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black-queen-rising · 6 months ago

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Rhaenyra had waited quite some time before leaving the embellished seat at the head of the Hand's high table and retreating to her desk to continue on with the day's work. If her youngest Prince, Baelon, had attended sessions with her that day she could've happily sat for hours, marking off tasks in the seemingly endless stack of papers that always waited on the desk of the Hand of the King, and listening to her little one tell stories. Baelon was attached to her hip, even more so than his younger sister, Aemma, despite being three years her senior, her eldest, Jace, liked to joke he wasn't just attached, he was sewn onto her. She had spent the day meeting with many of the Storm Lords, however, men in large part in need of convincing to heed the vows sworn almost thirty years previous to uphold her ascension, and not want to agree to the deals drawn up to guarantee they would do so with a reminder they were, after all, treating with a woman, playing at the Princess-Hand's feet.

Now, however, she was just attempting to get through the most pressing paper work as quickly as she could, so she might return upstairs, eat dinner with her family, and hold Aemma on her lap while she read their youngest children stories from Old Valyria, or perhaps even find a moment for just herself and her eldest son with Daemon, Aegon, "Aeg" within their family, as they hadn't spoken alone in a few days. Rhaenyra hardly wished her father dead, nor did she look forward to the prospect, but she looked forward to her role shifting when she finally became Queen. She looked forward to someone else being charge of all this damned paperwork. There was the matter of Lord Swann, the reason she had waited so long at the table, and was now over an hour and a half late to his expected audience. She knows such lateness would have reflected poorly to most in her position, but today she's quietly grateful for his tardiness, how it's allowed for her to power through more work than she had expected to accomplish,, and how in turn that would allow her time with her children.

Finally as she was putting the seal on a raven due to be sent to her cousin Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Lady Paramount of the Vale, the guard outside her door at last announced the man she'd been waiting so long to see. He was much younger than she expected, the Crown Princess quickly concluding he was either a newly inherited Lord, or his Father's heir. House Swann stuck out in her mind for precisely two reasons, their status as Marcher Lords, who were important allies to the Crown despite being viewed by many as lesser nobility due to their shared border with Dorne and the tenuous peace they shared with the Southern Kingdom. The second was their House Words, though she could not recall them precisely, something about only fighting injustice, or injustice being the greatest enemy, so many mottos lent themselves to strength, power, and fortune, her own house words certainly not above that fray; Rhaenyra appreciated that these Lords who ruled a tempestuous borderland and endured a lower status than they likely deserved for doing so espoused acting against injustice as their highest ideal. She dared to hope perhaps this young Lord would feel the same.

"Your Grace..." Rhaenyra listened to the Swann heir's introduction intently, it seemed to her he was running half on nerves and half on passion. In the monotony of her own day, his disposition finally reminded the Princess-Hand that to him this meeting must feel like the defining moment of his whole future, and there was a level of truth to that. Either she would find him memorable, or she would not, she would find him useful in some way, or annoying, worthwhile company, or someone of no particular interest. Rhaenyra let silence sit for just a moment before she responded.

"I'm sorry to hear your father was unable to attend us, how does he fare? I don't mean to pry, my own father's condition has simply...if he is unwell, know you have my sympathies. Please, sit, I ought to thank you for your lateness, you've allowed me to see to quite a bit of work this afternoon. What is that saying? The King speaks and the Hand does? Well, there is quite a lot of doing to get done on my part at the moment. That said, you are your father's heir as I am mine, so, let us speak as equals for a moment. My guards reported seeing you wander through half the city on your way to the Keep, startled everyone a bit too when they saw your trunks turn up without you. Were you looking for something in particular? Anything I might help you find?"

Crown & Swan - In the Shadow of Dragons: A Starter with @black-queen-rising

Ser Jon Swann was walking amidst the bustling streets of King’s Landing, teaming with the life and activity of the small folk. There had been a carriage waiting for him and his luggage, when he docked at the River Gate, the Mud Gate, he corrected himself with what he overheard from the workers of the dock. Jon had sent the carriage along ahead of him, allowing him to walk the streets in person. He was not in the small folk clothing that he often wore when walking among the common streets, but he didn’t yet have a place where he knew he could change from street cloth to lordly. He also noted he would have to adjust his clothes somewhat. Perhaps being at the seat of power in the west gave more options to the small folk, as there was more pop of occasional color and higher quality fabrics than what he found back home in Stonehelm.

I’ll have to talk to some merchants while I am here. He thought. Simple luxuries like those may not improve the overall life of those living in the towns and villages surrounding Stonehelm, but simple joys did make small folk happier. Happy small folk created trust, and with enough trust, one had power.

Soon enough Jon found himself standing at the gates to the Red Keep, the seat of power in the Seven Kingdoms. It was said this is where Aegon Targaryen, the Conqueror, landed before making himself king. As he stood, looking up at the looming towers of red stone, shining like blood in the sunlight, Jon’s thoughts turned to the thoughts of the treasures that could be found in the royal libraries. While many men held all sorts of passions, Jon’s greatest was always his thirst for knowledge, old and new, lore, and rumors. He had heard tales of the vast collection of ancient tomes and manuscript houses within the Red Keep, and he longed to walk those ancient halls.

Jon smirked before making his way to the guards at the gate.

__________

Jon was ushered through the outer courtyard, full of bustling servants, dealing with the arrival of lords like himself.

He took note of the banners and sigils he saw as he walked.

Frey, Dayne, Martel, Blackwood, and… some white animal on a green field. Must be House Stokeworth or Lydd-

A loud roar from above cut off his thoughts, followed soon by a shadow that blocked the sun from the entire courtyard.

He stumbled as he looked up to see what could only be a dragon flying above, in and out of the clouds.

“You’ll get used to it,” The guard said with a good-natured laugh.

“Truly?” Jon asked back with a smile and a hesitant laugh, matching the guard’s humor.

“No.” He chuckled in response, and Jon answered with a smile as they continued their walk towards the tower of the hand. Jon righted his cloak as he looked back at the dragon dancing between the clouds. His face smoothed behind the back of the guard. He might have laughed along but would not again flinch at the sound or sight of a dragon.

In moments, he was led into the Hand’s Tower, and the guard gave him a polite nod before opening doors into a large room. It could have been a hall for some smaller houses but was clearly some kind of study and workplace, with shelves of books that his eyes lingered on, a table for gatherings, and a desk at the back of the room where a woman sat. The room was splendid but not in open opulence. Still beautiful and expensive, but the items in the room were ones of quality rather than just flash.

With a determined stride and a respectful bow, Jon approached the Princess and Hand, his gaze meeting hers with reverence.

As the heir to house Swann, Jon viewed his every action as one that could affect the future of Stonehelm, and he knew that his meeting with Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen may be the first step on a journey that could shape the course of his destiny. “Your Grace,” Jon began, his voice steady and composed. “It is an honor and a privilege to stand before you today. I am Ser Jon of Heir to House Swann. My father Lord Royce was unable to make the journey here and has sent me in his sted.” As he spoke, Jon’s dark eyes sparked with a fervent intensity, his determination to seize the opportunities that lay before him burning brighter than ever.

A Roleplay Blog within @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

Main • Message • Plot • Questions & Answers

#rhaenyra targaryen #jon swann #rhaenyra and jon #rp #rp blog #threads #asongofgoldenfireandblackblood #asongofgf&bb #asongofgf&bbthreads

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timmymyluv · 3 years ago

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act one.

let others wage war; you, happy child, marry-

“When love is not madness, it is not love.”

Danish Proverb

Summer 1858.

You are barely fourteen the first time you meet him. Raggedy curls and unruly in your skirts as you're going through another growth spurt and already can't fit through your older sister's hand me downs.

In a forest deep in eastern Germany, you roam around Rumpenheim Palace, chasing after your brothers and cousins like a wild animal set free from its cage.

Your eldest sister Alix, newly sixteen, was the perfect princess and you knew you had no comparison to her. Not only was she more dazzlingly beautiful, more exquisitely stunning to your seeming plain features, she was a natural in the new royal circles you suddenly became a part of.

Years ago, your father was a no-named, titled fourth son of a cadet branch prince with nothing but his military pension to his name.

Now, he was elected as Crown Prince of Denmark after a succession crisis had left your king childless and having to revert his throne to a distant cousin.

The new title and increased salary to your family had done nothing much to improve your livelihood. You still sewed your own clothing with your sisters, cooked whenever your few servants had their days off and cleaned the house yourselves in the humble Yellow Palace.

The improved circumstances allowed for your growing family of now six to travel more often and visit your other royal relatives. Now titled as a royal princess, you seemed to be treated with much more respect and attention nowadays compared to before.

You barely paid attention to your maternal side of the family in Hesse-Kasel. You always were more familiar with your father's Danish relations anyway.

"Minnie, you're it!" Your rambunctious older brother Wilhelm, your senior by only a year, roughly taps your shoulder and blares his tongue at you mockingly before running off.

Minnie, was the name you were called by your family. Penned by your father, after your birth name Marie Sophie Frederikke Dagmar. Glorious day or day’s glory was what your name meant in Old German and Scandinavian.

You always felt at home being named Dagmar, but Minnie was how you were called by those dearest to you. Named after the famous medieval Danish queen, a Bohemian princess who had changed her name after marriage. Perhaps it was your fate as a princess, leaving everything behind for your husband.

Grabbing the hems of your crinoline skirt, you chased him down and followed him closely as you made your way outside into the vast landscape of the well manicured gardens of the estate.

Unbeknownst to you, you were too busy playing childlike games with your cousin's and brothers to notice the arrival of the most prestigious guests at the banquet.

The newly anointed Tsesarevich Timothee Alexandrovich, son of the new Tsar Alexander Nikolaevich the Second, had arrived, alongside his mother and his younger siblings.

He blended in well perfectly with his German relations, heavily favouring his mother in appearance. They had the same soulful, deep set emerald eyes, and same delicate yet slim and tall frame.

Unlike his big boned, large framed younger brothers who were brawny and naturally muscular, he was lithe and naturally elegant and almost delicate looking, yet one could not mistake he was born for great things.

Sixteen years of age, he was timid, shyly smiling in his lanky frame, finding his own footing in the world as the heir to the greatest multinational empire in the world.

His wavy chestnut locks were well-kept, with wild strands of curls tucked behind his ears and growing just above his eyes.

Timothee was greeted with enthusiasm by his relations, fawning over his elegant looks, the gargantuan fortune he is to inherit, or the otherworldly intellect his tutors praised him for.

As you were busy getting grass stains on your brand new dress, he would always be searching around the room and peeking through the pinafore doors for a certain face.

Just a year ago, he had received a set of carte de visites of your family upon the appointment of your father.

Although he initially received an extra copy of the photographs under the premise of familiarizing himself with the new royal family, he could not help but be entranced by your demure, elegant beauty that was starting to blossom.

He had grown fond of you before he'd even met you, bewitched by your eyes and your stunning beauty. He kept your photo hidden in his pocket with him always, taking it out and looking at it from time to time.

"Luncheon is ready!" The royal announcer proclaimed in a monotone voice, standing in his gold encrusted suit and pointedly looking towards the rowdy children that scattered outside.

You paced back inside, out of breath from running around for hours on end. Your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat, and the scent of the pine trees clung to you.

Crown Princess Louise, your domineering mother, was over six feet, tall, slim with her pale blonde hair and piercing, cerulean blue eyes.

"Minnie, how many times do I have to tell you not to get rowdy with your cousins like that!? You are unbecoming of a lady." She scolded, brushing your locks away from your face and adjusting the bow clipped on the back of your head.

Your eldest sister Alix and the sister you were closest to resembled her almost identically, except she was shorter and less curvaceous of a frame.

Alix and you shared a dusty attic for a bedroom on the top of the seventeenth century Yellow Palace. You were a frequent recipient of the hand-me-downs she painstakingly mended and repaired with you in mind.

Rumours were alive on the arrival of your family to the new marriage market. The frequently intertwined family trees of the royal ruling houses of Europe were relieved on the introduction of a brood of royal standing and appropriate ranking to their already intermarried relations.

The Tsarina Maria Alexandrovna, born Princess Jessica of Hesse Darmstadt, frequently experienced bouts of pneumonia and poor rheumatic health, so her respite of visiting her Hessian relatives in her native Rumpenheim revived her weakened spirits.

Hints of the Tsarina's copper locks were evident in her eldest son. Standing in his charcoal hued casual suit with a brown trench coat, he mingled with his uncles, princes, grand dukes and lesser kings and caught up with his cousins.

Whispers from the court hinted that the Tsar Alexander II was looking into breaking tradition by finding a non-Germanic princess for the bride of his heir. The tides were turning in favour of Slavinism in the dynamic Imperial Russian Empire.

You had barely acknowledged the existence of the Tsesarevich in the crowded room. You met his eye with a quick curtsey before you were included in a conversation with a group that included the Prince of Wales.

Timothee never forgot that day, seeing the face behind the carte-de-visite finally in person, yet he never had the chance to meet you personally. Perhaps, it was not yet time.

…

The rest of the weeks your family had stayed in Rumpenheim went by smoothly, enjoying the pleasant weather, strolling along the vast, luscious gardens and playing around with your cousins.

You had not seen much of your sister Alix, as she was busy under the plans of your mother Louise conspiring and negotiating for a future husband for your sister. ‘Only the best for Alix’ she said.

Your oldest brother Frederick, typically shy and introverted, confided to you behind a staircase that Tsar Alexander II had pushed for the Tsesarevich to propose to your sister. He had been in the room, unsuspected and silent, when senior Russian court officials were delegating diplomats on the possible outcome of the weekend.

That evening, your sister Alix nonchalantly explained she had rejected the proposal from the future Tsar of Russia, and you scolded her for giving up a life-changing opportunity for that.

That is, because she was already betrothed to the Prince of Wales. She was to be the future Queen of England. England was her destiny.

And Russia was yours.

…

Spring 1860.

“Why did you say no, Alix?”

“No, to who? The Tsesarevich?”

“Yes.”

It had been over two years since Rumpenheim. Your father was now King Christian IX of Denmark and your mother Queen Louise of Denmark.

You were less awkward and gangly, growing into your looks and your beauty starting to blossom, in tune with the arrival of spring in Copenhagen.

Alix’s engagement was extended another year to make room for the English court mourning the death of Prince Albert.

With your sister promised to the Prince of Wales, you were the most senior blue blooded eligible unmarried princess in the Danish royal house, and suddenly attention from other royal heirs to the throne was slowly coming your way.

“You never asked me this when it happened. Why do you only ask me now?” She raises a brow in suspicion as she turns towards you, a smile evident in her tone.

You stammer, caught off guard. Grabbing your needle, you mindlessly continue your embroidery.

“Nothing, I was just curious.”

“I refused because it was clear neither of us had any romantic inclinations. Besides, yes I did say I would not be a fit to the Russian court and could not speak Russian well, but it was clear he had eyes for another.” Alix says nonchalantly, packing another dress into her leather luggage.

“You already know they’ll be speaking French at the Russian court and your French is much better than mine.” You retort.

“Now, that is not true. Your French is vastly superior to mine. And he told me not to tell anyone, but all we talked about was you. He kept asking me about you when I mentioned your name.”

You stared at her in disbelief. Ask about you? You had no idea why she had never mentioned such a thing, or why he would find interest in you of all people.

“He asked me to promise not to tell you or anyone else, but I could not resist. You should have seen how lovestruck he was at the mere thought of you. I would not be surprised if he will be heading your way with a proposal soon, Minnie.”

Alix continues her packing casually as if she had not just dropped the grand revelation that the richest, most prestigious heir to the grandest empire in the world did not want anyone else for a wife but you when he could have anyone.

…

Truthfully, as a young girl, you were always scolded at and brought back down from the clouds of your imagination on your dreams of greatness and affluence.

The shy Alexandra always felt embarrassed and outshone when you would pretend the handsewn thin scarf you made together was a fine cashmere shawl made for queens and empresses.

You were teased when you would put your hair up like the older ladies in your early adolescence, envying the attention she had when Queen Victoria scooped her up for inspection and wanted her as her daughter-in-law. You flirted with the handsome, young guards around the palace, out of your hidden desire to be paid attention to, as the middle child.

You wanted something for yourself, not having to always share and receive hand-me-downs of your siblings. Your father quietly pulled you over a few years ago, telling you that you had a certain spark of ambition in your eyes, out of all your siblings. The rebellious one, he joked. You were just like your mother, he said. You never truly understood what that meant.

Head buried deep into your books, you read about the grand empires that spanned millions of miles, the territories they conquered and owned, and the luxurious palaces, ball gowns and tiaras the ruling families owned. Sometimes you would sneak into your brothers’ political textbooks when they were long asleep, guided only by your fading candlelight until you yawned and fell asleep on these hard bound books.

Being the only one who actually enjoyed reading in the family, you would sneak in the most recent, hot off the press, romance novels of the day on knights and their maidens to be saved on a white horse.

Now assuming the role as the eldest daughter in the family in Alix’s absence, you feel like you are starting to lose hope in that childhood dream of yours. As she was shipped off to Windsor Palace for careful inspection by Queen Victoria, it began to dawn to you how much you truly missed her.

Maybe it was your siblings who were all meant to have the loot, and you were only meant to smile and watch them succeed while you were left behind, to rot in Denmark all alone.

…

The palace’s mailman, Magnus Christiansen, politely knocks on the palace doors. You cautiously open it.

“An urgent letter, Your Royal Highness, from the Empress Maria Alexandrovna of Imperial Russia. You must read it immediately.”

It’s no secret among her family that her mother and the Tsarina have been in constant exchange of letters for the past several months. However, the contents of the letter remain top-secret. Until now.

Dear Queen Louise of Denmark,

Your wisdom is extraordinary! Your daughterMinnie is growing increasingly beautiful by the day. I cannot wait to see her again when we visit Copenhagen in a few weeks.

It is true that you describe her as clever and intelligent, as I have been impressed by her wit and charm just as when I had last seen her in Rumpenheim. Timothee is not any better.

The retinue accompanying me include a few hundred cossacks and a dozen of Russian nobility who are eager to see beautiful Denmark. I cannot wait until I can see you again. I eagerly look forward to the days our families are joined in matrimony soon.

Much gratitude,

Maria Alexandrovna

Maria Alexandrovna despised her, or so she thought. The last time she had seen the frail, cerulean eyed Empress in Rumpenheim Palace a few summers ago, she could visibly see how frozen and almost frightful she became of her, a mere child. It almost makes her laugh thinking what that must have looked like to observers.

She was always stared at by Maria with an almost blank but analytical look, when she was a little girl mid waist level to her mother, clinging to Louise’s underskirts, with bouncing curls before she raced one of her Hessian cousins outside in the freshly mowed garden.

