#I just figured out that they would have been together in the regency era which is very fun

[arri-vixx]

How did they get into this position? Your guess is as good as mine

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [35] - Verbena Flower

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: One can find a home in their chosen family.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of trauma and violence.

Word Count: 3200

Series Masterlist

You weren’t half as restless as you thought you would be, considering the recent events. If it were the beginning of the season, you would have been horrified at the idea of your parents being back but now?

You felt strangely safe, which was rather unexpected.

“Y/N!” Teddy rushed into the drawing room, almost breathless with excitement. “I have a surprise for you, and Benedict helped!”

You tilted your head, putting your book to the side and sat up straighter in the sofa.

“A surprise?” you asked, already smiling. “Is that why you two didn’t let me go in the studio?”

“Yes!” Teddy said, still holding something behind his back as Benedict appeared by the doorstep.

“Did you plan this?” you asked and he shook his head, grinning slightly.

“Completely Teddy’s idea.”

“Guess what it is!” Teddy insisted while Benedict leaned sideways to the door and you turned to Teddy.

“Hmm,” you pretended to think. “It’s a…is it a drawing?”

Teddy shook his head fervently, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Benedict will teach me how to draw but not yet!” he said, obviously pleased that you couldn’t guess it right. He giggled, then held up the small sculpture figure.

“Here!” he said, “It’s for you!”

“Oh my goodness!” you gasped, taking it from him and stealing a look at Benedict. “This is absolutely wonderful Teddy! A figure of a huma—cactus!” you corrected yourself mid-sentence when Benedict shook his head and mouthed it without Teddy seeing him.

“A cactus yes!” Teddy exclaimed, “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you said with a huge smile. “Thank you so much Teddy! I will keep it forever.”

“I’m going to make them for uncle and auntie as well!” Teddy said and ran out of the drawing room, wheezing past Benedict. You suppressed a laugh, then looked down at the small sculpture again.

“Where are the needles?”

“He said putting those on it would make it a classic cactus and that he didn’t want that,” he said as he walked inside to fling himself on the armchair. “It’s a different cactus, he says.”

“Artists…” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head slightly and took a deep breath. “Hey, Benedict?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you said. “For you know, spending time with Teddy.”

“He’s family,” Benedict stated, making you smile. “You don’t have to thank me at all.”

“It’s just that—he looks up to you so much,” you said. “No one else really taught him anything about art.”

He gave you a grin. “I’m telling you, he will be a very successful sculptor.”

“I just hope he will be happy, that’s all,” you said and bit down on your lip. “How’s your hand by the way?”

“Oh it feels much better,” Benedict said, curling his fingers as if checking for the pain and you cleared your throat.

“But should you even be painting or sculpting?” you asked him. “I think you should be resting your hand, no?”

“It’s fine, I promise,” he assured you. “Hey, you do know he can stay with us as long as he wants, don’t you?”

Your head shot up. “Hm?”

“Teddy,” he said. “You’re worried because he’s staying with your aunt and uncle and you think your father and mother might show up there again.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Can you read my mind or something?”

“Or something,” he said with a smile. “Seriously though. He already has a room here, it’s his house too.”

You pulled your brows together in deep in thought before you shook your head slightly.

“I should probably see how it’s going to go before taking those precautions,” you said. “I don’t want him to get all confused and such and even though I want him close, uncle and aunt have been doing a great job so…”

Benedict nodded. “Whenever you want.”

“But I was thinking,” you said. “Perhaps I should tell your mother about some of it.”

Benedict tilted his head.

“You don’t have to.”

“No I won’t—obviously I won’t tell her about the details, just that…just that my parents are here and we don’t have the best relationship,” you said. “Knowing my parents, they’ll try to meet your family and I honestly don’t want that.”

“Do you want me there with you?”

“I was thinking you could inform Anthony actually?” you asked and hissed in a breath. “Because you know, he and I don’t exactly have the friendliest relationship.”

“Hasn’t escaped my notice, surprising as it may,” Benedict pointed out, making you giggle. “He already asked me what happened to my hand.”

“And?”

“I told him I had an accident with a palette knife.”

“But your palette knives aren’t exactly sharp?”

“You say that like Anthony knows what a palette knife is,” Benedict said, making you bite down on your lip to contain your laughter. “It has the word knife in it, so he didn’t exactly question what happened.”

A giggle escaped from your lips.

“That’s smart of you,” you said and tilted your head. “I suppose you’re not merely looks after all.”

He shot you that lopsided grin that always managed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Well—”

“Benedict!” Teddy’s voice carried into the room, cutting Benedict off. “Can you come and check if these ones look good please?”

Benedict chuckled and got up from the armchair as you cleared your throat.

“Sorry about that,” you said. “I can—”

“To repeat, he’s family,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss on your head. “Let me know when we’re leaving hm?”

“…Alright,” you said and watched him walk out of the drawing room. You stared at the door where he disappeared for a couple of seconds, his pleasant scent still in your lungs and pressed a hand over your chest to at least soothe your fast heartbeat that had got crazy the minute he kissed you. You slid a little on the sofa, then threw your shoulders back and grabbed your book, trying your hardest to focus.

                                           *

When you got to the Bridgerton House, Benedict dragged Anthony and Colin outside, leaving you to talk to Lady Bridgerton comfortably. Lady Bridgerton had always been incredibly nice to you before or after your wedding to Benedict, and though you hadn’t gone out of your way to spend a lot of time with her, you hoped she knew how much you respected her.  

Besides, it was likely that she assumed you and Benedict were still in your honeymoon phase so she didn’t mind.

“I’m so glad you came for tea Y/N!” she said. “Eloise will be sorry to have missed you, she went to visit Penelope.”

“It’s alright Lady Bridgerton,” you said. “I was actually hoping to talk to you alone.”

She gasped, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Oh my goodness, I hope this is not about what was on Lady Whistledown yesterday!”

“It’s—sorry, what?” you asked, suddenly distracted. “What was that?”

She blinked a couple of times.

“Oh I assumed…” she trailed off. “I assumed this was what brought this on.”

“I don’t read Whistledown,” you said. “Neither does Ben—what was on it?”

“Just some unfounded rumors,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Nothing important.”

“Can I see?” you asked and she motioned at the paper on the small coffee table.

“Third paragraph,” she said helpfully, and your eyes skimmed the lines.

Speaking of newly married couples, we sure hope that our favorite artist Mr. Bridgerton’s love for his wife is not turning out to be an infatuation like many assumed it was. He seemed like he had a lot to talk about with Lady Margery Sutton the other day at the park, and as it was noticed by a lot of members of the ton at the park, the two seemed like they were having quite fun while Mrs. Bridgerton preferred the companionship of Miss Harlowe, soon to be Viscountess Bridgerton. We trust that it was just a friendly conversation between two ladies rather than Mrs. Bridgerton finding herself in the same position that Miss Harlowe once did if the rumors were true; being heartbroken by the same man.

“What the…” you trailed off and shook your head fervently, frowning at the paper before raising your glances from it. “This is not true. Everything is fine between me and Benedict, and Margery is a friend, that’s all.”

“Of course,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Benedict is in love with you, everyone knows that.”

You held up the paper, trying to ignore that uncomfortable sinking in your stomach. “Not everyone.”

“Don’t mind Lady Whistledown,” she said. “She has her whole attention on Anthony and Lottie nowadays, these rumors will go away before you know it.”

You tried to shake off the image of Margery and Benedict together, then cleared your throat.

“I am so happy for Anthony and Lottie by the way,” you said. “I can’t wait for the wedding.”

“Neither can I,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m just glad they’re finally together, after years.”

“They’ll be very happy together.”

 “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked and you took a deep breath, running a hand over your face.

“Lady Bridgerton, um…” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not quite sure how to explain this situation actually but I thought you should know before anyone else, and Benedict kindly agreed—”

“Oh my God!” she gasped, covering her mouth. “Y/N, you’re with child!”

“Wh—no!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening as you shook your head. “I’m not! It’s not like that Lady Bridgerton, I assure you.”

“Oh,” she lowered her hands. “My apologies.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you fixed the silky skirts of your gown.

“So I’m sure you noticed that my parents weren’t at the wedding breakfast or the engagement or anything,” you started. “And I know I said it was because the road would be too difficult for them from the countryside to here but it wasn’t the actual truth. They weren’t here because I didn’t invite them to any of it.”

She pulled her brows together in confusion.

“Why not?”

“My parents and I…” you trailed off, nibbling on your lip. “We don’t have the best relationship.”

She stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue.

“While I was growing up, they—” you paused for a moment. “They’re not like you or my aunt and uncle, they weren’t the nicest while me and Josie were growing up. That’s actually why my uncle took us in, me and Teddy.”

She pressed her lips together.

“I’m telling you this because they’re in town actually,” you forced yourself to say. “They might approach you or Anthony or—I don’t know. I’m not certain, but I wanted you to know, just in case.”

She reached out to hold your hand in hers, offering you an assuring smile.

“Does Benedict know?”

“Oh yes,” you said, nodding your head. “He has known for a while now about…my home life growing up. And he also knows that they’re in town, he’s telling Anthony as we speak.”

“And are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said almost automatically. “Sure.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s just that they’re not…” you thought for a second. “I don’t want them to put you or your family in a situation you do not want to, Lady Bridgerton, and I will do my best to make sure—”

“Y/N, you are family,” she said and you bit down on your lip.

“You don’t have to say that just because Benedict and I are married.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, squeezing your hand in a loving manner. “You became family the moment Benedict fell in love with you.”

You could feel the burning in your eyes and a teary laugh escaped from your lips.

“Might not have been his best decision.”

“I disagree,” she said. “It makes me so happy to see you two in love and happy, and please know that you are a member of our family. We will always love you and protect you, no matter what.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to blink back the tears.

“Thank you,” you rasped out. “It…it means more than you know.”

“Of course,” she said and patted your hand. “By the way, does this have something to do with Benedict’s hand being bandaged?”

You raised your brows, then shook your head.

“Uh no,” you said. “A palette knife accident, that’s all.”

                                       *

After having tea with Lady Bridgerton, you decided to go to the pastry shop and sit down alone with your book for an hour or two before going back home. Your parents being back still managed to make you feel rather tense especially after talking about it with someone else, so you ordered some coffee and a slice of cake and opened your book, desperate to get away from your thoughts.

Yet, you wouldn’t be so lucky.

It hadn’t even been a couple of minutes since the shop owner brought you your tea and cake that you heard the chair opposite to yours being pulled, the noise making you look up and as soon as you did, your heart dropped to your stomach.

She looked exactly like you remembered her. Her clothes were different, probably thanks to the money your uncle kept sending them every month, but other than that, it felt as if it could’ve been yesterday since you had last seen her. Your jaw clenched and you dug your fingernails into your palm before gritting your teeth, rolling your shoulders back to sit up straighter.

“Hello mother,” you forced yourself to say and she clutched at her chest, shaking her head as if she was overtaken by emotions.

“Y/N,” she said. “Oh my dearest daughter…”

A scoff escaped from your lips at that and you leaned backwards in your seat as soon as she took a step towards you.

“Do not,” you growled and she paused for a moment, then sat down on the chair.

“Look at you,” she said, her eyes darting over your face before lowering to your dress. “You are a young woman of the ton now. A proper lady.”

You arched a brow. “What are you doing here?”

“Well I had to see you of course!” she said. “My little Y/N, an actual member of the ton now… I cannot believe it, I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t be, you had nothing to do with it,” you pointed out and she heaved a sigh.

“Let’s not start that, shall we?” she said, making you raise your brows. “At least wait a while until you start being so bitter.”

“So bitter?” you repeated, letting out a dry laugh. “Jesus Christ.”

“How is Teddy?”

Your eyes narrowed into a glare and she let out a breath.

“There it is, that glare,” she said. “Some things do not change at all. You were like this when you were little as well, just sitting there and judging people, glaring at us as if you were better than us.”

“I mean that’s not very difficult,” you pointed out. “It’s not as if you’re setting the bar high to be honest.”

“Y/N, for old times’ sake,” she said. “Let’s catch up first before you attack me.”

“Oh sure,” you said, “What old times are we talking about by the way? The time father threatened to kick Josie out of the house, or when he slammed my head to the wall and you stood there doing nothing?”

She shook her head fervently. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You clenched your teeth, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I forgot you did that,” you muttered more to yourself and she cleared her throat.

“How is your husband?”

“My husband broke your husband’s nose a couple of nights ago,” you said. “Did you not see? Or has that prick not come home still, drinking himself to oblivion somewhere?”

“I’m sure that fight has an explanation.”

“Father disrespected me,” you stated. “That’s the explanation.”

“He may have lost his temper, some old habits die hard but,” she said, “he’s a changed man, Y/N.”

You tilted your head. “Of course,” you said. “I’m sure he is. He is a changed man after his fifth drink, then after eighth he becomes who he is again.”

“Well you and your sister didn’t help,” she said through her teeth. “What with Josie always badmouthing him and you always glaring. You both were always up to something, showing him disrespect, of course you needed a firm hand—”

“And you did nothing.”

“He’s my husband.”

“We were your children, mother!” you snapped and shook your head. “Actually you know what? None of that matters now.”

“You’re married now too,” she said. “So what if I let him discipline you? You have a husband now, you know how—”

“Benedict would rather die than raise a hand to me,” your voice came out as a growl. “Don’t ever disrespect him by trying to lump him together with your husband.”

She heaved a sigh.

“Naïve as always,” she said. “And so very sensitive.”

You could feel the anger boiling at your throat but you pressed your lips together.

“You know,” you trailed off, running your fingertip over the fork on the table. “In my nightmares I’m back home with you two. I suppose it’s because my mind cannot conjure up anything more horrifying than that, but then I wake up and I realize that I never will be back in that hell. It’s quite relieving, really.”

She held your gaze for a couple of seconds, then tsk tsked.

“All this grudge is not good for you, Y/N,” she said. “Especially concerning your family. I’m worried about you.”

You gawked at her, a calmness washing over you as you let the words sink in, then took a deep breath and closed your book, smiling at her.

“Oh don’t worry about me, mother,” you said, pride clear in your voice. “Honestly. Because after this little, unpleasant conversation, I’ll get in my carriage and go home to my husband who happens to be the most handsome and talented and amazing man in the ton—scratch that, in the world— and who, if I may add, is completely in love with me. And while we’re eating dinner in our huge mansion that uncle gifted us as a wedding gift and then going to the next ball or social outing only to be surrounded by the people I actually care about, I won’t be worried about you. I won’t be thinking about you at all.”

She looked almost frozen by the impact of your words and you reached into your reticule to take out a couple of coins, then put them on the table and got up from your chair, putting your palms on the table to lean in slightly so that she could hear you.

“I already have a family,” you said, your voice nearly a hiss. “And you and your husband are of no use to me or my real family. Go back to the hellhole you crawled out of, and leave us all alone.”

With that, you walked out of the pastry shop, a proud smile curling your lips as you approached the carriage waiting for you by the street.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Home please,” you said as you got in the carriage without sparing a glance back to the pastry shop window. “Thank you.” 

Chapter 36

[fancyfeathers]

Oh my gosh, yes I have been waiting for this question because when I write these stories I make an unnamed person in my kind and basically make her the darling which you all can fill in the blanks with, so thank you @zainiscompletelydone333

Louis’ darling gets the mercy of having many of the clothes from her old life, like William retrieved them when he retrieved her for his brother. Fairly simple, button up shirts, ribbon ties, long skirt and perhaps a vest. I imagine that after awhile Louis would have her do housework with him, only under his supervision since she was the only one who was kidnapped in the traditional sense with William’s coming in close though. I also imagine Louis like her wearing flowers in her hair, it reminds him of the days they used to go to the market together and he would always buy her a bouquet of flowers for her apartment, the last ones still left on the windowsill, dead and collecting dust.

Albert’s darling is from noble blood, even as silly as that is in that situation, she is still expected by her peers when she does go out in public to look the part. I imagine much of the clothes of the era’s aristocracy not being palatable for Albert to see on his wife, the tight waist looks far to uncomfortable, and the dress looks near impossible to move in. I imagine him preferring dresses that were popular at the start of the century in the regency era rather than the end, especially with the corsets since they show her natural figure rather ran the restrictiveness of the current ones that are popular. Then I don’t think Albert would be very keen on heavy jewelry, but since his darling has her own from before their marriage he does not mind her wearing it if that is what she wishes, though I do imagine he would buy her a sapphire necklace for their anniversary perhaps that he prefers to see her in.

William’s darling is the one who is subjected to a few of the fashions of the time, less than most people like no corsets that squeeze her waist so tight that it causes damage and No over the top hoop skirts for dresses. He dresses her in more softer colors and shades, the fabric and lace being just a tiny bit less itchy than the fabric from the costumes at the ballet she used to work at. I do think that he would avoid more expensive jewelry and accessories because I do not think William would like her looking too much like the woman of the aristocracy, finding their clothing too expensive and needlessly so, but I do think he would buy her a nice set of lace gloves for a wedding gift and her wedding ring would be ruby and gold. He would definitely buy her a pearl necklace and maybe a set of earrings for rare occasions when they do go out, which isn’t very often due to the gossip of the nobility revolving around her being on his arm, both of them hating the stares from everyone around, William because he despises her being talked about in such a way and her because she never even wanted to be here.

[silverhallow]

Oh I love Gareth!

I feel like in a Regency Era, he would be the father clutching a Brandy glass, slowly freaking the fuck out while Hyacinth is in Labour.

Due to his trauma with His "Father" as well as Hyacinths own Birth story.

What do you think Lady Danbury would say to him to calm him?

I think for the first one he would be, he'd be panicking that he was going to be a horrific father because look at who is supposed to be his and how bad he'd been...

but i think Lady D would just whack him with her walking stick and be like "If Simon can man up and be a father after his pathetic excuse of a father was his role modee, then i am damn sure you could since you did at least, for a little while have a father figure who gave a damn about you..."

and Hyacinth would scream at him to get the hell in there and be present or she's going to rip off his ballocks...

which is what makes him pull himself together.

