on Earth,” he says.

“Well you are being targeted by one of the countries largest crime families, so I guess it evens out.” Jake looks away in response, and Amy bites her lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up, I just thought with everything—”

“—No, it’s fine,” Jake says, and he quickly pulls back his frown. At some point over the past evening (early morning, really) Jake had allowed himself to believe that this marriage was forever. That it was the next step in the infinite journey they would share or whatever. His stomach churned at the nagging idea that this was just a loophole for Amy to work a case with him.

“Babe, is everything alright?” She turns to face him, and he realizes the uncharacteristic length of his silence.

“After all this is over—if it’s all over—are we going to stay married?” he asks, not quite able to make eye contact.

“Is that what you want?” Amy counters.

“Maybe,” Jake responds. He definitely knows what he wants, but he tiptoes around putting Amy in a precarious position. The last thing he wants is for her to feel compelled to stay married to a guy she’s only been dating for a year. Instead, he returns the question, “is that what you want?”

She pauses for a second to think. “I want a proper wedding. With my family and everything—I think my mom would kill me if I didn’t. But I want to marry you. Preferably not in a police precinct though,” she adds. Now it’s her turn to avoid his gaze.

“I want that too,” Jake smiles in agreement, “Although a precinct wedding doesn’t seem that bad. Terry’s kids could be our flower girls.”

“That would be adorable,” Amy says.

“Do you think Sarge could bring them in now?”

“Jake, it’s the middle of the night on a school night,” Amy reminds him. Stupid reality always getting in the way of his great ideas.

“Right,” he pauses, and then lets out a laugh. “I love you, Ames.”

“I love you too, Jake,” she says, with her head on his shoulder. He wishes that they could stay like that forever, but time (or, to be more precise, his captain’s anal scheduling practices) were not on their side.

Amy explains all the different forms they have to sign and Jake watches her carefully scan each line and write her name in font-like handwriting. She feels Jake’s leg shake underneath the table and lays her warm hand against his knee to calm him down. He picks up a pen from the floor and adds his name next to hers. He takes a moment to appreciate the smooth black ink from her favorite fountain pen next to his skipped blue-rollerball scrawl.

“Alright, we’re married,” Jake announces, going in for a high five. Amy looks at him with disbelief, and Charles takes the opportunity to cut in and slaps his palm. The rest of the squad joins them around the table, except Hitchcock has fallen asleep on Scully’s lap.

“I can’t believe it,” Rosa shakes her head, “someone actually agreed to spend the rest of their life with Jake.”

“Hey,” Jake protests, “that’s my wife.” He looks up at Amy with his adoring heart eyes and she feels a flutter in her chest. It was the first time she was referred to like that, and he didn’t even use the Borat voice like she expected.

“Whatever. I’m happy for you dorks,” Rosa says and she’s just drunk enough not to hide her smile. “This is unacceptable,” Charles interrupts, “I mean all this work, all this build up—years of watching your heightening sexual tension—just to sign a few papers? At least give us the vows.” He gestures around at the decorations to emphasize the point.

Jake is about to butt in about how it’s not for him, and if they were able to they would celebrate more, until Terry adds on. “I agree with Charles! Terry loves love.”

“Eh, seems like a good way to kill twenty minutes, babe, you in?” Jake turns towards Amy.

“Why not?” she says.

“Yes!” Charles exclaims, “I can officiate, I’ve had my speech written for years. How familiar are you with the different types of tentacles?” Amy and Jake exchange horrified glances, and Jake gets ready to talk his friend down. “I’m just kidding, about the tentacles,” he clarifies, although Amy isn’t entirely convinced.

“Am I going to be able to stop you?” Jake asks.

Charles is already running to his computer when he replies, “Not in a million years!” Terry soon follows him outside, inviting every officer to come watch the ceremony. Rosa tries to wake up Hitchcock and Scully with a gentle nudge before eventually slapping them awake.

In the meantime, Jake and Amy stay at the table. They’re both exhausted from the events of the day, and Amy tries to stifle a yawn as Jake asks her nonsensical questions about life in WITSEC. “What do you want your undercover name to be? I’m thinking Larry Sherbert.”

Amy rolls her eyes, “I’m not taking the last name Sherbert.”

He smiles, “that’s right, because I took yours, Rainbow.”

“You want my name to be Rainbow Sherbert?” she responds incredulously.

“Yep, you had hippie parents,” he explains. She’s about to tell him to knock it off, when Captain Holt enters the room. Amy instinctively straightens her posture and smooths out the front of her dress.

Holt lays the bottle of champagne he’s holding on the table, “This is from my miniature fridge. I was saving it as a mentor-to-mentee gift for when Santiago passed the Sergeant's exam, but this occasion seems equally appropriate.”

“Thank you sir. This is too kind,” Amy says, in the most formal voice she can muster.

“Of course,” Holt says, “It is a customary gift between workplace associates such as ourselves.” Jake shifts his puzzled gaze between his wife and his Captain. He loved them both, but couldn’t for the life of him decipher their relationship.

Terry and Charles return and a few officers trickle into the chairs in the back. Holt takes a seat in the front row, next to Rosa, and Amy and Jake join Charles in the makeshift archway between the vending machines.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” Charles whispers, putting his arms around Jake and Amy.

“Because you found out you were adopting a child, right?” Jake checks.

Charles blushes, “yep, totally that. I’m going to be such a responsible dad.” He rifles through his papers one last time, “Ok I’m ready whenever you are.”

Amy glances expectantly at Jake who gives her two sharp thumbs up. “I think we’re good!”“Alright let’s get this party started!” Charles announces. His volume catches the attention of the crowd, and the chatter dies down. “We are gathered here to celebrate the union of the two most magnificent people I know: Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago. Many of you have had the privilege of watching Jake and Amy’s relationship blossom from the overly competitive co-workers who drove us crazy with their constant bickering, to the glorious sight it is today.” He continues his speech, skipping over entire pages that have been crossed out, containing metaphors everyone is undoubtedly thankful not to hear. “To Jake and Amy, partners in crime solving, and now also, partners in life!”

The room applauds, and Jake takes the time to dab at the tears he was holding back during the speech. “We come now to the words you’ve all been waiting for. Before you declare your vows to one another, I want to hear you confirm that it is indeed your intention to be married today. Jacob Zachary Peralta, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Amy Maria Santiago in marriage?”

Jake and Amy share a mischievous glance, realizing he never told Charles his actual middle name. He’s about to bring that up, along with the fact that none of the day’s events were remotely close to his intentions, but he gets the sense that Amy wouldn’t be happy if he derailed the ceremony. Instead, he smooths out his tie and confidently says, “I do.”