Tides change, and now she is the target of the Tsarina. She missed the timing of having Alix as her future daughter-in-law, and found that any daughter from the freshly cosmopolitan Danish Royal Family will suffice. Perhaps she is always meant to be the second choice, the left-over, the alternative when Alexandra is not available for the taking. If only you knew, you were the only choice.

The photographs she was commissioned to pose for will forever haunt her memories. Previously a rare luxury, her mother insisted that Alix and eventually you have your photographs in court dress to send to possible suitors.

As was the fashion of the day, she wore a pure white off-the-shoulder muslin gown, laced with pearls along her shoulders and displayed with a high neckline.

The family lacked jewels, having chosen to invest in a better quality gown rather than dedicate it toward expensive diamonds and pearls they could not afford. The wide brimming crinoline made her waist look non-existent, underneath a corset and lace layered her short sleeves that complimented her dainty arms.

Perhaps it is you growing into your beauty that prompted Maria Alexandrovna to change her mind about you. Or your infamous intelligence and charm that one would need to survive the complex society that is the royal court of Imperial Russia.

Despite many more eligible, wealthier and more prestigious German princesses and duchesses that scattered Europe, the Tsarina looked westward towards Denmark. The Tsesarevich was determined to win you over and have you as his wife.

…

Not a lot of interaction/romance between our main leads in this, but mostly world building and establishing the world they’re in. Romance is coming up I swear, all about courtship, diplomacy and all that. It’s getting exciting - really looking forward to writing and sharing this. A passion project for sure! Please, please comment I love hearing back from you guys. It makes my day really.

#Timothee chalamet imagines #Timothee chalamet x reader #Timothee chalamet scenarios

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valdomarx · 4 years ago

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A Marriage of Convenience

Octoberfest romcom tropes day 1: fake dating

Jaskier pushed his ale aside and broke the wax seal on the letter. As he read the contents, his face pinched into a frown.

“Anything important?” Geralt asked, glancing up from his soup.

Jaskier chewed his lower lip. “Not really. It’s from my family.” He took a breath. “They’re going to disinherit me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What did you do this time?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Nothing, thank you very much! But it’s my 35th birthday next month, and the stipulations of the Lettenhove family will are quite clear. If the oldest son isn’t married by the age of 35, inheritance passes to the next married cousin.”

“Very keen on weddings in Lettenhove, are they?”

“Rather less keen on unmarried bachelors, actually.”

Geralt grunted. “That’s too bad. I imagine a viscount’s fortune could have come in handy for you.”

“Oh, I don’t care about the money.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “It’s just,” he sighed. “I have younger sisters who rely on me for support. If the inheritance goes to cousin Edward, he’ll turn them out without a penny to their names.”

“That’s unkind.”

“It is.” Jaskier slumped. He was glad to have left Lettenhove and its court intrigues behind, but the thought of his sisters being at the mercy of his greedy cousin was unconscionable. He knew too well all the terrible things that could befall a woman alone in the world.

“This will,” Geralt said, stirring his soup absentmindedly, “does it have any rules about who you have to marry?”

“No. Any old wedding will do. But it’s not like I’m going to find anyone willing to tie themselves to me in the next month.”

Geralt shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll marry you.”

Jaskier choked on his ale. “You?”

“Why not?”

“Because…” he broke off and mopped the sweat from his brow. Because I’ve been in love with you for decades. Because I’ve fantasised about you saying this in a million different ways. Because having to pretend it’s real is going to break my heart.

Geralt reached over the table and patted his hand. “It’ll just be pretend,” he said, as if that were in any way reassuring. “This is a problem easily solved. Let me help you.”

Jaskier sagged. This was going to be a disaster.

“This is going to be a disaster!” Jaskier paced anxiously around their room. “There are so many ways this could go horribly wrong.”

Geralt sat on the bed counting bundles of herbs. “It’ll be fine.” He was infuriatingly calm. “We’ll head to Lettenhove, have a quick wedding, get your family off your back, and be on our way. It’ll only take a few days.”

“But,” Jaskier kept pacing. “We’ll have to. You know. We’ll have to do couple things. There are certain… expectations of a newly married pair.”

Geralt got to his feet and placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, stopping his anxious traipsing. “We’ll manage. Can’t be any worse than fighting drowners.”

Jaskier looked into amber eyes and felt his heart turn over in his chest. “Everyone will expect us to be holding hands, and kissing, and gods know what else. And you can’t do that.” He sighed. “You don’t even like men.”

Geralt leaned in closer, close enough that strands of his silver hair tickled Jaskier’s cheek. “I like men just fine,” he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then Jaskier did something terribly foolish. His body moved before his mind, his feet stepping closer, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck. He kissed him, hard, and to his astonishment Geralt kissed him back hungrily, lips parting to allow Jaskier to taste him fully, tongue exploring, hands roaming, and by the time they broke apart Jaskier was flushed and breathing hard.

“See?” Geralt said, his deep voice sending a shiver up his spine. “We can do this.”

Jaskier wrote to his family to tell them the good news, and he and Geralt wasted no time in heading off to Lettenhove. The journey was long but nothing they were unused to. They traveled by day, slept under the stars by night, and Geralt even picked up a few quick contracts to help pay their way.

It was comfortable, and normal, and Jaskier could almost forget about what he was about to put himself through.

At least, until they reached the outskirts of Lettenhove and they heard the whoosh of an incoming portal. The ground shook, the air rippled, and through the rent in reality stepped Yennefer, terrifying and beautiful as ever.

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at them. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Jaskier couldn’t even bring himself to come up with a snarky reply as she swept past him and went to Geralt. He stood back and watched the two of them, powerful and dazzling together, each other’s equals in capability and composure.

He had never had a chance in this competition, he thought bitterly. He would be pretending with Geralt, while she had his heart for real.

Jaskier was left at camp while Geralt and Yennefer went off to do... whatever it was they did together. (He could guess what that was.) He spent a cold, lonely night with no one but Roach for company, berating himself for feeling so hurt by something he knew from the beginning was nothing but a ruse.

With their arrival in Lettenhove proper, there was nothing to do but face his family. The brightest spot of his day was walking into the estate and having his sisters squeal and jump on him just as they had done as children.

He stopped laughing and caught his breath long enough to introduce them. “Essi and Priscilla, this is Geralt.” My husband to be, he thought, and something twisted inside him at that. “Geralt, these are my troublesome sisters.”

Essi dipped her head and Priscilla performed a theatrical bow. “We were wondering if Jaskier would ever settle down,” Essi said with a sly smile.

“But seeing how handsome you are, I can’t blame him!” Priscilla replied, and the two of them broke into fits of giggles.

Geralt, for his part, took them with good humour. Where Jaskier had been expecting him to be dour, he smiled indulgently and took each of their hands in turn and pressed a kiss to their knuckles, resulting in another uproar of giggling.

“Thank you for that,” Jaskier said quietly as they made their way to the room waiting for them.

Geralt inclined his head. “Have to make a good impression on the future in-laws,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking upward in amusement.

The rest of his family were predictable as clockwork. Cousin Edward was sour, his father was distant, and his mother was simply relieved to see him married off as was proper. Geralt sat through all of it with more patience and good grace than Jaskier would have thought him capable of.

The day of the wedding itself passed in a blur. With such short notice the ceremony was terribly paired down by noble standards, but still, there was the formal breakfast, the dressing in formal garments, the journey to the temple outside of the city, the clamour of priestesses and officials and his family, the exchanging of rings, the reading of texts, and of course the formal dinner.

Jaskier barely remembered any of it. Looking back, the only thing that stuck out in his mind was the feeling of Geralt’s hand clasping his own during the handfasting. And the way that, whenever he was feeling overwhelmed over the course of the day, Geralt’s hand would find his own and give a comforting squeeze.

Finally the ceremonies were complete and they were left in peace in their chambers, the two of them alone for the first time all day. Geralt’s hair had been braided into two slim plaits running either side of his face, though by now they were starting to become mussed. He’d even put on a shirt of dark blue silk as opposed to his standard uniform of all black. The effect was quite stunning.

As the door closed, Jaskier’s shoulders slumped and he breathed for what felt like the first time in hours.

Geralt cupped one cheek tenderly. “You good?”

Jaskier exhaled, letting the anxiety and stress of the day slowly unwind. He looked into Geralt’s warm eyes and felt, for once, safe and unjudged. “I’m good.”

Geralt brought their lips together, soft as could be, and Jaskier’s knees shook. He grabbed Geralt’s forearms to hold himself upright and, desperate for some sort of control, some sort of meaning, he pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss.

This was a bad idea, he was aware, but Geralt felt so good in his arms. He ran his hands through silky silver hair like he’d always wanted to, he pressed himself close to that muscled chest he’d spent more time than he should have admiring, and he moaned unrestrainedly when Geralt picked him up, locking his legs around his waist.

This was a terrible idea, he knew, but Geralt carried him over to the bed with firm, confident steps, and the temptation to touch, to hold, to kiss was overwhelming. This would only lead to heartache, but he was weak in the face of love, as always.

Geralt laid him out and took him apart with soft lips and careful fingers and a wicked tongue, and it was everything he’d been dreaming of for years, and yet so much more intense than anything he could have imagined. Geralt was dazzling beneath him, warm amber eyes and pale scarred flesh, beautiful and kind and more than he could possibly deserve.

Nuptial celebrations in Lettenhove were mercifully brief, and with the ceremony completed and recorded to the satisfaction of the genealogists, they were free to depart.

There were, however, some customs which could not be avoided.

“You’ll be honeymooning nearby?” Jaskier’s mother asked, with the understanding that this was not a question.

“Actually, we thought -”

“They’ll be staying in my cottage, won’t you?” Priscilla interjected. She’d availed herself of her position, such as it was, to secure a tiny ramshackle cottage on the Kerack coast. It wasn’t opulent but it was, thankfully, far from prying eyes.

Jaskier gave her a tiny nod of thanks and she winked.

“A cottage?” His mother’s lip turned up in distaste. “How quaint.”

“And there’s ever so much to pack, so we must be on our way -” he excused himself with a bow, tugging Geralt behind him.

Out of the view of their parents, Priscilla and Essi set upon him with hugs and kisses, thanked him for saving them from the horrors of cousin Edward, and packed up an obscene quantity of cheeses and wine to take with them.

By the time they departed the estate, Jaskier was even smiling.

It was quiet and calm on the coast. The cottage overlooked the sea, rolling and tempestuous, and had just enough space for a kitchen, a bed, and a bath. They had everything they needed, even a stable for Roach outside.

Even though it was only for a few days, Jaskier imagined Geralt would be bored and unhappy, feeling trapped in a place so small. But he seemed content: riding along the coastline in the morning, brushing Roach out, going fishing in the afternoon, preparing the catch for their evening meal.

Jaskier showed him his favourite spices and how to prepare the fish with butter to make it rich and indulgent, and in the quiet moments he wrote poetry or simply sat on the battered chair on the porch of the cottage and watched the waves.

Geralt returned to the cottage with a net bulging with fish and a smile on his face. He’d been doing that more recently, Jaskier had noticed, smiling in a way that seemed natural and unforced. He even left his armour and swords in the cottage and waded down to the sea in just his trousers and shirtsleeves, disarmingly casual.

It was comfortable, almost domestic.

And it was a torment, showing Jaskier a tiny glimpse of a life he’d never have.

Their last night on the coast, Geralt cooked the remainder of their provisions into a feast, poured the best wine they had, and set a fire in the hearth. He piled up blankets and pillows, laid down their warmest furs, and pulled Jaskier into his arms in front of the flames.

“Thank you,” he said, dotting kisses in a line up Jaskier’s neck, “for taking such good care of me.”

Jaskier fidgeted unhappily. “You’re the one doing me a favour,” he reminded him. That seemed important to remember. This was a favour from a friend, nothing more.

Geralt hummed against his neck, the vibrations rippling against his skin. “I can see some advantages to me,” he murmured, continuing his line of kisses up Jaskier’s jaw and toward his lips.

Jaskier, stupidly, allowed Geralt to turn him around, hands delicate around his waist, allowed him to bring their lips together. He allowed a kiss, soft at first, and then another, more intense, moaning into Geralt’s mouth.

“Can I interest you in an early night?” Geralt purred in his ear, and everything in Jaskier’s body said yes, and everything in his mind said no.

Eventually, his mind won out and he pushed Geralt away.

“No,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry, Geralt, but this was a terrible mistake.”

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Geralt’s sad expression. He was hit by the urge to run, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Hey,” Geralt’s voice was so soft behind him. “It’s okay, Jaskier. Whatever it is. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I won’t do it again.”

Jaskier deflated. He turned to face Geralt, watery eyes and all. “That’s not the problem. I don’t want you to stop. I want this to be real.”

Geralt stood carefully still. “What do you mean, real?”

Jaskier took a breath, tried to imagine how to explain himself, how to convey what he felt. “I’m in love with you!” he snapped in the end. Not his most eloquent work, but perhaps his most honest.

Geralt tilted his head. “I know,” he said. He looked down at the ring on his finger. “Isn’t that the point?”

“The point?” Jaskier exploded. “The point!” He couldn’t stop himself from waving his arms as he ranted. “Oh, sure, I’m certain that the ideal marriage is between one person who’s hopelessly in love and one person who’s indifferent and besotted with another. I’m sure Yennefer will be delighted when she hears about this whole situation.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m in love with Yennefer?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

He paused, obviously weighing his words. “That night when she visited us outside Lettenhove, she wasn’t surprised by the news. She told me congratulations, and that it had taken long enough. I think she knew long before I did that I wasn’t in love with her, not really. My heart already belonged to another.”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean… You and her, you’re not...”

Geralt shook his head. “What she most wants is something I can’t give her.”

“And you?” Jaskier asked, dreading the answer.

Geralt took his hand. “What I most want,” he stroked his thumb over the ring around Jaskier’s finger, “is something I already have.”

Jaskier’s heart leapt. It was almost too much. It was overwhelming. “You really love me?”

Geralt smiled softly. “I really do.”

Jaskier threw himself into Geralt’s lap, arms around his neck, foreheads pressed together. “Tell me again,” he said, because he was needy.

“I love you,” Geralt said, kissing down the side of his face. “I love you,” he said, lacing their fingers together against the furs. “I love you,” he said, their bodies moving together, finally free to feel with the intensity they had been hiding for so long, their scents mingling together with the fresh salt tang of the sea.

The sun shone brightly and the wind whipped their hair as they packed up Roach the next morning. Jaskier paused to admire the view one last time: The rolling waves, the steep cliffs, the shingled beach.

Geralt slipped his arms around his waist from behind and dropped a kiss just beneath his ear.

“What does our life look like now?” Jaskier asked, eyes on the waves.

He felt Geralt’s smile against his hair. “Much the same as before,” he said. “With perhaps a few improvements.”

Jaskier turned then and kissed him fully, no need to hold himself back, taking Geralt’s hand and running his fingers over the ring there.

“Ready to head back to the Path?”

Geralt smiled, and Jaskier would never tire of that. “Ready if you are,” he said with softness in his eyes, “husband.”

#this just in: i am secretly soft #squeezing this in before midnight #geraskier #lesdemonium #thank you for the prompt inspo!!#octoberfest #the witcher #my writing

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chemicalpink · 3 years ago

Text

Only Good Vibes ♡ Min Yoongi

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Genre: smut, a futile attempt at comedy, strangers to friends to lovers au.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: If Yoongi was being honest, the last thing he had expected to inherit from his father was a sex toy manufactures, even more so, the last thing he expected from being there was to fall in love. Or let someone peg him, but you know, potato potatoe

Warnings/Tags: mentions of minor character death, Yoongi is bisexual, Yoongi’s father is homophobic, kinda sub!Yoongi, pegging, chaebol!Yoongi, family exclusion, YN is somewhere on the queer spectrum, YN has no filter whatsoever, they drink but they aren’t drunk does that make sense?, Yoongi and YN are soooo awkward istg it pains me, masturbation (female and male), mutual masturbation, use of sex toys, slight edging, fingering (male and female receiving), overstimulation (female and male), squirting, slight dirty talk, kinda voyeurism (do i even write something that’s not voyeurism by now?), Yoongi’s suit gets ruined, anal plugs (male), cock ring, electrode vibrator, use of lube.

A/N: Gotta say, this one took a lot to get done BUT SHE IS HERE. Huge thanks to @birbdae for the banner, I know you did it quite a while ago and since then this fic evolved into this so- yeah I hope that you guys enjoy this one.

Yoongi walks the pristine halls once he enters the building, it smells like a mix of freshly brewed coffee and sanitizer, his shoes somewhat squeaking on the floor with each step he takes, the starched collar of the white shirt he was practically obliged to dress in has started to itch his skin from not being used to the whole put together look. It had been a few weeks since his father died, nobody really seemed phased by it, being that the man had passed away after a long battle on a hospital bed. No one had cried during the funeral, not even his mother. Truth be told, they were all instructed not to do so, something along the lines of being the most deserving family in the country or some bullshit like that. Of course the man would be missed, not for his grandeur as a human being, but more for the millions he made day by day. And that’s where Yoongi comes in. Dressed up head to toe in a way that he hadn’t done ever since his father practically threw him into the streets. As much as he disliked it and had grown out of it, he couldn’t help but compromise, eyes on the grand prize: the family fortune.

So what if his siblings and a few cousins would get something out the old man’s will too, the Min’s fortune, both in money and enterprises, was huge; after his grandfather had passed away, and his father, being the youngest child, absorbed every single part of the fortune as his siblings weren’t fitted anymore to run their part, the newest Min generation had turned to resemble a bunch of vultures waiting to feed. So as long as he got his fair share for having to put up with the man for so long, he would be okay with it.

Everybody was already sitting on the large wooden table by the time he arrived, the commissioner signaling for him to take a seat before he began the lecture. An almost three hour long preface that had Yoongi dozing off multiple times, getting a side eye from most of the other people present, before the distribution began. Min Enterprises consultant branch for Daejun, Min Enterprises technology branch for Hada… and last but not least, Min Enterprises recreative branch for Yoongi.

“HA! TAKE THAT YOU HOMOPHOBIC FUCK! I KNEW I’D GET SOMETHING!” all eyes turned to him as he stood up from his seat, some shocked at the word choice, although it was no secret he had a rough relationship with his father, most of them just snickering at him, like they knew something he didn’t.

And man did they know.