[tiffanylamps]

Top 5 movies and top 5 paramore songs! :^D

oooooh, these are very good, but also, very hard 😂

top 5

top 5 movies*: Pride and Prejudice (dir. Joe Wright, 2005) CINEMATOGRAPHY! The display of love and chemistry! Familial love is fully on display!! Yes, I know it's not a faithful adaptation and it softens a lot of the important themes of the novel annnnd Wright changed the time period because he doesn't like the fashion of the Regency era (which is super lame) and the hair was not great, buuuuuuut he also gave us the hand flex, that ballroom scene, that proposal, also one of my favourite sequences ever in cinema history (i.e, the oneshot take of lizzy being embarrassed by her family at the Netherfield Ball). Snatch (dir. Guy Richie, 2000) This film is hilarious, witty, and just soooo good. It means a lot to me for tmi reasons- but still, I recommend it as it's a stellar example of the heist genre. Everything Everywhere All At Once (dir. Daniel Kwan + Daniel Scheinert, 2022) Doesn't need explaining. Hot Fuzz (dir. Edgar Wright, 2007) One of the best films ever made by one of my favourite directors in one of my favourite trilogies brought together by one of my favourite trio of collaborators. Plus, there are BE similarities, which I find assuming. The Merciless (dir. Bung Sung Hyun, 2017) Thank you for convincing me to watch this film, I love it sooo much! It's fantastic! Everyone should watch it!!! (I recommend you watch Dear Ex. It made me cry, even though the ending is a little cheesy) *I found this almost impossible to answer. These are not a be-all-end-all top 5 for me, but they are the movies that came to mind.

top 5 paramore songs**: i can't decide, so this is a very hesitant list. i'm only linking live performances (if I can) because they're fantastic live (one of the best, imo)

Future The lyrics to this song!!!! 😩😩😩 for the longest time I wanted to get a tattoo of them, especially the last verse. I'm semi-glad I didn't, even though I love them, I don't know how I would feel having them now You First I know I've already sent this to you, but it's a super fun song and I looove it!!! Their latest album is just so perfect No Friend Not the most conventional answer, as most people don't like this song. But I don't care! I think it's one of their most experimental and beautiful songs, especially when paired with Idle Worship (which is basically its part 1). It is the only song not sung by Hayley, as its lyrics are written and performed by Aaron Weiss of mewithoutyou (WHO ARE BRILLIANT LIVE, BY THE WAY). Honestly, I've been lucky enough to see them perform this song and it was memorising. (the performance I linked is not the best out there but it is the performance I saw) Part II Let The Flames Begin and Part II are such cool songs and I love that they exist. The video I linked is of their Reading performance and even though Hayley was super sick (from what I can remember, she had laryngitis and had to cancel some of their tour to prepare for the Reading + Leeds festival), so she doesn't sound her best but she still gives it her all. Careful THE DRUMS. THE VOCALS. Honourable mentions: All We Know, Never Let This Go, Here We Go Again, Conspiracy, Emergency, When It Rains, Fences, Stop This Song (Love Sick Melody), We Are Broken, Hallelujah, When It Rains, Miracle, For A Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic, the new version of Crush Crush Crush, All I Wanted, Feeling Sorry, Turn It Off, My Heart, Anklebiters, Now, Interlude: Moving On, Idle Worship, Pool, Rose-Colored Boy, 26, Caught in the Middle, Forgiveness, Monster, Playing God, Decode, Thick Skull, Figure 8, Crave (especially with the live outro), The News, Running Out Of Time, C'est comme ça, Renegade, IGNORANCE, I CAUGHT MYSELF (especially live), Oh Star, TELL ME IT'S OKAY special shoutout to Daydreaming because I was there when they filmed the music video (the live parts)

** this was especially difficult to do 😂

This took me forever to compile together- oops, i guess lol. Thank you for sending me this ask 💛💛

[zacharybosch]

Tasseomancy inspo part 1: Setting

Hi all~

Here is a post I promised a while ago, going into some details about all the things that inspired me while writing my Ed/Stede sugar daddy AU fic Tasseomancy.

There’s quite a lot of stuff to go over so I decided to split it into two parts. This is part one, which covers the setting. You can read part two here, which covers all the thingies that they wear/buy 🤗

🌆

The town as a whole

I don’t have any kind of name decided for the town that they live in. I don’t even know what country it’s meant to be in, although I am British and I’m certain that crept in subconsciously and made it feel very British-y to all my readers. 

I grew up in a small and pretty rundown seaside town which was geared mostly towards industry and fishing, and I now live in a touristy overpriced mess (affectionate) of a seaside city, so I kind of just smooshed them together to create this setting.

Tasseomancy Town contains lots of nice Regency-era architecture and a vibrant nightlife and mental tourist season, but it’s also all a little bit washed up and past it, and it gets kinda dead in the winter. All the fun stuff and the nice beach is in the centre, and then the working docks and the industrial area is on the edge. Don’t ask me how a seaside resort town is able to sustain so many luxury shops because I have NO idea.

Stede’s studio flat

The building his flat is in is based on a shopping arcade in my city that was built in the 1920s. The real life arcade has a walkway down the middle so is enclosed with shops on both sides; for Stede’s building, I moved the walkway to the edge so that it’s open all down one side (makes it easier to lob things out the window to unsuspecting individuals below 🤭). I always like walking through this arcade to see the entrance doors that lead to the residential flats above the shops, which as far as I can tell are the originals from the 20s.

The facade of the building has these nice geometric deco details, but is otherwise pretty flat. I added in some bay windows for the fic, to echo Stede’s window-bed set up from the show.

Here’s a little floorplan I drew in Paint:

His flat is quite cluttered, since he tried to bring everything he possibly could with him when he and Mary split. I figure there’s almost certainly still a wardrobe or two (or several) in their old house that Mary has begrudgingly agreed to hold onto until Stede is able to afford somewhere with a bit more space lol. He’s done his very best to decorate, but he’s used to decorating much larger spaces and he doesn’t really know how to rein it in for a small room, so tbh it’s probably a bit of a sensory overload in there.

Ed’s house

My city is packed full of these gorgeous Regency-era townhouses and I would LOVE to live in one. Alas, you’d have to be very rich in order to buy one as these houses sell for well over a million. A lot of them have been internally carved up into crappy flats, because capitalism, but some are still intact as complete houses and occasionally they pop up on property listing sites and they are GORGEOUS inside. Love a sympathetically-restored period house.

Since I can’t live in a Regency townhouse, Ed gets to live in one instead 😊 I didn’t want to give him a new-build McMansion because those are ugly AF and we all know he has a deep appreciation for fine and beautiful things.

Here’s a floorplan I stole from a comparable house that is currently on sale for £1.1m:

I didn’t have an exact layout in mind for Ed’s house, but this is fairly indicative of what it would be like. He definitely has a much bigger bathroom though, to showcase the copper tub in all its glory 😉

Ed was being a bit mean to himself when he said his house looked like a doctor’s waiting room. It is very bare, but it’s not quite as bad as he thinks it is; he just knows that it’s not what he wants it to be like. He’s not used to having so much space and definitely doesn’t have enough possessions to fill it all. I think before he bought this house, he still lived in the same little rental flat he got when he first started turning a steady profit. It was just somewhere to pass out at the end of a long day and he was always too busy to think about moving somewhere bigger.

Jackie’s Café

I didn’t spend too long really envisioning what Jackie’s would be like, since they don’t really spend much time there, so I basically just pictured it like this café I’ve been to a bunch of times that has really nice chill vibes and is a very cosy spot to spend an afternoon. It’s tucked away in the same shopping arcade that inspired the location for Stede’s flat, although in the fic Jackie’s Café isn’t in the arcade. 

I actually went to go have lunch at the inspo café a few weeks ago and was absolutely DEVASTATED to discover it had shut down after almost 40 years in business :(

John and Frenchie’s Cleanery and Mendery

There have been a few different haberdashery/dry cleaners/tailors shops in the same arcade as the café above over the years and I was thinking about those while coming up with the Cleanery, although again as with Jackie’s, the Cleanery isn’t in an arcade in the fic.

I just wanted somewhere vaguely chill-looking for Stede to work, although I actually have no idea at all how intense or not it may be to work in a dry cleaners lol. I picture Stede’s sewing table to be up the front of the shop by the windows, so he can benefit from the natural light and see when certain boyfriends might be stopping by with tea 🥰

The docks/Ed’s warehouses

I basically just took the quayside and industrial estate from my hometown and plopped them into my fic setting. The quayside was pretty rundown when I was a kid because a lot of the industry had died off over the years and many of the warehouses were standing empty, but there was still some smaller-scale fishing going on and it was generally a pretty cool place to hang out. I used to like riding my scooter down there and climbing over the wall to play on the slimy rocks on the riverbanks.

Obviously Ed’s dockside empire is in better condition, since it’s an active working business, but I think it would still have that certain rough-and-ready seaside vibe; a bit weathered, a bit salty, a bit wind-whipped.

The department store

We don’t have a comparable department store in my city (and DEFINITELY not in my hometown lol), so I basically just plucked the Liberty store out of London and plopped it here for my fic. 

I’ve been to two luxury department stores in my life: Liberty is one, and Harrods is the other. Harrods is just a huge overwhelming mess and I was desperately conscious of my status as Gawking Peasant the whole time I was there. I was still pretty self-conscious in Liberty, but slightly less so. And I also love their fabric section, so 🤷‍♀️ Liberty just feels a bit less gaudy to me; there’s a very Conspicuous Consumption vibe in Harrods which I don’t think quite fits the vibe of my fic very well, so I thought Liberty would be a bit nicer for Ed and Stede.

I completely made up the private shopping suite. I just threw all my wildest personal shopping dreams into a blender and whizzed them up and spewed them onto the page.

The Old Quarter

This was inspired by a shopping district in my city that’s made up of little brick-paved lanes of varying widths (some are barely big enough for two people to walk abreast), and it’s mostly full of jewellers and bougie little restaurants, but there are some classy mid-range designer clothes shops in there too. For the fic, I just replaced them with some higher end stuff, so it’s more like Vivienne Westwood instead of Ted Baker.

[bookofmirth]

You Are My Almanac - elucien 1

Summary

Elain Archeron finds herself stuck in an engagement that her mother had arranged before her untimely death. Elain is determined not to like the man and to create a solitary life leading her household the way she wants, but her fiancé has an annoying habit of making her like him.

AO3 | tags: arranged marriage, Regency-era inspired but not faithful. These two are wary of one another and I got a bit snarky when I wrote this first chapter because I want it to be fun, not super angsty. Oh also the title is from the song almanac by Purity Ring.

Elain had perfected the art of staring out a carriage window without being jostled around like a dice in one of the cups her sisters used when playing one of the games played with guests after dinner. Their mother disapproved of the games, of course, but that hardly mattered when all it took to please her was an appropriately humble “yes ma’am” whenever it was required. And it took Elain quite an effort to remain upright and steady in the carriage as it traveled over the country roads, but it was suffer a sore back and look lovely as possible for her current rendezvous, or suffer the mortification. Elain would much rather maintain appearances. At least for now.

Because now, Elain could say “yes ma’am” or “please, maman”, until she was blue in the face, and it would be for nothing, since her dear mother had upheld her promise to see Elain engaged to a fine, wellbred young man with a suitable income, but then she had died before bothering to see what Elain thought of the man, or even introducing them.

For Elain was on her way to meet her betrothed. The word rolled off the tongue, betrothed, or it had, when she was still a child and had imagined that she would have any choice in the matter. When the word still held a sense of romance and promise.

And Elain Archeron had found herself betrothed, that was certain, though it had happened quite without any influence or input from herself.

She had a vague idea of the kind of man she wanted to marry. Kind and considerate, tall, a handsome rider, with extensive property and an income that would support her in at least the style to which she was currently accustomed, if not better. Elain was firm in her belief that she wasn’t asking for much. If he were political minded then that might suit her even better, as she had always imagined hosting important people at her dinners, not just the Beddors from down the lane.

Who were the Vanserras, anyway? Elain had never heard of the name, had never seen it when she flipped through the pages of Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, not to mention that the family lived very far away!

Or that might have been a complaint Elain would have lodged to her sisters, had they not also found themselves engaged and then married to men who lived in that part of the country which Elain had heard described as “lovely, in the right light and at certain times of year”.

Elain’s knowledge of the rest of the country was limited, to be sure. But she didn’t much like the idea of being thrust into a new home, with a man she didn’t know, in a town where she hadn’t even established a proper seamstress. It was important to find one who wouldn’t give her that look when she came in with tattered, muddy skirt hems. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her future husband scolding her about the zeal with which she engaged in her hobbies.

When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Elain realized that Feyre had been talking for the last minute or so and Elain hadn’t caught a word. She looked at her sister, younger and yet more worldly than Elain ever hoped to be. Where Elain knew people, Feyre understood the bigger picture of what it took to survive.

She gave her sister a small smile and Feyre reached across the carriage to pat Elain’s hand.

“I’m sure he will be perfectly nice, dearest. And if he isn’t, there are plenty of ways of ensuring that your husband stays out of your hair. Not that I would need them.” Feyre said this last part with a small, secret smile.

Elain fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to come to you, Feyre. You are one of the lucky ones though, you know.” The door to the carriage opened and Elain held out her hand without a glance at the footman. “Not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love.”

The sisters stepped from the carriage, the gravel of the drive crunching under their shoes. Elain held a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. She was unable to take in the manor in one glance, and turned in a full circle to take in as much of the property as she could before meeting her fiancé and going inside her future home. To her doom.

At least this man, Lucien Vanserra, had a man to keep his grounds meticulous. The shrubbery had been cleverly chosen and the flowers were full of pollinating bees, which would make for interesting experiments in cross-pollination, though perhaps she might do something about the grove of fruit trees - they were too far away from the water source to be effective. And Elain wondered at the status of the fruit, how much of it went to use in the house and how much went to the local residents. Hopefully - Elain grimaced at the thought - it didn’t fall to the ground and go to waste.

Elain felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Feyre, waiting with her head inclined to the door. The front door, underneath a large, elaborately-carved portico, where the first footman stood at attention, waiting to usher the women into the home. And to his left, a tall man with fiery red hair, tied back with a black ribbon, stood waiting to greet her.

Elain’s breath caught to see him. He was younger than she had expected. She wouldn’t have put it past her mother to bridle her with a septuagenarian if he had offered the right price. So that this man, this Mr. Vanserra, was at most ten years older than her… Elain was disappointed to find herself pleased. And he certainly was well-acquainted with a proper clothier, if the fit of his vest and trousers were any indication.

Feyre stepped forward first. “Lucien! It is so good to see you.”

Mr. Vanserra lowered his head slightly. “Lady Chevalier, thank you for visiting my home today. I hope that Rhysand is doing well.”

“’Lady Chevalier’ my eye, call me Feyre, Lucien.” She took his hands into her own and it seemed that he might have reciprocated her familiarity had Elain not been there. His eyes flicked to her and then back to Feyre, seeming to already be wary of how he appeared to her.

“Lucien, this is my sister, Elain.”

The rest of the greeting hung in the air and Elain could have tasted the words. Elain, your fiancée. Elain, the woman you have never met but who will share your bed. She nearly reddened at the thought and forced herself to pay attention to the situation at hand.

Lucien turned away from Feyre and took a step closer to Elain.

Elain curtsied. “Mr. Vanserra. You have a lovely manor.” And hopefully, I won’t see much of you in it, she added silently to herself.

Lucien lifted Elain’s gloved hand to his lips, pressing so softly that she wasn’t sure when it was over, if he had actually made contact. Wouldn’t have known it had happened, really, if not for the slight warming of her skin.

“Miss Archeron,” he said, bending at the waist, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Allow me to welcome you to my home.” His eyes alighted on hers as he said the words - my home - for it wasn’t their home yet. And they were both painfully aware that it would be.

Lucien extended his hand to gesture at the imposing double-doored entrance and stood upright.

Elain lowered her head slightly in deference. “Thank you for the welcome. The property really is lovely,” she couldn’t help adding. Lucien looked into her face with earnestness and she took note of the golden warmth of one eye, while the other was traversed by a brutal scar, one she wouldn’t have expected to see on a Lord of the peerage. “The grass is… very green.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien responded. He took a step back and surveyed the lawn as if he hadn’t noticed its color before. “I had it specially grown. Just for its…. verdancy.”

Her hand fell to her side when Lucien let go of hers, and she momentarily forgot what to do with it. She glanced at Feyre, whose hands were clasped together in front of her waist, and Elain mirrored the posture.

“Well, ladies. I have had tea set out for us. I’m sure you could use some refreshment after your travels.”

Feyre made a small curtsy in response and Elain fell into line behind her.

The first footman hurried ahead of them and opened the front door. The interior of the home was a dark, yawning chasm.

And with that, Elain took a step forward, into the home of her future husband.

***

Thanks for reading! You may have noticed my tag list has disappeared. If you want to be on it again, even if months or years pass without an update, let me know! Sorry if you have requested in the past and intended to stay on it forever, I just figured that things change in the years since I started writing fanfic. 💕

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 6/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage with all the shenanigans, and what comes after the wedding? Why, the honeymoon, of course. This got long, so I had to cut it, and, uh...sorry not sorry in advance for where it ends ;) (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3)

Weddings, though usually happy affairs for the couple and families involved, always bring with them a certain amount of disappointment. Disappointment for suitors who find themselves spurned; disappointment for distant relatives hoping to inherit; and disappointment, perhaps most of all, for you, dear readers, as they usually signal the end of a scandal. 

It is thus with a somewhat heavy heart that this Author reports that the wedding between the Marquess of Enjolras and Adélaïde Grantaire has occurred without complication and with seemingly little fanfare. They were wed in a small, private ceremony with two of Mr. Grantaire’s household attendants as witnesses. And, assumedly, Mr. Grantaire himself, though interestingly, this Author has it on good authority that his is not one of the signatures on the marriage certificate as an official witness. An unusual move, to be sure, but nothing about this particular wedding can be otherwise described as usual.

In any case, friends and family alike await the Marquess’ return to the city, though no one seems to have any idea when that event may occur. The Earl of Courfeyrac was overheard lamenting to Viscount Prouvaire that none of their friends were invited or even informed of the wedding before reading it in this very column. Even more unusual than not standing as witness to one’s sister’s wedding may indeed be not informing one’s closest friends of one’s pending nuptials, especially when said nuptials are surrounded by scandal.

Perhaps this illustrates why the Marquess has not yet returned – between his mother and his friends, he is certain to have quite a bit of explaining to do. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 7 MAY 1831 

Dinner following the wedding was an understated affair, nothing like the grand feast that Enjolras was certain his mother would have planned had this been a real wedding. And while he and Grantaire carried on their conversation as if nothing much had happened that day, he couldn’t help but feel that something between them had shifted, something he could not quite find the name to but which left him feeling unmoored.

As the evening drew to a close and both men finished their after-dinner drinks (a rather hefty glass of whiskey for Grantaire, a roughly thimbleful amount of cognac for Enjolras, and only grudgingly because they were ‘celebrating’), Enjolras felt like he needed to say something, though he wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the topic.

As usual, he picked the worst possible way.

“What you said earlier,” he started as they headed upstairs from the library, and Grantaire paused, tilting his head slightly as he glanced at Enjolras, clearly waiting for an explanation of what Enjolras could possibly be referring to, and Enjolras flushed slightly before elaborating, “about the wedding night.”

Grantaire straightened, his expression evening out. “A joke, of course,” he assured Enjolras, before adding, with just a hint of a smirk, “After all, I’m not a lord, so I’m not entitled to Primae Noctis.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That so-called right is apocryphal at best,” he huffed, irritation spiking at the thought of any member of the nobility claiming some kind of right to rape a subject. “Besides which, wouldn’t it only entitle you to sleep with your sister?”

Again, possibly the worst way to continue the conversation, but Grantaire just winked at him. “That’s what you think.”

Despite himself, Enjolras blushed and looked away before clearing his throat. “Rights to the wedding night notwithstanding, I don’t believe I said it earlier today, so thank you. For...everything.”

He hoped he wouldn’t need to elaborate, not because he was incapable of enumerating the great many ways Grantaire had been of service to him in recent days but because he suspected Grantaire was in a mood to turn anything he said into a joke.

To his surprise, Grantaire did not joke in response, instead frowning slightly as he paused at the top of the stairs where they were set to part to attend to their individual bedchambers. “There is no need to thank me,” he told Enjolras. “I would do the same for any of our friends.”

“Would you?” Enjolras asked, more rhetorically than anything, because he suspected they both knew that the answer was contrary to Grantaire’s words. “I asked you once, before, why you were doing this. You did not answer me then, but I thought, given everything that has happened today, you might answer me now.”

Grantaire sighed. “Enjolras—” he started, but Enjolras just shook his head.

“Why did you do all this?”

“Because…” Grantaire trailed off, something unreadable crossing his face, and before Enjolras could so much as blink, he had closed the space between them, reaching up to cup Enjolras’s cheek with one hand, the other closing around Enjolras’s cravat.