“And Amy Maria Santiago, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Jacob Zachary Peralta in marriage,” Charles continues, oblivious to their antics.

“I do,” Amy smiles.

“Please face each other and hold hands,” Charles says, pulling two silver bands out of his pocket. Amy looks at Jake with confusion and he mouths the words beanbag chair. Charles instructs the two to repeat after him as they place the rings on each other’s fingers. The whole ceremony starts to blur in Amy’s mind as she realizes Jake already had this ring that somehow slid perfectly on her finger.

“And now, by the power invested in me by the state of New York, it is my honor to declare you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!” Charles declares, tossing his papers on the ground for dramatic effect. Jake reaches his arm around Amy’s back in an attempt to dip her as some grand romantic gesture. She fumbles a little and ends up standing up and pulling her head up to his until their lips meet in a warm, invigorating kiss. Both of them chuckle as they pull apart. A few of the officers take that as a cue to return to the bullpen.

“It’s my grandma’s—the dead one’s,” Jake explains, pointing to Amy’s ring, “—and that’s like the one Peralta marriage that wasn’t a total failure so I thought it would bring good luck or something. Plus, you know the crushing debt.”

“It’s perfect,” Amy says, examining the carefully carved diamonds.

Captain Holt rises from his seat and reaches for the bottle of champagne, announcing a toast. As he starts to open the bottle, the cork goes flying across the room, shattering the vending machine glass. Hitchcock and Scully race towards the rubble to steal some free snacks. It’s at that moment that the Marshall, who unbeknownst to the squad had been waiting outside the Captain's office, decides to examine the break room and investigate the noise.

There’s a moment of silence, interrupted only by the fizzing of the overflowing champagne. Amy feels her stomach churning as if she’s somehow in trouble. Holt is at a complete loss for words. At last, it’s Charles who speaks up, hesitantly saying “Mazel Tov?”

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #peraltiago fic #jamy #jamy fic #brooklyn nine nine fic #jake peralta #amy santiago #b99 one shot #my fic

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worldcakecakecake · 4 years

Text

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64 I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68 I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70 I Chapter 71 I Chapter 72 I Chapter 73 I Chapter 74

Chapter 75

“There will be no discussion. I accept the order to mobilize these seven hundred men and women from the Indian province. Write to Yekaterina and let her know that they are to be expected,” Elizabeta commanded.

“They were so recently created. I’m not sure if it will be safe,” Lili debated at the letters asking for permission on usage on these new cannons created by desperate soldiers from her kingdom.

“Lili, at this point, we take anything we can get,” Kiku commented over his own glide of hands as he tested spells and tricks.

“Accept the command and move on to the next thing!” Arthur suggested in the hurry he had turned into comfort the last few days.

As this commotion occurred, Louis focused on changing the number above.

Four days since Feliciano left them to the Interludes, this day the one he was meant to enter the second realm if the writings and their knowledge were correct.

“We should start mourning this instant,” Kandake decreed.

Lovino was quick to deny, “but we are not sure if-”

“Whether he is or not, it will work the same way. We must be rash. We can’t lose a single moment no matter our doubts,” she placed them and no more disobeys came.

They all took their positions to start, some sitting while others stood, but no matter, they kept a focus and a gathering of magic that was equal.

“Are you all ready?” Louis called to those who worked in the back.

Arthur especially groaned, knowing that the Queens and Jack will have to make dual duties, yet they nodded in agreement with the rest.

They began it with a push that they all answered to in unison, an easy flow that didn’t really disturb anything in the room.

But it wasn’t meant to act in this world.

Feliciano joined in the help to find others, to instruct and to calm, reaching a routine in such a short amount of time.

All they had was speech, and so it was with words that they spent their time. He learned so much of the lives of different people, attentive and exciting, earning a rumble of laughter many did not expect to have in such a dreaded place. And then there were moments like these, spent in silence, in getting to know these breaths that they lived on in this world. Feliciano felt comfort spending his sitting with Feliks and Sam, the girl ever so attentive in the likeliness she could meet her father here again, while Feliciano hoped to see his beloved soon, looking to the distance, as if he could wave and greet him. For once, the memories of Ludwig he relayed were of joyful ones, where they laughed, danced and kissed in sweetness, hoping he would meet him as this again…and perhaps-

“Ah look, a new one just popped out,” Feliks distracted and pointed him to the sudden light of a figure, coming in a fade afterwards. This one was a Spadian woman…a nurse. They looked away, not wanting to think, not wanting to believe.

Yet, despite, Sam couldn’t hold her curiosity, “What must it be like now? What are they doing? …Have they found something that actually works now?”

Feliks held the same questions, while Feliciano put blame on himself, scolding for what hadn’t worked, hoping for connection, for speech to the living world to keep on commanding anything new that could turn the tides. But what he could do…was be here…find this power bank and then be that change that would put an end to all of this. He sighed, wishing it could all be presented, fast and easy, and he wouldn’t be tainted with this dread, feeling like his mere sitting was waste, disadvantaging while so many of his people lost their lives in dreadful massacres.

He changed his glance yet again from a new coming spirit, another Heartian soldier, wanting to find some peace in these two new friends he made, anything. “How long do you think you’ve been here, Feliks?”

He shrugged, “really hard to tell. I think maybe a week? But I really can’t be so sure.”

“We should be entering the Second Realm then,” Feliciano slightly angered, impatient, glaring at the waters below as to cast blame.

“What do you think it’s like?” Feliks distracted perfectly, easing Feliciano with thought.

“In my village, they used to say that it was brightly colored, beautiful and serene, with happiness glowing in every single street,” Sam told.

“Street?” Feliciano perked.

“Some people told me there were bridges and buildings,” Feliks added.

“Like…a whole town?” Feliciano glowed more like a child each add.

“What did they say in your village?” Sam wondered.

“They sometimes mentioned that it was a place of reunion…but also the last taste of your past life before you live on with the Aces,” he remembered…all from retellings in his grandfather’s funeral…nonno. “A book I read also mentioned that we become more aware, understanding our new spirit bodies. We stay there depending on length of mourning. It can sometimes take several months…but the other Queens told me they can’t keep me too long…I still have to look for the arsenal…and maybe I can find something in the third or fourth realm.”

It made Feliks reminded, “will we stick together throughout?”

How Feliciano hoped it so, wanting to grasp their arms with him to keep them in place.