“So he just had to keep being a homophobe even as he’s buried six feet under the ground and give me the dildo factory” Yoongi sighed as he frantically paced around the room

“Eh” his friend shrugged as he munched on a small bag of pretzels “The snacks are nice”

“What the fuck am I supposed to know about dildos! I don’t have a vagina!” Yoongi’s face was redder than ever, throwing a fit on his very first day at the office he inherited just a few days ago– not before going through a lot of papers and signatures and approvals– and learning that apparently amongst the whole business emporium his family had built, there was a sex toys manufacturer. And his father had decided to be his funny homophobic self even after death, by letting his bisexual son run it.

Namjoon had laughed for a good five minutes on the phone before he decided to come over and help his best friend out of what was surely about to be an existential crisis. Leaning against the couch that was placed on what would now be his office, he added distractedly “You don’t need to have a vagina to use a dildo tho”

“Well-true” he seemed to ponder it for a while, before shaking himself from the thought “either way I wouldn’t know a thing about it”

“Remember back in college summer 2013?”

Yoongi turned to his friend, stopping dead in his tracks and squinting his infamous cat-like squint at the younger, gritting his teeth “We DON’T talk about summer 2013”

Namjoon lets out a whole body laugh at both his friend and the memory, when you make your way into his office in order to deliver some of the papers you needed him to sign “What happened in summer 2013?”

“We don’t talk about that” you couldn’t help but smile at him, grumpily making his way to his desk, rubbing his temples as he let out an exasperated groan. Not everyone really knew a thing or two about the new boss, never been the one to be acquainted with his late father’s business, or family, for that matter and it really showed, the poor guy didn’t even know where to begin with before he was savagely thrown into an already clock-work organisation. People were starting to talk as soon as he set foot inside the building, gossips going around about how he wasn’t fitted for the position and how he was the outcast of the family, yet you thought he could use a friendly face if he ultimately decided to take the job. His friend was still absentmindedly laughing before his eyes caught something on his phone screen.

“Well this has being fun, I’m gonna head out” he started getting up from the couch before the elder interrupted his wave towards you

“What am I supposed to do Namjoon?!”

“Just- give me a call once you figure out if you get an employee’s discount, okay?”

“Wha-” Yoongi was quick to throw a pen that had been lying on top of his desk at his retrieving friend, the object falling to the ground as it hit the doorframe, completely missing the other man, whose laugh could still be heard as he walked away.

He slumped against his desk chair once again, eyeing the stack of documents you had brought in for a brief moment before groaning and hanging his head low. There were a lot of rumours going around, with the Min family being as successful as they were, and although you had decided not to trust them, you couldn’t help but feel your heart ache if what people said about Min Yoongi were true. A prodigal son fallen from his father’s grace, truly one –if not the most– prepared person out of the whole family, with a lot of curriculum to back him up, everyone rooting for him to be the head of the whole Min emporium, only to be casted away in a rush of headlines, front pages of magazines and online bashing as he was seen leaving a bar that was known to be one of the few LGBTQIA+ friendly ones around and it all went downhill from there, never to be seen around his own family again except for the big events and now, here.”I could help you figure out your way around if you’d like”

He didn’t even bother to turn your way when he answered “I don’t even know where to begin”

“That’s alright, come on” you tapped his arm in an attempt to have him follow you outside. Although the methods seemed quite unorthodox for an enterprise carrying the Min’s family name, Yoongi didn’t seem the type to take offence on a lack of traditional manners, plus, the whole workplace had always been quite different from the rest of the Enterprises. “My name’s Y/N, I’m the head director of a sister brand, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me around”

“So…” he turned to face you as you two made your way out of his office “dildos?”

“Kinda- we run the LGBTQIA+ focused brand” he almost missed a step as soon as the words were processed inside his mind and you couldn’t help but smile at him

“I never knew my father had an inclusive line in his business”

“Oh he didn’t” you couldn’t help but find it cute when he made a confused gesture with his face as you both stopped at one of the doors that led to the designing part of the building “You see, we tend to do things differently around here, and there’s a lot of space to work with”

The room is, admittedly, not at all what Yoongi had expected it to be –not like he had a precise image in mind about a dildo manufacturer. But the room he was brought in was almost surgical, men and women alike are all dressed up with white laboratory coats and all, one of them approaching both of you with a smile on his face.

“Y/N! What brings you here? It’s been a while since we’ve seen you!” Yoongi can’t help but steal a glance at your smile, the heavy air that he was accustomed to feel every time he came close to one of his family’s business nowhere to be found, the whole room was breathable enough.

“Work’s keeping me busy, anyway, this is Min Yoongi, he’s taking over” for a second Yoongi felt like suffocating, you having to introduce him as if he wasn’t quite literally your boss, as if he was a new employee “I’m showing him around, see how he finds the place”

“Oh the infamous Min Yoongi” and he could feel his heart race- even in such a place, only god knows how much of his family disaster the people could hear of, the flashbacks to being outcasted and laughed at for his downfall all coming back to him “It’s nice to have you man, I’m Hoseok”

You turned his way and smiled at him, in an attempt to let him know that it was fine. There really wasn’t much to fear inside the building– except for when they had to deal with executive meetings– things were different around here. Yoongi’s gaze seemed to fixate on one of the computers where another man in a white coat was sitting, albeit still quite awkward, he approached him “Is there a program for that?”

The guy, one of your best designers ever since he joined an internship a few years back, Jungkook, turned to look at Yoongi with wide eyes and sort of shy at the stranger “Oh yeah” when Yoongi didn’t seem to break out of his fascination on watching a 3D modelling program run with a sculptured cock being designed on it he added with a small chuckle “Drawing penises by hand only gets you so far”

He watches you chat away with both men and can’t help but feel at peace, as weird as the thought of it could be. Min Yoongi, with a MBA and a Business Administration Doctorate, feels at peace in a dildo factory. But the teamwork seems like something he had never seen before, the line of production is almost text-book like. He can’t help but wonder, even if headless, things seem to run smoothly, where exactly does he fit in? “So what exactly am I supposed to do in a dildo factory?”

You laugh at his choice of words, before Hoseok steps in somewhat offended by them “We don’t just make dildos” and although it didn’t help his case, he throws one squiggly silicone penis his way, to which he has no other option but catch “We are in charge of designing, planning and manufacturing recreational tools in aid for people’s mental health, self indulgence and lifestyle” he then loses his whole offended facade as he takes a small ring between his fingers and shrugs before smiling brightly “At least that what we tell the big boss”

The younger man in a white coat speaks up from his place in front of the computer “Except he’s now the big boss”

Hoseok’s eyes grow as wide as saucers as he realises “Oh god did I fucked up?” You can’t stop yourself from smiling at his antiques, hand coming up to shut his mouth as he realises his slip in vocabulary “Oh shit” Jungkook rolls his eyes at him before returning to his work and Yoongi can’t help but feel endeared as the whole scene develops “Sorry boss”

Gratefully, you step to his side, waving a goodbye to both of them, Hoseok returning it with a smile and a bow towards him, and he realises his question still hasn’t been answered “So really, where am I supposed to fit in?”

You seem to ponder the question before responding “You could take over the white collar meetings, we all hate them” Yoongi groans at that “or” you take the silicone penis from him with a mischievous smile on your face as you shake it around on his face “you could be Jungkook’s test subject”

“I-no. Despite what you heard from Namjoon I don’t- I” your body almost doubled over in laughter at the face he pulled, an honest horror face and hey, the man is quite attractive, that much could be seen from miles away, and it had been a few too many months since the last time you got laid, technically he wasn’t even your boss, as you held the same position for a different product line.

“Eh- you could always try them on me” Yoongi’s eyes widened in surprise before they took on something darker in them, almost amused at your advances “...if you let me try my products on you”

“Deal”

“Hyung what the fuck”

Yoongi started playing with a stress ball you had given him the day before after all introductions and tours were said and done, and now of course, after texting in the groupchat at night, both Namjoon and Seokjin wanted to hear all about what Jin named– very proudly– the deal-do “What could be worse than dildos?”

“Strap ons?”

Seokjin placed a hand on Yoongi’s back and sighed, already knowing the answer yet forcing himself to ask “Did you even read the papers you signed? The product lines of your company?”

“Oh”

“So you’re not going to keep the whole Min Yoongi doesn’t bottom facade any more?” Namjoon asked, knowing that although it was quite fun to watch the whole scenario unfold, his friend was the one going through it all

“I don’t bottom, that’s a fact”

“Hello boys, having fun on company time?” you crossed the door to his office the way you did the day before, dropping on top of his desk a stack of documents, only now noticing a new face on the couch, turning to greet him as he does the same before standing up, signalling Yoongi’s other friend, Namjoon to do the same.

“Well Yoongi-ah, this has been nice and all but it looks like you’ve got work to do” although he was trying to keep a straight face, the snickering of both men could be heard as they left the room. Yoongi really has to tell them that the walls are paper thin.

“So…”

“Was the whole deal thing a thing? or should I just pretend it never happened and get stuck on reviewing whatever papers I’m supposed to review?” A short laugh escaped your lips as you looked at him, still kinda awkward about the whole ordeal.

“Oh it is a thing” you grabbed one of the folders on top of the stack, pressing the paper against him “We like to be very particular on our quality”

His eyes travelled along his feet for a few seconds, no word spoken about it.

“Yoongi, you do know you can say no right?” it was something you should have addressed way earlier, knowing beforehand that the work ethics around branched out into almost non existent territory, and the man was fresh out of a big family outcasting, getting thrown back in it to take over the least coordinated side of the enterprise “Look, I won’t lie, there’s a lot of talk going around, but you seem like a nice man, and I find you very attractive, you came in here as the boss and I was trying to get you entertained with the whole dildo factory idea, I know it must have been tough being designated here, especially since we tend to be...a little too much to handle, so just know that you can opt out of this one, I can just get Jungkook and his girlfriend to try these ones out, as they always have”

“That’s- that’s a lot to process”

“Then take your time and let me know okay? just thought you could have a nice laugh at the whole situation”

It took Yoongi three days and a half to get back to you on the offer, three days and a half in which, although he wouldn’t admit to it, you had wormed your way into his heart, having you deliver documents each morning, bantering along with his friends before you had to go back to whatever it is that you did around the company. You had also started to smile more at Yoongi’s antiques as he slowly but surely made himself more comfortable around the company, handling small white collar tasks and getting less squeamish at every prototype Jungkook or Hoseok handed him without previous notice.

“You really invited me to dinner beforehand” Along with the responsibilities of being a head of management, came work trips, which were initially a you thing until Yoongi came along and now had to take responsibility as well, so naturally you had suggested to him–after a lot of rain checks on your deal– that this work trip would be perfect for you two to give the new toys a try.

“I’m a true gentleman, Y/N I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Min Yoongi you’re about to absolutely ravage me after this”

“Y/N” his cheeks coloured a pretty pink as he tried to stifle a giggle by taking a sip out of his wine.

Even though it was hard to tell from first glance just what type of lifestyle Yoongi was accustomed to, it certainly became very visible as he navigated effortlessly through the menu with all the french names on it, swiftly ordering for both of you and being delighted at your reactions when the hors d'oeuvre came out, a soft smile on his face the whole time. Whether it was the soft buzz of two cups of red wine over dinner or having the chance of relaxing after a particularly busy week, it made you start gravitating towards Yoongi more than usual. It really was no secret that you found him attractive–you had even told the man yourself. And although you two had somewhat friendzoned each other, the awkward glances, blushing smiles and lingering touches certainly held more than what any of you two could express after barely a month of knowing each other.

Getting Yoongi to your hotel room was the easiest part, a faint blush on the apples of his cheeks as he gazed longingly at your held hands while you dragged him along after leaving the elevator. The kiss was unexpected but certainly welcomed, the way that Yoongi– the man that you had come to know for always being adamant on trying new things– looked so out of his element yet was willing to give it a try instead of running away like many times you had seen him do at work. The kiss was brief, a bit shy and probably out of all the built up tension in the room, your heart swelling at the gesture before you leaned in and captured his lips once more.

“Well this is certainly the first time someone has dined me, wined me and courted me before fucking me into next week”

A laugh escapes his lips, nothing like before, his eyes turning something dark within them as he lowers his voice and his fingers play with the strap on your shoulder, letting it fall down before his lips latch on the base of your jaw “Well what type of assholes have you let fuck you into next week”

A breathy moan escapes your lips as his mouth travels down your jaw to your clavicule, pressing you against him where you could feel his cock hardening, your hand coming down to trace the clothed length as he sharply breathes in “You know, maybe if you end up being good with the toys I’ll let you fuck me with this instead”

He groans loudly, head hitting the wall as you grip him inside his pants “Just fucking give me the dildos already so we can get on with it”

You both move to the bed, losing your dress in the way and positioning yourself nicely as you take out the box engraved with the company’s name on it before he trails behind you, feeling his cock twitch at the image he was greeted by, legs spread open, head against the pillows as your right hand leisurely strokes your already wet folds for him to see.

Yoongi tries his best to take deep breaths as he takes a look into the box, not recognising most of its contents “You really gotta walk me through these”

He can hear you laugh the way you always did when you noticed him being awkward in the slightest at work “Look, I’ll get the part going okay?” your hand stopped stroking your folds, fingers coming up to your mouth, licking them clean before going to grab a small bullet vibrator from the box– a classic you had become well acquainted with during your time working at the company.

The small object comes to life with a practiced twist on its body, buzzing against the air a few seconds before tracing the tip all over your folds before settling it on your clit, a gasped moan escaping your lips as you blindly fetch the glass dildo inside the box, cold surface sending a thrill down your spine as you slowly begin to insert it messily from being focused on not loosening your grip on the small vibrator. Warm hands remove your own from the clear object as you feel warm breath against your exposed skin, the tip of Yoongi’s tongue circling around your right nipple, capturing it between his teeth as he brings the tip of the glass penis inside and out of your cunt playfully a few times before deciding to bottom it out, earning a moan from you. Pumping the dildo a few times, his weight is suddenly shifted from the bed, movements halting and you prop yourself onto your elbows just to throw your head back in pleasure as you feel Yoongi’s mouth on your cunt, tongue lapping up your juices before he inserted the dildo once again, lewd sounds taking over the small room as he continues to fuck you and eat you out at the same time, you feel your thighs start shaking when he stops his movements, smirking at your surprised face, gaze fixated on you as he takes out both a set of ben wa balls and a rabbit vibrator, prompting yourself to explain both of the toys when he cuts your off “Oh I do recognise these two from the lab”

He quickly turns the rabbit vibrator on, wasting no time in fucking you with it as deep as its second vibrating tip allowed him to, the design effectively sending a wave of pleasure against your already worked up clit. Yoongi positions himself comfortably on your side, still fully clothed, hand at a slightly awkward angle so that he can reach down all while having open access to nibble at your skin, having you gasping and moaning under him

“Y-Yoongi I-!’m-” he throws a wink your way as you clench around nothing, impending orgasm long gone “You fucker”

He’s about to pick up the ben wa balls placed carelessly on the bed when he discards them in favour of a small silicone gadget that catches his eye “You were very much eager to try all of these tho” turning to you, all red faced and fucked out “What is this?”

You have half a mind to answer him “It’s a finger vibrator you just place it on your fingers like a glove”

There’s a brief glint in his eyes before he lowers himself again on the floor, easily manhandling you so that he had full access to your already dripping cunt, leveled to his face, cleaning you up with his hot tongue before he experimentally inserts his fingers inside you, vibrations making you instinctevely try and close your legs, to which he only chuckles and playfully bites the inside of your thigh. He quickly starts scissoring his fingers, gentle nibbles to your clit scattered between pumps, working you towards your previously cut short orgasm at a fast speed, walls clenching around his fingers as he separates himself from your core in favour of replacing his tongue for a mechanical sucking motion that you don’t even need to look down to know that he had reached for yet another toy inside the box “Yoongi- oh God- Yoongi p-please I’m-”

You moan loudly, pretty sure that if the rooms in your vicinity were occupied, they were most likely already filing a noise complaint, as you feel your whole body spasming by the force of your orgasm, feeling wetness around yourself, out of the corner of your eye you can see Yoongi smirking at you, the upper part of his sleeves wet from working you until you squirted on him. You can’t even begin to process the situation or really come down from your high as you feel Yoongi’s fingers carefully inserting what could only be the last toy. Your cunt seems to gape before clenching yet again as he works each of the rounded toys inside you, a mix of feeling too much yet not enough, dabbing between pleasure and feeling uncomfortable from the overstimulation taking over you for as long as Yoongi took his time inserting them all “God I can’t wait to see if you’d take my cock as well as you take these balls Y/N”

You’re about to respond with something snarky when he starts to slowly pull at the string of the toy, the ben wa balls coming out one by one, stretching you deliciously, a moan escaping your lips before Yoongi proceeds to start the ritual all over again. A sensation in your lower tummy aching for your climax buildup again and you could already tell it was going to be a long night.

Falling back into a comfortable, bantering routine was easy enough, if anything, that fated sleepless night followed by small giggles from Yoongi everytime you shifted uncomfortably on your seat at the meeting the next day, served the purpose of shifting your relationship towards a more relaxed sexual tension between the two, instead of the awkward one from before, lewd jokes thrown around as well as shameless flirting around the office when you thought no one was watching.

��Look what Jungkook just came up with” you said as you barged into his office a Monday morning, Yoongi almost choked on his coffee as you threw the artifact his way

“And I seriously hope this is a you thing”

You rolled your eyes at him, a smile stretching on your face as the sweet idea of revenge took over your thoughts “It’s an us thing”

His eyes seemed to want to escape their sockets at that “You gotta take me for dinner before you even plan on using that on me”

“Tell you what, I’ll feed you afterwards”

“Deal”

The office usually went quiet and lonely at around a quarter to seven, people from all sectors filtering out after a day’s worth of work, with you being the only human left on the building afterwards, that is, until Yoongi started working there, the man tended to stay for even longer than you did, the lights inside his office filtering to the otherwise dark place. You knock three times on the wooden door before entering Yoongi’s office, finding him hunched over his desk, some document open on his desk as he stares intently at it. You make your way towards him, hands kneading his shoulders to relieve tension, a pleasured groan escaping his lips as your lips bite teasingly his earlobe.

“The ever so romantic Y/N about to fuck me in my own office”

Your hands travel down to the expanse of his chest until they reach his belt, where you struggle a bit to get it undone. “I really just couldn’t wait any longer, could you blame me?”

Yoongi is quick to capture your mouth with his in a heated yet chaste kiss. He rolls his chair out of its original position to allow you to place yourself in between his legs, hips coming up just a few inches to allow you to bring his suit pants down to his ankles, half hard cock twitching in the cool air, your hand wrapping around it and pumping it a few times, to which Yoongi groans loudly, head thrown back as you lick a strip all the way from the base to the tip.