And then he kissed him.

This was not the simple pressing of lips together of before, the fumbling move Enjolras had made at the wedding. This was like a fire that seemed to sear through Enjolras from the moment their lips touched, an electricity that sparked an absolute awareness of how Grantaire’s body pressed against his, and above all else, an overwhelming and inexplicable desire to pull Grantaire even closer, to rid themselves of the fabric that were the final barriers between them, or to—

But before Enjolras could react or respond in kind, Grantaire pulled away, looking horrified. “I am sorry, my lord,” he gasped, and there was no trace of his usual joking in his use of the title. “I should not have – forgive me.”

And without another word, he disappeared into his bedchamber, leaving Enjolras standing alone in the hallway, more confused than ever.

----------

Enjolras did not generally consider himself a vain man, but there were a number of things about himself that he took pride in, one of which was his intellect. There was not usually a puzzle that he encountered which he could not decipher, or, at the very least, develop a treatise on the tools needed so that the masses could decipher the puzzle.

But Grantaire was an enigma. Had always been, from the moment they had met, Enjolras a serious boy barely on the verge of manhood, Grantaire a seldom-serious man who, as Enjolras had recently learned, had left boyhood behind long before their meeting. Where Enjolras could understand each of his friends’ motivations, the driving forces that had led them to their group, he had never understood why Grantaire joined them and a cause in which he harbored no belief, and even less why he had stayed over the years.

And yet despite their numerous arguments, the shouting matches that caused the walls to shake or even just the bickering that peppered most of their conversations, he had never once made Grantaire leave.

He understood his reasons for that least of all.

Of course, his kiss with Grantaire, and Grantaire’s reaction to it, might beat it out for things he didn’t understand. Either of his kisses with Grantaire, he realized, since he had also kissed him during the wedding ceremony, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand his reasoning for doing that either.

Enjolras stared up at his ceiling, having woken far too early after a fitful sleep the night before. He did not like having a puzzle he could not solve on his hands, especially when he was stuck in said puzzle’s house, far from anything that might put them on some semblance of equal footing.

The longer he stared at the ceiling, the more it became clear to him that if he was going to figure this out, it required a change of scenery for both him and Grantaire, a chance to start anew, so to speak, and see what new developments would emerge. 

And there was only one way he could think of to do so.

“I was thinking of leaving,” Enjolras announced at the breakfast table when he had finally deemed the hour late enough for him to arise. He had been strangely gladdened to see that Grantaire also looked tired, as if he too had not slept well the previous night.

Not that the thought of Grantaire not sleeping well should gladden him, but it was at least a small sign that he was not alone in being affected by the events of the previous day.

Grantaire went very still at Enjolras’s words. “Oh?” he asked, in what to Enjolras seemed a deliberately casual sort of way.

Enjolras nodded. “Yes. Madame Hucheloup reminded me that it's customary for newly married couple to take a honeymoon trip, even if just for a few days, and as I am not ready to return yet to the city, this seems an easy excuse to explain my absence in a way that does not draw suspicion like my staying here would.’

Grantaire nodded as well, avoiding Enjolras’s eyes. “Where will you go?” he asked.

“I own a cottage in the north,” Enjolras told him. “I thought I might stay there for a bit.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “Would not your servants wonder why you are there without your wife?”

Enjolras shook his head. “It's not family property, it's a cottage I bought in my own right. As such, there are no servants, and it's remote enough that I'm not sure anyone with twenty miles has any idea who I am or would care enough to report it to someone who does.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to add, for Grantaire’s benefit, “I go up there when I need to work, mostly, or just need to get away from the bowing and scraping and whatever else.”

“Well. That sounds lovely, and I'm certain you will have a good time.”

Enjolras waited a beat before adding, his turn to be deliberately casual, “I thought you might accompany me.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened before he busied himself with a scone. “Would that not be as obvious as you staying here?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I think Madame Hucheloup can manage some convincing tales in the village of you staying here while I journey north with your sister,” he said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“But why?”

Grantaire sounded torn between confusion and curiosity, and Enjolras shrugged again. “You don’t like being here,” he said simply.

“How—”

Enjolras should have realized that Grantaire would be surprised by that observation. He had a reputation, deserved or otherwise, of not paying attention to personal details of his friends, and he flushed slightly. “The way you spoke of your sister, and your father. This place holds no good memories.”

Grantaire’s eyes met his. “It holds a few. And more as of recent.”

“A few, then. But a great many bad ones, I’d wager.” Grantaire did not deny it and Enjolras hesitated before adding, “And I would not leave you alone with that.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, and for one heart-pounding moment, Enjolras thought he might refuse. But then he managed a small, wan smile. “In that case, I shall be glad to join you.”

Enjolras smiled as well, certain that he was one step closer to finding the answers he sought.

----------

It was a long ride up north to Enjolras’s cottage, but where the ride from the city to Grantaire’s estate had been punctuated by their usual conversation, there was none of that today. Silence hung between them instead, as Enjolras thought of a thousand conversation topics and cast them all aside, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

But eventually, the silence grew too much for him to bear, and he blurted, with a forced cheerfulness, “Lovely weather we’ve been having.”

Grantaire stared at him. “The weather,” he said, incredulity lacing both words. “You’re talking to me about the weather.”

“Well, it was that or comment on the jostling of the carriage, I suppose,” Enjolras muttered, feeling himself flush.

“And here I would assume that the jostling of the carriage is nothing compared to the struggle of the people that you champion so regularly,” Grantaire said archly, and Enjolras frowned.

“Are you trying to start this sojourn with a fight?” he asked

Grantaire just raised an eyebrow. “Trying? I do not recall ever needing to exert much energy to get you in an argumentative mood.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “Perhaps not, but…”

“But what?”

“But nothing,” Enjolras muttered, not wanting to tell him that he thought things might be different between them now. Different how was the real question, and that was the answer he was endeavoring to find. Of course, maybe nothing was different – maybe Enjolras was reading far too much into one stupid moment and they would return to the city and everything would fall back into place as it always had been.

He hated that he felt almost disappointed at that prospect.

“Tell me about this cottage we’re going to,” Grantaire said abruptly, and Enjolras blinked at him. “It’s only fair, you interrogated me about my home when we were en route there.”

“I’d hardly call it an interrogation,” Enjolras scoffed.

Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “Maybe not, but the point still stands.”

Enjolras supposed it did. “It belonged to a distant relative of my mother’s,” he said. “A great-aunt, I think, though I only ever knew her as Auntie. It’s a couple of hours by horseback from the northernmost Enjolras family holdings. I was sent there as a child one summer for some fresh air.”

“Fresh air being assumedly in short supply at the Enjolras manor,” Grantaire remarked dryly.

Enjolras barked a laugh. “Truth be told, my parents just wanted me out of the way.” He sighed and shook his head. “My mother had discovered she was carrying another child, and I suppose my father didn’t want me underfoot.”

Grantaire blinked. “I did not realize you had a sibling.”

“I didn’t. My mother miscarried.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression. “I am sorry.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s not the same as losing a sibling, of course, but it was still a loss. A loss of possibility, really, of what could have been…” He trailed off and shook his head, his tone turning wistful. “But for one glorious summer, it was just me, in a cottage with no servants, no lessons, no expectations about how I should behave or speak as a future marquess. It was the best summer of my life.”

He shook his head once more to clear it of the memories that rose to the forefront of his mind. “When my mother’s great-aunt died, there were no close relatives to inherit, so the estate was going to pass to some even more distant relation, but I offered to purchase it instead. I used a small inheritance I received when my maternal grandfather died so that it couldn’t be lumped in with the Enjolras holdings. And it’s been mine ever since.”

“It’s not much of course,” he added, and he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to assure Grantaire of that, or to warn him. “Four bedrooms, I think, though one I don’t think I’ve been into in ten years, and another is used for storage. There’s a woman in the village nearby whom I retain to clean it every few weeks.” He paused before adding, suddenly feeling almost tongue-tied, “You’re the first person I’ve ever brought to stay.”

Grantaire looked surprised by that. “Truly? Not even Combeferre or Courfeyrac?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No.”

“I am...touched, I suppose.” Grantaire made a dry noise that might have been an attempt at a chuckle. “Hopefully I’ll not taint your memories of the place.”

“I’m certain you won’t.”

“You say that now, and yet…” Grantaire trailed off, looking almost troubled. “Dare I ask why you’re allowing me to intrude on what until now has been something of a sanctuary for you?”

Enjolras frowned. “I told you, I did not wish to leave you alone—”

“Yes, and it’s a noble gesture, but you know as well as I that I could have returned to the city, or gone any number of places.”

Enjolras made a face. “I do know that you are far more popular than I, yes.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras managed a small smile before continuing, “I suppose I was looking for us both to get a small dose of reality before we returned to the city.”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “Reality,” he murmured, something almost dull in his voice. “Of course.”

“As much as I would love to continue living in this little fiction we’ve spun—” Grantaire did not laugh and Enjolras frowned, wondering if he had somehow said the wrong thing. “Anyway,” he muttered, “that’s why.”

They continued the journey in relative silence after that, and when Enjolras finally spotted the familiar grey stonework out the carriage window, he had never been so relieved. “We’re here,” he announced, rather unnecessarily, as the carriage drew to a halt.

Grantaire stepped out of the carriage and turned automatically to offer Enjolras his hand to help him down. “I can see why you come up here to think,” he said, surveying the rambling moors that extended in any given direction. “No distractions.” He gave Enjolras a mischievous smile. “Are you certain you want me here to ruin all that?”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly after the carriage, which had already left. “Bit late to change my mind, don’t you think?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “I suppose so,” he murmured, bending to pick up what luggage they had brought and ignoring Enjolras’s protestations that he was perfectly capable of carrying the luggage himself.

Once inside, both men stood a little awkwardly just past the entryway. Enjolras cleared his throat, casting about for a neutral topic. “Shall I make us some tea?” he asked, falling back on manners when all else had failed him.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Don’t feel obligated.”

“I do believe it’s considered good manners when hosting one’s brother-in-law, no matter how fictional the bond,” Enjolras said, aiming for a joke. “Or one’s bride, I suppose, depending on how one wished to look at it.”

But Grantaire didn’t look amused. “None for me, thanks.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, his heart sinking. “How about a tour, then?”

Grantaire shrugged again, but this time seemed inclined to actually go along with it, which was good, as it gave Enjolras at least a little more to drone on about as they made their way through the cottage. Of course, the cottage was only so big, so the tour itself was a brief affair, though Enjolras was somewhat relieved that Grantaire seemed to regain at least some of his good humor as they went. 

“So what do you think?” Enjolras asked as they finished the tour in the library.

“It’s not what I was expecting,” Grantaire admitted.

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Dare I ask what you were expecting?” he asked, equal parts wary and curious.

“Oh, the usual,” Grantaire said loftily, waving a hand as he plopped down on a sofa. “Threadbare curtains, a straw mattress to sleep on, no decorations…”

“You expected me to live like a monk?”

“Well, the vow of poverty seemed apt,” Grantaire mused before smirking at Enjolras. “Though I suppose were that the case, you would have abdicated your title and its associated lands, properties and incomes long ago.”

Enjolras knew Grantaire well enough to know when he was picking a fight, and he knew this was one of those times, even if he had no inkling of why Grantaire was choosing now to quarrel. Either way, he really did not wish to spend their first night in the north fighting, so he forced himself not to rise to the occasion. “Yes, well, as I am neither monk nor saint, I suppose I can indulge in a few comforts now and then,” he said instead before changing the subject. “I’m going to go down to the village before it gets too late to stock up on some food for our stay. Do you wish to accompany me?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here, see about perhaps getting some painting set up,” Grantaire said, but without much enthusiasm, and Enjolras frowned, unsure why Grantaire’s mood seemed so all over the place.

“Right,” he said. “Well. I’ll be back soon.”

“Pick up some whiskey while you’re down there, would you?” Grantaire asked, in a way that Enjolras couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not.

“And raise suspicions that I’ve suddenly returned as a drunk?” he said, aiming for a joke of his own. “We must keep up appearances, after all.”

But Grantaire just seemed to further deflate at that. “Right,” he said dully. “Appearances, and fiction, and all that.”

Enjolras had no idea what to even say to that, so he took his leave instead, hoping that by the time he returned, Grantaire might find himself in a better mood.

His trip to the village was a brief one, and he brought back enough food supplies for their supper and to break their fast in the morning, with more to be delivered the following day. When he returned, he was pleased to see that Grantaire had lit the fireplace in the kitchen, the library and both bedrooms, though he appeared to have abandoned his quest to paint, as he was instead absorbed in some ancient tome he had found in the library. Their evening was spent in relative but comfortable quiet as Enjolras read through some parliamentary briefings and Grantaire continued perusing the book, as similar an evening as many they had spent together over the years when their meetings had finished and it was just the two of them left in the backroom of the Musain.

But all too soon, Grantaire put the book down and stood. “I am going to call it an early night,” he told Enjolras. “I will see you on the morrow.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, a little surprised as he looked over at the mantel clock. “Well, I was thinking perhaps we might take a walk tomorrow? Explore nearby and such?”

Grantaire glanced at the window. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” he said flatly, and before Enjolras could respond, he added, “Have a good night.”

All in all, Enjolras reflected when he too went to bed a few hours later, it was not at all what he had expected, and he was beginning to think this was a bad idea.

Still, he rose the next morning determined to make the best of it, only to quickly discover that Grantaire had risen with the opposite attitude, picking at his food over breakfast and staring out at the rain lashing against the window.

His mood only seemed to worsen as the day went on, and as Enjolras busied himself with some accounting work for one of his estates that was well overdue, Grantaire took to pacing impatiently. This would not ordinarily bother Enjolras, who had a tendency to get absorbed in his work, but the cottage was only so big and Grantaire’s pacing could perhaps be better categorized as stomping about.

On his fifth lap past Enjolras’s desk, Enjolras gritted his teeth and tried very hard not to stab his paper with his pen. “I would offer you some entertainment, if I had any to offer,” he said as politely as one could through clenched teeth.

Grantaire snorted derisively. “I am not a child,” he snapped. “I do not need to be entertained.”

Ordinarily, Enjolras would have shot back that Grantaire could have fooled him, as he was certainly acting childish, but he held his tongue, not wanting to cause an argument on only their second day. “Very well,” he said instead, continuing his tone of politeness. “I’ll leave you to your own amusement, then.”

“God, how can there be no alcohol in this entire building?” Grantaire burst. “Not even a single bottle of cooking sherry.”

Enjolras frowned. “Well, seeing as how I very rarely partake…”

“Yes, but surely one as well-bred as you knows to keep refreshments on hand for guests,” Grantaire said sourly.

Comments on Enjolras’s breeding were the fastest way to get under Enjolras’s skin, and he took a moment to stop from snapping. “Certainly, and I’m sure you would enjoy the wine cellar at any of my family’s estates,” he said finally, almost murderously polite. “But since I never imagined entertaining guests here—”

“Torture seems more accurate,” Grantaire muttered, flopping down on the sofa. “And your imagination needs some work.”

“Yes, well, I never dreamed that I would find myself entangled in such an elaborate fiction that would have me bringing you of all people here,” Enjolras snapped, dropping the façade of civility. “Or perhaps the real fiction was imagining that you and I might have an enjoyable time without the aid of alcohol!”

Grantaire cursed and stood. “Well forgive me, my lord,” he snapped, crossing to the door and yanking it open, that neither the real nor the fictional version of myself is not up to your standards.”

“Where in the bloody hell are you going?” Enjolras asked incredulously, half-shouting to be heard over the roar of the storm from the open door.

“Anywhere but here!” Grantaire shouted back, slamming the door after him.

Enjolras cursed as well and rushed to the door, opening it to shout after him. “Grantaire!” he shouted, but the man ignored him, stomping away through the mud. “Grantaire!” Again, there was no answer, and Enjolras lost what remained of his temper. “Fine!” he shouted. “Then I hope you drown out there!:

He slammed the door closed and stormed back to his desk. But he was too incensed to continue working and he didn’t bother sitting down, just crushing the piece of paper he’d been writing on into a ball.

What had he honestly expected? When had Grantaire ever risen to Enjolras’s expectations, and why had he assumed he would start now?

Because the man had kissed him, once? And then immediately fled?

Enjolras had clearly been deluding himself into thinking there was anything more between them when Grantaire could not go an hour without trying to stir up animosity. 

Not that he cared. Not that he did not spend the next twenty minutes pretending he did not glance at the door every time the house creaked, expecting or hoping Grantaire had returned. Not that he began to worry, when the clock chimed the hour. Not that he regretted whatever it was he had said or done that had made Grantaire leave.

What had he expected?

Something, anything, to show him that he was not imagining it, that what there was between them was real. Something, anything, to show that Grantaire might feel even just a little bit of what he did.

Something, anything, to prove that Grantaire cared.

And when had Grantaire ever cared about anything?

His fuming might well have sustained him for the entire night, but as one hour crept toward two and Grantaire had still not returned, Enjolras’s anger was rapidly replaced with worry. He had not been joking when he had told Grantaire that there was no one within twenty miles besides the village, and Grantaire could easily have gotten lost, or hurt, or, as Enjolras had shouted at him, drowned in the deluge still downpouring outside.

Enjolras was not entirely sure how he could live with himself were any of the latter options the case.

Resolved, he grabbed a coat from the front closet and went outside, squinting against the rain as he surveyed the horizon for any sign of Grantaire. There was none, but there were footprints, at least, half-filled with puddles of water from where Grantaire had assumedly sloshed through the mud as he had stormed away.

His trail was easy enough to follow, but every step away from the cottage filled Enjolras with trepidation. If anything had happened to Grantaire— If any harm had come to him—

The trail came to an abrupt stop at a large puddle of water that was growing rapidly, and Enjolras heart sank. Any sign of Grantaire would be washed away, surely, or else—

“What in the devil are you doing out here?”

Grantaire had to shout to be heard, especially as a crack of thunder boomed across the moor, but Enjolras had never been so glad to hear his voice, hoarse and tired as it was. He turned to find Grantaire huddled in the lee of a large tree nearby, clearly trying to wait out the worst of the storm and, judging by the mud that stained his trousers and the fact that every inch of him was soaked through, failing miserably.

He looked awful, but to Enjolras, he had never looked more perfect.

“Oh thank God,” Enjolras breathed, crossing to him in three long strides and pulling him into an embrace. “I thought you had gotten hurt, or lost, or—”

Grantaire pushed him away. “Yes, well, now you can see that I’m alright, so you can go—”

“Alright?” Enjolras interrupted, incredulous. “You’re soaked through to the bone! If you stay out here much longer, you’re liable to catch your death.”

“It honestly might be preferable at this rate,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras scowled. “If this is how you’re going to be, I’ve half a mind to leave you here and let you drown.”

“Good,” Grantaire shot back. “At least you’d be showing some hint of your old self!”

Enjolras stared at him. “What in the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “I’ve been nothing but courteous to you this entire trip, while you’ve tried to start a fight at every turn!”

“Of course I have,” Grantaire snapped. “Because fighting is what we do! It’s who we are! And I’ve been trying to prove to myself that nothing has changed, that you’re still you and I’m still me.” Enjolras just stared blankly at him, squinting against the rain, and Grantaire sighed, running a hand across his face which Enjolras was certain accomplished absolutely nothing to clear it of the rain. “But things have changed, and it’s what I never wanted to happen but what I always feared would, if I were ever to be stupid enough to…” He trailed off. “And I can’t stand you being polite to me, it’s driving me absolutely mad, and if it continues for much longer, it may very well kill me before this rain gets a chance to.”