It had been such a short time, but Feliciano found comfort of old friends in them, hope in words and exchange that reminded of life and continuation no matter. But there was a harsh reality. The three of them deceased at different times, which signified different entrances…separation. Feliciano grasped at his legs, not wanting to think of that loneliness that would surely come, coming to a new place, new people…

“you’ve done this all before,” he could somehow hear his grandfather’s voice at the back of his head and he smiled and giggled as if he was there to tickle or tell a new joke.

Oh…how he missed him too.

“…I don’t know, but whatever happen, let’s promise that we will move ahead and face it on bravely-” there was suddenly light, blinding light that Feliciano was laid frozen to. He saw nothing, absolutely nobody in this utter whiteness, so drastic from the darkness he had been used to. No sound, no aware or reach. He didn’t know of the shout Sam gave, of her begging, a call, not wanting to be alone. Feliciano couldn’t answer to anything, suspended, draped entirely in this taking that took him further, drowned him yet again in transport to the next step. There was a rush, a force that kept him from acting against it as he slowly started noticing more of his body, of his presence. The light began to dim, in a cleanse…Feliciano released from it as if he was stepping out from the richly prepared waters of his bath.

The first color he noticed…was rose, creamy, and soothing like gelato or roses. There was gold, blue, all beautifully reflected in these new waters he stepped on. No depths, but the lovely reflection. He was at such peace, freshness anew that he couldn’t bother to think of where he had been and this new place he found himself in.

This new world focused slowly, hesitant in the show to his eyes, which Feliciano did not understand, for it was gorgeous, a plethora of beauty that made him smile, elate, and only reveal his interior happiness.

The silhouette in the distance, one he had paid no mind to till now, cleared enough to reveal…buildings, all together into what seemed like an island. It was complete, structured, and behaving like any town in their living world. There was sound, shouts and commotion like the daily of a Sunday, more of these islands further off, a transport of small boats commuting between, the sailors joyous and giving.

Hesitant steps forward, making sure the water underneath him kept him…they did. They only reflected the sky above him, swirling with the puffiest clouds, welcoming, and asking of him for this run in freedom. And he answered to it, with a bright smile as he took his dash, uncaring, dancing and shouting. It had been long since he had last felt like this.

It’s when he noticed the red sash wrapped around his waist, a long part like a ribbon trailing behind him, his pants a rich silk of red, his shirt a long white blouse with an immaculate embroidery of true gold, crossed and tightening his chest high and proud, shinning more than whatever richness the castle could afford. He twirled, he shouted, feeling like a true Queen again, reigning this moment and making it all for him to take.

Soon, he stood before the shadow of this place, feeling again those deep questions and fears, shy to take those small steps that welcomed him, further…into the streets. Well…it wasn’t really a street…it was but a small path that surrounded a larger canal, diving well into this town’s center, the buildings looking tall, the shadow darkening, yet still so sweetly with the proximity of children laughing. He saw no one near…even if he swore he could hear the chatter of woman with gossip…all in a Italian that made him smile and think he was back at home. It was the thought that finally pushed him forward, steps on solid ground for the first time in the realms. He went on with no direction, only with wish to meet someone…anybody.

How could a place look so empty yet lively at the same time?

There was a commotion, a loud one of feast, the one unison of sound that called him forward the most. He peeked at every new corner, meeting more canals that extended all kinds of different directions, a large number of bridges, the streets small, each reveal with decorations, artistry and impeccable form that wondered and distracted Feliciano from his mission. Sometimes the noises went further or closer depending the miss he took, but always he tried to follow it until he caught the quick passing of a child, running across surely trying to catch another. And there was the biggest light, like the sun was shining right over it, to a large open space, he knew. It was all structured so similarly to those of Italy, an expectance that showed him right as he was exposed to the grandiose of this square.

It looked like the entire population of the town was there, for it was full in crowds, every space given to chats between all kinds of people, to running, to dancing, playing, even a large table presenting a lineage of food that was the expected delicacy of his province. Feliciano licked his lips, the scent taking him and already wanting a grasp at whatever first plate was presented before him. He could close his eyes and imagine himself back at Barga, with the same people, his family…Ludwig taking him to one of the many dances, to sway forward as he did into the light…lost in the memory and the image he gave himself.

A sudden gasp broke him from it…Feliciano noticing a little boy, looking up to him with grand perplexity, frozen, trying to understand or utter a single word. Feliciano, even if with the same fears and uncertainties, found his ever-friendly self, if shyly raising a hand and giving a pleasant, “ciao.”

The boy moved back, trembling, yet not running off, biting lips trying to gather the courage to speak aloud, but instead, he began keeping his gaze to the ground and Feliciano feared he would not tell him anything. Too attentive he was he didn’t notice the gasps, the points, how all these eyes began to slowly fall on him. Feliciano only wanted but to help the boy, kneeling to him, presenting himself even with an extended hand that showed that all was well, that there was peace in his approach.

“I am not here to hurt anybody…all I want is a friend,” he smiled as the words just sung out in Italian, with the serenity of this very square, and the boy smiled and jumped in its acceptance.

“It’s…it’s an honor, your majesty,” he bowed as order he had to follow despite his childish giddiness.

Feliciano was surprised by this well-done curtsy, by his way of realizing, reminding Feliciano once again of who he was and what he surely meant…especially to a town where all seemed to be Italian. It was when he gazed to them, meeting them all at once, for they came closer, a large bewilderment, whispers but a low dim so he could be the loudest presence. He blushed and suddenly wished he could hide again in the darkened paths, but after all, he was Queen, and he had to shine the leader, brave and determined, even in this beautiful world of death. He reminded himself that he was still on a mission.

When he was about to speak aloud his words, there was a rustling between the crowds, these figures holding high spears of gold with banners of red and symbols of the Italian province. When these four came before the crowds, Feliciano couldn’t hold his gasp, awed and wondered at seeing actual angels.

They stood quite singularly wearing armors that had the intimidation of war, but the color and decoration of a feast as this. Their divine helmets of golds and red shone as deep as this sun, their wings large above the crowds. He couldn’t fathom such creatures taking a bow before him, while he looked so mundane and small, even with this newly pristine clothing.

“Sua Maestà,” one of them told with such a beautiful ring.

“It really is him,” another of the souls told.

“It cannot possibly be,” another worried.

“If he’s here, it means-”

“Oh, many of us are to come soon!” One already panicked.

“The world is truly coming to an end!”

Oh…this excessiveness was truly Italy, Feliciano couldn’t help the roll of his eyes.