“Oh god Y/N” he can almost feel himself twitch in pleasure as he gazes down just in time to watch you slip him insid eyour mouth, lips wrapped prettily around him as you bob your head a few times before taking him out and giving his tip a few kitten licks “Oh-Oh I swear to fucking god you’ll be the death of me”

You take more of his length in your mouth, ravishing in the way that Yoongi responds, hand coming down to rest on your head, guiding you, yet not forcefully enough as you take a small set of rings from your bag laying around as soon as you feel him tense. You expertly maneuver the toy so that it is wrapped around his cock, him looking down and shivering at the cold metal touching him, constricting his cock to stand proudly as you move to straddle him, moving around a little so that his exposed cock grazes your clothed core under your skirt “I think you should stand up for me”

Yoongi does as he is told, not a word coming out of his mouth as he braces himself against his desk, one of your hands works on his cock as the other one comes down to his asshole, surprised enough to come across a bejewelled toy nestled inside it. You experimentally tug at it, Yoongi hanging his head low with a moan before you tease him a little with it, repeating the motion “So you prepped yourself for me”

He inhales sharply at your ongoing movements, biting down on his lips to keep a much louder noise from coming out “Shut up”

“No I think it's hot" you finally take the plug out, taking a few too many seconds to place the strap on you had thrown his way earlier on before moving to squirt some lube on it as well as on Yoongi’s hole before you tease it with the tip of the dildo, a broken moan coming from Yoongi’s mouth at the feeling, although it had been years– and he really wasn’t about to admit he was looking forward to having you fuck him ever since that sleepless night at your hotel room.

Your hips meet his in a faint and comfortable rhythm, Yoongi clutches his fists tighter every time you graze his prostate, cock leaking in front of him as he feels his orgasm building at a rapid pace before you completely remove yourself from him, bending down to put his pants in place, hand fumbling with the zipper so as to have his still ringed up cock standing still through the pants, forcing him onto his chair as you smile wickedly at him, a small set of electrodes being placed along his length, thin cables leading up to a small device you held in between your fingers.

He gasps as soon as he feels the electrodes vibrating against his cock, his faded climax coming back tenfold, something between a groan and a moan coming out from the back of his throat as you refrain yourself to just continue to watch him curiously “Look at you, such a pretty baby”

Yoongi’s moans keep getting louder by the second as you increase the level on the toy, and you certainly have to thank the universe for the whole office building being completely empty as you clearly see his cock twitch a few times before he cums all over his pants, Yoongi’s breath is ragged as his cock is unable to go soft, discomfort blending into pleasure once again as you keep the toy on for good measure, until you see his eyes watering, to which you hastily make your way to him, as he almost dissolves against the chair.

“It’s- it’s fine, I’ll clean myself” his voice is raspy and kind of quiet as you make sure to clean him the best that you could after removing the toys and running to his private bathroom for some towels.

“Yoongi, I’m not about to leave you after splitting your ass open and overstimulating you into oblivion, you’re not even sitting properly”

He makes a go at inhaling sharply before coming to fix himself on the chair “No it’s okay, I’ve had worse”

“Yoongi” you chastise, fixing him a glare

“Summer 2013”

You chuckle at that–the very much recurring inside joke of his. “What even happened in summer 2013?” He barely opens his eyes just to send an irritated glare your way “Yeah Yeah, we don’t talk about summer 2013”

Carefully selected dates under the pretense of trying out whatever new gadget Jungkook and Hoseok came up with during the month soon turned into weekly meetups, meetups turned into staying the night that soon enough turned things as official as they could be– if Human Resources were the ones asking, Yoongi and you were just really great friends, end of the story. Out of all the ways that Yoongi had initially thought this scenario could play out, it certainly wasn’t this one.

“I’ll see you at home once the meeting is over then?” you say after placing a kiss on Yoongi’s adorable pouty lips, gathering your documents and thoughts for the meeting you were supposed to already be at. He nods right as your knees buckle, feeling the small device inside you pick up in speed, turning to the culprit only to find him smirking at you “Yoongi”

“Love you!” the little shit is quick to pretend like he hadn’t done a thing, eyes quickly fixated on whatever that was showing up on his screen as he watched you leave his office. Guess you’ll just have to get revenge on that one.

#bts smut #yoongi smut #houseofddaeng #ksmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #btscreatorscorner #bangtansorciere #bts imagines #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader

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stemmmm · 1 year ago

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the cousins goofing around together invoked the scent of my grandparents house that i similarly haven't been to in 6 years.

the adults being a bunch of dicks also invoked memories of that house

anyways HOW YOUNG ARE THEY BRINGING ON THESE SERVANTS? FUCKING AGE 12? YOUNGER? THIS ISN'T HIRING AT THIS POINT, ITS LIFETIME SLAVERY. UROSHIMIYA FAMILY WHATS UP.

also talking up the family in the same breaths as talking about how everyone got the shit beaten out of them. dont have anything to say about that, but its a vibe for sure.

hang on shannon just said shed been serving for 10 years. SINCE SHE WAS 6??????????? HUH?????????????

oh interesting, we're discussing the way the family is ranked as being sexist and shitty.... though that assumes that the person with direct blood ties to the family is male? when really the system is just whoever was born first and is of direct relation. if it was that sexist, jessica wouldn't be the heir

now the old man is crying about how much his family sucks (maybe you shouldnt have beat the shit out of them then) and no one deserves to inherit his fortune.... sir the one the witch will explode? that you said yourself? the witch's fortune that vanishes upon your death that they wont get anyways? or perhaps you were exaggerating. anyways this is just like knives out.

they're all arguing so much over whether or not it's decent to discuss the division of the family fortune while granddaddy's still alive but??? this is so normal??? this is what you do? its so much better to negotiate all this before you're mourning? (they won't, im sure) its the old man's fault that this wasnt already discussed (of course it wasn't since he hates their asses) (im sure some of them are plotting ways to steal all the money anyhow because they suck) (speaking of, that old man bitches about his kids not making their own wealth but by the sounds of things, he didn't make his own either? i'd bet him even getting into the position to take over the family (so the earthquake) was part of the witch's curse)

This whole bit about the siblings grilling krauss over his stupid shitty hotel investment feels like he's just short of screaming "IM NOT OWNED!!! IM NOT OWNED!!!!!!!!!!" if it weren't for natsuhi already doing that for him

ahhhh ok. so the sexism about the family is that if a woman born to the family married and lost the family name, she'd be removed from the family entirely. so eva is a unique situation and it seems like rosa (?) deliberately didn't marry because of that

i've started jury duty btw

i've obviously only just started so i dont know anything yet but very funny to open with the dying man raving about how he will leave no will his ungrateful family gets NOTHING. FUCK THEM KIDS. EVERYTHING I'VE EVER EARNED CAME FROM NOTHING AND IT WILL BE DESTROYED THE INSTANT OF MY DEATH AS ARE THE TERMS OF THE witch's curse. (im aware there is an island that explodes. interesting. curious)

what i know of battler so far is that shit's just CRAZY his whole family's CRAZY aren't they NUTS? and apparently he's on steroids as a like. 17 year old? 18? good for him.

also if there is not a plot twist or something regarding this 9 year old who behaves and talks like an infant i'm gonna lose it. ryukushi i'm certain you've met a 9 year old. im certain you know better.

#m.txt #umineko liveblog

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

Could we have a fic of Jiāng Cheng naming a disciple as his heir, or if you think it wouldn’t work, would you mind just making a list of why, or of alternatives (because this is going with a aro/ace Jiāng Cheng)

Jiang Cheng was, in some ways, a terrible sect leader.

For once, it wasn’t just his insecurities talking; it was simply a fact of life.

He was skillful enough as a warrior to earn fame and fortune for his sect, a charismatic enough leader to gather cultivators beneath the Jiang sect banner for the war, a good enough general – or, well, maybe a lieutenant, since to his relief Nie Mingjue handled most of the overarching battle plans for all the sects, not merely his own – to keep most of them alive during the war. He was a miserable politician, but he was able to walk the tightrope between being too weak (and making his sect a target) and too arrogant (and making his sect a target), even if it cost him tears and blood and a brother.

His sect survived. More than survived, it thrived.

Jiang Cheng had not disappointed his ancestors, his parents. He had, for once, lived up to expectations.

But there was one thing he needed to do, but couldn’t bring himself to actually accomplish.

“Take it in steps,” Nie Mingjue advised him, when he forced himself to ask. The other man’s eyes were shadowed – empathetic rather than sympathetic, a sense of fellow feeling instead of pity – there was a reason he’d come to the Nie sect for this. “In my case, the line of inheritance was and is straightforward, if threatened by Huaisang’s weakness. In your case…”

Jiang Cheng swallowed.

That was the crux of it, really. That was the terrible thing that he needed to do, but couldn’t.

The Jiang sect needed an heir.

He didn’t want to give it to them.

“Start small,” Nie Mingjue said. His voice was not given to gentleness, but it was less harsh, perhaps, than it might have been. “Formally appoint your second-in-command.”

Jiang Cheng’s face burned. Even that small thing had not gone unnoticed, it seemed – it wasn’t that he didn’t have a second-in-command, if the role was defined in the sense of the person he leaned on for aid and advice, the person who he gave authority to when he was too busy, the person who he trusted to keep things running if he was asleep or unconscious…

It was just that – it was the wrong person.

(It should have been Wei Wuxian – but that had long ago become impossible, even before he’d died. It was only that it hurt him to remember it, to think of it, to put someone in his place –)

“Your staff is very competent,” Nie Mingjue said. “They will serve you well.”

The rush of pride helped ease the never-ending sting of Wei Wuxian’s absence.

“I’ll do that,” he promised, and Nie Mingjue nodded in satisfaction. “But there’s also – the long term.”

The Jin sect would like him not to appoint anyone, he knew. That would give Jin Ling a claim to the position, and his Jiang sect that he worked so hard to reestablish would be swallowed up in whole by Lanling Jin – impossible, unacceptable. He had cousins that he could name as heir, to pass the time until – until –

“You don’t have to marry,” Nie Mingjue told him, and Jiang Cheng started as if he’d been caught doing something wrong, suddenly naked beneath Nie Mingjue’s relentless gaze.

“What? I – no. I’ve gone to the matchmaker, it just hasn’t worked –”

“Jiang Wanyin. You don’t have to marry.”

“…now?”

“At all.”

Jiang Cheng had wanted to hear those words for so long that he was suspicious of hearing them now. “I don’t have an heir,” he pointed out. “I don’t – if I don’t have children, my parents’ bloodline will die with me. I don’t want –”

To disappoint them.

“Their inheritance to you is their sect, which you have preserved,” Nie Mingjue said. “If you had died in its defense, would they excoriate you? No.”

“But I’m not dead,” Jiang Cheng said. “And just because I find the idea of marriage to be – unattractive –”

He could say as much to Nie Mingjue, who was equally unmarried, equally resistant to the idea. It had been his father’s complaints about Nie Mingjue’s disinterest in men and women alike, a somewhat knotty political problem, that had first revealed to Jiang Cheng that such disinterest was even an option, that it wasn’t his own personal failing but a characteristic that other people shared with him.

“– doesn’t mean that I can’t do it. ‘Attempt the impossible’, remember?”

Nie Mingjue frowned at him. “Your sect’s motto does not overcome your duty as a cultivator or as a human being,” he said firmly. “Attempting the impossible does not mean that you should attempt to do evil, if evil is what is impossible.”

“Marriage isn’t evil.” Even if he sometimes thought of it as such.

“Not for others. But for you and I – it’s different for us. It’d be one thing if we could find someone to match us, someone who shared our disinterest or was willing to adapt to it...there are people like that out there, women and men alike, and if you want a partner with whom to share your life, I have no doubt that you can find one. But that’s not what’s being discussed.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. To marry someone blindly for the sake of marriage and children, to put politics over personal interest and wed someone who thought they would receive all the things that come with a marriage, all the things we do not wish to give? It would be an act of evil. An evil to whoever we wed, if we let them enter into marriage with us unknowing of what the future might hold – an evil to ourselves, if we tried to pretend, forcing ourselves into a life of bitterness, resentment, and misery. Worst of all, it would be an evil to our children, who would know.”

Jiang Cheng shuddered at that, revolted by the idea. It was true, too – he had always known that his parents’ marriage was unhappy, even back when he was younger and his mother still took pains to hide it from him, and then even more so later on. The bitterness of his mother’s unhappiness had eaten her alive, over time, and his father’s dissatisfaction had done the same for him…

Was that how he would be, if he forced himself to marry whatever girl agreed to take him, not telling her the truth? If he married just for the sake of the heirs they could have together, planning all the while to abandon her afterwards?

Yes.

After all, for better or worse, he was his parents’ son.

“Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes briefly as a great weight lifted from his shoulders. “You’re right.”

Nie Mingjue nodded in satisfaction. “Pick a nice cousin that you can bring to live with you, train them up early and make the reason clear,” he advised. “Establishing a line of succession early is the only way to avoid a giant clusterfuck.”

Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched. “Is that the technical term for it?”

“As far as I’m concerned it is.”

Jiang Cheng laughed.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #Anonymous

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yongiefilms · 4 years ago

Text

FILM | Together Alone

BASED ON | The NCT secret santa collaboration feature done by bumblebeenct and lucaswithnoshirt studios over @neoculturechristmas headquarters

DEDICATED TO | My own precious secret santa, @sly-merlin! This one is for you my love. I hope I did you justice for the type of fic you requested and I hope you like it! By the way I apologize for getting your present to you late.

STARRING | Huang Renjun and Female Reader

FEATURING | Lee Donghyuck

GENRE | Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Business centred, and Holiday centred

RATING | PG-13

WARNINGS | Thematic elements, suggestive references and implications, crude humor, language, mentions of death, a deceased parent, drinking, alcohol, and other adult themes

PLOT | Everyone knew him. The heir to the multimillion dollar company. Next in line to inherit the top pharmaceutical business in all of China and South Korea. For being only 20 years old he was the most accomplished person of his age. Set to become the CEO at age 21 on his birthday, nearly a few months away, there was nothing that could deter him down the road for further success. They say he’s envied by most, yet loved all the same. If only people knew who Huang Renjun really was without his family’s name plastered against the walls of society that gave him fame and fortune. Only one would have the chance to find out the truth of his reality and sometimes when that comes near the end of a year shutting close, not everything can end pleasant like one hoped. OR Happy endings might not exist in this messed up world.

RUNNING TIME | 6.4k

DIRECTOR’S NOTE | Happy Holidays, my loves! This work is in honor of you all and the amazing year you all gave me with your immense love as well as support. I appreciate every single one of you more than you will ever know so I wish happy days among you this season and new year. I love you and please enjoy! Also, shout out to my lovely proofreader, @dvrlingrenjun, you’re the best.

1, 2, 3 Now Rolling...

“Fuck them all!” Huang Renjun yells out in frustration, leaning back abruptly in his black cushioned chair, his hands clutching tightly at his dark strands of hair.

The younger boy smirks at him, leaning against the pillar by his office. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

A glare was sent in his direction in retaliation. “Shut up, Donghyuck.”

“Sure, big guy,” he dismisses, the jab made at the older visible with the way his words cut through the air. “Still doesn’t render the fact that you have to go to this event like you always do.”

Renjun groans, his right hand going around his left wrist to play with the gold Cartier bracelet that rested there. A gift given to him when he turned the legal age of eighteen a few years ago. A gift given to him by his father, on behalf of his mother or so it was said. One that was a promise of luxury and achievement if he continued down the path they set out for him. His decision then when he was an adult to decide his fate, but that was only a lie. The bracelet was only a bribe for a materialistic life where he could be well off and if he stepped away then he would be stripped of everything that made him who he was.

“I know, okay? We do it every year but that still doesn't take away from the fact that I hate it. I hate all of it.”

Perhaps his father was a part of that.

“Well,” Donghyuck drawls, shrugging his shoulders when he lifts his body off the pillar to take long strides in order to reach the other boy. “At least it’s out of town this year so I’m down...I mean free vacation.” He gives a toothy grin, his eyes sparkling of juvenescence and a thrill for adventure, mystery, excitement. At least one of them still had a childlike soul and a more or less normal life while the other was forced to grow up too fast in the spotlight where eyes were scrutinizing his every move before he could even walk.

They called it maturity, but Renjun calls it loss of youth.

“You’re such a freeloader,” Renjun mutters, his hands stopping from playing with the bracelet to glance up in exasperation.

“Says the boy inheriting an almost billion dollar company without batting an eye,” Donghyuck snorts with an eye roll, picking at his nails that now gained all of his attentiveness.

It was true after all.

Renjun laughs in mockery. “You’re just jealous, so I wouldn’t be talking if I were you.”

Donghyuck sighs loudly for effect. “Cous, I wouldn’t want your life even if I tried. Some horrifying shit.” He shakes his head, obviously disturbed by the notion.

Renjun’s voice becomes small, yet firm. “It isn’t that bad...”

Donghyuck finally stops twiddling with his fingers to give the other the time of day with a look of obvious reluctance. “Uncle is scary, can you blame me?”

“Guess not, that man is my father.”

“Exactly and as much as I would love to continue this conversation,” Donghyuck glances at his crisp navy steel Bulgari watch, seeing the time half past noon. “I got to run, meeting with the boys soon and I just needed to deliver the message before that. Little pit stop if you will.” His hands flair out in a theatrical motion as if he were giving a bow.

“Oh?” Renjun raises an eyebrow, hands reaching out to get started on the stack of papers placed at the edge of his desk by his receptionist before Donghyuck’s surprised arrival. “Say hi to them for me.” He pauses in afterthought, knowing the younger’s antics. “Or not.”

Donghyuck’s boisterous laugh rings. He knew him so well. “Very funny, but oh, wait!”

The increase in his tone attracts the older’s regard who was beginning to read through the proposal. “Yes?”

“Here,” Donghyuck states, reaching into the back pocket of his chinos to pull out a small black velvet box with gold edging. “An early present of sorts. I assumed you might like it.” He slides the box over on the desk where it is caught in the grasp of delicate hands.

“Proposing are we? You know we are related right?” Renjun smiles snidely, running his fingers over the soft velvet in wonder. It was rare to get a gift from Lee Donghyuck himself and with the right intentions at that.

“It would be an honor and privilege to marry me, thank you, but no it’s just...open it when I leave. I’m not into that sappy shit as you know. I have a matching one too, but yeah merry early Christmas and New Years.” His easy grin widens as he winks to take backward steps to the exit of the office. Always one for a dramatic flare.

“Matching...we can’t be a couple either, Hyuck,” Renjun says, shaking his head while he puts the box down on his desk in wait.