If anything, Enjolras was even more lost than before. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, more a plea than anything, begging for some kind of rational explanation.

Grantaire just shook his head and returned his question with one of his own. “How?” he demanded. “How do you not know?”

If this was a puzzle, Enjolras had grown incredibly tired of trying to figure it out. “Because I’m extraordinarily stupid, apparently?”

Grantaire glared at him, though when he spoke again, the bitterness in her voice seemed directed more at himself than anything. “You really must be, because I’ve been the most obvious idiot of all time.”

Enjolras didn’t know why he bothered asking for a third time, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Grantaire threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “I mean, I’m in love with you, you fool!”

Enjolras gaped at him. “You – what?”

[dumblydork]

Dying Embers

Her hair swished wildly in the wind, as if it were leaves swaying from the onset of a cyclone- flowing down to her waist, head thrown back. Fiery red, just like the dying embers of what was formerly a warming furnace. He could hear her laughter, slow and melodic, almost as if it were empyrean. She was the love of Harry's entire being. The soul to his body, the mind to his brain. She turned around, and all Harry could glimpse was her mouth- full, and pulled into a large smile. Her eyes were a bright hazel, shining with happiness, as she ran towards Harry, fitting easily in his arms.

They had met at the ball thrown by his parents that summer, exactly so that their son could meet a suitable young woman to marry. Harry had been extremely bored with the festivities, instead wishing he were out practicing archery with his friend, Neville.

His eyes flew around the room, passing from and then returning to a young woman who had just entered the gala. She didn't seem familiar, and was chaperoned by who seemed to her brother, judging from their hair. Harry was mesmerised- her yellow dress floated around her as if it were made of the finest, lightest silk to exist, and her hair was pulled back elegantly, exposing the milky column of her neck. He walked towards the pair.

"Forgive my intrusion, but will the lovely lady here consider dancing the next waltz with me?" Harry bowed slightly, his hand pulled tightly at his back.

The girl eyed him shyly as his brother did a more open appraisal. "We would like to first make your acquaintance, sir." He finally spoke.

"Of course, forgive me. I am Lord Harry Potter, Viscount of Little Whinging." He said, an automatic confidence seeping into his voice, one which only came from being the son of a duke.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I did not know. I am Ronald Weasley, and this is my younger sister, Ginevra Weasley. Our father is the Baron Weasley of Burrows." The pair bowed deeply, something which made Harry slightly uncomfortable.

"Please, I take no offense. It is my pleasure to make an acquaintance of Lord Weasley's children. He is my father's close friend. My question, however, to Lady Ginevra here remains unanswered." Harry steered the topic back to more important things from mere formalities.

"Of course, my lord." Ginevra said softly, placing her hand in Harry's outstretched one. As they walked towards the center of the floor, Harry's eyes met the identical ones of his mother, who stood to the side, flashing her son a soft smile.

"I adore you. And so does every thread of my existence, until my breath ceases." Harry spoke, bringing himself back from the night at the ball.

"I simply reciprocate, my Lord. And shall do so until death pull us part." She spoke softly, meeting Harry's lips with her own.

At the brink of twilight, a day before their wedding, the two of them wove their lives together, sealed by golden vows.

---

"Harry? Get on up, it's time to go!" His mother, Lily's voice flitted through the room, and sunlight poured inside as well, casting a bright glow all over. Harry sat up in bed, stretching excessively, getting rid of the multitude of pulls and pains he seemed to acquire over the night.

His parents swore he did not sleepwalk and fall down the stairs.

"Harry, honey, come on. You'll be late for uni otherwise." His mother peeked inside, her reddish brown hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head, green eyes shining with motherly affection. Seeing his mother's hair, Harry was reminded of his dream- recurring dream, he should say. Even though it was simply a few minutes old, seeing the 'girl' in his dream, he felt as if it were quite some lifetimes ago.

He had been dreaming of a girl quite frequently lately, and not in the lewd way his best friend Ron seemed intent on. Harry would always simply spot her hair, the curve of her waist and as soon as she turned around, he would be jolted awake.

When he was a child, his mother used to tell him tales in which princesses would dream of faceless men, a golden bond tying the two people together. The faceless person you dreamt about was whom you shared your golden thread of life with. But those were just fantasy- woven to make a dull reality exciting. At least now, at the age of 19, was what Harry believed. He hopped out of bed, and walked off into the bathroom, getting started on his morning routine. It was half past eight when he went downstairs, his first class of the morning at 9:15. His father, James, was stood in front of the kettle, pouring himself a cup of his morning Earl Grey, and his mother was setting down the plate of pancakes on the table.

"Breakfast?" She asked, sitting down, his dad joining her to the left. "Morning Haz." His father grinned lopsidedly, a grin much like Harry's own, glasses steaming up from the hot mug. Harry recited a greeting in return and was about to refuse breakfast on the account of well, running late, when the smell of butter floated up to him and he found himself seated in front of his parents.

"Did you get sore again?" Lily asked, concern lacing her low voice.

"Yeah. I just don't seem to know how." Harry noted, voice muffled from a mouth full of pancakes.

"Slow down, you'll choke." She admonished lightly, shooting James an exasperated look when he snickered a low 'That's what she said' into his morning Daily Prophet.

"He probably needs a new mattress. Let's get one on the weekend." His mother said, earning an affirmative hum from James who was busy with his newspaper.

"I'll get going now. Bye mum, bye dad. See you in the evening." He spoke after having had his share of pancakes and a chat with his mum. He bent down for the customary top-of-the-head kiss from his mother, something she had been doing since Harry started school. And although he wouldn't admit it, he adored this little sentiment. His dad shot him another grin as he walked out of the door, putting in his earphones.

Fortunately for him, the university campus was quite a short bus ride away. However, he still found himself running across the campus from the bus stop to his lecture theatre- he forgot to factor in the fact that the hall today was all on the opposite end of campus.

"Shit," He glanced at his phone, currently glowing 9:21. It was Professor Binns' lecture, and he wasn't too fond of latecomers. Harry counted on his excellent grade in the module, hoping that would pull him through. As he ran across, his peripheral vision noted a mane of red momentarily, but before Harry could turn around and see, he was already in front of the class, digging through the bag for his ID card.

---

"How is it that Binns' lectures keep getting worse through the term?" Ron, the aforementioned best friend groaned.

"Because your attention dwindles further as term moves on." Hermione, the other best friend noted. Harry grinned between the two of them. They were so in love, those oblivious idiots.

Binns' was the only class the three of them took together, and Ron departed for his Victorian Literature module. Harry and Hermione walked to the open amphitheatre, choosing to spend their free half hour which coincided together.

"Oh right. My friend from school is joining today, I was supposed to go show her around. Fancy coming?" Hermione spoke, eyes focused on her text messages. "Sure, I have the rest of the morning free." Harry pursed his lips. Hermione simply nodded and they set off across the campus again after the brief interlude at the theatre.

"Your friend is from school?" Harry asked.

"Yeah- she's a year younger but we were quite close when I was in year 12." She replied, eyes scanning the crowd at in front of the Lifesciences Lab, which was one of the main buildings on campus. "Who are we looking for again?" He imitated the search.

"Redhead, shorter than you." Hermione did not look up from the hoard of people, before her mouth set into a wide grin.

"Ginny! Here!" Hermione waved her arms around, jumping up and down in tandem. Harry couldn't see who Hermione was waving to, but the crowd was being roughly pushed aside as someone made their way towards the pair.

"Hermione! So good to see you!" The woman said, grabbing the older girl into a tight hug and letting go, placing the three of them in a triangular formation.

"Oh my god, I almost forgot to come see you." Hermione said somewhat sheepishly, but Harry wasn't listening. He was staring- no, gaping at the newcomer. Her hair was the exact shade of red as the girl in Harry's dream, and it cascaded down her back in a half up half down style. Her waist was encased in a light yellow sundress, complimenting her red hair. All in all, she was beautiful. Not because of her hair or slender figure, but also because of how her eyes shone as she spoke to Hermione.