“No! It is not as it seems!” One of the angels bellowed to hold such accusations, enough for silence to come again in the square.

“You cannot be dead,” another of the angels told with such glaring accusation that Feliciano trembled.

“We know it is not meant to be your time…you were not exposed to any dangers of the war and you had a promise from our Ace Augusta to fulfill,” the tallest came, with demand.

“You could only be here if you brought this upon yourself,” another angered, fearing that Feliciano had shown an exit to all his responsibilities.

Feliciano could not let himself be accused like this. “I am here looking for the power of the alignment.” It was not the answer the angels were expecting, for they widened and gazed between one another wanting more answers. “As you have guessed, I am not really meant to be dead. My body was placed on a force rest with the sole purpose of coming here and finding it so I can fulfill my promise to Augusta as it should be. I am meant to return once I have it.”

It was enough to sate their angers, for Feliciano’s own to be alone, the angels understanding for daring to assume. Yet despite announcing his reasons…silence came when he was expecting instant directions to where he had to go. These were angels…they had to know.

“As much as I would love to stay and enjoy…I am in a hurry. I cannot stay here long and so I have to know now…where is it?” No decorum, no explanation…he wanted it all simply brought. Oh…how different he must be from all. How much did he lose with Ludwig? Yet…this was the maturity and strength he had taught him well to show as Queen. He gripped his hands, wanting nothing but the hold of his hand.

He could be here…he could be near…he told himself. Get what he needed and rush to find him once the opportunity was presented.

“The universal alignment?”

“Yes. You must know that it is a matter of the lives and wellbeing of our world. Please, I have to get it!” By this point he begged, coming closer to show it purposely, the angels settling back, disturbed.

“Impossible. You should have gotten it when the universe aligned. You were in Hearts, in the living, we know-”

“I couldn’t,” Feliciano interrupted before they went on.

“How? How could you have missed it?” An angel came close, feeling betrayed.

“Locked. Under a validity sphere field.”

Clear gasps, widened reactions, the angels moving as the crowd did.

“Who did this?” They demanded.

“My king…Ludwig…he did it trying to protect me.”

“And where is he?”

“…isn’t he…here?”

There were more shocks, the angels unmoving. They breathed, they tried to find some sense, words, carrying it all into an order…before this party went on disturbed with the news and simply because Feliciano was there.

“We have not seen Ludwig. As you have surely noticed, this island only takes those deceased that were from the Italian province in Hearts. The one for Germany is right across ours,” the angels pointed to the canals that could take him there if he so wished. “If he is here…then…that is where he will be.”

“But I tell you now…we have not heard of his arrival.”

“When did he pass?”

“Many...many weeks ago.”

Another angel sighed, “then we should have known by now. Messages between one another is constant.”

“He might…he might be trying to hide…or…maybe the angels there didn’t want anybody to know, or he’s just…he’s just…” Feliciano tried to excuse, tried to find reason, a way.

“You are welcomed to go there and find out for yourself.”

A chance Feliciano could have taken that instant if the angels did not continue with the rest of the dire information.

“Now…the universal alignment,” one angel thought and tried to think of a way she could explain herself along with her companions. “While it is true that all power that dies is preserved for a short time here when it passes…”

“We can’t really…give you a specific location of where it is.”

“Why? I told you it’s dire. If you care about the wellbeing of all these people, then you can tell me, and I can save all of them!”

“Sua Maestà, it’s not exactly in a location you can just go to!”

“But the book said that it is present here in a unique connection!”

“Exactly, unique and singularly! Not even we can give you directions to it.”

Feliciano gripped and tried hard not to weep that instant. It was becoming harder each new realm…even when he had the presence of four angels before him. “How do I manage it? How can I come to it?” He still had to keep going, still had a mission. No matter the process, he had to head to it.

The air had been tense, but the angels admired this new Queen’s tenacity, relaxing, letting it now be something of serenity and the peace this feast had been trying to achieve. “As we said and…what information you have found, the arsenal is not exactly a place that you can get to. Yes…it can be reached, but it’s not easy. It moves, it challenges, and it presents depending on how worthy it sees you.”

“Are we…talking about a person then?” Feliciano guessed.

“No…only a place that has a mind of its own, constantly moving and refusing to abide by any command.”

“Not even for a desperate plea to save the world.”

Feliciano sighed, “then what would I have to do to please it?”

The angels worried over the sure answer they had, but nevertheless, it had to be told, even if they knew the Queen wouldn’t like it. “We only know of some words the Aces gave us right at the beginning concerning it…but they never thought it would be needed to us.”

“And after their experience with Keron, they preferred such powers were better kept intact, away from any traitors in their mists. We didn’t learn more on its meaning to show our loyalty and our disinterest on such a thing.”

“You won’t find anyone who can solve it. The answer, you must find for yourself.”

Feliciano nodded and accepted to what this challenge could be, a strong determination that told the angels it was focused and serving.

“The words are simple: The four stances of the four kingdoms. What the Aces awarded in creation. What a King must abide in their kingship. What a Queen should keep in their ambition. What a Jack needs to serve without condition. And what the people raise to tradition.”

Feliciano was shocked at himself for not providing an answer so simply. He held his words, cursing at himself for not knowing such a basic structure of ruling.

The four stances of the four kingdoms…they had to be there… he was sure he had been taught…but no matter how deeply he searched his mind…it didn’t come evident.

What kind of Queen, an Ace even, did not know the four stances? He wanted to kneel and cry at the embarrassment of not having the knowledge before four angels. They should punish him that instant for such insolence. But no pierce had come, not even words, just a peaceful silence that kept this realm a wonder and a soon taste of heaven.

“It’s not just knowing what the four stances are, it’s showing them true in a way the arsenal can accept.”

“I know all of this must be incredibly hard on you…and it only get’s worst…”

“But you can do it!” A woman from the crowd bounced forward.

“You have to! So many depend on you!”

“Please, sirs, is it possible for us to help,” one woman dared come forward, an offering that already wanted to be fulfilled.

“You may try. But remember all…every word we’ll tell him will be useless if he has not learned to show it himself,” one angel loudly reminded to all.

“We will try our best,” one man offered.

“Very well. May I also remind, that like many of you, Feliciano will only be here a limited time. A month only if I am not mistaken. Use your time wisely, welcome him, tell him how we live so he is prepared. Your majesty,” the four turned to him simultaneously, beautiful and a pure majesty that Feliciano thought he was going to drown under. “Good luck, and may you find what you are looking for.” And in graceful swifts they turned and made a militant pace through the crowds, all offering an artistic path for them to take. The four of them went separate directions, different corners of the island. Once they reached the edges, they took flight, one Feliciano only saw dimly of, for they soon disappeared to whatever perch they needed to take to continue their watch over the island.