Donghyuck flips him off and grits out a reply. “Shut up and be grateful for once.”

Turning his head back to his papers, he mutters, “Oh, I am.”

“Anyways, bye you fucker. Don’t drown in work,” Donghyuck lets out once he turns his back.

“Thank you for caring, delivery boy,” Renjun shouts as his cousin finally opens the door to exit after his much longer than anticipated stay.

Donghyuck’s hands still on the silver knob before he can fully push the door. “When don’t I? If you’re gone then that means I would have to inherit the company and as much as I would love the money, the fame, the attention, maybe even the girls...I don’t want that responsibility. You get me?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, spinning the black ballpoint pen between his index and ring finger. “Just say you’re lazy and go.”

“I am going!” Donghyuck exclaims while he turns his head over his shoulder, shooting the boy sitting at the desk that didn’t quite fit him well, another wink. “Bye for real, Junnie!”

The door at last closes and he is gone in a blur of colors.

Renjun mumbles under his breath. “I told you not to call me that.”

His mother used to call him that and she didn’t have the chance to stay long in this world. Taken too soon is what they say, but maybe she was blessed before everything turned to stone.

With Donghyuck’s departure, Renjun looks over at the lone box that was gifted to him, perhaps not a gift like the others that held no meaning, for this one was an outlier in the equation. Donghyuck never gave without meaning or gain so it had to be special.

He places his pen down and picks up the box, undoing the clasp that held it close. The box opens to a sight he has gotten used to, yet there was a disparity. In between the cushion of the velvet laid a beautiful silver Chopard ring. The band was simple in design, yet intricate with the signature ice cubes filled with small sparkling diamonds across the entire width. Renjun handles the ring with care once it is taken out of the box to inspect every detail. Not only was the brand engraved in stunning cursive on the inside, but Donghyuck had gotten the ring customized with the word family in the same writing on the opposite side of the inner circle.

Renjun runs his fingers over the engraving, the words rough under his calloused hands. He hums in thought as he slips the ring on his middle finger, the radiance seeping in from the windows catching the precious metal. “Family...family...I haven’t had one in a long time.”

The truth is he had, has, but he was too blind to see.

Family is not just those that are immediate, composing of a father and mother or even siblings. Family can also entail the greater extent from cousins to aunts to grandparents. Family can even be those that are not blood related like the friends a person surrounds themselves by.

Renjun has family. If only he could acknowledge them before they too left him utterly alone.

Alone was something Renjun was not for the days to come.

A week later after his cousin delivered the news about the annual holiday vacation and company sponsored events that his family has been hosting since his late teen years, he was flown in a private plane against his will to a remote town near Busan, far off from the heart of Seoul. He would rather spend the holidays in the city where he grew up like all those past seasons ago, but his father decided there was a need for change, a mirror of one forthcoming in virtually three months. Usually those that made the trip came for the designated three days they were given which still involved work communications with scant room for relaxation depending on the schedules of selected individuals. However, if one was a Huang, which Renjun was the only one left along with his father that were at least part of the business, then departure and stay differed. Intermingled was the Huang winter vacation with that of business affairs, a factor that was born when the tradition started. His father always said to kill two birds with one stone when given the chance and this very situation was one he took hold of to morph into a personal gain.

Nothing was ever as it seemed with his father, nor himself. One characteristic they shared among a hundred to a thousand polarities.

Albeit this time around, Renjun had fought against his father’s wants, which was not the first instance, but was one that ended in surprising success. Success he tasted on the daily, even if all was bitter with no room for happiness. However, this success was sweet with contentment, ending with an awfully horrid aftertaste. Convincing his father to fly him out along with the others on the 23rd of December instead of the 20th was a victory no less. At least he didn’t have to spend unwanted days in the presence of his old man longer than necessary.

He arrives in wealth and social standing like he always did for once his black A.Testoni dress shoes hit the white tiled floor of the airport’s general aviation ramp building, everyone within his general vicinity, even those afar, are taking heed to his every need, that as of now are limited.

A slightly older woman who he deems as his assistant, comes into view, her black Prada heels clicking loudly against the tile as she advances with a clipboard and her trusty cell in her hands to the boy. She cheerful speaks into the empty building, her smile unwavering. “Mr. Huang, I am glad you had a safe flight. I printed your itinerary for the next couple of days that I will hand to you once we are in the limo. Considering it is…” She glances at her Apple Watch Series 6 to check the time. “Two forty three as of now, we can drop off your luggage at the Lodge and get you settled into your room before your three fifteen lunch with Mr. Kim and his wife at the Yongsusan Café. You will be with them for an hour before the rest of the afternoon is yours to spend productively. Then at six o’clock the maids and stylists will come by to get you ready for the business meeting at seven thirty, following with a small dinner party with those same individuals, including their wives and children. Sounds good?”

Renjun does not even have time to reply before his assistant speaks again.

“Yes, okay! Let’s get going then.” She turns on her heel abruptly, yet with expertise without room for error and begins taking steps away from the plane to the left. “The limo should be this way, follow me while your luggage gets loaded. The drive should not take more than ten minutes.”

He has no choice but to accompany her as he would not be able to make a run for it, he will be caught within seconds. He tried once and that was only one failure amongst little to none in his book.

His strides are slow and lousy as if he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased, when he in fact did not, far from it in actuality. Even so before he knows it he reaches the limo and is lurched forward in motion towards his destination for the next few days. The place his dad selected oozes with sumptuous intent, being a gorgeous mid-century modern wooden lodge that nearly looked like a manor upon inspection. As the limo pulls up to the front, Renjun is able to see the beauty up close that he is entranced by even if he seems unfazed. New places and people excite him more than he lets on for his life is dull, lacking fulfillment of an unknown tomorrow.

The porter, who is situated in patience by the front doors, strides forward to open the door of the limo, permitting Renjun to step out with the authority and grace bestowed upon him.

When he crosses the threshold into the Lodge he is met with an even better interior that rivaled that on the outside, but he is not allowed to ponder too much on the design before the head manager greets him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Huang, it is certainly a pleasure for you to stay with us at the Lodge this fine holiday season. I am Gwan Jang-Mi and I will be showing you to your room today along with giving you a small tour of this place in order to familiarize yourself with the setting. If you look here to your left…”

Her speech is drowned out into obscurity as Renjun’s awareness shifts to another woman, one so stunning that he is surprised he did not take notice sooner. When sauntering through the entryway into the resting room that will be cleared out in the next couple of hours, a bar is situated to the left where you stand, arranging countless bottles of liquor to wine on the counter, no doubt for the little party later or for the meeting. Those men were heavy drinkers and needed alcohol to make it through the rest of the evening. Renjun did drink to drown his sorrows, worry, and anxiousness away, but he was not one to throw himself down a spiraling hole of darkness nor chaos that he could not get out of, for those consequences were ones he did not want to reap.

The soft sunlight peaks through the high guarded windows, shining down on your face that enunciates your features. For simply being in a black polo and khaki pants, you made it work and drew all attention to yourself without even knowing the power you held.

The moment of admiration comes to a close when Renjun is ushered away from the ground floor to make way to his room in the upper levels, leaving you behind.

Yet that would not be the last time.

Time goes by slowly when there is no purpose, no meaning to the daily workings of one person in the masses of others. Renjun has experience in that regard, time always goes by slowly for him and exhausts him a great deal like a rotary clock that seeks no end.

He was worn out by the time he got back to the Lodge in the early evening due to the stay with the Kims went longer than necessary and he was called elsewhere upon emergency to discuss future matters. He did not have time for himself like his assistant had plainly made known so there he was, collapsed head first into his silk covers, ten minutes to six.

Instead of taking a long awaited nap he is ushered up and into more formal wear after a cleanse from the bustle of bodies that barge into his room.

No privacy. No sense of normality.

That is the normal.

The next few hours go by in blur from him sitting in front of a mirror to have his hair styled to sitting in front of burly old men that were associates and inventors of the company in a grad meeting room with locked doors and the finest assortment of liquor that money can buy.

He is out of the confines in no time, not even bothering to say one final hurrah before he lurches himself out the door and into the now cleared out resting room. One of the servers comes by then dressed in all black attire that was nothing of the typical black and white uniform, edging towards a usual guest. Renjun snatches a glass of sparkling champagne and gulps it down in one go off their silver platter, discreetly of course, for he has to look composed—sober throughout the entire affair. He always could hold his alcohol without a problem and he felt blessed to have that advantage. One thing he is proud of.

He is whisked away not even moments after by one of the older investors, Mr. Han, to moreover chew over the end of the year budget and his stance on future decisions to be made in the new year. From the corner of his eye while listening to the man talk in a flamboyant manner, he sees his father standing with a glass of white wine happily talking to another investor, a more influential one, the most influential one of them all and his wife along with their daughter who was not even carefully surveying the room in search of someone.

Renjun’s eyes widen in shock, mumbling under his breath, “Shit.”

Mr. Han stops the flow of words out his mouth, his eyebrows rumpling together. He did not hear the swear word the boy uttered, yet he heard something in passing. “Pardon?”

Renjun shakes his head vaguely, bringing his third glass of champagne in the air as a sign of departure. “Ah excuse me, Mr. Han, but it seems I have been beckoned elsewhere.” His eyes shift over to his father who was not making direct eye contact with him, but Mr. Han did not need to know that little detail as he observes Renjun’s line of sight.

Mr. Han chuckles brightly. “I see, well I must not keep you from your father.”

Renjun smiles. “No, you must not, but we shall continue this conversation later, Mr. Han. I am sure you have much more to say and I will happily discuss further with you.”

Mr. Han waves his hand in the air nonchalantly. “We shall. Now off you go.”

Renjun nods his head, his lips still quirked up in a smile, this one more genuine than the last, as he makes a beeline towards his father to make everything seem more believable. Though once he no longer feels the eyes of Mr. Han on his retreating back he switches routes, going to the left rather than straight ahead. He circles around the opposite side, catching a stark mop of washed out red hair amongst the crowd in the process—Donghyuck. His cousin is not alone, however, talking rather freely with a girl he could not quite see in his peripheral vision. The grin on Donghyuck’s face is undeniable even with his back turned and the way Renjun hears the tiny giggles you are emitting, all is too familiar, which is the perfect cause for a disruption.

Renjun does not acknowledge his cousin when he arrives at the bar, the younger boy too immersed in conversation so he signals for the other worker that comes becking to his call.

“A Negroni, on the rocks.”

The girl nods in understanding and turns to prepare the drink while Donghyuck still has not noticed his presence. The younger boy always did focus on what was in front of him rather than on his surroundings, contrary to his cousin that saw the whole picture. Two contrasting people surely with unlike futures ahead of them.

The frosted glass with the reddish-orange liquid and topped with orange shavings is served to him a minute later, placed in front of him on a matching glass coaster.

He clears his throat loudly in an attempt to catch Donghyuck’s attention. “Thank you.”

A method that proves effective since the younger boy finally turns his head to the right to see Renjun sitting on the barstool next to him, sipping casually on his high class Negroni.

His eyes are wide, but he masks his shock with a subtle smirk. “Jun! Well, well, if it isn’t the mini man himself. How long have you been sitting there?”

Renjun snorts into his glass, shaking his head at the dig Donghyuck made at his height, always one out for blood. “Far too long to have noticed your flirting from across the room, Hyuck.” It is now his turn to smirk, but Donghyuck’s own is still unfaltering.

“I take pride in my skills, glad you gave your time of day to notice.” He elevates his glass up then, filled most likely with a Nicolashka, his favorite holiday drink to date, and takes a sip himself, a move Renjun mimics.

Then your voice interrupts. “Sorry to cut in, but I have to get back to work. You’ve been distracting me for the last ten minutes, mister.” Your stern gaze is directed at Donghyuck from the latter statement. Although once your words are uttered, Renjun focuses his eyes on you, scrutinizing your appearance. The very girl he saw earlier today, the girl Donghyuck so happened to have a chance with before him—you.

Donghyuck laughs, the smirk morphing into a shiteating grin. “I told you, call me Hyuck.”

“Well, Hyuck, I have to get back to work...plus I am sure you want to talk to your friend.” Your gaze flickers to Renjun in that instance and lingers there longer than necessary that has him laughing to himself.

Donghyuck’s charm only goes so far.

The younger boy peers at Renjun when you utter out friend, and he smiles small in remorse. “Sadly, but do not let me keep you from your work.”

You turn your back on him, your eyes catching Renjun’s in the process before you look away from the intensity of the dark orbs. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

You leave the bar area then most likely to put on an apron that Renjun noticed you had not worn throughout the entire duration. Donghyuck simply distracted you before the start of your shift and after, not a good trait to inherit.

Donghyuck hums, but let’s the remark go as he fully turns to Renjun to start up that conversation.

He raises an eyebrow. “Must you always keep me from having fun?”

Renjun shrugs his shoulders, swishing the liquid in his glass. “Not always, but I was saving that girl from misery. You should be thankful that I care enough.”

Donghyuck taunts. “Oh wow I feel so special.”

Renjun sternly eyes him, his voice lowering. “You should.”

Donghyuck’s lips open to retort a response, but no words are spoken on his end for his eyes look over the older boy’s shoulders and he catches sight of someone none of them truly like or have liked after the incident. He sees her.

“Well fuck, here comes the devil,” is all he makes out and the phrase enough has Renjun turning his own head hastily to see who he was watching. Such is when he sees his ex-girlfriend, Cha Yeona, prowling straight towards their way.

“I’m going to go...so good luck, mate. You’ll need it.” Donghyuck pats Renjun’s shoulder in departure and his gesture of sympathy, leaving him in the wake of a girl he really did not wish to see or converse with.

Once he leaves the bar in quick speed, you come in at that exact moment, your eyes zoning in on the way Yeona’s dainty hand latches onto Renjun’s forearm in greeting. You turn away from the image, busying yourself with wiping down the glasses.

“Oh! What a lovely surprise,” Yeona voices, letting her hand maneuver down to place on top of Renjun’s hand in which she gives him a faint squeeze thereof. He flinches from the contact, retracting his hand to slip into the pocket of his Burberry blazer while the other rims his glass.

He peers at her intently, a potency that has her giggling nervously. His looks could kill whenever he was serious with a blank face and austere hollows of eyes. “Hello, Yeona.”

She sits down gracefully on the stool next to him, crossing her long unblemished legs over each other, her hands placed in her lap. Her smile is bright and makes him want to pull out his hair. She was always two-faced. “Hi Jun Jun! How have you been?”

He lets the pet name go, but does not glance at her again, looking over her head at the white lights strung outside. “Good.”

Silence engulfs them that has her fidgeting out of discomfort. He evidently did not want to talk. She reaches her hand out to touch him once more that has him leaning away. She sighs in defeat, retreating from the gesture. She would have to reach him some other way. “Well...I—”

He cuts her off from continuing, drowning the last contents of his drink before he pushes the glass away towards the server at the end of the counter. He puts a hand up. “Save it. I have no reason to talk to you again. Leave.”

He arches his eyebrow when he sees she makes no move to leave and he chuckles darkly. “Do I have to tell you again? Or should I have security escort you out?”

She flinches from the tone of his voice and gulps, her throat becoming exceptionally dry. She hurriedly stands up, almost ripping over her heels and departs without a goodbye, not that he wished to get one from her. Her slim body covered in a blood red dress slips into the crowd and Renjun finally releases the breath he was holding.

He tugs at the strands of his gelled back hair. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters, lifting a finger in the air to signal for another drink that the server speedily moves to make.

“A little harsh, don’t you think?”

Renjun lifts his eyes to see you gaping at him, an eyebrow uplifted in fascination as you finally were in your uniform, a white cloth draped over your shoulders. Renjun runs his hand through his hair and scoffs from the remark thereafter. He was sure the stylists would be upset to see him dishevel their mighty work, but he could care less.

He shakes his head, the strands of hair rustling. “No, I think not. She deserves it.”

“Wow. Again, harsh.” You laugh mockingly and grab his drink that was slid over by your coworker to clean the glass again. You place the beverage down on the coaster which he takes with pleasure, muttering a small thank you that you can barely hear amidst the classical music playing in the background. Your hands make contact for a split second that has tingles erupting on your end, in a rather cliche response, yet he made no move of the feeling.

There is quietness again that makes you flustered since you were never one to enjoy the muted scenery, always wanting a sound ringing in your ears. While Renjun enjoyed the still, always wanting a sound that faded in the wind and never made a comeback appearance.

In a desperate attempt to keep conversation while making yourself busy by fixing up the bottles of alcohol, you propose a question that invades his privacy, whilst he never had privacy to begin with, a factor you were left in the dark about.

“So...um...your girlfriend?” You ask, in regards to Yeona that left some minutes ago.

Renjun snorts, placing down his glass and interlocks his hand to rest his chin on, a move to focus solely on you. “Right. She’s my ex-girlfriend actually so you’re not entirely wrong.”

You mumble out a quiet, “Oh.” It was not your business to know his affairs after all, yet there was a voice nagging within that made you curious to find out every part of him.

The tranquility hugs the both of you once more, until he questions you out of the blue.

“You want to get out of here?”

To say you are shocked is an understatement, since you are in fact bamboozled beyond belief. He says the declaration with so much firmness and certainty, it has your heart twisting on the inside.

You lightly laugh to mask the shock and turn around to really look at him, a look that he reciprocates. “I don’t even know you.”

A keen smile is visible on his lips. “Exactly the point. You have nothing to lose.”

You shake your head, leaning against the counter of the bar to stare into his eyes that look so lifeless, yet beautiful. “Maybe, but this is my job. I can’t just bail.”

He leans his head closer to you, an act that allows you to a whiff of the Christian Dior Ambre Nuit cologne he wears and his minty fresh breath. “Of course you can.” His soothing voice turns teasing as he smirks. “Don’t worry I won’t tell.”

You scoff to yourself, surprised by his mannerisms of outforwardness. You look around then to see if anyone is watching the two of you, but all eyes are elsewhere and you let out a sigh of relief. Another girl comes into the bar when you glance to the side, most likely to cover the next shift that was not yours quite yet, be that as it may you did have a break coming up.

Renjun outstretches his hand in patience, his smirk slowly growing, even if it was borderlining a smile that you could see right through. He hums in anticipation and you give in.

“Okay fine, but not for too long,” you say as you rest your hand in his. The cold of your fingers meet his warm ones and you latch on for dear life, afraid to let go.

He grins at you and squeezes your hand. “No promises.”

Then he proceeds to drag you out of the bar, tugging you to who knows where. The tingle of a secret keeps you on your toes and you become giddy, laughing along the halls as he steers you left, right, straight, left, right, up...a never ending cycle of adventure.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” You ask after gaining the courage. He is intimidating in some regards, the thought of how he acted towards his ex-girlfriend as visible as day in your mind.