"Have I seen you before?" Tumbled out of Harry's mouth before he could stop (or reason), and a pair of bright hazel eyes bore into his own moss green, before glittering again. Ginny simply smiled.

~~~~

And here it is, another AU! I definitely did not plan for this to be a multiple lifetime AU, but Regency!Hinny seemed too good to pass up on. I apologise for what is probably a very poorly written Regency era conversation, my knowledge of it is simply from Bridgerton and Google haha. I decided to keep the end open, just so that you guys can envision your own romance for them! Also, can I just say how I loved writing Lily and James?? It's their little debut in my one-shots yay!

Also, you can find my Ao3 here, where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one-shots, if that's your thing!

I hope you enjoyed this as usual! Please interact with my pinned TAGLIST post on my account if you wish to be notified of whenever I post Hinny one-shots! Thank you for reading, and big hugs to everyone who loves what I write! Please keep going, it truly makes my day (or week??) xxxx

TAGLIST: @amy-herondale-chase // @purplepygmypuffskein // @ginnypxtter // @alwaysmagica1 // @norakelly // @coffee-fandoms-and-chaos //

[sol-rising]

— dramione fanfic recommendations bc i don’t have a life;

[CHERRY] No one asked for this but I don’t have a life and I read a lot so.... why not? Majority of these are either on AO3 or FFN. 

— ONESHOTS; 

Best Shot by AccioMjolnir [Mature, 24k words]

Summary: It's eighth year and Hermione is trying to navigate her post-war friendship with Draco Malfoy and a relationship with Ron Weasley when she gets an unexpected visit from someone who knows her better than anyone: herself. Thrown back from the future, an older Hermione drops a bombshell on her: she has only three days to set things right, or Draco dies.

Amateur Cartography by worksofstone [Teen & Up Audiences, 21k words]

Summary: That one-night stand with Draco Malfoy was a mistake. Hermione doesn't make mistakes, or at least she isn't supposed to. She's working hard at her Ministry career, however frustrating and pointless her job may be, and she's also got to live up to everyone's expectations as Hogwarts's most famous Muggle-born and a top-tier War Hero. So, why is she still sleeping with Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater and infamous pureblood? And why isn't she certain that she wants to stop?

A Muggle-born Magic by Musyc [Mature, 50k words]

Summary: Regency-era AU. Physician's daughter Hermione Granger finds herself in need of a way to pay off her father's debts after his death. Draco Malfoy, retired from the politics of the Isolationists, a group of pure-bloods bent on separating 'true' magic from lesser folk, finds himself in need of a tutor for his son, Scorpius, who appears to be incapable of magic and must learn to survive in a world without it. Draco also needs a wife and mother for Scorpius, to satisfy a promise to his unwell father. After she saves his son from an attack by Isolationists, Draco hires the Muggle-born Miss Granger for the former, and after a riot in Vauxhall Gardens and a scandalous discovery made by his mother, weds that selfsame Muggle-born for the latter. While making the best of her marriage of (in)convenience, Hermione discovers that Scorpius' history of wild imaginings and dreams is more than just imagination. As she attempts to teach him about magical abilities no one expected he would ever have, she and Draco work together to raise Scorpius and learn to trust each other.

Ice by senlinyu [Teen & Up Audiences, 5.1k words]

Summary: Hermione works in Gringotts’ Records Department when Draco Malfoy comes on staff as a curse-breaker. His icy presence drags up memories she’s desperate to move on from and forget. She tries to ignore him, but every time she sees him, she feels chilled to the bone. DHr Advent 2018.

Fallin' (Adrenaline) by LeilahMoon [Teen & Up Audiences, 4.5k words]

Summary: When Professor McGonagall encourages all Hogwarts students to participate in a mentor scheme designed to promote inter-House unity, Hermione Granger is thrilled; she can’t wait to embrace the opportunity for further education. Unfortunately, she's not able to choose who she is allocated to and, when her mentor turns out to be Draco Malfoy, she’s certain she won’t learn anything at all.  

The Two Sided Triangle by Canttouchthis [Teen & Up Audiences, 5.2k words] 

Summary: In which Daily Prophet reporter Hermione Granger inadvertently becomes a superhero and her partner, the intrepid Draco Malfoy finds himself smitten. In other words, a Dramione inspired by Superman and Lois Lane.

Now Is A Gift by senlinyu [Teen & Up Audiences, 5k words]

Summary: Hermione is determined to give meaningful Christmas gifts to everyone in her Ministry department.

Everyone.

Even that anti-social arse Malfoy.

DHr Advent 2019.

riddle me this by megamegaturtle [General Audiences, 8k words]

Summary: Their fingers touch when Draco hands her the paper and Hermione's heart almost jumps out of her chest.

The note reads: How do you spell ‘cute boy’ with only two letters? -Riddle Me This

Hermione finds herself grinning. “Cutie. Q-T. That’s the answer to the riddle. You’re a cutie, Malfoy.”

[the one where someone leaves Draco Malfoy riddles to solve from the local coffee shop's community board and he enlists Hermione Granger for help.]

(Written for 2020 DFW Trope Fest: Double Trouble)

Library Rendezvous by WickedlyAwesomeMe [Fiction T, 2.9k words]

Summary: Hermes Granger just wanted to finish his homework in peace but of course, she always had to ruin his plans. Male!Hermione Granger/Female!Draco Malfoy. Genderbender

Relentless (Hogwarts Era Series) by realjane (Series of Connected Oneshots)

Height by senlinyu [Explicit, 8.7k words]

Summary: “Tall? That’s what you think I should notice about Malfoy? His height?”

Ginny quirked an eyebrow and licked the tip of her quill suggestively. ”Well, isn’t that your thing? Lockhart. Krum. McLaggen. Ron. The only thing they have in common is being tall enough to give me a neck ache.

”Hermione felt her ears grow hot, and she gripped her book tighter. “I don’t have a thing for tall men. Their height is—completely coincidental.”

Dramione Height Differences Minifest 2020.

Diamond Heart by artemisgirl [Fiction T, 8k words]

Summary: When Hermione approaches Draco Malfoy proposing a fake relationship between the two of them as part of a scheme, he's eager enough to participate - the potential benefits outweigh any costs on his time. But as it all progresses, Draco finds himself wondering what it would be like if what was 'fake' was real.

The Spring’s Chosen by artemisgirl [Fiction T, 5.5k words]

Summary: A golden unicorn appearing on the Malfoy grounds sends the Manor into a flurry of activity, to the confusion of one Draco Malfoy. It's just a unicorn that happens to be gold - isn't it? DMHG  

Courting Customs Most Sacred by HeyJude19 [Twoshot, Mature, 15k words]

Summary: Published in 1862 by Lady Apollonia Nott, Courting Customs Most Sacred is the comprehensive text for any pureblood family seeking to arrange suitable matches for their children. It’s also patently ridiculous and not at all appropriate for the modern era of dating. It is certainly not how one should woo Hermione Granger, at any rate.

— ON-GOING/WIPs;

Come Let Us Adore Him by thiscitychickk [Not Rated]

Summary: Hermione Granger scoured the subreddits, perused the checklists, and read virtually everything possible on how to be an all star Congressional intern and staffer. She had her job responsibilities well in hand, but instructions on how to handle the attention of an upstart Congressman Draco Malfoy were nowhere to be found. US politics AU: Congressional staffer Hermione, Congressman Draco

and with you, i fall by passionesque [Mature]

Summary: With Narcissa Malfoy striking a deal for her family — protection for information, the last thing anyone wants is Draco Malfoy seeking refuge within the heart of the Order. 

It would’ve been easy, Hermione thinks. So easy for her to hex him back to Voldemort’s clutches for all that he’s said and done, but being the bleeding soft-hearted Gryffindor she is, she doesn't.

* * * * *

“You should hate me,” he murmurs, flicking his gaze to her from beneath his lashes. 

She should, Hermione knows this. She really ought to hate him, but the memory of the haunted look in his eyes and the hoarse screams of his nightmares echoes through her mind and eases the storm in her heart.

She doesn’t. She can’t.

“You’re right,” Hermione says soberly. “I should. But I don’t.”

Post HBP. Canon-Divergent. HG/DM.

Love In A Time Of the Zombie Apocalypse by andgladly [Mature]

Summary: After Voldemort, there was this. The clock is ticking to create a cure to the unimaginable horror that currently grips the world. Hermione finds herself unwillingly allied with the most hated man in Wizarding Britain.

The Alkahest by Shadukiam [Mature]

Summary: The Marriage Law, once enacted, has the power to destroy Hermione's perfectly normal life. Luckily, she and Ron are already planning to obey the horrific law together as a team... Until a Malfoy-shaped wrench gets thrown into the works. Dramione.

In the Arms of Her Dragon by Wolf Blossom [Mature]

Summary: A random act of kindness (the life-or-death kind) draws together Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger in a way that nobody saw coming. The duo, in fact, did not want anybody learn the secret of their relationship, but their hope was in vain. All of Hogwarts, nay, England suddenly knew about their union. "Nobody said this would be easy, bookworm." Malfoy drawled. "Shut. Up. Malfoy."

Time Twisters by themirrorminder.372259 [Fiction T]

Summary: Narcissa ignores the sharp smile her little brother wears after Bella's funeral, in the same way that Lily ignores the ravenous gaze her little sister aims towards Knockturn Alley. However, Albus Dumbledore cannot ignore the ominous friendship between Draco Black and Hermione Evans, not when he hears blood dripping from their joined hands. {TimeTravel} {DRAMIONE} {Marauder's Era}

Beautiful Incongruence by charlie_weasleys_gf [Teen & Up Audiences]

Summary: “You are not an easy person to talk to, Granger.”

“Well, you haven’t made the prospect of talking to you sound very exciting."

Hermione Granger was ready for her third year at Hogwarts-that was, until it was interrupted by time turners and apologising assholes.

In which Draco Malfoy apologises (a lot).

How to Move On by longdistance [Mature] 

Summary: It's been nearly a decade since the war. A long time since she locked herself away. A long time since he faced his mistakes. She's what he wants. He's what she needs. It's time for both of them to figure out how to move on.

Through the eyes of blind love by Mixilip1 [Mature]

Summary: Torn between the heart and love of two souls thou shall find theeself. Post-war.

Following the war, Hermione finds herself not-so-happily dating Ron, but it seems she can't keep herself away from a certain blonde Slytherin who's determined to finally make her his witch. After hearing a prophecy about her future, she thinks her life might change for good, but what she doesn't know is that the prophecy also included a veela in it.

"Granger, don't be nervous. Just look at me and let go." He said, grabbing her chin, and her brown eyes met his.This is a story about love triangles and veelas. Veela AU

flesh and blood by forbiddenquill [Teen & Up Audiences]

Summary: Scorpius breaks his father’s Time-Turner and ends up getting transported into the year 1998, when the Second Wizarding World War has already ended and where Draco Malfoy is still trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered world.

With Scorpius’ arrival comes shocking revelations, burning questions, and a son’s image of a father Draco is sure he’ll never be able to live up to.

More importantly, it’s Scorpius’s bright brown eyes, so unlike his own, that bug Draco the most.

[alternatively, a multi-chapter fic where eight-year-old Scorpius follows Draco around the castle and tries to discover the secret identity of his mother]

The Other Side by sweetsolitude [Teen & Up Audiences]

Summary: A slow-burn Dramione version of 6th year, The Half-Blood Prince, told from the perspectives of Draco, Hermione, and Theo. No smut, no character bashing. Attempted to stay TTC and the general plot progression of HBP. Primary ship is Draco/Hermione. This fic is already completed at around 150k, will post chapters regularly.

The Hidden Duchess by Moxified [Fiction K]

Summary:  She had always been given everything she wanted ever since she was a child, spoiled to the very bone. Her life consisted of a strict regimen built for a princess that was followed to a tee - even after she came to Hogwarts. Leading two lives is stressful for anyone, especially a young lady with an equally young man curious enough to discover what secrets she was hiding.

An Unexpected Malfoy by RiverWriter [Mature]

Summary: Once upon a time Hermione Granger literally ran into Draco Malfoy in a bookshop. His mother sees a connection between her son and the muggleborn that she can't ignore and determines to get to know the girl. An imagining of how things could have gone if Hermione had been taken under the wing of the Malfoy family.

In Another Life by marana1 [Fiction M]

Summary: She walked over to the huge, full-length mirror. Staring back was her eleven-year-old self but with long, beautiful, silky platinum blonde hair and pale skin. Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, the reality of the situation sinking in. The fairy hadn't just made them switch places for a day... she sent them back in time and switched their lives. DM X HG. EWE. Slow burn.

Hermione's pianist by softblakegriffin, va_lentina [Mature]

Summary: Draco Malfoy was destined to play music since birth. A small prodigy in a family of long-standing musicians, he’s well on his way to become the best pianist of his generation. A month in Rome with his friends is the perfect way to leave the pressure and social obligations behind and relax, immersed in the eternal beauty and soul-stirring art.

Hermione Granger’s road to music wasn’t straightforward. She didn’t attend the Conservatory, everything she knows is the result of sacrifices, and she’s still searching for the perfect opportunity to make music her job. It’s her dream and she thinks Rome, with its breathtaking views and magical atmosphere, is the place where she wants to try and fulfill it.

He’s in Rome to enjoy a short reprieve from London, before going back home.

She escaped London and is in Rome to stay.

Will music and the treacherous city disrupt their plans?

Crimes of Passion by All3Unforgivables [Mature]

Summary: Draco Malfoy lost his family, his dignity, and his humanity during the Dark Lord's rise to power. The only thing he couldn't stand to lose was something that was never his to take. With no one left to mourn him, his disappearance goes unexplored. But angels like Hermione Granger do not go missing without notice. D/H OOC, AU. Very mature themes.

Nightcrawlers by malf0y101 [Explicit]

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts for her eighth year, Hermione Granger is depressed, resentful, and suicidal. That is, until Draco Malfoy presents an enticing offer to keep her alive. Soon after, the two embark on a torture spree of students, professors, and acquaintances while simultaneously engaging in a clandestine and dirty relationship. How long can they keep their game up?

What crawls in the night stays in the night.

Poet. by OneEqualTemper [Mature]

Summary: “Uh...Malfoy? Did you knock your pretty head into a wall this morning?” Ginny questions and slides into her spot next to Hermione.

Hermione gives her a quick glare, her eyes begging her to just leave it alone. Ginny ignores Hermione’s look and waits for Malfoy to answer. Malfoy does his best to ignore the red-headed Witch.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” Ginny questions and waves her hand in front of him.

Hermione grabs the Witch’s hand and pulls it down to the table, “He can sit here if he wants.”

Ginny scoffs but keeps her hand down on the table, “What’s wrong with his own table?”

“Ginny, stop,” Hermione hisses at her friend. “We’re friends. He can come and sit here anytime he wants.”

— COMPLETED;

Hindsight by floorcoaster [Teen & Up Audiences, 12 Chapters, 170k]

Summary: It's a New Year and Hermione decides it's time to make some changes.

Between the Devil and Draco Malfoy by QueenOfSmokeAndMirrors [Mature, 13 Chapters, 34k]

Summary: Seventeen is a dangerous age. Hermione Granger, arrogant and precocious and bored of her mundane life, thinks she can handle a deal with the devil. But Draco Malfoy - the devil's own son - plans on dragging her down to Hell with him. Dramione AU with demons.

Good Luck Kisses by Musyc [Teen & Up Audiences, 8 Chapters, 8.4k]

Summary: A good luck kiss for a Quidditch captain - it's ridiculous. It can't actually work.

But it does.

Every time.

Traditions by raven_maiden [Explicit, 14 Chapters, 69k]

Summary: She straddled him slowly, still biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders. He held her hips tightly as he stared up at her.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, and she flushed prettily, like she always did from his compliments. “You never need to hide from me.”

**

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love during the war. One year later, they're heading home for the holidays so he can finally meet her parents. There's just one teeny little problem: her parents think they're both Muggles.

Fortuitous by MrsRen [Mature, 13 Chapters, 93k]

Summary: Recently divorced Draco doesn't believe in the ideology of having one true love. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his match in a Halloween themed coffee shop, but fate has a peculiar way of giving you just what you need.

Manacled by senlinyu [Explicit, 77 Chapters, 370k]

Summary: Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret, lost but hidden in her mind, so she is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve until her mind can be cracked.

Wait and Hope by mightbewriting [Mature, 12 Chapters, 95k]

Summary: “Harry,” Hermione began, voice very controlled, but she could feel the blade of panic slicing at her vocal cords. “Why was Draco Malfoy just screaming bloody murder about his,” and the word almost strangled her as she said it, “wife?”

Harry's green eyes blew wide. Healer Lucas pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly displeased with the recent series of events.

“He was referring to you, my dear,” she said. “That was the other question you got wrong. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.”

Hermione had to be sedated again.

Beginning and End by mightbewriting [Explicit, 48 Chapters, 242k]

Summary: Years. Broken into months into weeks into days—into hours, minutes, seconds—into moments. Simple at one end, complex at the other. In Draco’s experience, moments, even when simple, had a habit of becoming irretrievable. Moments grew, stretched, multiplied into ages and eras that defined whole stretches of measurable time. Draco regretted several moments in his life, some within his control, some without: all of them irretrievable in nature. At a certain point, wedged between ‘what-ifs’ of his own devising, he’d stopped trying to keep track of those regrettable moments: now and then, pushing and pulling, coming and going, beginning and end. Moments were only moments for just as long. After that, he had no control.

A Draco POV prequel to Wait and Hope.

Through the Years by WickedlyAwesomeMe [Fiction T, 11 Chapters, 93k]

Summary: Hermes Granger fervently believed that Malfoy's sole purpose in life was to make his life a living hell. Genderswap Dramione! Male!Hermione Granger/Female!Draco Malfoy. Companion piece to "Library Rendezvous".

Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach [Mature, 29 Chapters, 77k]

Summary: It’s not until she’s brought a basil and strawberry sponge cake to Neville Longbottom and his new girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, a dozen rhubarb hand-pies to Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood, and another basket of ganache-covered muffins to Dean and Seamus, that Hermione admits to herself what she’s actually doing: she’s making a thing of this. It’s a veritable PTSD tour. With pastries. And hand-skimmed clotted cream. And she has no idea why she’s doing it, but it’s becoming very apparent that she is.

Sometimes you're sad. Sometimes you need dessert. And sometimes, it's a little of both.

Arrogance and Ignorance by AnneM.Oliver [Fiction T, 38 Chapters, 140k]

Summary: A romance set in the era of Jane Austen novels, this is the story of a woman and a man. The man thinks he is better than all others, & the woman knows she is smarter. Their differences aside, they have one thing in common, both are smitten with the other.

The Babysitter by WickedlyAwesomeMe [Teen & Up Audiences, 29 Chapters, 145k]

Summary: It was a dark and stormy Sunday night when Hermione Granger unexpectedly visited his house and entrusted him with her daughter, Rose. Disaster ensues.

Slow burn Dramione with a sprinkle of cute, cute Rose!

The Best of Me by MrsRen [Mature, 21 Chapters, 82k]

Summary: Officially, Hermione Granger was killed in action during the Battle of Hogwarts. Unofficially, Draco Malfoy has never stopped searching for her. Years after the war during a mission in France, his salvation comes in the form of a little blond boy and a familiar half-Kneazle.

Chronos Historia by In_Dreams [Mature, 27 Chapters, 98k]

Summary: Hermione and Draco stumble upon a mysterious portal and find themselves hurtled back through time a thousand years. Forced to team up to find a way home, they quickly realize that much of the history they believed to be fact, wasn't true after all. A founders era, time travel Dramione.

Presque Toujours Pur by ShayaLonnie [Fiction M, 38 Chapters, 174k]

Summary: Bellatrix's torture of Hermione uncovers a long-kept secret. The young witch learns her true origins in a story that shows the beginning and end of the Wizarding wars as Hermione learns about her biological father and the blood magic he dabbled in that will control her future.

omnia vincit amor by SyrenGrey [Explicit, 40 Chapters, 187k]

Summary: Dark days are here at Hogwarts, and the darkest cloud of all is hanging over Draco Malfoy's head. Already burdened with the impossible task of murdering the Headmaster, life becomes more complex when an elusive prophecy entangles him with a bushy-haired enemy, and a steamy forbidden romance unfolds. Sixth Year. Rated E for sexual content and violence.

Rose by longdistance [Mature, 5 Chapters, 20k]

Summary: A short tale of what happens after Hermione and Draco wake up with each other after a drunken night together. Alcohol often has consequences which they soon learn.

[recurring-polynya]

Ssusbssiwbwowj I loved tattoo artist Renji, thank you so much for fueling my hyperfixatation 😫👌🏼 what are some other RenRuki au’s/scenarios you’d love to see?

Ahh, thank you so much! I liked the Tattoo Artist AU a lot, too, and I have been toying with the idea of continuing it. It was kinda hard to write, tho (I’m not sure why, aside from the fact that everything is hard to write these days), and I would have to make An Outline, so I dunno. We’ll see.

Gosh, AUs *I’d* like to see? It’s kinda hard because I am a writer, so if I really wanted to see one, I would just...write it?

Here are a few that I would like to see, but can’t write, for whatever reason:

Cop AU. Please, I just want them to drive around in a cop car at top speed together and go on stakeouts and drink coffee at 2am and solve mysteries and Have Each Other’s Backs. Give me Police Captain Byakuya pounding his fist on his desk when he yells at them. I hate cops tho, so I would never.

PacRim AU. Oh God, they were drift compatible! I did write a little drabble of a PacRim AU once. I love PacRim, but there is just no way I’m going to get into it deep enough to feel confident writing in the world. I really really like the GrimmIchi PacRim AU Dark Was the Night by @sayhitofoever which has RenRuki as background copilots, although obviously I would love one where the focus was on them. Golly, I love the word “Shatterdome.”

Abhorsen AU, based on the Garth Nix books. I started this (you can read it here) and intended to re-read Sabriel, which is one of my favorite books and I just... couldn’t get into it? I’m having a lot of trouble reading lately because my brain is bad. Anyway I love this AU, but there’s no way I am ever going to finish it.

Amatuer Hockey AU. Another one I started, like 2 years ago and stalled out on. I play hockey myself (or I did before the pandemic anyway) and it was just an incredibly self-indulgent thing. Should I post it? I have a solid first chapter written. I could post it.

Jane Austen AU. This is very specific, but what I want is a Chad/Uryuu Emma/Persuasion mashup where Uryuu tries to meddle in his friends ‘ romantic lives and Renruki and Ichihime are his unwilling victims, and Chad is sort of a dreamy Mr. Knightly character, but less patronizing. Everyone wears cravats. Renji is a sea captain, this is non-negotiable. I absolutely do not know enough about Regency England to write this.

A continuation of not one step, an Edo-era AU that @gizkasparadise wrote. I mean, she’s not gonna write more of it, she has far better things to do with her time, but like... in a genie granting me wishes situation, I would like a big, fat novel worth of this.

I also love every and any AU that makes one small change to canon and examines the ripples outward, this is probably my favorite thing in the world, because it examines the girders and pivots of the source material. Unfortunately, a lot of these turn out to be deeply uncreative, and it’s just “canon but the way the author thinks it would be better.” Great authors know that worse is always a much better story. Anyway, one I think about a lot is one where Renji quits the Academy to join the Kuchiki House guard so he can be close to Rukia, but I can’t figure out how to make a story out of it.

I whined about wanting a Hallmark Christmas movie Renruki AU and @thegreenfaery just... wrote one for me??? Can you imagine? She also wrote me this 80′s Wedding AU that I am deeply, deeply in love with. Anyway, she’s my favorite, I love all her stuff, as a fandom, she is our Best AU Writer (even if she’s really a ByaHisa writer, I am claiming her)

To be honest, the thing about AUs I just love to see what people do with them, and which characters they stick in which role, and what things they keep the same as in canon, and what is wildly different, etc. It’s more like I enjoy AUs on a meta level, more than I crave any particular AU.

Maybe it’s also that we don’t really have a critical mass of Renruki writers at the moment, that we don’t really get a lot of Renruki-centric AUs, but I read a lot of other AUs, hoping they will make appearances as side characters. There are a couple of those I really, really like:

Demon in the Rough by @murderlight is a GrimmIchi Spirit Society AU and I am obsessed with whatever is going on between Renji and Rukia in it (they clearly had some falling out prior to the action of the story, which Ichigo is also trying to figure out). Overall, it is a tiny part of the plot, but it’s fine, because the rest of the story is delightful. Unohana is a horrifying murder spider and Grimmjow has a pair of giant magical hands that follow him around, everything about this story is great.

Not So Easy A by apearlinmyhead is a GrimmIchi college AU. On the surface, College AUs are one of the least interesting ideas to me, but the characterizations and dialogue are so much fun, that, like I said, it’s really more about what the author does with it than the core of the idea itself. Renji and Rukia play the classic RomCom role of Lead’s Best Friends, and they make a bunch of dick jokes and drink boxed wine and go to the diner in the middle of the night and this is really what I want out of an AU anyway.

To make a long story short, I just really like the concept of AUs and I wish our fandom had more of a critical mass of writers, so we got more of them. Probably the only kind of AU I do not like are the “soulmates” ones, where there is some thing (a red string, a tattoo, etc) that indicates when people are “soulmates,” because I reject the notion that everyone has some pre-destined perfect person for them. If someone wrote a Renruki one, I would still lose my mind over it, tho.

[palimpsessed]

So @captain-aralias​ did one of these and invited other writers to do the same. And I wasn't really going to because it feels a bit late now and also I've done quite a few other year in review posts for 2020. But then I got to thinking that it would be really nice to have one of these for each year to look back on and compare, which convinced me. So, here we go!

If you’re a writer, I’d also encourage you to steal this. Tag me on your post so I can see your thoughts! 🥰

List of Complete Fics for 2020 1. At the Top of a Tower, With You- General, 900 words 2. Use Your Words- Teen, 16k 3. A Man of Letters, or Five Times Baz Retreats and the One Time He Doesn’t- Teen, 54k 4. To the Manor Borne- Teen, 43k

Total: 4 fics, 113k words

Every one of these fics was written for an event, which, realistically, is the only reason they got finished. I have so many ideas I'm working on all at once, and I came into fandom with a focus on making art, so to actually find the motivation to sit down and write/finish/post a fic was entirely deadline based. And it's a technique I'm sure I will also employ in 2021.

Best/Worst Title?

Well, I've mentioned a few times before that I usually have a title before I have much in the way of a fic concept. I don't really dislike any of the my titles, because they all did exactly what I needed them to do, which was help me focus on what I wanted to accomplish in the fic. Comparatively speaking, though, I can answer this.

Best: Use Your Words - succinct, idiomatic, a book quote/motif that also has the potential to be a spell, does what it says on the tin, is probably what all of us are constantly yelling at Baz and Simon to do throughout the books and the fic itself

(Honorable mention to A Man of Letters because that title forms a perfect heart shape when viewed on mobile on AO3. ❤️)

Worst: At the Top of a Tower, With You - this is also a quote and it fits the fic perfectly, but it is a bit of a mouthful and it has a comma in the middle of it, which, while I love commas, feels a bit off-putting in terms of a title - also, it's always kind of bothered me that it's a Baz WS quote used for a CO-era Lucy POV

Best/worst summary?

Again, I don't really dislike any of my summaries.

Best:

To the Manor Borne: The gang decides to spend Christmas together at Pitch Manor. Romance, hijinks, and holiday cheer ensue.

Anything that lets me use the word hijinks is always good! - it's short and sweet - it does a fair job of setting up the premise for the fic and giving highlights, without giving anything away

Worst: A Man of Letters

I'm not going to include this one because it's so long, I had to cut down the version I posted on tumblr to fit in the AO3 field, which is really why I rank it below my others - it effectively sets up the world of Simon and Baz in Regency England prior to where the story starts, but it is prohibitively long - and it's set up, not summary, so it also loses points for not doing what it purports to do - I could have said exactly what this fic was in one sentence: "Simon and Baz meet at several Regency-appropriate venues over the course of a London season and reflect on their acquaintance in letters", but instead I did the full book jacket version because it was more interesting to me.

Best/Worst First Line?

Oh, this is interesting. I can honestly say that I have no idea where this will go. Going to pull up my docs and find out! Okay, since I only have four fics to consider, and I'm feeling split, I'm going to do two for each. I feel good about my words, but I will say that half of my first lines actually provide information, and the other half are incomplete thoughts. Those were stylistic decisions I made, but when taken alone, it does somewhat limit the effectivness of a sentence when it can't stand without the rest of the paragraph. Perhaps that decision will lure readers in for more?

Best:

In the end, we wind up at Pitch Manor. (To the Manor Borne)

I know that you won't be surprised when I tell you that I do not like writing letters. (A Man of Letters)

Kind of interesting that these both contain key words from the titles 🤔

Worst:

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do this. (Use Your Words)

I love how the title seems to be answering Baz's question when the two are put together like this 😂

Strange that it should end here, where it all started. (At the Top of a Tower, With You)

The title also seems to complete the first line in this one, too. I'm learning about my writing as this goes on, so that's cool!

Best/Worst Last Line?

Hmm. Okay, again, no idea. Also, a little leery of including last lines for anyone who hasn't read the fics they're from yet. (Tho I guess it's unlikely those people would be reading this😆) But let's see what we've got.

Use Your Words and A Man of Letters have very similar final lines, and both are somewhat spoilery.

Best: The ending of A Man of Letters felt risky to me, in the way that it is formatted and changes tone from the rest of the story. It was something that happened as I wrote it and I loved it. I had no idea if readers would like it, if they would feel like it worked as an ending, but I felt strongly enough about it to let the entire fic hinge on that and I think it really paid off. So, without giving you the actual last line, which is only one word, I'm going to say that one is my best ending.

Worst:

To the Manor Borne: "Carry on, Simon."

It's not bad, it's just not mine.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, fewer than you thought, or about what you predicted?

I did not set out to write any fics in 2020. I was supposed to be taking a break from writing. I've been an aspiring novelist for half my life now, and have been going through major ups and downs with my writing. I decided I needed to re-evaluate and figure out if writing was something that was even going to be able to make me happy anymore. The answer is: YES! Just…not original fiction. At the moment. I'm happiest when I can write for the sake of writing and not have to DO something with that writing. Which is why discovering fan fiction was AMAZING!!!! 🥰🥰🥰

To actually answer the question, yes, I wrote more than I thought I would. I also wrote exactly as much as I thought I would, simply because these were all things I signed up for (with the exception of my Countdown fic, but I committed to it as if it were something that required a sign up).

I have a lot more ideas for 2021, but I don't know how many of them will come to fruition. I'm not putting pressure on myself to have to do anything beyond what I sign up for again, because it did work out so well for me starting off.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

I mean, the pairing and the fandom were in no way a surprise. 😆 They're my only ones, so those were both a given. The genre is also not surprising.

What's your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest?

A Man of Letters, without any hesitation. I adore it so much. It's the kind of fic I know I will unabashedly sit down to read over and over, even if I'm the one who wrote it. I had one reader to please and it was ME. By far, my most self-indulgent fic.

Okay, NOW your most popular story?

That depends on the metric.

To the Manor Borne leads in Comments (107), Kudos (153), and Hits (1992), and Use Your Words leads in Bookmarks (26).

But since To the Manor Borne is top in 3 out of 4 metrics, I'll say that one.

Story most upderappreciated by the universe?

I mean, the least popular by a wide margin is At the Top of a Tower, With You, but I don't know if I'd call it underappreciated. It's short, it's angsty, it's got a very unusual style, it's Lucy POV, it's the first fic I wrote and posted. I didn't really go into it with high performance expectations. I'm proud of it, I just didn't expect it to be popular. It would be nice if more people read it, but I'm not broken up over it.

Story that could have been better?

I'm not even going to touch this one. Everything can always be improved upon, but if I go down that route, nothing will ever be done. This is one of the things I have come to appreciate about traditional art versus digital. With traditional, there is only so much you can do before something is permanent and you have to live with it. It's an exercise in letting go and acceptance. Digital is flashier and more flexible, but I could (and have) spend months on a single piece and never feel satisfied, never stop tweaking. I think that's also the reason I started to hate my novels.

Sexiest story?

Based purely on overall vibes, I find the understated tension of the Regency the most appealing, so I'm going to say A Man of Letters. I didn't actually stray into sex territory in any of my fics (though Simon and Baz have had sex by the time To the Manor Borne starts, and refer to it, and probably do it "offscreen"), but A Man of Letters is the one that feels sexiest to me. Lots of thirsting!Baz and feral!Simon and sensual hand touching (how risqué!) - and YEARNING. That, to me, is the sexiest vibe of all. So. Much. Yearning.

Saddest story?

At the Top of a Tower, With You - for this one, I tagged "angst without plot" and I stand by that. It's Lucy losing her connection to Simon at the end of CO and trying to find a way to reconcile herself to leaving him alone again. I gave it as much of a hopeful bent as I could, with the refrain of Baz's spoken "love" to cling to, but it's very sad.

Most fun?

To the Manor Borne - All of my fics have their fair share of angst, but this one also has some good, silly, holiday fluff thrown in. Since I wrote it for the Countdown, each chapter was based on a different prompt, which led to this one going in all sorts of directions no single fic probably ever should. Plus, it has the most Shepard, and Shepard always makes things more fun.

Story with the single sweetest moment?

Oh my god. I don't know. No, never mind. I do. It's To the Manor Borne, but it's split between the two gift giving scenes, the Constellations and Secret Santa/Gift Giving prompts. These were private moments between Simon and Baz, sharing themselves with each other, being vulnerable, and communicating. It's the gifts they give each other, yes, but it's more so the reasons they chose those gifts, and how they show part of themselves and share their love for each other, through those gifts, that had me in tears writing those two scenes. I'm super proud of them.

Hardest story to write?

Use Your Words - it was written for an exchange and that made it really hard to write it knowing there was this pressure of making my gift-ee happy with the fic. I'm proud of it, and they really liked it, but the anxiety was too much for me.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

A Man of Letters - if there is a fic better suited to me as a writer, I haven't met it. I started writing after reading Pride and Prejudice in high school, so I started out writing Regency and I spent years and years and years of my life obsessed. When I transferred into college, an administrator I had never met before heard my name during orientation and said, "Oh, you're the Austen scholar." (It is a small, private college, and I was a transfer, so the pool of students was even smaller. But still. Many years later, I'm clearly not over it.) I also did my senior thesis on an epistolary novel (Frances Burney’s Evelina), and my English Lit emphasis was for that time period. So, I felt like I had been preparing for this fic my entire adult life. 😂

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I don't think so. I tend to let my writing be dictated by the characters, so I'm always following their lead. Sometimes they'll do or say something that surprises me and takes me down a route I didn't necessarily foresee, but I don't think there was ever a point where one of them did something that made me rethink who they are as a character.

Most overdue story?

I will say A Man of Letters, since that one felt like a culmination of my seventeen-year-old self's wildest writing dreams. But I should probably say the Scooby Doo AU I still haven't managed to finish, because that one has been a WIP since I joined the fandom. Oops. (I'm hoping when I look over this in a year, I can feel smug that it's finally done.)

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing at all was a risk for me! And writing fan fic for the very first time! Writing an entire fic told only through letters. And then ending it in a completely different style from the rest of the fic. Doing a multi-chaptered fic for the Countdown, using a different prompt for each chapter, and publishing a chapter every single day for thirty days (with the exception of two days that had art). Signing up for fandom events in the first place!

What I learned from taking risks in my writing is the same thing I learned when I took risks in my art this year. I have a much better appreciation for what I've done when I push myself, I feel better about the end product, and I like it longer. I think it's really good for me to challenge myself creatively.

This year's theme and the story that demonstrates it most?

Oh boy. Um. Therapy! Both Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne had their big HEA moments built around sending Simon and Baz to therapy. I don't think that's likely to change for future fics, either. I feel like therapy as the theme for 2020 seems very fitting. (Also, I think I keep sending the boys to therapy because I'm trying to get myself there…)

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Just to write what I want to write, have fun, not put any pressure on myself, and to take risks in my writing and my art because it will help me to grow.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored [4] - Museum Admiration

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: Not every emotion can be deciphered, at least at first. 

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, slow burn, innuendos.

Word Count: 3,400

Series Masterlist

Flirting with people within the boundaries of formality as much as the society deemed fit was normal during balls, it was expected even.

And considering your education and everything your mother had taught you as well as making sure you were a prominent member of the ton just like she was, you were used to making small talk and flirting and even sometimes being courted.

But not like that.

You had managed to get your mind off the matter, and especially now that you were outside, you were able to focus on the warm sunlight on your skin. Your brother had suggested that you’d go on a picnic and go riding, and you had figured some fresh air would help you to not think about—

Well.

To not think about what you weren’t supposed to.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” your brother’s voice shot through your thoughts and your head snapped up from the embroidery you were busy with.

“I’m sorry?”

“What happened last night?”

You heaved a sigh, then lowered the hoop to put it into your lap.

“Nothing,” you said airily. “I danced with your friends.”

“And Anthony.”

“Well, he falls under that category, considering he’s your best friend,” you pointed out, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped. “Yes, I have danced with him as well.”

“And then left the ballroom for a while.”

“That sounds like a good summary of what happened,” you said and Elias tilted his head.

“Chérie.”

“I wanted to take some fresh air.”

“Right after dancing with him?”

You shot him a look. “Yes. What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’m not trying to say anything, you just looked all…” he motioned at you. “Breathless.”

“Funny you noticed that, I thought you were too busy dancing,” you pointed out. “Lady Georgiana surely looked all flushed after you finished your dance with her, and her mama was very much pleased.”

“You just got here, how do you know people’s names?”

“I made a friend!” you chirped. “She told me everything about everyone, you included.”

Elias furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, me included?”

“Yes, I’ve been told you’re quite in demand,” you said with a grin. “By mamas and daughters.”

“Oh no.”

“And that there are a lot of ladies ready to scratch each other’s eyes out to get a dance with you, which explains why Lady Georgiana was very excited even after your dance.”

“Who is your friend?”

“Her name is Cecily and she’s amazing,” you said. “I can introduce you to her if you’d like! Maybe you two would get along well, and who knows, maybe you’d fall in love and then—”

“How about you wait a little to get used to the city before you start matchmaking?” he asked and you heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I suppose,” you said. “But Elias, I’m sure if you met her—”

“Let’s go riding,” Elias interrupted you before standing up, then extended his hand for you to take it. You grabbed his hand and let him pull you up, then fixed the skirts of your riding dress to make sure you looked presentable.

Lucie stopped talking to her friend immediately and took a step towards you. “My lady?”

“Oh you can just enjoy the scenery, we will not take long,” you told her before following Elias to the horses.

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked while the stable boy helped you mount the horse. You thanked the boy, then followed Elias, fixing your dress again as your horse started trotting beside Elias’s.

“Of course.”

“What does the Duke really think about me being here?”

Elias hesitated for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. “He’s delighted.”

You rolled your eyes at his blatant lie. “Elias.”

“He is having some difficulties but he will get over them.”

You pressed your lips together, insecurity spreading through your system like poison.

“He still does not believe that mother was faithful to him, does he?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Please.”

Elias took a deep breath.

“I think he does believe that,” he said. “But I think that realization came too late, and now that she’s gone, he’s being consumed by guilt.”

“That’s the least he could do,” you said under your breath and Elias turned his head to look at you better.

“Forget what father thinks about you being here,” he said. “What do you think about being here?”

“That it’s temporary,” you stated after a momentary hesitation. “As soon as I fall in love and get married, I shall move out of his house and never see him again. I will not even come to his funeral.”

“Don’t say that.”

You scoffed. “Elias…”

“Please don’t say that,” he said, his voice way too quiet. “I really want us to be a family again, even if mother is gone.”

“He exiled her, Elias,” you insisted. “She was heartbroken until her last breath—I love you and you will always be my brother, but I do not see him as my father any more than he sees me as his daughter.”

Elias swallowed thickly, then tried to smile.

“Well, what if you never fall in love?” he asked you, trying to get rid of the heavy air of melancholia upon your mother’s memory. “What happens then? Do we get to keep you here?”

Your jaw dropped. “I will fall in love!” you said, your voice going a pitch higher, “Don’t even jest about it.”

“Yes but what happens if you don’t?” Elias asked, his grin getting bigger at the sight of your scandalized expression. “If none of the gentlemen in London are able to capture your heart?”

“I’m sure one of them will.”

“But if that happened, would you still get married?”

“Without love?” you asked. “No. Never.”

“You do realize that there are only maybe three couples in the ton that are in love with each other?”

“Fine, then me and my future husband shall be the fourth,” you said and he heaved a sigh.

“As long as you don’t get married just to get away from father…”

“I’d rather join a convent and live out my days in solitude than marry without love,” you said. “No, I correct myself. I will join a convent before I even consider marrying without love.”

“Father would never let you join a convent.”

“I will run away to a convent then.”

“I don’t think any convent would let you join,” Elias pointed out. “You’d probably fall in love with a priest there.”

“Elias!”

“I’m just saying, there could be a handsome priest there and before we know it…” he started but stopped talking when his eyes caught the sight of something and you followed his gaze, then your heart dropped to your stomach. Anthony—

Lord Bridgerton was on horseback with a younger lady that you knew to be his sister from the ball last night riding beside him, and they seemed to be in a deep discussion. She shrugged her shoulders in a stubborn way, making him heave a sigh and turn his head and as soon as he did, his eyes fell on you. For a second, you feared that he could hear your fast heartbeat as the horses kept walking and you unavoidably approached each other.

“Anthony,” Elias greeted him, “Miss Eloise.”

“Lord Westcliff.”

“Elias,” Anthony nodded at him before turning to you. “Lady Y/N.”

“Good afternoon.” You offered him a small smile but contrary to rest of them, you didn’t stop your horse. Elias pulled his brows together.

“Y/N?”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, still not making an attempt to pull the reigns. “He’s a new horse and I’m not used to…I think I have no other choice but to see where he goes, excuse me.”

“You know you could just—”

“New horse, my apologies!” you called out and let your horse walk past Anthony’s. As soon as you were sure they couldn’t see you, you directed the horse to take the first left turn and started making your way back to the stables.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him.

It was just that you had no idea how to talk to him especially after last night. You could finally understand why Cecily called him a rake and why Elias warned you about him, because if this was the effect had had on other ladies as well…

It was as if your insides were on fire and it felt way too dangerous.

You stopped your horse and ran your hand through his mane before getting off, then turned your head when you heard your name being called. Elias trotted his horse before he jumped off it, and made his way to you.

“So I’m supposed to believe you have no idea how to handle a horse all of a sudden?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m doing as you asked and keeping my interaction with him scarce,” you stated, linking your arm through his. “Now show me around the park, will you?”

                                  *

You were beginning to believe that the season in London was filled with activities for each and every evening, much like back home. This evening you were to attend a museum exhibition with Elias but the Duke was not coming as usual.

Something told you that he disliked being in the crowd, which was completely different than what your mother had told you about him. When he was still with your mother, he enjoyed these outings and made sure to attend every single one with her, and now…

Now it looked like he enjoyed solitude.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to see what this whole thing is about,” Elias muttered as you stepped out of the carriage. “Everyone in the ton is convinced that one of the artists that has his work in here is the next Da Vinci.”

“Is that right?” you asked. “Good to know that I should have high expectations.”

“Very high expectations,” Elias grinned as you both walked into the exhibition. “Sometimes I wonder if I could be an artist.”

“I’ve seen your sketches, no you couldn’t.”

He gasped and clutched at his chest dramatically. “How dare you?”

You let out a laugh. “Not unless you hired a tutor. Or two tutors.”

“I could hire tutors.”

“I doubt father would like it if his heir ended up as an artist.”

Elias snapped his fingers. “And that’s exactly why I couldn’t be an artist.”

“That and a lack of talent.”

He scrunched up his face, shooting you a look that made your smirk bigger.

“What?” you asked innocently. “Mother used to say that knowing your weaknesses is a strength and here I am, informing you of your weaknesses. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“You’re a terrible person.”

“Lord Westcliff!” someone called out and you and Elias both turned your heads, and Elias heaved a sigh.

“Give me a moment?” he asked and you pulled back.

“Of course. I will just look at the paintings over there.”

“Don’t wander off though—” he started but his eyes found someone over your shoulder, and he bowed immediately, making you turn around to see the beautiful older woman in a magnificent dress.

“Lady Danbury,” he greeted her. “This is my sister, Lady Y/N.”

“Lady Danbury,” you dropped a curtsy and she returned it.

“Lady Y/N,” she acknowledged you. “Lord Westcliff, it seems like your fellow men want to talk to you. Why don’t you give us a moment?”

“Of course,” Elias said and walked to his friends, and you smiled at her.

“It’s very lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she said. “Welcome to London. Would you like to take a turn around the room?”

You nodded, then started walking beside her.

“My condolences for your loss,” she said. “Your mama was a wonderful woman.”

That familiar lump got lodged in your throat once again but you managed to blink back the tears.

“You knew her?”

“I knew her very well. She was a dear friend of mine.”

“It makes me happy to hear that,” you said. “I’m afraid I barely know anything about her days here. She refused to share her past most of the time I asked.”

“You should know that she was a kind and wonderful woman, adored by many.” she said. “And she did not deserve that treatment, not at all.”

“Then you—” you stammered. “Please forgive me for being blunt Lady Danbury, but then you know that…”

“I know that those accusations were nonsense,” she finished your sentence. “You were blessed with a very smart mother Lady Y/N, but unfortunately the same cannot be said for your father.”