All had kept to Feliciano’s silent watch, all in his same wonder if they were going to come back and guide more on this journey. Nothing else occurred, no other new presence came, it was now just the very crowd Feliciano had entered to.

A near woman sighed and gave up on this waiting, turning to the Queen, bowing before offering a hand. “I understand there is much you have to do, but for now, come and join us! Enjoy the festivity only for today …So many would like the chance to know you and spend time with you…”

He should refuse, he should walk away and begin his focus that moment. But…the food looked so delicious, the square beautiful, the people wonderful and the activities were surely there to set him aglow. It was an utopia made by his people, meant as the last taste of their culture before they passed on and surely left it behind. Perhaps he needed this moment to be Italian, be himself and take part with his own kind if just for a day.

The little boy came close, at his side, looking up to him as if he were another angel of guidance, inspired, taking his hand, and wanting to be part of that exposure. Feliciano was slightly startled after he had been so lost in his mind, but he welcomed it quickly with a dear smile. He joined in a tighten grasp, thinking back to the dim jewels in his hands and more than ever wishing he could finally hold his children in his arms. But for now, he turned to his people, all yet still so impressed to be at the presence of a Queen, one of their own, their eyes with many curiosities and excitements to spend whatever chance they could with him. Feliciano grinned and walked forward to grant it to them.

Lively chatter began again, many played, many danced and sang, and oh had Feliciano missed having some ricotta stuffed ravioli, the taste and scent there so real it made him forget that he was but a spirit in in the Second Realm.

#gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fanfic #gerita fic #Feliciano and the King of Hearts #fatkoh #f&tkoh

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joachimnapoleon · 4 years

Text

How the (Quarantined) Murats broke the Internet (and Lannes). [Part 2/2]

Hello all! Here is the second half of my and @histoireettralala‘s AU on our Trifecta in Quarantine. (Part 1 can be found here.) ^_^

***

Caroline groggily plops into her desk chair, yawning in between sips of her morning coffee as she waits for her laptop to start up. She smiles at the sound of the sewing machine running from across the hall; Joachim is already hard at work making a new batch of masks for their friends and family. He has become quite determined, he informed her this morning, to make as many as he can, now that he's discovered he has such a talent for it.

She is secretly relieved that he has developed such a liking for this new hobby. Joachim has been delighted to be able to spend so much more time with the kids since the office temporarily closed, but at the same time... she knew her husband well enough by now to sense his restlessness. Joachim has always been bursting with energy and a perpetual need to be doing Something Important--not unlike Napoleon himself. Sitting at home for days on end, feeling useless, was simply unbearable for him.

Now, he has a purpose again, and she can already see the effect it is having on her husband, the added spark in his eye, the renewed spring in his step. And, she thinks, I've gotten an adorable new video out of it to add to my collection.

Caroline takes another sip of coffee as her YouTube page loads.

She nearly chokes on the hot liquid in her surprise.

Since she went to bed last night, her video of Joachim sewing with Letitia has accumulated... 12,184 views. There are hundreds of new comments and subscribers.

Caroline blinks. She figured Paulette and Josephine would be able to give it a nice boost, but... wow.

She refreshes the page.

12,192.

She refreshes it again.

12,203.

She decides to take a look at some of the top-rated comments.

@napoleon, 12:03: Well this was most... unexpected. So, when can I expect my masks?

@j.poniatowski, 1:05: MY DUDE

@ney, 12:17: very sweet, and kudos on not hurting yourself yet joachim

@bakingsoult, 3:27: maybe we can make a deal, fresh cookies of your choice for masks? PM me

@elisa.bacchiochi, 2:08: CAROLINE WE ALL NEED MORE OF THIS PLZ

@augereau, 4:02: My dear Murat, I think we could do a very lucrative business together; give me a call if you're interested.

@jeanlannes, 12:54: O___O

The majority of the comments, though, are from total strangers, many of whom have felt compelled to comment on the physical beauty of Caroline's husband. It would take far too long to go through them all and filter out the ones that go a little too far, especially as new comments are constantly being added to the thread. She sighs. At least most of them seem to be wholesome enough. And, anyway, it isn't like Caroline isn't used to this by now.

After finishing her coffee and refreshing the page one more time--the video is now up to slightly over 14,000 views--Caroline grabs her camera.

She has an audience to please.

***

[Three days later]

Lannes is not happy.

Aside from being bored to death right now as a result of so many days pent up inside, the masks he ordered from Amazon still haven't arrived, and wearing them is now required in order to go anywhere. The family's groceries are running low (except for their toilet paper; Lannes had made sure to buy twelve 24-packs of that once this whole thing had started, a foresight of which he was extremely proud). How is he supposed to go grocery shopping now without the requisite mask?

To make matters worse, Murat had entirely abandoned him for the past couple nights. Lannes is deeply wounded by this. How could his best friend just up and forget about two straight Skype cocktail hours? Especially when he knew perfectly well that they were the only thing keeping Lannes sane at this point? Even a flurry of furious text messages had failed to impress upon Murat the gravity of his neglectfulness.

Ten minutes later, a "sorry lol" was the verbatim response Lannes had received, followed shortly after by a "super busy" and then a "maybe this weekend idk". Murat had not even had the decency to reply to Lannes' ensuing "WTF".

If I don't get out of this house soon, I'm going to lose my mind, Lannes thinks.

He grabs his cellphone and dials the one man capable of helping him in this crisis.

"What in God's name is it today, Lannes?" a weary Larrey asks after the seventh ring.

"Doc!!! Do you have any spare masks?"

"I've already told you three times I don't!"

"How can you still not have any though? YOU'RE A DOCTOR!!!"

"That's correct; I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker. The mask demand has far outpaced the supply right now. Have you tried asking Murat?"

Lannes blinks, uncomprehending. "Ask... Murat...?"

"Yeah, I've gotta give it to him, he's been making some excellent quality masks!" Larrey exclaims. "I'm actually wearing one right now."

Lannes doesn't know how to even begin to process this statement. His arm holding the phone goes slack; the phone drops from a limp hand to the carpeted floor.

Everything Lannes knows is wrong.

Well, except one thing: he needs alcohol.

A lot of alcohol.

Now.

He heads towards the kitchen.

"Lannes?" the voice of Larrey calls through the abandoned phone. "Are you still there?? Lannes???"