He shrugs, finally slowing down. “Who knows. Could be outside in the cold or near a fireplace in the warm. You will just have to see.”

“That certainly gives me no direction at all.”

He turns his head to look at you and stops suddenly, having you nearly crash into his back before he tugs you to the other side. He chuckles when he sees your horrified face from almost busting your nose. “That was the point, darling.”

You huff in annoyance when he continues walking, the pressure of his fingers around your own feels heavier as time drags on and your heart has no sense of calm, constricting with the name of endearment that slipped past his slim lips.

“Okay, we are here!” He announces and lets go of your hand, the bareness of his heat leaving you shivering. You take a step back from planting your feet firmly on the floor and glance around the room in which he stopped. It was one of the upper level rooms with strict access only to the most wealthy of the associates and investors. His family must be one of those highly regarded, if only you knew how highly regarded his family is, being the ones with the most status, the most affluent lifestyle. However, you would remain clueless.

“Oh, wow. The view up here is amazing.”

Renjun laughs, placing his hands in the front pocket of his slacks as he strolls around the room, glancing at the glowing fire that was left on and the books that were sealed shut. “Trust me, I am well aware. Why do you think I brought you up here?” He gives you an exasperated stare, peering past at the giant window you stood in front of that showcased the whole town, now covered in sleek white snow. It must have snowed while he was conversing with others at the party for when he arrived at the meeting hours ago, the land was void.

The white flakes are still falling outside, delicately covering everything in one uniform color that leaves you in awe and he is left admiring you, how at peace you are. How free you look, an emotion he never held onto in his entire life.

“So besides admiring this view, what are we doing up here?” You ask, your fingertips grazing the cool frosted glass of the window, seeing beyond to the endless landscape and twinkling stars along with lights of the houses nearby.

Renjun answers bluntly. “Admiring the view.”

You can’t stop the titters from escaping you and you roll your eyes, an action he sees through the reflection.

He steps forward, coming up besides your figure to look more clearly at the breathtaking scenery of a winter wonderland. “No, I’m joking...at least partially.”

You giggle some more, interlocking your hands in front of you. “I didn’t know you had it in you to joke.”

It is now his turn to laugh. “Darling, I have a lot in me that you don’t know.”

You sigh solemnly, taking a step back to turn around, examining the other objects around the room. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He is an enigma waiting to be unraveled, but you would not be the one to solve his case and that alone is an idea that scares you.

Before you can get farther away, his hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from escape. You peer down at his hand then up to his eyes, your eyebrows scrunching together in perplexity.

He does not speak, only drags you into him to where you are now chest to chest, only an inch of distance between your bodies. The closeness between the two of you leaves you breathless and gasping for air. His thumb carrasses your arm and runs down to the palm of your hand, enveloping his fingers around your skin. Your eyes are trailing the movements and you take a sharp intake of breath, curious as to what can happen next. He hooks his other free index finger under your chin to lift your face up so he can see you in distinct luminosity.

You have gazed at his eyes practically all evening, but nothing has prepared you for seeing him up close. He is even more handsome in full definition from the lines on his soft pink lips to his perfectly tousled hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb running along your cupid’s bow. “Absolutely and breathtakingly beautiful.”

You gulp, the words drying up in your throat for what could you say to his compliment?

Then everything happens at once.

His hand moves to wrap around the back of your head and he tugs you closer by the other until you are pressed up against each other. He lightly pushes your head forward and contact is made.

Lips against lips. Moving and moving against each other, taking all your breath away for the second time within a span of a few seconds.

He lets go of holding your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, to pull you closer if such is even possible. To make the contact more tender and desirable.

You suppose desire is that which allows the moment to escalate further. From a mere innocent kiss to a fiery passion of craving for more.

When your lips separate, he does not think twice before grabbing your hand once more and dragging you down the long corridor to arrive at his secluded room around the corner.

He opens the door with haste as you come tumbling in after him, grabbing, pulling, tugging until all that is left is just you and him.

The frantic beats of two hearts.

The heat of skin pressed against skin.

Simply two bodies that became one all due to the desire floating around the room and pushing you to the limit.

You lost yourself in him that night and he in you.

Lost to the pure ecstasy of pleasure during the season of joy and love.

Yet the season could also be one for giving and taking.

You wake to a cold bed the next morning.

Gone is the warmth of a boy who made you feel like you were on top of the world, someone special enough to demand notice and have anything that is asked for.

Gone is the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear, the words of assurance, comfort, and false love that made you feel worth it and simply protected.

Gone is the long lingering touches of his fingers pressing into you and dancing along the lines of your body to explore and learn.

Gone is the feeling of his lips on your skin that was enough to ignite you ablaze and leave you seeing all the colors of the rainbow.

Gone is he—Huang Renjun.

All that remains of the remembrance from the night is the note he left by the oak bedside table, one that crushed the dream of longing and hope within. One that slapped you with the crude reality of who he truly was, is, in a place that you did not belong to and never would.

Thanks for last night, but it’s a one time thing. You can see yourself out. Happy holidays.

He signed the note with his initials, H.R. and his family’s embroidered seal.

Then you realize in that moment, your bare body covered in his silk covers in the large suite he had all to himself, that the holidays are not for everyone.

You can either be together with someone else or alone by yourself.

Never the two.

Always one or the other.

You had hoped to be together yet alone with him in privacy to make your own memories away from prying eyes, but at the end of the day you were by yourself and he was too.

That is how life works in this sick, twisted world.

Men against men. Women against women. Everyone against everyone.

Alone.

Never together.

Like he and you.

145 notes · View notes

mumufic · 3 years ago

Text

Alternate Chapter 101

Here's the alternate version of Chapter 101 - A Summer Interlude - The Story of Us of The Three Sisters.

TW: incest and gore

Narcissa had expected Orion to fly into a rage when she told him how and where she had hidden the artifact Bellatrix had given her. Bella had told her to hide it in the depths of her soul. She could have used a Fidelius Charm, she remembered thinking, and that was exactly what Orion told her when she disclosed how she had hidden it.

Orion had looked at her coldly, his face spattered in Lucius’ blood, his hands tinged red in Bellatrix’s. “You are not desecrating your sister’s body to draw a summoning circle. But perhaps…”

She did not get to find out what it was that her uncle wanted for her to do, as Mr Potter had suddenly bolted upright, his face seeming to go grey for a moment as his eyes rolled up inward, as if he were communing with some unseen spirit that Narcissa could not feel, before he was tugging Orion away. They needed to get somewhere, it seemed, and they needed to leave that very moment. Orion left her trapped in Grimmauld Place with her sister’s bloody, broken body in the hallway. She was not to touch Bellatrix, she was told, even though, like every other Black, Narcissa had been taught how to prepare a body of one of their dead for burial.

She had been terrified of what her uncle would do when he left with Mr Potter in tow. The hallway was completely destroyed. Blood and the sticky feel of rage and murder seeped into the wood and the wallpaper. She could smell the iron tang of it, taste it in the air. It was everywhere.

Slowly, she pulled herself up from the sofa in which her uncle had shoved her into when he interrogated her about the artifact. He’d said nothing either about what it was, just that he needed it. Narcissa hadn’t been entirely remiss in her magical education, even though she was hardly the model student that Bellatrix had been.

It had been one of the reasons why everyone in their family had constantly made fun of her all the way until her majority. Narcissa, the Changeling, Patriarch Arcturus had told her once, when she was fifteen and her father wanted to wed her to Sirius, who had been eleven. Her Aunt Walburga had been in favor, but Orion had flown into a rage then, telling his father in no uncertain terms that they would not be sacrificing his son’s future and happiness for the sake of keeping the magic in the family, when he had already sacrificed his own. There had been no further talk of her and Sirius thereafter, although many of her aunts and uncles surmised it had been because Narcissa was an inadequate bride for the heir to the main line. Her father did little justice in redeeming her name, as he was more interested in the galleons such a wedding would have netted their side of the family, galleons that would have gone into his service to the Dark Lord. She had grown up with everyone in their family thinking that she was no Black, that she did not have Bellatrix’s aptitude for Dark curses, or Andromeda’s finesse for magic.

No one knew that Narcissa had inherited one of the rarest magical skills a Black had ever known and it was this that Narcissa had used to hide the artifact her sister had entrusted her.

Summoning circles were something that her aunts Cassiopeia and Lucretia had dabbled into many a time during the summer solstice. The first time Narcissa had seen one had been when she was still a small child, and her Aunt Cassiopeia had demanded her mother and her Aunt Walburga to go with her to the standing stones in Wiltshire during the winter solstice. She could no longer remember the reasoning Cassiopeia had made for gathering a coven to power her summoning, but it had been the one successful summoning that her aunt had ever done, considering Cassiopeia had been obsessed with marrying a demon and had spent nearly the entirety of her youth in honing and perfecting her summoning skills. Bellatrix had already been at Hogwarts then and too preoccupied with the friends she had made in school to want to return home for the winter break, and Andromeda had been, as usual, roped in to care for Sirius and Regulus, but Narcissa had clung to her mother’s robes and demanded not to be left with her younger cousins because Sirius was a horrid child who had constantly badgered her and Andromeda and his little brother for the four of them to sneak out of 12 Grimmauld Place to find out what the muggles outside were playing with, and when he didn’t get his way, his wild magic would Conjure up strange things that he would hear the muggles played with, like a ball in the shape of a human foot that he and Regulus lobbed at each other until Andromeda came and dispelled the disgusting toy away.

Narcissa had watched the three women as they gathered storm clouds around the circle of massive standing stones of the Stonehenge, and when lightning struck the the center of the summoning circle, a portal to an otherworldly dimension had opened up. Narcissa remembered the creature that emerged only in her darkest nightmares since. It had been a creature of darkness and light, a being of pure malevolence and absolute good, an angel and a demon all rolled into one. She hadn’t even been entirely certain that her mother or her aunts had seen the creature, but she had, and it had spoken to her of a time when she would be most desperate, a time when she would be alone, without her sisters to hold her hand, without her mother to protect her, her father to shield her. And out of that desperation would come a man who would save her.

Narcissa had been nine then and had been weaned on stories of magic and romance. Her mother was an ardent fan of the then up-and-coming young performer called Celestina Warbeck, who sang jingles for commercials on the Witching Hour show on the Wireless. At the time, Ms Warbeck had her first starring role on the show as a young witch saved by a gallant wizard with a halo of shining hair. Narcissa had been enamored of the idea that a wizard with shining hair would save her from the drudgery that was living with a family that did not recognize her, did not appreciate her talents, juxtaposed as she constantly had been with her more powerful, more strident sisters.

It had been a defining moment for her when she realized she had been the only one who had seen the demon, and that it had given her a glimpse into the future. She could scarcely believe that she was the only one in her family, likely in decades, maybe even generations, to have been blessed with the magic of Summoning. Aunt Lucretia could open portals to new dimensions with her summoning circles, but she had never been able to draw a demon out to speak with her. Aunt Cassiopeia had been a joke that no one took seriously and everyone only ever humored when she went on these expeditions to use ley lines all over the country to augment her magic. But Narcissa had seen and spoken to a demon, and that had been what she had clung to.

When she started learning magic properly at Hogwarts, she concentrated on that. Transfiguration was a class that focused on transforming objects or animals or people, but its tenets could be adapted for Conjuration, and Conjuration was the cousin of Summoning, and that was what Narcissa poured her heart and talent into. And when she Sorted into Slytherin and met Lucius, she was certain that this was the boy the demon had spoken of. She’d been terrified when her father talked of marrying her off to Sirius to resolve all of the money problems he’d always had, so that he would have a controlling stake to Orion’s lion’s share of the Black fortune through their children’s marriage. She just knew that Sirius was not the man the demon had spoken of. Much of the time, that boy had been nothing but perfectly horrid to her, with all his earnest reasoning for muggles and the mudbloods born of their ilk. She had been desperate not to be married to her cousin, and she’d reasoned that it was out of that desperation that Lucius’ father had offered to wed Lucius to her in exchange for the Malfoys finally becoming associated with the Black name. She had convinced herself that Lucius was that man with the shining hair, who would come to her in her lonely existence, ostracized as she was by her own family because she was nothing like her sisters, because she looked like neither Rosier nor Black, and pluck her out of her desperation and enshrine her in Malfoy Manor as its new queen.

And for a time, it truly had been like that. She loved Lucius and Lucius loved her enough to keep her out of the brewing trouble with the Dark Lord residing in Malfoy Manor.

When Bellatrix approached her to hide the artifact that the Dark Lord entrusted to her, Narcissa had been honored. Now people were starting to recognize her worth. She was set to be the Lady Malfoy soon. Lucius honored her. And now, her sister entrusted her to keep something she held dearer than her own life.

It had been the feeling of that superiority that had Narcissa drawing the summoning circle using her own blood. The little golden cup, which she was sure was some stolen heirloom of the Smiths, she placed in the middle of the circle as she powered it with the magic that ran through her blood. This magic needed no wand. This was equivalent exchange, blood for power.

When the same demon emerged from her summoning circle, it had laughed at her request to hide the cup in its dimension. She could not bear to look at it this time as it came to her in all its dark glory, black and white and all colors in between, five heads, five pairs of wings, serpentine and draconic, its five slavering mouths open in a paean of hunger for more of her magic, more of her blood. Narcissa bound it within the confines of the blood-drawn circle, her will indomitable as she subjugated its power into hers. It would hide the cup, she determined. It would allow her to fulfill her oaths of loyalty, to her sister, to her husband, by hiding the Dark Lord’s artifact. She was certain that Bellatrix and Lucius, dark and light, defined that moment for her, when the five-headed dragon form of the demon she had come to know was Tiamat bowed to her and told her she had not yet fulfilled her fate, but that it would take the cup and hide it. She would be unable to retrieve it until her fate had finally been fulfilled, her destiny consumated. Narcissa was certain, when she’d closed the portal and banished the demon back into its dark realm with the cup, that the lines of the war had been drawn and she was finally on the winning side. Lucius would triumph for the Dark Lord, and her destiny would be fulfilled.

But the tides of war had changed irrevocably now, Narcissa was sure. There was no way Lucius would survive the Dark Lord’s wrath now that her uncle had returned him disgraced, wounded, and carrying his father’s body, and Narcissa, for all that she loved her husband—her former husband—was a Black in name, in blood, in allegiance. First, foremost, and forever. And she would never turn from her family to fight for Lucius’ Dark Lord. As much as she loved her husband, there was no way she could lift her wand to cut down her uncle or her cousins, and she could see now what a foolish girl she had been. The wedding was a sham. Perhaps Lucius may have truly loved her, but his marrying into the House of Black had been nothing more than a ploy for him and Abraxas to get close enough to her family so that they could obtain the Black Heir. She had not even known that Lucius’ private assignment from the Dark Lord had been to kill Sirius.

Narcissa was a lot of things, but she was no traitor to the House of Black. She could no more send Sirius to his death by allowing her husband to catch him than she could allow her uncle to kill Lucius. She was caught now in the middle of a blood feud that was only adding fuel to the fires of this war that the Dark Lord waged against the rest of Britain. She did not know how Bellatrix could do such a thing, could raise her wand against their sister, and Narcissa was determined she would not go down such a path. Bellatrix may have redeemed herself by sacrificing her life to save their uncle’s, but it was a redemption too little too late. Andromeda was dead, and Bellatrix had been Marked, branded, sullied. Narcissa was not going to relive the mistakes her sister had made.

Perhaps, she thought to herself now as she went about straightening her uncle’s parlor, and later on as she cleaned up the blood-spattered, destroyed hallway, that the position she was in now… it was her fault for believing that a demon had spoken to her when she was not part of the coven summoning it in the first place. Perhaps that demon had been nothing more than the fevered imagination of a lonely little girl, desperate for a crumb of attention amidst the adults in her life who regarded her as nothing. Certainly, she hadn’t even been important enough to her father as to command more than a hundred thousand galleons in exchange for marrying her off to another family. It had been a pittance compared to Bellatrix’s dowry. And certainly, the demon she had summoned on her own, Tiamat, had looked nothing like the dark avenging angel she had seen emerge out of Aunt Cassiopeia’s summoning circle. Tiamat had taken the cup, had acquiesced to the superiority of Narcissa’s will, even though it had told her that she would not be able retrieve what she had hidden without fulfilling the destiny that it had given her all those years ago, when she had still been a child.

Perhaps, Patriarch Arcturus and the rest of the House of Black had been right. Narcissa was a bit of a naïve child in comparison to her far more worldly sisters, and she would not have the opportunity to demonstrate her worth the House of Black any longer, now that Bellatrix, the sister who had aided her, who had been her crutch, was gone. She could scarcely believe that her husband’s family had even been the one to cut her down. And perhaps, since she’d arrived at her uncle’s house that day so many hours ago, with her husband and her father-in-law in tow, breaking the trust that Orion had bestowed upon her, and wreaking havoc in her uncle’s house, it meant she would never have the chance to redeem herself to the House of Black. Certainly, her uncle did not even trust her to care for Bellatrix’s body to prepare her for burial.

Now she was trapped, alone in Grimmauld Place, while her uncle raced against time to save Sirius from Merlin only knew what trouble that boy had gotten himself into now.

It took her the better part of the night to fix the destruction wrought into the parlor and the third floor hallway. Grimmauld Place was oddly resistant to her magic, as if the house knew that she had betrayed her uncle, its master, mere hours prior, by defending her husband—former husband, Narcissa reminded herself sternly, as she Scourgified the blood-soaked carpets. Bellatrix’s body, she had wrapped in a clean dressing gown she found in the guest room that Orion had placed her in, and left her for him in the bed. She did not dare to go against her uncle’s orders, after the devastating manic episode he had flown into when Bella died, and she did not dare to find out what Orion would do to her if he discovered that Narcissa had gone against his orders. But perhaps she could do something that would go a long way in redeeming herself in her family’s eyes.

She had to move the furniture in the parlor by hand and it took her hours as she did not have the upper body strength to grapple with some of the heavier oak and cherry wood tables and chairs. Grimmauld Place refused to cooperate with her at all ever since she moved Bellatrix’s body to the guest room. She’d made sure the doors were shut so that whatever she was doing would not pull her body and her blood into the mix as Narcissa stripped the carpets, rolling them up to lean against the scrubbed walls before she took her wand and cut her palms to spread the welling blood.

Drawing a summoning circle with her own blood had always been the most disturbing part of the summoning ritual. She had seen it many times before when she had stayed over at Patriarch Arcturus’ castle in Cornwall, where Aunt Lucretia loved to make a spectacle of the event for her nephews and nieces. Bellatrix and Sirius had been the most curious when they were young, Bella because she was enamored with the idea that demons could be subjugated by a witch’s will, and Sirius because he had been revolted that their blood could be used in such a manner. Narcissa had watched from a clinical perspective, learning and educating herself in the minute details of demon summoning.