Your jaw dropped as a laughter escaped from you, making you cover your mouth and she smiled at you before she stole a look at the corner of the room, her smile getting bigger.

“Well,” she said. “Enjoy the exhibition, Lady Y/N. I think we will see each other more often.”

She made her way to a couple of ladies who looked very happy to see her, leaving you completely dumbfounded. You let out a breath before grabbing a glass of lemonade from one of the trays the servers were carrying, then stepped closer to a painting, a fire sweeping over your face at the half naked figure of the woman painted there.

This was acceptable back in France but you had no idea that it was acceptable for the strict England society as well.

The whole room was buzzing with chatter behind you, but somehow, your heartbeat seemed to pick up on the presence way before your brain did. Maybe it was the pleasant scent, maybe it was the dark hair you could see out of the corner of your eye, but even before he stepped closer to you, you knew he was there.

“Lady Y/N.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” you greeted him back, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on the painting.

“I should have guessed you would be by the only French artwork in the museum, I suppose.”

That made you steal a look at him before turning your gaze to the small plate under the painting, then smiled slightly.

“I thought the style looked familiar,” you muttered. “I’ve seen his work back in Paris before.”

Anthony hummed, sipping his drink and you shifted your weight, your heart beating in your ears. Even if the room was very crowded, somehow both of you standing in front of a half-naked painting felt…

Way too intimate.

“Did you enjoy the rest of the ball the other night?” he asked and a fire spread under your cheeks but you managed to keep your eyes on the painting just like him.

“Very much so,” you said. “There are some friendly people in the ton as it turns out, even though they’re very rare. And I’ve decided to take your advice.”

“You’re going to glare at them back?”

“I’m working on it,” you pointed out, making him raise his brows. “Very cautiously, I may add.”

“Why is that?”

“Based on everything I’ve read on war, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s better if people who might be your enemies cannot tell what you think of them.”

“And you believe war strategies would work on the ton?”

“You don’t?” you asked back and he thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

“You might have a point,” he admitted. “The enemy watches even now.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you gazed up at the painting before stealing a look at him. He seemed to have somehow understood what the smile you had been trying very hard to hide meant because both of you turned your heads to look behind you to see the crowd of ladies staring at you. They averted their glances and dispersed almost immediately and you and Anthony both looked up at the painting again as you tried to keep a straight face.

“I counted five people.”

“I counted ten,” he said and you shook your head.

“Intimidating, I tell you.”

“Could be worse,” he commented. “They could’ve been on horseback. I’m glad to see that you could survive your new horse, by the way.”

Oh he knew. He knew you hadn’t even attempted to stop your horse, but you managed to keep your expression still as if restlessness wasn’t pulsing through you.

“It surprised me as well,” you said. “A miracle, if you ask me.”

“Perhaps you need some riding lessons,” he said, for some reason a small smirk playing on his lips and you pulled your brows together, then shook your head.

“No, I figured it out.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” you said. “In any case it’s honestly not that difficult, it just takes some time to get used to it. The principles are the same as in France, you mount it, maintain your balance and move and the rest is almost natural.”

He bit down his smirk, tilting his head as a look of mischief crossed his dark eyes.

“…What did I say?” you asked as you looked up at him, blinking in confusion, and he cleared his throat.

“Nothing,” he said “I’m glad it wasn’t just you running away from me then.”

“I couldn’t possibly have a reason to run away from you Lord Bridgerton, I barely know you,” you stated. “Other than what I heard from rumors, that is.”

“Rumors?” he repeated. “Like what?”

“I’d enlighten you about them but I’m sure you already know,” you said, using the same words that he had used back in the ballroom when he was dancing with you, and he clicked his tongue.

“Ah. So you were running away from me after all.”

“I was not!” you protested as you pulled your brows together. “I just—you— I was not. Why would I?”

“I have no idea,” his tone was almost taunting. “Why would you indeed?”

You had no idea whether you wanted to reach out or push him away, especially when that damned smirk appeared on his lips again, causing your whole face to feel like it was on fire.

“I should probably go,” you managed to say, taking a deep breath. “Elias must be wondering where I am and I’ve been told your traditions frown upon private conversations if they take long even in public so... I should go.”

Unlike yours, his voice was completely calm. “Alright.”

“I—I’m leaving.”

“It was a pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

You lingered there for a moment, unable to drag your gaze from him. The frustration of not being able to decipher what this feeling was and why it was affecting you this deeply hit you out of nowhere and you stuck your nose up in the air, your lips pulling into a petulant pout.

“Actually,” you said. “No. I changed my mind, I was here first so you should leave.”

He looked way too amused by your behavior. “Oh is that right?”

“Yes.”

His eyes captured yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “Do you want me to leave?”

You swallowed thickly. “…Yes.”

“Alright,” he said after a beat, as if he enjoyed your fidgeting even though you kept his gaze, your chin raised defiantly. “If that’s what the lady wants.”

“It - it is what I want.” you stumbled over your words, your stomach doing an excited flip as he took a step closer.

“Enjoy the exhibition Lady Y/N,” he murmured, his deep voice making you bite on your lip before he bowed and walked away from you to the other side of the hall.

You waited until you could no longer see him out of the corner of your eye, drumming your fingernails on the thin glass. You bit inside your cheek before downing your lemonade to put it on a tray and made your way through the crowd to find Elias, your heartbeat still echoing in your ears.

“Where were you?” he asked as soon as you reached him and you grabbed another glass from a tray.

“I was um- I was taken by a portrait.”

He hummed absentmindedly. “Did you like it?”

You took a deep breath, then stole a look around the room.

“I’m still trying to figure that out, all I know is that it is rather confusing,” you commented, then took a huge sip to calm yourself down. “Let’s walk around, shall we?”

Chapter 5

                                     *

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[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 5

Wooo lemon ahead. And backstory, SO MUCH BACKSTORY. And understanding. Again, many thanks to @kriskukko​ for indulging my regency era orc fantasy. Many thanks to @punkhorse96​ for all your amazing feedback. It’s time for more of that zesty lemony good good. lol. Enjoy. 

Blood For Gold 

Part 5

But life had other plans. Demsey then found himself absolutely swamped with work. Between shipments arriving wrong or late and to make things worse, his nagging guilt concerning you seemed to eat away at him and what little sleep he did get was plagued by dreams of you, your face on Audra Draft’s body and losing himself completely in you. 

It was the day before the ball at Havenfield and Demsey felt if he did not find some relief from these frustrations, he was going to internally combust. 

Meanwhile your own life became a little hectic as well. Agnes and Jane came by nearly every day to deliver directions and advice- basically it was how to be a lady in high society lessons, made sure you could dance all the dances, make sure you minded your manners and made sure that it was practically drilled into you what was “acceptable” and what was “unacceptable” behavior. It was so much you wanted to just scream and by now, your staff knew to give you a proper feast right before bed after Jane and Agnes left so that at least you didn’t go to bed hungry but you had another hunger that could not be satisfied no matter how many times you tried to satisfy it yourself. 

The day before the ball at Havenfeild, you managed to shirk Agnes and Jane and insisted that you needed the day to yourself so that you could prepare, and do an elaborate beauty treatment, which was a half truth. But the beauty treatment could be done within about an hour or two. Not necessarily all day but you didn’t want to admit that to them. 

Instead you dressed in one of your more seductive dresses in the moura style instead of the regency, had Malcom take you back to The Red Velvet Rope, drop you off, take the carriage around the parks so that it appeared you were taking a tour of the parks instead of getting a good rutting and you were willing to spend at least fifty pounds if it meant you could have Draft all to yourself, for about an hour or so. You wanted to be made love to- in every way possible in every position you could think of and you wanted to actually feast on real food along with feasting on Mr. Draft too. 

“Welcome back Lass, what will it be for you today?” Annie greeted with a grin as she readily handed you a gold mask which you eagerly put on. 

“Is it possible to get Mr. Draft for say, an hour? And do you have any food you can serve up there? Because I’m hungering in more ways than one.” You asked hopefully. 

“Oh of course Love, here’s a menu.” She offered as you took the menu and read it over, the English side of the menu left you leaving your nose crinkled until you turned it over and read the back and your eyes lit up and a smile bloomed on your face when you recognized an actual moura menu from almost every moura court back in the stables which you happily ordered off of. 

“Then you’ll be needing a proper suite that has a table in it eat off of. You’ll need suite 23. I’ll be sending Draft up to you when he’s done with his current guest.” She assured you as you happily paid Annie for not just the suite and Draft, but dinner too. 

“Thank you.” You practically sang as she unlatched the thick velvet rope and you practically ran up the stairs to your room on the second floor this time. 

Meanwhile Demsey had also come into the gentlemen’s side of the building and strode right over to the second desk to see Maria there. 

“Good evening Sir, what can I do for you?” She asked. 

“I would like a rut with Audra again, if she’s available, perhaps for a little longer than last time.” He answered. 

“Aye, Audrey is with a client at the moment, but she’ll be ready in just a little bit, if you’re wanting a longer time for her, might I suggest a proper suite then? Less likely you’ll be disturbed.” She offered. 

“Perfect.” Demsey nodded. 

“Room 24 then, on the second floor,” she informed him before Demsey paid for Audra and the suite before ascending the steps and once he got to the second floor and into the hallway, he caught sight of Audra practically marching down the hallway and his own smile bloomed brightly. “Oh please tell me you’re here to see me Demsey.” You purred as you outright strutted and sauntered your way up to him. 

“Why else would I come? I couldn’t stay away.” Demsey grinned.

“Good, I hope you’re hungry, I have a feast ordered for us, a proper moura one too, and I hope you’ll eat it as well as you will me.” You purred as you took his hand and led him to room 23 as Demsey was powerless to resist and was liable to agree to anything, even his own birthrights the way Audra purred her desires at him, if she asked for his company in that tone, he would happily hand it over and the second the door was closed and the little ‘do not disturb, except for food’ pillows were hung on the door handle. You took off your coat to reveal one of the sexiest dresses you owned and it had Demsey’s jaw on the floor. He was used to seeing black lace, but not a dress made up of nothing of, beautifully sheer black lace where next to nothing was left up to the imagination and your gold moura marks on your skin underneath, glowing and pulsing, was utterly hypnotizing again. 

“Do you like it?” You asked as you struck a pose for him before you twirled in place for him. 

“Very much so,” Demsey readily agreed as his gaze devoured you first before his hands found their way to you and pulled you to himself so he could finally kiss you as your own hands made quick work of his clothes. 

“So many clothes and layers to get through, you sure do make me work to get at you Demsey but by the gods are you ever worth it.” You praised and Demsey fought not to literally tear his actual clothes off because nothing that anyone had ever said to him made him feel more powerful or desired as he readily figured out how to undress you, surprised when it was just a simple dress with structure for your bosom but you were not wearing a thing under it and the way you were walking him towards the bed, pieces of his own attire being tossed aside the moment they were loosed from his frame until you had bared him completely as he kicked his own boots and trousers off as you laid back on the bed. 

“Now, eat my cunny like it’s your last meal.” You ordered as you propped yourself up on your elbows with your legs open wide in invitation and Demsey didn’t need to be told twice. Granted he hadn’t really eaten a woman’s cunny...ever. But he was willing to try and willing to make a good go of it as he happily laid down on his stomach, with his head between your legs and tried to go to work and the way your thighs came to rest on his shoulders and the way your hands clawed into his hair and scalp and the way his name came off your lips like a dreamy sigh as he tried adding his fingers to the mix, to see if that would work also, had him feeling happy and relieved when that seemed to help and was what you wanted and needed from him. 

You were practically writhing, moaning and keening desperately as your pelvis bucked and grinded in his face, needing more contact as you also guided him and his movements until he seemed to finally learn you and put it all together and found just the right touch, with the right pressure, the right movements, not too fast or too hard, the right suction on your nub and using his fingers to curl and press at something that felt like a soft..walnut shell on the inside of your canal and watched as your moura marks continued to pulse faster and brighter as you were pulling on his hair so tight, he almost feared you would scalp him but the taste of your cunny was addictive, slightly odd at first, but the more he “ate” the more hungry he became and the thirstier he got for your sweet nectar that flowed from it as he was surprised how quickly he acquired a taste for it and how much it fueled his own desire and especially to hear you say his name like it was your greatest desire and want, only spurned him onward as he ground his own erection that wept almost pitifully into the blankets on the bed as it seemed to want a piece of it too and when you finally came, your canal practically gushing into his mouth as he greedily sucked it down while your moura marks lit up and stayed alight while you rode out your orgasm on his face as your legs kicked out as your thighs squeezed his head so tight he felt dizzy, but he could die happy before your whole body laxed as the light in your gold moura marks faded. 

“Wow.” You breathed as you fought to catch your breath as you basked in the afterglow as Demsey gave your cunny one last long lick before you pushed his forehead down and away. 

“Easy, I’m over sensitive now.” You pleaded. 

“Good?” Demsey asked as he licked his chops. 

“Very good.” You praised as it had been literal years since the last time you were eaten so enthusiastically, you were at the stables still and having a friend’s brother do that for you from time to time just to keep you pleasant since oral sex was allowed between non married moura partners and it was a good way to keep moura brides satisfied while keeping them “pure” for their future husbands and it wasn’t unusual for a moura gentlemen to have several women he “serviced” in addition to his work, in fact there were special breaks for it during the work day. And since mouras had a unique gift in that they never got sick. In fact the only things to ever kill a moura before and after the plague was a broken heart and old age, they could even drink literal poison and it would act like alcohol to them. They were immune to every other disease and didn’t get any sexually transmitted disease and often laying with one could cure you if you already had one while they remained unharmed as long as feelings and attachments weren’t involved, you could theoretically give and receive as much oral and even anal sex as you wanted. In fact it was usually a skill most moura brides could pride themselves on in giving a good suck and often worked quite hard on suppressing their own gag reflex so they could please their future husbands well, which was made easier by a very stretchy throat, a bygone gift from the evolution of the species having a croup no matter their form, there was even a small airway that connected the nose straight to the lungs, like a glottis on a snake, so she could keep breathing while sucking off a cock, or even eating and it also meant the throat was simply extra stretchy, letting moura brides take a cock of just about any size deep into their throats to almost their stomachs, and also to accommodate a mate of any size or species, most moura womanly canals were super stretchy too to accommodate whatever she needed to and large wombs to carry babies of most sizes and their pelvis could unhinge like a snake’s jaw to give birth easier. There were even special muscles in a moura’s abdomen to help carry a child better and birth easier. There was even a class on how to be good in bed that was taught right before a bride would leave, although most of it, she could figure out herself well before then. 

Demsey happily gathered you into his arms and was content to hold you while you recovered. 

“Ok, your turn.” You decided after you recovered enough. 

“My turn for what?” Demsey asked as you pushed him to lay back on the bed as his cock was still hard enough to drill through a wall of bricks as you simply giggled and settled yourself down and started to lick and sucked on the tip while giving him a hungry sultry look. 

“Oh,” Demsey breathed as he suddenly realized what you were getting at as he laid there and watched as your mouth lowered down as you started sucking him off enthusiastically before he couldn’t help but reach up and grasp your face reverently, running hands down your haw and your neck and shoulders.

“Scratch my back would you Love?” You requested as you popped off to ask that before you went back to sucking. Gods in the heavens above and in the waters below, was he delicious. Fresh and clean yet his precum was heady but addictive. 

Demsey readily scratched your back as he fought to keep his eyes open and then to feel you settle in his lap, your breasts squished against his balls as your arms laid over his thighs while your hands dug in between his cheeks and the mattress to get good handfuls of it to anchor you before you moved down so that his cock was aimed rather straight down before you opened your jaw and aligned him just right as you put your weight on your knees while your rear rose high in the air and then used your knees to power your body forward to take all of his glorious cock down your throat causing Demsey to nearly yell in surprise, because nothing like that had ever been done to him before and he was left to sit there and stare in astonishment. 

“Are..are you ok? Can you even breathe?” He asked worriedly but could feel your noiseless giggling breath from your nose into his own forest of hair around his cock as you nodded yes as Demsney’s eyes nearly rolled back to feel his cock rub so gloriously in your throat as you triggered your swallowing muscles to swallow around him, as humans had a muscle on the back of their trachea to assist in swallowing, mouras had muscles on every side of theirs and that nearly undid him before you started sucking him down until your lips were firmly around the base, his dark hair tickling the tip of your nose as it buried itself in it as you inhaled deeply his heady scent as your throat continued to swallow and slowly flutter down his cock as it was his turn to gasp and moan and keen and growl ever so deliciously as his finger tips threatened to claw at your own back because he didn’t want to leave any marks as he realized, this was why moura harlots were so expensive, because they could do this, because most could never do this and continue to breathe but mouras could. This was one of the greatest pleasures of his life as a series of praises sprinkled with words of profanity began to fall from his mouth along with chanting your own name as you continued to suck away before one of your hands went to his ball sack and started to fondle them and stroke them and scratch at them ever so amazingly before you reached into him to try to find his prostate to massage that and that finally undid him as he couldn’t help but cry out desperately as he emptied himself down your throat while you smiled in satisfaction around him as you rolled your head from side to side with your chest so that his cock twisted inside you as Demsey’s whole body shuddered and shivered. 

“Please, I beg for mercy, it’s too much.” Demsey whimpered just as there was a knock on the door. 

“I have the moura Sultan’s feast?” Came a masculine voice as he opened the door just as you got back on your knees and slowly pulled your head out of Demsey’s lap as his softening cock now gently bended as it slipped out like a dead snake before it plopped onto the bed as Demsey laid there and basked in his own afterglow as the real Draft and Audrey lowkey watched on curiously as they were both impressed by the feat, but also in awe of your moura marks. Since neither of them had ever seen anything as grand as yours. You must be a moura straight from the colonies or more likely, the stables. 

“Thank you.” You happily thanked him as you took one of the robes hanging off a nearby dressing curtain and wrapped it around yourself as you adjusted your gold mask as both of them realized you were both wearing gold masks. You were both clients while they were in black silk masks as Audrey and Draft gave each other a meaningful look before they took your generous tips with grace and then quickly left again. 

“You still alive my Dear Demsey?” You cooed as you seated yourself at the table and began to fix your plate how you wanted. 

“What?” He managed to ask as he just now managed to peak an eye open to see you sitting pretty, looking like a dish yourself at the table. 

“Do you have no appetite?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder at him with a grin. 

“Oh I do, I just...men only have three hungers, one for food, one for release and one for sleep and you have managed to somehow make the one far more grand and important than the others.” He praised as he barely managed to gather himself together and get up and managed to get one of the larger robes and put it around himself and walk rather unsteadily towards the table. 

“So what is all this then?” He asked.

“Oh you poor thing, does no one order for you a proper Moura Sultan feast? Or is it too unpatriotic for an Englishmen to eat any other food that is common here?” You asked before you went around the table as you told him about each dish as he eagerly tried each thing, an explosion of flavors blooming on his tongue. 

“It’s actually this, that is the reasons moura are on earth and it is because of this that mouras are still alive.” You noted as you held up a hunk of turkish delight. 

“Turkish delight?” Demsey asked as he took it and ate it, although it was one of the most amazing confections. 

“Has your mother never told you of our history?” You asked as Demsey nodded no. The only history Demsey really knew was of his own orcish and English heritage but you clearly frowned underneath that beautiful gold silk mask. 

“To be so divorced from our history. Ok, so five millenia ago, it was the surface dwellers, making delicious foods, with fires that had smoke traveling oh so high with the scent of roasting meat and spices going up even to the heavens. Before then, mouras only associated with angles, since they were the closest neighbors. But it was food, rich spices, meats and fats and sweets and breads and it was the creation of delicious foods that tempted the first mouras down to the surface, first as angles, then as humans when some were too frightened of their angel form.” You began as Demsey happily sat and continued to eat and listen to you attentively. 

“But alas, no one ever gives something away for free what they worked so hard on themselves. And in an effort to find something that the surface dwellers would take in exchange for that delicious food, the heavenly moura picked up the rocks at their feet, used the very sunshine that gave them everything they needed, warmth, sustenance, life- and turned it into gold in exchange. But while that worked for a time and more and more mouras changed into their human form to walk amongst the surface dwellers, trying everything they could get their hands on, most of the time traveling in flocks, crashing weddings and festivals, gifting pure gold in exchange for a seat at the feasting tables, which their hosts happily accepted, using their moura cloaks to mimic whatever clothes they saw and even invented new styles of clothes for themselves out of it for a moura was both their clothing and their wings or simply a feathered cloak.” You explained as you gestured to the gold peacock feathers on your own skin. 

“But it did not last too long, for all the gold they gave soon incited The Great Danger, where surface dwellers cooked elaborate feasts, threw false weddings and festivals, and the purpose was to set a trap for as many mouras as possible so that all of them could turn mounds of stone and rubble and especially bricks of mud into gold and only when the mouras turned their own body weight in gold, were they released. And it is that gold that was the seed for every great king, emperor, czar, cesar and pharaoh came into power, because they employed the golden rule- whoever has the gold- makes the rules.” You divulged as Demsey’s eyes got wide in realization, because he had heard versions of this story as legends. But they were always from the ‘I captured a moura as a bride and now I’m king’ kind of legends. But to hear it from the moura’s point of view, was almost heartbreaking. 