***

Ney stares at himself in the mirror, studying his new mask. Murat had delivered it to him personally earlier this morning, along with a set of masks for Aglaé and all their children.

"Letitia picked the fabric for your mask personally," Murat had said with a wink.

"Well, I hope you'll give her my thanks. Tell her she has very good taste."

A giant image of the perpetually scowling Grumpy Cat covers Ney's mask.

Aglaé appears behind him in the mirror. Appraising her mask-clad husband for a moment, she nods approvingly.

"It suits you perfectly, my love."

Her husband's mouth might be covered by the mask, but Aglaé isn't fooled. His smile is betrayed by his eyes.

***

[Three weeks later]

Fifty-thousand subscribers.

And Caroline is only just getting started. A prominent blog had e-mailed her this morning about doing an article on Joachim's mask-making venture. Shortly afterwards, a local news channel had called to inquire about conducting a Skype interview with Joachim (and would it be possible for little Letitia to be present too?). Joachim had been reluctant to leave his work--there were still so many masks he needed to make!!--but Caroline had convinced him it would be for the Greater Good.

At Pauline's suggestion, she had monetized the YouTube channel yesterday morning.

Joachim enters Caroline's office, carrying Louise in his arms. Caroline greets them warmly.

"Did Napoleon like his new mask?" Joachim asks.

The last video Caroline had uploaded had been of Joachim and Letitia making Napoleon's mask, complete with her brother's signature "N" ornately embroidered by Joachim himself. His skills were progressing at a surreal pace. Imagining the look on Madame Campan's face at the sight of Joachim's meticulous sewing and craftsmanship, Caroline makes a mental note to forward the video link to her former mentor. See?! Caroline imagines herself screaming triumphantly at the haughty old woman. I was right about him all along!!!

"Napoleon said, and I quote: 'Tell him it's really not bad at all.'" She gives him a knowing smile.

Joachim beams. He's fluent enough in Napoleonese to know that this is high praise indeed.

***

[One month later]

Two-hundred-fifty-thousand subscribers.

Caroline's latest video--Joachim teaching Lannes to use the sewing machine--is shaping up to be their biggest hit yet. (She'd had to implore the two to keep their language as clean as possible; this is a family-friendly blog and besides that, it simply wouldn't do to put the ad revenue at risk). Her viewers couldn't get enough of Letitia and Louise laughing in the background at the struggles of their grumbling Uncle Jean to figure out "this demonic device" (as he called it). But Joachim was a patient teacher, and eventually Lannes had succeeded at making his very first mask. The video culminated triumphantly with him holding the mask aloft towards the camera like a hard-won battle trophy, as Letitia and Louise cheered and Joachim glowed with pride.

Now, Joachim is beginning to experiment with increasingly ornate embroideries and higher quality materials.

"Just because it's for a pandemic," he insists, "doesn't mean it can't be fashion."

***

[Three months later]

One million subscribers.

"Vogue?" Pauline's tone is one of total disbelief.

"Vogue," Caroline affirms.

"THE Vogue?" Elisa presses.

"Yes."

"And he's going to be... on the cover?"

"Yes."

"On the cover of Vogue."

"Yes."

"THE Vogue."

"Yes."

***

[One year later]

Five million subscribers.

Caroline parks her new cobalt blue Maserati, grabs her Louis Vuitton handbag off the seat, and heads into the house.

Joachim is in his design room, hard at work as always. He greets her with a kiss.

"How's it coming?" she asks.

"Pretty good, I think. Maybe another week or so and everything will be wrapped up."

After months of hitting the runways and photo studios of some of the most famous designers in America and Europe in the aftermath of the pandemic, Joachim has decided to pursue his long-cherished dream of putting out his very own clothing line--for both adults and children. So far, their videos of Achille, Letitia, Lucien, and Louise parading around and posing in their dazzling new haute couture outfits were proving to be immensely popular.

They have been floating the idea of live-streaming a fashion show to launch the new line; the participants would be their friends and family. So far, Lannes, Jerôme, Pauline, Elisa, Eugène, Lasalle, Bessières, and Poniatowski have all volunteered. Lannes' runway walk needs serious, serious work, but there's still plenty of time.

Of course, the children all want to participate in the show too, and how can Joachim possibly say no?

***

[Six months later]

Napoleon hates shopping. Primarily because Josephine always spends obscene amounts of money--really, if anybody ever found out just how many pairs of gloves she has--he lets out a sigh. It isn't just about the money though. Shopping for clothes is always such a hassle. Napoleon is a simple man with simple tastes. No frills, no feathers, no silly ornamentation--unlike some people. He just wants something nice and comfortable. Something breathable. Something that doesn't cut off the circulation in his arms or legs.

So of course, he has to live in the age of... skinny jeans. A crime against God and man. If he was in charge, he'd criminalize the horrid things. Of course, his ludicrous brother-in-law doesn't mind them. Murat is always delighted to have an excuse to show off those perfectly chiseled thighs of his.

"Napoleon! Come over here!!" Josephine calls. "I've found something you might like!"

I highly doubt it. He sighs again, but proceeds in the direction of her voice.

***

[The following afternoon]

Napoleon and Josephine arrive at the Murats' monthly garden party. Caroline has been renovating the place obsessively for the past few months; the spacious property now has a massive heated outdoor pool and vast gardens full of exotic plants and flowers. To the house itself, has been added a large marble terrace.

All this because she didn't want to learn how to sew, Napoleon marvels. He wonders how Madame Campan is processing it all.

Joachim and Caroline see the newly-arrived couple and hurry over to greet them.

Joachim's greeting cuts off in mid-sentence. His eyes are locked onto Napoleon's shirt.

"You're... wearing..."

"Yes. You know, it's really not bad at all, Joachim. You should make more like this." He gives Joachim's ear his signature tweak, before continuing on towards the food table.

Caroline giggles at the sight of her husband stricken speechless--the rarest of rare events.

"Come, my love," she takes his hand. "Let's go celebrate our success."

[THE END]

#Trifecta AU #Quarantine AU #@histoireettralala

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ashsilla · 5 years

Text

Losses (Part Three)

Book: Platinum

Ship: M!Raleigh Carrera x MC (Suiko Hono) with hints of M!Avery x MC

Rating: T

A/N: A charity event brings every major player in the game under one roof: Suiko, Raleigh, Avery, and a special guest to add extra drama for the headlines. Suiko struggles with her conflicting feelings as she interacts with Raleigh for the first time since the fight...