She had to well up more blood from the cuts in her palm because the wooden floor seemed to soak up her blood greedily before she even managed to draw the circle in its entirety and completeness. Drawing the protective elements in the summoning circle required her to slash up her arms so she could gather enough blood to soak into the wood. By the time she was ready, she was nearly faint from the blood loss, and she had to close her eyes, swaying a little as she stood in the center of the circle.

She clapped her hands once, her magic pooling, concentrating in the welling, dripping blood. When she opened her eyes, they were transparent, the blue subsumed by the blinding light of her magic as she called the demon forth.

“Tiamat! Hear my call and come feast over the scent of my blood!”

-----------------

The Potter girl’s adoptive father was an obstinate little fool when Potter and Orion explained the importance of Sirius’ engagement to the girl. Orion had not counted on the fact that Potter would eventually come to the same conclusion that he had surrounding the Potter girl’s Horcrux, but evidently, Potter was not quite half the dunce that most of these pandering little weasels who liked to think that muggles and wizardkind could live in harmony were. The Horcrux in that girl needed to be destroyed. There was no two ways about it. And of course, the only way to destroy a Horcrux was to destroy its host.

Orion was not a monster, of course. He would not advocate to kill that girl, especially not when his son was so besotted with her. He was certain if he did try to kill the Potter girl, Sirius would wage war against heaven and earth to try to get her back, and Orion would be the prime casualty. But he was gratified to learn that Potter was starting to realize that perhaps killing his granddaughter need not happen if the girl was given a choice she could make on her own, and that she would know how to find her way back from destroying the Horcrux if she was given a sufficient tether to the life she lived here.

Mr Evans, idiot muggle that he was, couldn’t understand this.

Orion did not want to waste his breath explaining things like soul magic, immortality and the creation and existence of Horcruxes, and why the girl was pivotal in their efforts to end the war, so they’d ended up talking instead of Sirius’ proposal, despite Potter’s best efforts to derail such a conversation from taking place. He was certain that anyone marrying into his family, and to the Heir to the House of Black no less, should consider themselves as having the luck of the century at having such a windfall in their laps, but Evans did not seem to care for the ramifications of such a union taking place, and focused solely on the fact that he thought his daughter was far too young to be talking of marriage, when what he should have been doing was kissing Orion’s feet for bestowing his blessing on his son’s proposal.

By the time they managed to extricate themselves from the conversation and picked up the texts that the red-haired Ms Evans had promised, he was bone-tired and wished for nothing more than a long bath and an entire day secluded in his study to learn of the Sayre magic. Unfortunately, he still had Bellatrix’s body to prepare for burial, and a funeral to arrange for his niece. Narcissa, he hoped, would keep herself out of his way as he tried to find a way to extract the cup from whatever dimension she had banished it to using the summoning ritual she’d described. Orion had little skill or patience for working with summoning circles, but he was certain Lucretia would be able to point him in the right direction, considering her success in trapping Rosier’s boy.

“Perhaps we should call it a day while we still have light,” Potter said presently, as they stepped out of Evans’ house so they could Apparate. “I need to prepare a new house for my family, and you need to take care of your departed niece.”

Orion gave Potter a sour look as he put on his hat. “I would trade places with you if I could. Finding a different house to live in among my family’s hundreds of properties sounds like a suitably ordinary, if boring, alternative to actually gathering my family so we can provide Bella her last rights.”

“Take care of yourself there, Black,” Potter cautioned. “We both know there are more Marked Death Eaters in your family than just your niece. By now, Voldemort will have learned from Malfoy about your allegiances. If any of them show up in this funeral, you can be certain they will bring trouble.”

“I invite the trouble, Potter. That seems like a far more worthwhile use of my time and magic than having to navigate niceties around my insipid in-laws and their endless simpering over this mudblood—“ He stopped suddenly as he felt a stab of fear lance through his chest so sharply, it nearly drove him to his knees as he and Potter stepped off Evans’ back porch to Apparate. It was foreign and otherworldly, but all the same, inexplicably tied to his own magic that he realized instantly what it was. This was not a person, he knew, but the essence of himself he had poured into Grimmauld Place to secure the house as his, to assure him that his house would never betray him.

“Black? Orion?” Potter asked, his voice tinged with concern.

It took him a moment to master himself as Potter dragged him upright when he nearly fell. “It’s Narcissa! That stupid girl—!”

He didn’t finish his statement as he grabbed Potter’s arm and Apparated them both to the steps leading up to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Potter did not look fazed at all when Orion blasted the front door in with wandless magic as he strode in. The hallway was dark and silent but he could feel the hum of otherworldly magic rippling through the wards of his house, and all he could do as he ran to the door leading into the parlor was hope that he was not too late to save his niece from the utter stupidity of summoning a demon in his living room.

-----------------

She was not certain whether her magic had transported her into the demon’s dimension or if she had so laid waste to her uncle’s house that all she could see from all directions that she turned to was a barren grey wasteland of nothing. The earth at her feet was cracked and dry, and the parched land seemed to drink in the steady, slow drip of her blood as she pulled herself to her feet and turned her eyes heavenward.

The sun was an angry pink flare set in the middle of an empty grey sky and Narcissa had to shield her eyes lest she be blinded as she called out to the demon.

“Tiamat! I have returned for my treasure!” Her voice echoed in the wasteland, as if a chorus of a thousand ghosts were repeating her words back to her, only it came back garbled and unintelligible and haunting. She shivered in spite of herself. There was no heat here, no cold. There was little wind, and indeed, even the air felt as if it didn’t exist but for the fact that she could breathe.

Her chest heaved as she cried out into the silence once again. “Return to me what is mine! I have need of the treasure I have commanded you to hide!”

It started out, she thought, as a whisper. A niggle of a thought in the back of her mind, only she knew it was not hers. The voice in her head was at once silent and cacophonous as Tiamat responded with a resounding cackle of a laugh.

“Silly witch girl!” it told her in a mockery of a human voice that sounded like nails crackling across wood.

Narcissa clapped her bloodied hands to her ears as if to block out the sound, but it was everywhere: in the stale air she breathed, in the parched earth at her feet. It was even in the trickling sound of her blood dripping from her wounds. Tiamat’s massive draconian form appeared, first as a ripple through the mundane grey landscape, and then a cacophonous riot of color, as the flare of the sun glinted off its massive, scaly body. It’s gigantic wingspan blotted out the light and shrouded Narcissa in darkness as its five dragon heads, black and white, red and blue and green, all turned to her and seemed to pierce her with each head’s fathomless golden gaze.

“You think you can come to my realm and make demands out of me, girl? Do you know what you have summoned? Do you understand the magic you have unwittingly dabbled in?”

Narcissa stood her ground in spite of her flagging strength. She was bleeding out. She was fading. But she would obtain the cup, exactly as she’d promised her uncle she would do, if it was the last thing she could do for the nobility, the exalted magic of the House of Black.

“I care not what you are! Give me back what is mine!”

One massive dragon talon swung through the air and ripped through Narcissa’s blood-streaked robes, tearing the through silk and crushed velvet, lace and cotton, and finally, through pale skin, to expose her pulsing organs as Tiamat peered through the strange inner workings of her body. Dimly, Narcissa realized she was about to die. She remembered what Bellatrix had looked like, with her body ripped open by Abraxas Malfoy’s sword. And yet she wondered at the fact that she felt no pain in the massive bloody wound that exposed her churning belly, her intestines, her liver and kidney and spleen. And nestled in between the various organs that kept her body alive, her womb.

“Your body is empty of child, witch!” Tiamat bellowed, the voice a wild discordant mix of five different voices that seemed at once to harmonize and contradict each other in tone. “Your destiny consumated in exchange for my service! That is what we agreed on!”

“I am not with child!” Narcissa screamed back. “I am not with child because the destiny you predicted for me is false! You told me I would meet a man in my desperation! Well I met him! I married him! I laid with him! I knew him! And he has given me no child! He has betrayed my family, and my family has annulled our handfast! Now, you tell me how you expect me to fulfill our bargain.”

Tiamat let out a screech that Narcissa could only surmise must have been laughter. “Oh, what a silly mortal you make, little girl! But it is no matter. A bargain broken is hardly a loss for me, when I have your silly little self offering yourself here to me in my domain. Perhaps I shall eat you, piece my piece, organ by organ. If you are lucky, I may even relinquish your stupid little trinket when I spit your bones out back into your plane of existence. It is hardly anything interesting; just the sliver of a soul of a man so frightened of death that he would attempt to hide himself in such a trifle of an object.” Tiamat’s five snake heads turned a parody of a smile to her. “It was barely a satisfying meal, would you not agree, little mortal? But that sliver of soul has certainly whetted my appetite, and I am afraid little witch, that you shall now be the entree. Pity that you would not be able to fulfill the destiny I have foretold, but you humans and your frantic, pitiful little lives are plentiful enough that another one of your ilk would certainly stumble upon me once more in the future.”

The black head at the center of the five snake heads reared back before it spat out the tarnished golden cup that Narcissa had given the demon to hide. It was covered in the corrosive slime of the creature’s spit.

“Here,” it told her. “Empty out the blood in your wrists that I may enjoy the sanguine taste of your life as it ebbs away. I shall not play with my food this time, to give you a measure of mercy I did not afford to that pathetic sliver of soul in your cup.”

Narcissa did not move, afraid as she was that if she did, her innards would simply spill out of her and she would die.

“Come now, girl, don’t keep me waiting—“

She was not sure what it was, but she thought she heard the sound of the fabric of the reality of the demon’s dimension ripping before a bolt of pure white light pierced through Tiamat’s enormous wing and hit the massive wound on Narcissa’s belly. She smelled her flesh burning as it knitted itself back into the pink of health, even as Tiamat screamed at the injury to its wing. Overhead, the pink sun flared golden and then white, before the grey of the sky was blotted dark, shining black as if an eclipse had overtaken the barren abyss of the demon’s existence, and then the blackness coalesced into Orion Black, his hair and robes billowing back as he sailed through the air, wand brandished and throwing Dark curses that Narcissa had never even heard of, not even in the years that she’d studied with her father and her sisters. Bolts of light in black and white and blue and red and green volleyed from his wand as he bellowed spell after spell, driving the demon back, before he grabbed Narcissa around the waist with one hand, the cup in another gloved hand.

She saw the flare of the golden sun frame her uncle’s black hair in a shining halo and finally, she realized where she had gone wrong. It hadn’t been Lucius at all.

“YOU STUPID GIRL!” Orion screamed into her face, before his mouth was suddenly upon hers, and then the grey skies broke like a shattered mirror, its pieces falling away as Orion’s kiss shattered through the summoning circle she’s anchored to her skin.

Dimly, she could hear the sounds of Mr Potter in the background shouting the words to the ritual that would close the circle and trap Tiamat back into its dimension, the whirling rush of magic blasting through her ripped robes and her tangled, blood-encrusted hair. And then she was falling, because Orion was falling, the two of them landing outside the summoning circle. The cup clattered to the stripped wooden floor of the parlor in Grimmauld Place. It was broken, the gold cracked and chipped in places as it rolled to Mr Potter’s feet.

Orion fell on his hands and elbows, moving his robes to preserve Narcissa’s modesty as her own robes had been completely ripped away, and he let out a hysterical laugh as he stared back at Mr Potter, who was looking down at them with a mixture of incredulity and resigned expectation.

“A Death Eater attack, Potter,” Orion gasped through his laughter. His left hand was burned from the corrosive slime that had covered the cup when he’d grabbed for it and Mr Potter quickly bent down to heal him. “Fiendfyre, muggles, and now, a demonic summoning.”

Mr Potter shot Orion an ironic smile as he handed him his hat, which had fallen, likely when he broke through the protective magic around Narcissa’s summoning circle. “And it’s only Tuesday, Black. Just think about what tomorrow’s Wizengamot session will bring.”

“Fuck you,” Orion rasped, baldly rude, as he heaved himself to sit up tiredly, righted the hat back on his head, and struggled out of his robes to wrap them around Narcissa. “I think I deserve a day off. It looks like Cissy’s demon has managed to destroy the mudblood’s artifact for us. I am counting that as a win.”

Narcissa stared up at her uncle’s face in mute wonder for a long moment, reliving the sight of him haloed by the flare of the pink sun in Tiamat’s abyss, before the enormity of the events she had set in motion finally caught up with her, and there in the circle of her hated uncle’s arms, the man who had saved her, she let herself fall away into unconsciousness.

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love-bean · 4 years ago

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Spectacular - Prologue

so hello! i decided i would upload this in parts since it is quite long lol this is gonna be a little prologue type thing to help you get to know my oc a little bit and get the ball rolling. so without further ado!

wk: 1760

-o-o-o-o-o-

Growing up, Anastasia never understood why she had to be prim and proper while all of her older brothers did not. It made her life particularly un-spectacular.

“Miss Mackenzie,” the governess sighed. “Please do not do this today.”

“I just want an answer!” the nine-year-old groaned. “Why can’t I learn to shoot and ride and fight the way they can?”

“Augustus does not shoot or fight,” the governess pointed out.

“Augustus is only one year my senior. Our other brothers did not learn to fight until they were nearing 12,” the girl grumbled.

Sighing, the elder woman sat down beside her pupil. “Anastasia, there are many things a boy must learn in order to become a man. But there are different things that a girl must learn in order to become a woman. Unfortunately, although your mother has passed and you have no older sisters, you still must learn these things, no matter how upsetting it is to you.”

The little girl frowned and crossed her arms. They were both silent for a few moments before the governess placed a gentle hand on her knee.

“How about after we finish our lessons today, I will summon Alexander and perhaps he will take you riding.”

It wasn’t until she met Eloise Bridgerton that she truly understood the pressure of a young woman in society.

“It’s unfair,” Anastasia, aged 13 years, complained as she kicked a stray rock from the path.

“I agree,” Eloise replied, walking arm-in-arm with her new friend.

“Respectfully, you do not understand,” Anastasia said. “You have your mother, and your older sister, Daphne. You are well-guided. And you do not have to be perfect! I am the only girl in my family, and the youngest, and-”

“Anastasia,” Eloise interrupted gently. “Do not work yourself up. While I am not in the exact same position, I will still have to be a perfect lady eventually. Daphne will be married someday, and the responsibility will fall onto me to help guide Francesca and Hyacinth.”

They walked silently for a few moments before Eloise snorted out a laugh.

“Besides, your first season won’t even be for seven more years. You have plenty of time to perfect the art of perfection.”

Seven years. Anastasia wasn’t supposed to debut in society until after she turned twenty. That all changed when her governess fell ill and passed away shortly before her seventeenth birthday.

It was a hard loss for the Mackenzies, but it was particularly difficult for the youngest member of the family. Mrs. Henrietta Hobbs was the only female figure Anastasia had ever known, having been less than one month old when her own mother passed.

But the loss of Mrs. Hobbs sped Anastasia’s life into motion.

Anastasia stood in the sitting room by the window, watching the rain drizzle over London. It looked as miserable outside as she felt, and while not usually content to sit still, she did not have the energy to do much else.

“Sister.”

A gentle voice broke her from her trance and she wiped a stray tear away before turning her head toward the door where her eldest brother stood.

“Yes, Alexander?” she replied.

“Father would like us all to meet in the study,” he said, offering his hand. “That means you too.”

She nodded and walked toward him, wrapping her arm around his and allowing him to lead her through their home. In the study, their father sat behind his large wooden desk while their other three brothers had gathered in front of him.

“Ah, my beginning and end,” Lord Mackenzie said as his remaining two children entered the study.

As they joined their siblings, he stood.

“As you all know, we have been mourning the recent loss of Mrs. Hobbs,” he said, glancing at his daughter. “As a result, Anastasia, you will make your debut in this upcoming season. I will chaperone you as well as your four brothers. Am I clear?”

And make her debut she did. Not only was she named the diamond of the first water that season, but she found a husband by her third ball.

Of course, she shared many dances with many different suitors, all wishing to claim the hand of the only Mackenzie daughter. Mostly, however, she socialized with the three eldest Bridgertons, who were the only ones in attendance apart from their mother and who had become her close friends over the years she had known Eloise.

Anastasia stood at the edge of the ballroom, attached to her eldest brother’s protective arm, when three familiar faces approached them.

“Hello, Mackenzies,” Anthony greeted.

“Hello, Bridgertons,” Alexander replied in a similar fashion.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Benedict said, bowing his head slightly. “You look beautiful this evening.”

“Just this evening?” Anastasia teased.

“I have always favored pink on you,” he replied with a lopsided smirk.

“Well, I am glad to have pleased you tonight and I will have to continue my efforts in doing so for the future,” she said dryly.

“She hates pink,” Augustus interrupted, flashing his younger sister a mischievous grin.

“You try having to wear nothing but the wretched color for your entire life,” she snapped quietly before straightening her posture and recovering from her unladylike outburst. “It is the color of weakness, of softness. It is the same color of dress every young lady wears to every ball; the same young ladies who fawn over my brothers, of all of you, I am sure.”

“In my opinion, softness is not equal to weakness,” Benedict quipped. “Tulips bear the same color, and yet they manage to survive the harshest of winters and longest of summers.”

“Only to be picked by a careless person and die within days,” she argued.

“Ever the optimist, Ana,” he said, tone warm and fond.

She rolled her eyes. “You have not called me that since I was but a child.”

“You are still but a child,” he said. “But over the years I have had the pleasure of knowing you, I have watched you blossom into a beautiful young woman, much like a tulip.”

She shook her head, chuckling.

“Please, Benedict,” Andrew groaned. “If you’re going to court my sister, fine. But at least ask her to dance first.”

In the end, it was one Lord George Weston who had the honor of marrying the youngest Mackenzie.

Lord Weston was nineteen years Anastasia’s senior, making him thirty-six at the time of their marriage. He was a kind and gentle man, expecting nothing but companionship from the girl.

In the long line of Westons, it was common for a man to die at a relatively young age. They often grew very tired very quickly, and were usually in a great deal of pain. Once infection set in, there would not be much time left.

George was no exception, and he knew that.

So, all he wanted was a companion to live out the rest of his days. He did not wish for heirs, for to produce an heir was to force upon them the same fate he would suffer. Half of his fortune would be inherited by a cousin on his mother’s side, one with heirs who would live until he was old and grey. The other half would remain with his wife.

And for which, he desired was a kind, honorable young lady whom he could spoil and make happy in his final days.

A young lady like Anastasia.