“In answer- mouras divided themselves into two kingdoms, one- was against any moura from ever touching the surface of the planet ever again. The other, more tolerant simply set up rules in place for going to the surface but both kingdoms decided to gain a good defense. That is when mouras domesticated phoenixes and bred themselves to them since mouras used to be shapeshifters, having three forms, a human, an angel or a bird of their choice, including a pheonix. And thanks to breeding with the phoenixes, gained the phoenixes powers of spewing fire and rising from the ashes, and thus gained a small measure of immortality and turned a life span of two hundred years to up a lifespan of over 500 years, as long as they were rebirthed in the ashes, even though they were immune to phoenix and dragonfire already, if they chose to be reborn in the ashes, they can choose how hot the flames can be to be reborn. The hotter the quicker the burn, and the more painful but the lower the temperature, the longer it takes, so it’s a matter of slow and low or high and fast.” You explained. 

“Have you ever done it? Being reborn in the ashes?” Demsey asked. 

“No, such things were lost in the plague. You see, do you remember the stories of gold raining down from heaven? It happened roughly a hundred and sixty seven years ago but the plague started twenty years before then. It happened with the birth of a prince in the high heavenly moura kingdom. All moura babies are born with a gold moura mark at the base of the skull, within the first year, a feather cloak, the moura cloak grows from it, and it looks like a blanket made of feathers. A selkie has a seal skin, a moura had a moura cloak. And with it- all of the moura powers. Powers to heal every affliction, powers to live hundreds of years, powers to turn whatever they wanted into gold, all powered by soaking up the sunshine. But what happened was Prince Theonore, his cloak never did grow, but instead the gold feathers appeared right on his skin. He could not fly, he could not change, he had no powers at all and as the feathers bloomed on his skin, the heavier he became, and the harder it was for him to breathe. Because the air is much, much thinner in the heavens than it is on the surface. There was no altitude above or below the clouds that he could breathe at. Not until there was on place for him except for in a moura colony in the mountains, and even there, he had a hard team breathing. It wasn’t until he came to the low valleys that he could breathe with ease. After that all babies born stopped growing cloaks, stopped being able to fly or have any of the moura gifts, the colonies and the stables were invaded by droves of anxious heavenly moura parents, eager to care for their children who could not stay in the clouds with them because heavenly moura had built fantastic palaces in the clouds, from the outside, it just looked like a cloud, on the inside though, every inch was covered in luxury. Diamonds embezzling most of the surfaces that weren’t otherwise gold, silver or white marble. But the phenomenon didn’t stop there, once the heavenly moura came down, the colony moura’s children and the stable moura children also followed suit. It was like something was in the air. Like dust on the wind, it traveled the world, soon every moura who had the potential of having a cloak, it was all replaced with these marks on their skin. But if it had simply stopped there, it would have been fair, but no.” You shook your head as you could still hear your grandparent’s voice tell you these harrowing stories of their youth. 

“At the time, every summer solstice and winter solstice, all mouras who were able, took flight, in the summer, they would follow the sun around the world. In the winter- they followed the moon. And between 18-20 summers and winters, all mouras able, took their first flight. The Prince, had to spend years building up his strength and ability to breathe the thinner air that is above the clouds. There was a special carriage built for him so that his subjects might fly him on his first flight. For it is only after the first flight, that he has to lead that shows he is a qualified ruling moura. But the moment he was hoisted above the clouds, the atmosphere was so thin, that he could not breathe, but worse, the moment the sun shone on him, his gold moura feathers instantly turned black and began to burn him and within moments he dissolved like ash, the black particles dissolving off of him and the particles were then taken with a stiff wind to all the mouras behind him. And the particles killed all the heavenly moura upon contact, and it turned them into gold dust which then collected in the clouds. The mountain moura saw this and dove for the ground but the moment the dust touched them, it started to turn their own wings to pure gold and suddenly countless moura plummeted to the ground and it was only the angels who dove after them to keep them from colliding with the surface but once on the ground, all the moura had to lay down with their wings to the earth because trying to get up would snap their spines because a moura’s wings and an angel’s wings were the same size, but instead of light feathers, sinewy muscles and hollowed out bones to help with bearing the weight of them, to be suddenly so heavy and solid gold, was too much. It took almost every angel in heaven to find a cure. A special spell in a special liquid that looked like electrum that was drank and once it was drunk the wings could be changed back to flesh and blood and bone, they could be drawn into the body again, but with it, nothing a moura ever touched would be turned into gold ever again but in order for all the mouras to be saved from the plague, it was given to all. Those whose wings had been out could draw them back in but never out again, instead, the golden feathers then spread to their skin too and with it, their hair turned golden blonde, and their eyes golden yellow and it was the golden feathers that replaced the real moura marks that used to light up and glow around each moura like the northern lights around the world. After that, with no heavenly moura to maintain their castles and estates in the clouds, they all slowly reverted back to clouds and heavenly moura have become only a memory for some and a fable for others. And then clouds scattered the gold dust all over the world with the rains which was in reality, the golden dust ash of countless heavenly moura. After that, all heavenly moura had two options, go into a colony where neither king nor class exists, where you have to fend for yourself and be completely self sufficient and learn how to take care of themselves but where your genetics didn’t matter, who you were as a person did, and you could marry for love for there was no other reason to marry or go into the stables, where there still was a class system, with servants and palaces and estates and hierarchy and royalty and prestige. I’ll let you guess where a majority of the heavenly moura decided to reside.” You hinted at with a grin. 

“But over time, the golden feathers have become fewer and fewer with every generation away from “pure” moura and I have already seen how the moura mark that every moura baby is born with- becomes less and less, until it’s barely a tiny dot. Until there is no moura mark at all and whatever traits mouras have, will become extinct just like the cloak, just like the heavenly moura. We are a dying breed, even now so many women have a hard time conceiving in the stables when mouras have always been renowned for the ability to conceive and carry with the utmost of ease. I do not know about the colonies, but at least in the stables. A whole country that used to be bursting with people, where there were literally tens and hundreds of thousands of families within the stables, and now instead of having dozens of family lines per district and quarter, there is only two or three families. I came from the Hanging Garden Quarter, it used to be the Sultanate Quarter, the Sultanate quarter catered to hundreds of Sultanate states in the middle east and far beyond. But as the Sultanate states fell one by one like dominoes, along with most other empires, the need for us became null and void and what used to be a court that was the same size as London is now…” You voice broke and became thick with emotion before Demsey reached out and simply held your hand. 

“Now it’s just five palaces under the Hanging Garden Quarter. It won’t be but two, maybe three generations before the stables collapse completely and Dorierra will just be another colony. We have already opened the doors to other mouras to take it over and there are so many from all over the world in different colonies who have taken it up so the country doesn’t fall to a peoples other than mouras. If not in kind, at least in name. After so many millennia of feeling like we were the apex of creation, our own obsession with perfection saw to our downfall and our own lust for power and riches saw to our own demise. That is why each gold moura mark is a sad reminder of what we used to be and used to have. So enjoy it while it lasts. Because it will not be around for forever.” You explained as Demsey now understood why Sultana Aurdravienne would not return to the stables. Because there was nothing for her to return to. 

“Do you think any of that would have ever happened had mouras never touched the ground?” Demsey asked. 

“I think it would have happened much, much sooner, and if we hadn’t, no moura would be alive today, or even one or maybe a few millennia ago. We would have died out long before and all we ever would have been is a myth that would have had no evidence of existence at all, the only evidence we have is the pictures the angles have taken of the heavenly moura over time. And they have gifted those pictures to the colonies and to the stables so that at least we have tangible proof instead of memories from our elders, but even now some just say they are pretty pictures painted by someone with an extreme imagination because the hot air balloons have gone up into the clouds and of course there’s no traces of heavenly moura left up there, there’s no palaces or estates or people.” You mused as you shook your head sadly. 

“Now you know.” You told him. 

“However that being said, this is the closest taste of home since I came here a lifetime ago. I wish this place would open a restaurant, and actually sell the food as is without the casino.” You murmured as you finally really dug into your feast as Demsey was now struck with an idea on how to charm Sultana Audravienne, he was going to bring this food to her. But first, he was going to ravish the Audra before him the moment she was done eating. 

Meanwhile Audrey and Draft had gone to Annie and Maria to inform them of what they saw. 

“I thought it was weird that she likened you to a draft horse instead of the brahma bull you are.” Annie mused to Draft. 

“And I thought it was weird that the gentleman got your name wrong. He called you Audra instead of Audrey. No one really ever get’s your name wrong. Not even the Dauphin Ramsey get’s your name wrong.” Maria realized. 

“So what are we going to do, because if either of them comes back and the other is not here, they will surely know something is wrong if they request us thinking it’s the other. And it would be ruin for the lady especially if who she is sharing that room with knows that she is a lady and not a harlot.” Audrey asked. 

“We will figure out something. They seem to come at the same time, maybe their coincidences will continue?” Draft ventured. 

“Maybe, but if they find out and want to continue, we can always keep one of the affair suites open for them, I mean there’s no reason why we can’t keep taking their money and why you two can’t keep taking their tips at least, if they’re paying for a service, let them pay.” Maria insisted with a shrug of her shoulder as the others nodded in agreement. 

“I have no problem taking the money, it’s not like I’m not rendering those services anyway.” Draft shrugged as Audrey nodded in agreement.

[juliafied]

Fic writer meme

Thanks so much for the tag, @nug-juggler and @pedlimwen!! 

Name: Julia, juliafied on AO3 

Fandoms: Mainly Dragon Age, though I do enjoy Witcher and Harry Potter fanworks periodically as well

Most popular oneshot: Stretching Exercises, a NSFW tale of Hawke discovering yoga (which is not called yoga because Thedas, but it’s basically yoga) and Fenris liking what he sees. 

Most popular multichapter: The Lone Wolf’s Call, ‘most popular’ being a stretch since it’s my only true multichapter fic so far.

Actual worst part of writing: I get all sorts of decision paralysis to do with realism, especially when thinking about Thedas as a setting and not breaking immersion in the world. Since my main WIP contains a lot of location establishment and description, I’ll put a bathroom in Fenris’ new apartment, and then go down a multi-hour rabbit hole about the extent of indoor plumbing in the middle ages in Europe (and therefore, how realistic it is for Nevarra City to have indoor plumbing anywhere). Or, I’ll have Fenris and my Hawke riding a horse together to flee Kirkwall after the Chantry explosion, but then I’ll start looking into whether or not people actually ride horses together, and whether or not that distance would be doable within the timeframe given x size and age of horse, and onwards it goes. I’m an over-researcher, basically. Sometimes I gotta stop worrying about what makes sense and just get the words on the page! 

How you choose your titles: For my longfic, according to the setting of the chapter, though I’m finding that boring right now so I may change it. For oneshots, objects and phrases that appear in the text.

Do you outline: Yeah, probably overly so. The whole fic has a list of bullet points that I outlined at the beginning, and then once I sit down to write every chapter, I outline a few bullet points with ideas and what I’d like to happen in the chapter. Sometimes the outlining is a bit too extensive. I’m still figuring out my ~process~ at this point.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to: I just watched Bridgerton (and have been on a Regency-era movie binge recently) so a whole Regency AU fic for a Hawke debutante just materialized in my brain. Maybe my hands will get to that one someday. Think of the costumes! The intrigue! The scandal!

Callouts @ Me: Stop overthinking everything and just write!

Best writing traits: I think I’m fairly good at maintaining internal logic in my plots, where events flow logically from one another. I also feel like I’ve gotten a pretty solid handle on Fenris’ internal voice and dialogue at this point.

Spicy Tangential Opinion: I don’t really like canon fic of game events that much. Things like, here’s my player character and what they did in the game and all the events in the game and such, unless it a) does it in a really interesting format/gives an alternative perspective or b) fills in the gaps between canon events. I’ve definitely read fics that I enjoy that are canon fic but I find myself gravitating to AUs, post/pre-canon fics, or intensive character studies as of late. Oh yeah, also MGIT is not my jam.

Tagging @midnightprelude, @tevivinter, @hawkeish, @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul and anyone else who would like to do it (all my other mutuals who write have been tagged, I think)!

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Lovers Eye

Happy Valentines Day, everybody!! Hope you’re having a great day and finding great ways to celebrate love even if that love isn’t the romantic kind of love that society pushes is the only kind of love worth celebrating. Ironically, that’s what I’m doing here lol. But I’m also celebrating the platonic kind because IT’S @cosmicrealmofkissteria​‘s BIRTHDAY!!!! So I hope you like this humble birthday present I wrote for her! 

So a fun fact for everyone: in the early 1800s during the Regency Era in England, there was a trend where a person would give a loved one, usually a romantic partner, a necklace that had a close-up picture of their eye. It was called a “lovers eye”, and it was a way for their identity to stay a secret because only their eye was shown. It’s pretty dang romantic, if you ask me, and that’s how this story was born! Enjoy!!

Was it possible to feel like you were floating even though your feet were firmly on the ground? Because that was how Tomaziel had been feeling lately. 

He just couldn’t help feeling so happy, especially when Starchild was there. They had exchanged so many letters by now, so much he had lost count. But all of them were saved, tucked away in a dresser drawer if he ever wanted to reread them. And he had, many times. 

Even after months, a part of him still wondered if he was dreaming. He never thought in a million years Starchild would ever take a chance on him, and had been happy to simply be good friends and nothing more. He had even cherished that good friendship. And now, to have them become something more... it still felt like a dream. 

But it was real. The Spark was real. The romantic words Starchild wrote in his letters were real. The sensation of his heart fluttering whenever Starchild laughed was definitely real... and he knew because he was experiencing it right now as he watched Starchild clap a hand over his mouth to control the laughter threatening to burst out. 

It was late at night and they were in Tomaziel’s chambers, sitting on his bed and talking. Starchild was on a rather impromptu trip to Jendell, due to Princess Monique practically begging Ace to ask if he would visit on her birthday. It was only a day-long visit, and he would be leaving in the morning, but Tomaziel was willing to savor the time he could spend with him. 

Tomaziel couldn’t help smiling at Starchild and quipping, “You do realize it sounds like you’re laughing at Eric being hit on, right?” 

“I’m not laughing at that,” Starchild sniggered. “I’m laughing at what ended up happening.” 

“Well, what happened?” 

Starchild pushed back his hair and tried to control himself.  “Okay. So Eric told Ace that the man was trying to come onto him, and Ace said—” he wheezed and doubled over. “He said—I’m sorry,” he snickered. 

Tomaziel couldn’t help laughing himself. “Come on, tell me! What happened?” He wanted to know what was so funny. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Starchild giggled, pushing back his hair and trying to control himself. “Ace said, and I quote, “Let’s make out so he thinks we’re together and he’ll leave you alone.” And they did.” 

Tomaziel’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. “They made out?” 

“They made out.” Starchild looked like he was going to burst from the laughter he was holding in. 

“Right there in the club?” A wide, incredulous smile was forming on his face. Honestly, it did sound like something King Ace would do, but it was still a bit of a shock to hear. 

“Right there in the club!” Starchild finally gave up and burst out laughing, doubling over to hide his face in his knees. 

Tomaziel threw back his head and started laughing. “Was there—” he had to take a moment to contain his laughter long enough to finish. “Was there tongue?”

“I didn’t see, but I’m pretty sure there was.” Starchild giggled at the memory. “Oh, you should have seen Eric. He was shocked speechless. And Heather...” His smile faded for a moment, then reappeared with a light laugh. “She was laughing so hard.” 

“Ace just went for it, didn’t he?” Tomaziel asked knowingly. 

Starchild laughed again. “He did. He just swooped in and made out with him right there.”

“I wish I could have seen that,” he snickered. “Should we tell the Queen what Ace did?” 

“I’m not sure... Do you think we should?” 

“Oh, definitely. She would have a field day with this.” 

Starchild giggled. “I can tell her at breakfast tomorrow before I leave,” 

At that, Tomaziel’s smile faded a little. He didn’t really want to be reminded that he couldn’t spend more time with Starchild, not until he either went to KISSteria or Starchild found a reason to go on another trip to Jendell. 

He couldn’t help sighing and reaching out to graze Starchild’s fingers. “I do wish you could stay longer,” he said aloud. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy to see you, but I just wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.” 

Starchild took his hand with a sympathetic look and squeezed it. “I know,” he agreed. “I’m sorry I never get to see you as often as I would like. Do you... Do you want to keep writing letters?” 

“Of course I do,” Tomaziel nodded immediately. “I love writing to you.” 

The smile that graced Starchild’s face made his heart flutter again. “So do I... I do understand wanting to see each other more.” He let out a sheepish laugh. “I keep sketching pictures of you.” 

Tomaziel grinned widely. “Really? Can I see them sometime?” 

“Of course; I can send them with letters.” Then Starchild’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, that reminds me! I wanted to give you something before I left.” 

“Starchild, the Princess is the only one that’s supposed get gifts today,” Tomaziel reminded him jokingly as he swung his legs to get off the bed. 

Starchild laughed as he went over to his jacket, which was hanging off a bedpost. “I don’t think she’ll mind. Besides, it’s a special gift.” 

Tomaziel leaned in curiously as he moved to take something out of his jacket pocket. “What is it?” 

He took out a small black box and moved to climb back onto the bed, then handed it to him with an eager smile. “Open it,”

When Tomaziel opened the lid, he found a gold chain necklace sitting on a bed of dark blue velvet. The pendant was a simple gold oval shape, and contained an image of a beautiful brown eye with strands of dark hair falling over it. It suddenly occurred to him that the eye looked familiar...

He held up the necklace beside Starchild’s face and looked between the two. “Is this your eye?” he finally realized.

Starchild smiled and nodded. “It is. It’s called a lovers eye necklace. I had it made with an image of my eye for you. I thought... well, I thought it would be a nice gift. Do you like it?”

Tomaziel’s heart swelled as he gazed at the necklace. Somehow it was made even better by how it wasn’t too extravagant; just a simple gold necklace. Starchild knew he wasn’t the extravagant type. No one had ever given him a gift this meaningful before.

“Starchild, this... this is wonderful.” A touched smile bloomed across his face as he looked at Starchild. “I love it.”

Starchild smiled happily back, then laughed as he unfastened the clasp on the chain. “Are you putting it on right now?”

“Of course,” Tomaziel grinned at him. He fastened the clasp around his neck and turned the pendant around to look down at it with a smile. “I’ll never take this off.” 

His smile widened a little when Starchild’s cheeks turned pink and he let out a giggle. “Smooth talker,” 

Tomaziel chuckled. “Really, this is amazing. Thank you...” He gave a sheepish laugh. “I don’t know how I can repay you for this.”

“You don’t have to repay me,” Starchild shook his head. “It’s yours; don’t worry about repaying me.”

“But it’s beautiful... I feel as if I should.”

“Well...” Starchild’s smile turned impish. “If you insist... you can repay me with a kiss.”

Tomaziel laughed. “I can definitely do that.” He cupped Starchild’s cheek and leaned in to give him a soft kiss. He could feel the necklace around his neck and smiled into the kiss. Starchild probably thought he was joking, but he meant what he said; he was just so touched by this gift that he really never wanted to take it off. 

-KISSTERIA-

MANY YEARS LATER

It was early in the morning, too early to get up just yet. And yet, Starchild was awake and sitting up in bed. His head was leaned back against the headboard and his eyes were closed, savoring the quiet and calm before he had to get out of bed and be King for the day. 

At that thought, his eyes opened and he looked down at the man lying beside him and his lips drifted up in a faint smile. Tomaziel lay in bed, still sound asleep, and Starchild simply observed him, not having the heart to wake him up. He couldn’t help admiring his face in the daylight seeping through the windows, and almost wanted to get out of bed to grab his sketchbook so he could capture the beautiful, tranquil image. Even after being married to Tomaziel for many years now, the sight of his beautiful husband still took his breath away. 

His eyes traveled from his face down to his bare chest, and he smiled as his own eye gazed back up at him. The necklace showed signs of age; the gold had darkened, even after being polished many times, and if he looked hard enough he knew he would see a couple small dents. But there it was in the same place it had always been, still around Tomaziel’s neck and resting on his chest like it really did belong there.

He watched the necklace rise and fall with Tomaziel’s breathing with a fond smile. He had always figured Tomaziel would at some point take off the necklace. Maybe there would even come a day where the necklace was taken off and never put back on again. But that day never came; the necklace stayed around his neck, never taken off. Even after years, whole decades, Tomaziel really had kept that innocent little vow he’d made when Starchild first gave it to him. 

Starchild reached out and gently brushed away a few strands of hair that were stuck to Tomaziel’s mouth. At his touch, Tomaziel stirred, and after a few moments he turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. Starchild smiled at him when he met his eyes. “Good morning,”

“Mmph... Good—” Tomaziel was interrupted by a wide yawn, making Starchild smile affectionately as his entire face scrunched up. “Mmm, good morning,” he finally said, his voice low from sleep. “Is it time to get up?” 

“Not yet,” Starchild smiled playfully. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” 

Tomaziel gave a snort of a laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the King of KISSteria was flirting with me.” 

“Oh, I only flirt with my husband.” He grinned at him and tapped his nose. “Oh wait, that’s you.” 

“Lucky me,” 

They shared a laugh, then Starchild fell quiet again as he looked back down at the lovers eye pendant. 

“I’ll never take this off.” His heart fluttered at the memory of Tomaziel saying the words. It was an innocent little promise, said in the heat of the moment, and yet... 

“What’s on your mind, love?” Tomaziel asked softly.

Starchild couldn’t help smiling at the tiredness in his voice. “Just thinking...” he delicately picked up the pendant. “I can’t remember the last time you took this off.”

“Neither can I,” Tomaziel smiled. “Have I ever taken it off?”

“You might have...” Starchild chuckled. “But I can’t remember.”

Tomaziel chuckled softly. “Well, I did say I would never take it off.”

Starchild smiled lovingly at his husband. “You did.” He kissed his forehead. “Why don’t you sleep a little longer?” 

His husband’s eyes were already drifting closed. He settled back into the pillows with a sigh, then mumbled, “I never did repay you for the necklace,” 

Starchild couldn’t help rubbing his thumb over the edge of the pendant. “Don’t worry, my Knight,” he murmured. “You’ve more than repaid me.” He smiled down at his husband as he dozed back off to sleep and kissed his forehead again. “I love you.” 

A smile crept over Tomaziel’s face. “I love you too,”