Tag List: @lunalixo @furiouscloddonutpeanut @lovedrakewalker @topsyturvy-dream @padfoot0415 @omgjasminesimone @parkerattano @cordoniasmost @poor-bi-choices @msjpuddleduck @mallorycortez @coffeebeandragon @lizeboredom @perriewinklenerdie @greek-elsa

Other Parts: PART ONE - PART TWO

Zadie jerked Suiko’s shoulders. “I said, keep your head straight,” the stylist snapped, speaking around the pins jammed between her lips. How she managed not to cut herself, Suiko would never know.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She met her own eyes in the mirror. Zadie had really outdone herself for the charity gala tonight. It was an event to bring attention to climate change, and clearly that had been the inspiration for her dress.

It was full length and dark green silk. A sweetheart neckline cut across her collarbone, where a vintage emerald and pearl necklace settled. The sleeves wrapped around her upper arms, ringed with gold. The bodice of the dress pulled in tight on her waist, embroidered with beautiful gold gilded leaves and sewn with pearls. The leaf designs flowed down the full skirt of the gown, creating the illusion of a cascade of foliage and precious gems towards the floor.

It might be the loveliest dress she’d ever worn.

Currently, Zadie was adding finishing touches: pearl earrings to match her necklace, hidden pins to hold back the elegant barrel curls of her hair, an extra dab of blush on each cheek.

Suiko really, really wanted to be excited about the fantastic outfit. But all that hung in the back of her mind was the fact that Raleigh and Avery would be at the gala. In the same room.

It was a terrible thought.

She caught Zadie’s eye in the mirror, and the other woman gave her an impatient answer-my-statement-please look.

“What?” Suiko said stupidly.

“I said, when you’re on the red carpet, hold out the folds of the dress so the cameras get a look at the embroidery,” her stylist answered shortly. “You’re even spacier than usual. Trouble in paradise?”

“Just...” she trailed off.

Zadie sniffed. “Yeah, I know. Raleigh and Avery and all of this angst and shit. At least that means the pictures of you will be posted everywhere for sure.” Catching Suiko’s eye again, her tone softened slightly. “If you need to hide during the event, I’ll help you.”

“Thanks,” Suiko mumbled.

The door to the room swung open. “Your date has arrived,” said a familiar voice.

Avery stood in the doorway, smiling softly. Only a shadow of his black eye remained, but that thought disappeared from her mind when she took him in completely. It was immediately obvious that they had been styled to match. He was wearing a suit of green just one shade darker than her dress, a matching tie with golden embroidery similar to hers, and a pin inlaid with pearls.

They looked like a couple.

Sensing her hesitation, he gave an apologetic nod. “Fiona’s idea.”

Suiko could feel Zadie’s eyes on her. Waiting to see her reaction. “It’s a beautiful set,” was all she said. It was worth it. Zadie actually smiled.

Avery stepped forwards and offered her his arm. “Our ride awaits,” he announced, thickening his accent in a cartoony way.

He was trying to cheer her up. And why shouldn’t she let him?

Suiko stood and looped her arm through his. “Thank you, Zadie,” she said.

“If you stain it, I’ll kill you,” Zadie replied cheerfully.

The ride was Avery’s limo. As they approached the vehicle, the window rolled down to reveal Hank. When he caught sight of them, he let out a loud gasp and removed his sunglasses.

“Is this what it’s like to send your daughter off to prom?” he asked, and dabbed at his eye with his sleeve.

“I don’t think most dads drive the limo to prom,” Suiko answered, clambering into the back. Avery followed her, helping all of the fabric of her skirt make it safely into the limo.

Hank smiled fondly. “Lucky you!”

They began driving. Avery handed her an empty glass. “Care for a drink?”

Suiko considered. When Raleigh’s face popped into her head, she quickly decided on champagne. Maybe if she was a little tipsy when she got there it would be easier to navigate the situation.

Avery filled their glasses. She’d had three by the time they pulled up to the venue. A pleasant warmth had taken up residence in her chest, and her nerves were delightfully fuzzy. The world was softer and brighter. Avery somehow smelled better.

Fantastic!

He helped her out of the limo, like the gentleman he was, and then took her arm as they walked onto the red carpet.

Immediately they were swarmed by cameras and recording devices. Avery’s hand tightened on her, something steady to hang onto amidst the craze.

“Suiko! Suiko!” A particularly aggressive reporter shoved to the front of the mob. “Is Avery here as your date tonight?”

“We shared a ride,” said Avery smoothly, and cast a winning smile.

A different reporter jammed a recorder into their faces. “Have you and Raleigh Carrera finally split? What do you have to say about him?”

Suiko blinked. She didn’t even know the answer to that question. How would Fiona want her to answer? “I’m excited for everyone to hear the new single he’s dropping this week,” she said brightly, and grinned. “I love it. Once you hear it you’ll love it too!”

There. They could chew on that. That little, unsatisfying answer.

“No more questions,” Avery cut in, and led her off of the carpet and into the banquet hall where the event was taking place.

It was a beautiful old building with arching ceilings and marble columns and murals and huge windows inlaid with stained glass. Crystal chandeliers cast light across the dinner tables and the dance floor.

Everything was lovely, but all Suiko saw when she stepped through the entrance was Raleigh.

He was leaning against the bar on the far side of the hall. His dark hair was freshly washed and adorably tousled. That crimson suit he wore fit him perfectly...garnet slacks and a matching vest over a fine dark gray shirt embroidered with black roses. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to expose the tattoos gracing his forearms.

Then his head lifted and his eyes met hers.

They were both frozen, staring at each other. Raleigh blinked, and his feet shuffled, like he was about to walk over, and Suiko didn’t know if she’d kiss him or slap him when he got close enough.

And then she saw her.

That blonde girl from the EE! News article and pictures -- Leona Lastrum. She wore a skintight black dress with a snakeskin pattern that clung to each curve. Despite herself, Suiko felt a wave of insecurity wash over her, suddenly felt so childish with her narrow hips and small chest.

Then the anger and hurt hit her so hard her vision went white. Raleigh didn’t bother to call, and then he went ahead and brought Leona Lastrum?

Avery followed her line of sight. “Oh,” he said. “Suiko, I --”

“Can you get some drinks for us?” Suiko said, and didn’t recognize her own voice. It was so cold.

“Um...sure. What do you want?”

What would get her drunk the fastest? “Something strong,” was all she said, because she didn’t actually know.

Avery slipped away and Suiko ripped her gaze away from Leona Lastrum, away from Raleigh, away from the two of them completely.

The headlines from the past week flooded through Suiko’s head again, so quick and fast that she almost heard them.

Suiko Hono -- from sweetheart to homewrecker! How she went from rising star to Raleigh’s other woman.

Raleigh Carrera’s newest two-timing scandal forces silence between him and Suiko Hono.

Every piece of evidence that Raleigh and Suiko are broken up for good!

Avery Wilshere and Suiko Hono reportedly dating in wake of Raleigh Carrera cheating scandal.

It made her shake with anger, with embarrassment and mortification. The way that she’d sort of trusted Raleigh. The way the tabloids made it sound like she was the cheater. That she’d thought any of his affections had been remotely real. What a fool she was, to have thought that their PR relationship had grown to something more.

But no. The whole time, he’d been going back to some girl in his free time, and not even bothered to mention it to her. Some small part of her had hoped that it was untrue, but here he was at the gala, standing there with Leona.

She was physically trembling now. Suiko bunched her hands into her dress, ignoring Zadie’s directions to be careful with the fabric, and tried to take a deep breath.

A hand landed on her back and she jumped. “Just me,” Avery said, and slid a drink into her hand. It was light pink and smelled fruity. And strong.

“Can we sit down?” she asked in a small voice.

He brushed her hair back. “Of course.”

They found an empty table and Avery pulled out her chair for her. Suiko collapsed into the seat and took a long sip of the drink. “I thought it wouldn’t be true,” she said into the top of her glass, fogging it up.

Avery placed a gentle hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “I didn’t expect him to bring her like that,” he said, and his voice was low with anger.

“Suiko, can we talk?”

She turned slowly, so slowly. It was Raleigh. Of course it was him. The whole party was orbiting around him.

Avery tightened his arm over her shoulders. “I don’t think so,” he said coldly.

Raleigh’s hands, at his sides, clenched into fists. “Get your hands off of her,” he said back with equal ferocity. “What I need to say is between me and her, not me and you.”

Around them, the room was falling silent. Everyone was watching. Waiting. Anyone with eyes could see that Raleigh and Avery had unsettled business.

Not this again. She would not let them fight again, and especially not here.

“I’ll be fine,” she told Avery, and stood.

Avery frowned but didn’t object. Raleigh led her out of the main room, into a darkened hallway. Apparently that wasn’t secluded enough, because he spent a long moment picking a lock on a door off of the hall. When it swung open, they went inside, letting the door shut behind them.

It was what looked like a storage room. Shelves ringed three of the walls, each crowded with boxes and crates. The space left for them to stand was small, so small.

Suiko crossed her arms. “What.”

Raleigh’s face fell with surprise, and something else. “Are you really mad at me?”

She stared at the floor next to his shoe. “Well, from what I’ve seen, I have a reason to be.”

He was silent. Then she felt his hands, calloused and familiar, slipping carefully around her waist. “Let me explain everything.”

Suiko finally looked up. His face was so close to hers. Those dark eyes she knew so well were wide and earnest. “Okay,” she said into the tiny space between them.

When he spoke, his breath ghosted across her lips. “After...that night. I was trying to figure out if my PR team had anything to do with it. So I looked back into my past appearances. She had been at some of them, but I never talked to her Suiko, I swear. So I went to my manager.” His hands tensed on her waist. “He said that our relationship was getting ‘stale.’ That we needed a new element. So they’ve been paying her to talk to the press and follow me around.” Fury laced his words.

She closed her eyes. “But Raleigh,” she murmured. “It’s...have you even seen what the media is saying about me? They’re calling me a homewrecker. A whore.” A couple of hot tears stung at her eyes, and spilled out onto her cheeks.

“And if I could kick all of their asses, I would,” vowed Raleigh.

“But you can’t,” Suiko replied hotly. “And for some reason, instead of setting the record straight, you’re letting them tear me apart, and you’re bringing her to events with you --”

“I didn’t bring her!” Raleigh exploded, a little too loud. He seemed to realize and lowered his voice. “I mean...my team told me to. I refused. So they sent her an invite of her own.” His face soured. “But I won’t give them the satisfaction of going along with it.”

“Then tell them,” she said, and hated that she was begging. “Tell them all that she lied, and that I...that I’m not...”

Raleigh lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. “I will,” he promised. “I just need some time. I’m trying to work something out with my team.”

Suiko shifted away from him, making his hands fall away from her. “Thanks for explaining.” She felt cold and shivery all over. “I’m going to go.” Her hands closed around the door handle.

“Wait,” Raleigh said, sounding confused. “That’s it?”

“The last thing I need,” Suiko said, suddenly furious, “is the paparazzi to find us in here together, and say how I’m still driving a block in your picture perfect relationship with your other girlfriend. Avery is waiting for me anyways.”

At the mention of the blonde pop singer, Raleigh stiffened. “What is it between you two?” His voice was deadly.

Suiko’s mind flashed: Avery, throwing a punch at Raleigh; the bouquet of peonies that had been sitting on her doorstep; him holding her hand and accompanying her to events. “I...don’t know.”

Raleigh flinched like she’d slapped him. “You either want him or you don’t,” he said. “Which is it?”

“Why do you even care?” Suiko snarled, angry that she didn’t have an answer. Everything was so confusing. “You and me? We’re not even really dating!”

“Because I do care!” snapped Raleigh, seething. “I fucking care, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Tell me. That day he was in your apartment. In...in your bedroom. What was he doing there?”

The intensity of his words, of his expression, scared her. “Raleigh...I thought we were just pretending.”

Hurt lanced across his face. “Were you just pretending? All this time?”

Suiko’s breath caught. He was actually waiting for her answer. He cared what she would say.

“Only at first,” she whispered.

There it was. Everything, all laid out on the table. They both stilled -- her hand still poised on the door’s handle, him stiff and alert.

Then, before she could even think of another thing to say, he had pushed her up against a shelf of boxes and was kissing her.

He was everywhere. His lips moved desperately against hers, his hands running over the silky bodice of her dress, his cologne’s smell invading her senses. Suiko could barely breathe.

And then she kissed him back.

Her hands lifted, wrapping around the back of his neck. She slid her fingers up into his curls, having missed their softness, and he let out a soft groan against her mouth. Then he nipped at her lower lip, and her mouth was opening under his.

The door to the room swung wide open.

Avery stared at them, surprise swirling in his blue eyes. “What...” he said, and his voice broke off.

Then a camera flashed behind him, and the sound of footsteps raced towards them.

Suiko froze.

Oh no.

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