At first, he approached Lord Mackenzie with the proposal. He laid every detail out, specifying that he would seek neither a dowry nor heirs from his daughter in exchange for a few years of bliss before his time was up. Once the men were in agreement, it was explained to all of the Mackenzie children, who were under direct instruction to never speak of it to anyone else.

It was a hard secret to keep, but especially hard to keep from her dearest friend in the world.

“I cannot fathom actually being engaged at our age,” Eloise snorted.

“Eloise,” Lady Bridgerton sighed at her daughter’s noise. “Please at least try to be ladylike for once.”

“Please, Mama,” Eloise replied. “It is only my siblings and Anastasia.”

Her mother waved her hand and moved on.

“That is why I came to visit you today, El,” Anastasia said, wringing her hands. “I am engaged.”

Upon hearing the statement, Benedict began listening in on the conversation between his sister and his friend.

“Pardon?” Eloise deadpanned.

“I am engaged,” Anastasia repeated.

“To whom? When? Why?” Eloise fired.

“To Lord Weston, last night. And we are engaged because he will provide for me. He will take care of me for the rest of my days.”

“Surely you are not in love with him,” Eloise gasped.

“I am not,” Anastasia confirmed. “But I do believe I will grow fond of him.”

“Doomed to a life of fondness,” Eloise muttered. “Well, congratulations, my friend. I am happy for you if you believe you will be happy.”

“Happy about what?” Lady Bridgerton asked, only catching the end of the sentence.

“Anastasia is to be married,” Eloise said.

“Congratulations my dear!”

As he watched his family congratulate their close friend, Benedict felt his world turn upside down at the fact that the girl he loved was betrothed to another.

However, the few years Lord Weston was hoping to have turned into a few months, for he fell ill not six months after his marriage to Anastasia. And she was with him to the bitter end.

Anastasia sat in the same chair she had taken residence in for two entire weeks prior. She was at her husband’s bedside, keeping him occupied with books and art.

“Anastasia,” George croaked, interrupting the sonnet she was reading.

“Yes, my lord?” she replied, glancing up.

“I am dying,” he said. “My final days are coming, and I do not wish you to witness that.”

She placed a gentle hand on his. “I made a vow to you, and I intend to see that through.”

“I do not deserve your kindness,” he whispered.

“You have been nothing short of the perfect husband, George,” she said. “The months we have spent together, however few, have been the best of my life. I do not deserve your kindness, sir.”

“You deserve the world,” he insisted. “I do believe I have become quite fond of you.”

“And I you.”

He took his last breath three days later, his teary wife at his side. Upon his death, his cousin took over his estate and Anastasia returned to London to live with her family.

-o-o-o-o-o-

so there it is. a bit of backstory, a bit of introduction. very VERY roughly edited. i have much more coming but this just gets it going. let me know what you think if you have a spare moment! next part will either be coming tonight or tomorrow. much love x

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #jo writes #jo speaks #jo tries really hard

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silveryfairy · 4 years ago

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hey man if it's not too much trouble, could you give us a brief rundown of the Nocturnes? It's just, every morning I wake up and there's a new one, and I Care everyone in this establishment a lot though I don't really know them, thank you kindly have a nice day

let my preface this by saying: aayushi, i love you, and your enthusiasm and interest for the things i create never ceases to bring me joy. you are the kind of friend i think everyone should have and i say that completely genuinely outside of this bit.

i say that as an apology in advance for what i’m about to unleash upon you, because what you’re going to see is the product of my friend @himepapillon and i’s absolute BRAINROT and what comes of it when not only two people make an oc universe from scratch but what happens when we then have to explain that universe to other people

you are in no way required to retain this information as to be completely honest me and jeremie haven’t fully either and we’re the ones who MADE this shitshow. below is the shoddy family tree i lovingly crafted in ms paint

let us begin.

for starters, i’ll specify some things:

1. not every oc on this chart is mine, as it’s a collaboration between me and jeremie - the koenig family and bishop family belong to faer but the rest is all me baby! for the sake of your soul i will only be going into my half of this Mess

2. the universe this takes place in is a pretty wacky and silly one, just, like, Slightly removed from reality. these characters are all completely batshit insane and do things that no human being probably should. it’s all portrayed critically, as the general concept of this whole thing is “the goings-on of a bunch of unhinged corrupt rich people”. we kind of flip flop on how seriously stuff is played but if i had to slap a genre on this it’d be, like, black comedy drama. i know a lot of these concepts sound kinda fucked to write but that’s just because i’m trying to describe them in a SOMEWHAT concise way without going into Super Introspective mode

the nocturnes are an incredibly influential and rich family in the uk that tends to produce very influential and rich people. they’re also all a little bit insane. the main characters of this Saga are the sons of desmond and xanthes, the family’s resident Power Couple and biggest figureheads. they suck ass but that will become apparent the second i talk about their children.

from oldest to youngest, the nocturne boys are:

ichor nocturne, 25 - the eldest, ichor was disowned from the household when he was 18 for unruly behavior, sent to live alone on a farm so he couldn’t tarnish his family’s image any further. since then, you’d think the isolation has driven him a bit mad - he’s a very prolific cotton farmer and has been doing astonishingly well for himself, running his farm on his own with only his parents’ inheritance as help. ...that, and, of course, the blood of the people he executes to keep his crops growing - or so he believes. he moonlights as an executioner in the small town over, exterminating the ‘pests’ of the city. despite his newfound violence, he still routinely checks in on his siblings, finding ways to mysteriously end up at their door to pay visits. the older brother instinct still hasn’t left

icarus nocturne, 23 - the second eldest (only by technicality, as he is a twin), icarus is the family’s golden child! but not in terms of business or anything, oh no - icarus is a famous heartthrob teen (sorta) musician! he’s been in the limelight since he was a little boy, being an actor as a small child and getting into music as he grew. his general Look(tm), accompanied by infectiously happy rave music, is a trademark cutesy mask over his face with oversized clothing - meant to express as much energy as possible as he bounces about the stage. in reality, he lives a life as forced and controlled as possible by virtue of... living the fucked up life of a child star. but his parents have someone to take the fall - so, what of his twin?

achilles nocturne, 23 - icarus’ younger twin, which wouldn’t mean much... in any family but this one. achilles has had it drilled into his head since the beginning that he was a mistake next to icarus, to the point where legally, he does not exist. following icarus beginning his career, achilles was unpersoned completely - living in the family’s basement with the height of his education being for a very specific purpose... needing to be icarus’ body double on tours and for paparazzi - after all, they can’t have icarus’ purity tainted by all those clamboring fans! it’s a godawful situation. on the bright side, though, achilles has found a hobby where he can be himself: twitch streaming! yes really. under the name of 1upanonymous, hidden under a mask just like his brother, achilles at least has a fanbase that can love him for who he is! ...uh, kind of.

tomasine “tommy” nocturne, 16 - the youngest of the bunch, and it says a lot about his siblings’ capabilities that he’s the technical heir to the nocturnes’ various businesses and fortune. tommy is just a feral 16 year old that doesn’t give two shits about any fame or fortune, he just wants to party and drink and have fun like any other kid his age! he’s rebellious, loud, and charmingly annoying (to his brothers anyway), and has no real care for the gravity of his family’s situations beyond finding it annoying that they want him to be all PRIM and PROPER and BUSINESSY EEWWWWW. he’s just a funny loud little child trying to live his best life. loves his brothers fiercely

already a mess of people. and really, all you need to know about or really keep in mind are those four: the upcoming characters are largely just side ones we came up with because we thought it’d be funny to flesh out this fucked up family more. so let’s get into the anatra branch of the family - headed by jael nocturne, xanthes’ brother and the siblings’ uncle

jael anatra-nocturne, who i am not giving an age for my own sanity trying to decipher this fucking timeline - a crude and playful uncle, jael is someone the nocturne boys either love (icarus, tommy) or hate (achilles, ichor). constantly joking, as he expresses affection with loving insults - kind of a money-driven asshole, but a lovable one - he’s a career politician and met his current husband, joaquin, on the job. or, well... no longer current, because jael’s funny life of debauchery, toxic masculinity, and making fun of his nephews, came to an abrupt end when he was assassinated on live television. yipes!

joaquin anatra-nocturne, who also does not get an age - jael’s former secretary and current widow, joaquin is the local wine uncle. im not sure if that’s a classification but it is now, because he is one. an unapologetic gold-digger, he (publicly) took jael’s death frighteningly well, and is now living his best life with a revolving door of new boyfriends. his relationship with jael was a genuine and very loving one, and joaquin IS devastated by his death, but both of them just found the bit of pretending to be this loveless gold digger/politician couple very funny, and being as suspicious as possible around his husband’s death is exactly what jael would have wanted joaquin to do

taddeo anatra-nocturne, 14 - the youngest child of these two, a shy little boy with big Child In A Horror Movie energies. makes potions in the backyard and probably decorates his clothes with animal bones n stuff when he’s older. despite this he’s pretty harmless, nice and fiercely loyal - tommy especially thinks he’s fun and likes to hang out with him at family gatherings - just so long as you look past the creepy dolls he likes to talk to and fires he likes to set. especially close with jael and wants to be a miniature version of him, buuut still being a shy tween taddeo hasn’t been able to act on that much.

dailon anatra-nocturne, 20 - the adopted second child of jael and joaquin, dailon is a moody and unstable delinquent that was snatched up by them just as he was about to age out of foster care. while he has a chill ‘cool-older-even-though-he’s-younger-cousin’ demeanor, the tension when he’s around his parents - jael specifically - can be cut with a knife. dailon hates his dad: ‘someone who expresses affection with insults and jokes and likes seeing people pissed at him’ and ‘someone who’s volatile, short-tempered, and sullen after living in a foster home most his life’ are just as bad of a combination as you’d expect. dailon gets himself into a lot of trouble, and is an overall very self-centered prick, but we’ll get more on that in a bit.

HELL FAMILY...2!!! that’s the last of the families to cover, buuuut there are still some other names on that list - mostly connected to dailon. this is REAL “just going on in the background” shit that you also do not need to know whatsoever (except for mitzi she’s pretty important she’s just down here for organization purposes) - i just like to play god and make characters get into drama.

[tw: cheating, unhealthy relationships, stalking]

mitzi “moon” altberg, 23 - achilles must feel very far away by now, but we’re back to him for a second! mitzi is his ex-girlfriend he met online, a fan-to-employee-to-lover and one of the maybe two people outside of the family achilles has shown his real face to. however, achilles growing up deeply unstable - between his parents’ abuse, having spotlights on him and adoring fans both as icarus’ body double and as a streamer, and in general not really growing up to be any kind of well developed human being - made this relationship a complete disaster. he grew obsessive and controlling - and when she tried to ignore him, he broke his one rule (to never go outside without permission) to find the hotel she was staying at in real life and show up to confront her. the incident was completely covered up, both by the nocturnes and with their connections, and so mitzi was forced to stay silent. this entire thing is based on this song! as time heals wounds, though, mitzi will end up doing pretty well for herself and putting achilles behind her - even getting a new boyfriend, jared!

reynard fiala, 20 - dailon’s (ex-)boyfriend, who he’s enraveled in his own weird soap opera subplot with. reynard is a relatively chill person, with an interest in art and taxidermy - just as morbid as dailon’s brother, but in a more. Normal way. genuinely a sweetheart who does not deserve what happens to them: getting cheated on with dailon’s best friend. yipes^2! while it's earth shattering in the moment, all reynard will really want to do come some time to process is to move on and for him and dailon both to heal in peace... far away from eachother (which is easier said than done since taddeo thinks reynard is super cool and loves having him over, the awkwardness between them and his brother be damned)

jared summers, 21 - the most normal person here. a longterm best friend of dailon’s, and yes, the very same one i just mentioned. he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer - what we in the industry would call a himbo if his dumbassery didn’t cause very real damage - who had been pining for dailon for years and him dating was no deterrent, and dailon, thinking the world revolves around him as he tends to do, accepted jared’s confession so they just kinda started dating on the side. jared has the moral backbone of a pool noodle, and even after it causes dailon’s relationship with reynard to fall apart, will need a wholeass intervention to be staged to make them both realize just how shitty they’re being. after that, though, jared will end that mess and be on his way to becoming a better person himself - with the help of a sweet girl he’s met online.

jared and mitzi dating in the future is the most contrived thing on the planet but just hear me out that it’ll be HILARIOUS for achilles to check in on his ex-girlfriend and find she’s dating his cousin’s best friend, who said cousin was apparently dating on the side. very small world, it is.

anyway, thank you if you’ve somehow stuck around to read this entire thing - this isn’t even getting into jeremie’s half of this whole ordeal, which includes some of these fellas’ friends and partners, as well as more crazy rich people nonsense. it’s been very fun to think about and i do love it all dearly, even if putting it all together it’s SUCH a mess.

we don’t intend to make anything Legit out of this, it’s honestly just a fun way to pass the time. it’s the adult equivalent of playing dollhouse. in our minds this is like a 20 season soap opera but actually explaining it to other people it’s just like this

but thank you again for letting me babble i hope it was somewhat entertaining! and again, godspeed if you managed to read this much XD

#nocturnes #ichor nocturne #icarus nocturne #achilles nocturne #tommy nocturne #jael anatra nocturne #joaquin anatra nocturne #taddeo anatra nocturne #dailon anatra nocturne #mitzi moon #jared summers #reynard fiala

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ofcastora · 4 years ago

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@lavolumnia replied to your post: i wanna read more from this AU

In which I continue the DiVerona Regency AU // Part 2 of me transforming Castora and Vivianne’s baking class into a Regency women’s archery club, inspired by this historical club and these outfits ft. Bridgerton-level historical accuracy. Also in which Castora becomes deeply invested in her mother-figure’s happiness and bears witness to a bodice ripper romance, but does not care for it at all.

MENTIONED/APPEAR: Vivianne Sloane // @lavolumnia, Everett Craven // @evcravens, Priam Taravella // @priam-taravella, Cosimo Capulet (NPC), Silviana (NPC), the du Pont family, the Daly family

It was a truth universally acknowledged by all who had the misfortune of taking a stroll in Hyde Park in the morning hours in the month leading up to the Hyde Park Amazon’s Liston Hall showcase and ball that Lady Vivianne Sloane and Miss Castora Aguilar were very awful at archery. Nothing, sans for hanging at the Old Bailey for accidental homicide, would prevent them in their endeavors, however.

Both ladies were quite indomitable and all members of the ton who sought a stroll and all squirrels seeking whatever squirrels sought quickly learned it was best to steer clear of them all together. On the bright side, while they made poor exhibition archers, perhaps in another life they would have made fine huntresses; neither of them had gotten anywhere near a bullseye, but they have gotten significantly closer to skewering a squirrel.

“It appears, Lady Vivianne, that we are actually getting worse.”

“Nonsense.” Such a thing cannot be possible was the unspoken truth.

Castora loosed another arrow. It did not land on the target, soaring high overhead and landing squarely in the tree behind it. “Perhaps you are, but I think my form is improving.”

It was Vivianne’s turn to try; the arrow skimmed past the edge of the target, nestling itself in the dirt by the unfortunate tree that caught Castora’s arrow.

“I can see that.”

If the pair still had any arrows in the quiver, Castora was quite certain that Vivianne would have stabbed her with one. She gently placed her bow on the ground, fighting the impulse to break in two. It looked like Vivianne had the same thought as her. “Shall we?” she asked

This was, perhaps, the most depressing part of their practice sessions – collecting the evidence of their failures.

“I suppose we have no choice –– unless you could hire a lady’s maid for this purpose?”

“A lady’s maid for the sole purpose of fetching our arrows?”

“I dare say she would have her work cut out for her.”

Castora pulled a stubborn arrow from the dirt, ignoring how it stained the hem of her dress. She took a look at their de facto practice field, something akin to distress on her face. “At least we did not lose any arrows in the Serpentine today,” she muttered. “Do you think it is too late to ‘come down with something’?”

“Mrs. Silviana will have your head.”

“Good. She can take it. She’s so often taken leave of her senses, maybe she’ll find use for my head,” Castora remarked.

Vivianne raised an eyebrow, “You are quite bold to assume she has the sense to take advantage of such an opportunity.”

They had reached the tree where Castora’s last arrow had lodged itself. Oh, damn it, she thought, seeing that it had landed about a foot taller than Castora herself. She jumped, trying to grab hold of it, but could not reach.

Vivianne, who Castora was quite certain could reach it, stood by watching the younger woman take out all her energy on an arrow, the corners of her lips threatening to curve into a smile.

A few more attempts occurred, each more feeble than the last. Castora leaned against the tree to catch her breath. “I simply have no wish to embarrass myself in front of the ton, Lady Vivianne – yes, I am keenly aware of the irony.”

"Surely you cannot be afraid of them?” Vivianne asked. Castora wished she could read her expressions better – was the woman surprised by this? Disappointed?

“I am aware of the reality of my circumstances,” she said grimly. “And I feel like I have exhausted my quiver of accidents for this season.” Castora was a wit, a court jester the ton tolerated despite her father conning half of their father’s out of a not-insignificant sum of money because of powerful friends, a beautiful cousin they would all like to wed (or bed), and because someone had to provide some amusement, but their tolerance was ever-wavering tightrope. She could walk it, but she would always teeter.

The fall was inevitable.

Vivianne looked seriously at Castora, then smirked. “Yes, that game of Pall-Mall was certainly something.”

Castora’s cheeks burned. “It was an accident and Priam Taravella knows it.”

“If your aim with a bow and arrow is any indication of your aim in general, I believe you.” It was not. They both knew that – and Castora had surmised that Vivianne realized that she had been aiming for her future-stepson-in-law’s head, but that was to be expected when the beast knocked her own ball out of the way on purpose. “If it is any consolation, Miss Castora, I promise that I will be there with you to suffer Silviana and that exhibition together.”

“Thank you.” She understood the hidden meaning – no one would insult her at the Exhibition with a future duchess by her side.

Vivianne stepped forward, easily reaching the arrow.

Snap. In her efforts, the arrow had split – the tip and a quarter of the shaft remained lodged in a tree. Vivianne glowered at the remnants of the arrow in her hand.

“If I have to look at another arrow today, I think I might die.”

“I quite agree, Miss Castora.” She was quiet for a long moment. Then, she asked, “How about tea?”

A maid poured their tea and quietly left. Castora looked around at Vivianne’s apartments in wonder – surely, this was the most beautiful place she had ever been in. If I ever have the funds to decorate my own lodgings, I should like to make it look like this, Castora thought.

“Who do you picture when you fire an arrow?” she asked. Vivianne sipped her tea, thinking over the question carefully.

“Silviana,” she answered. “And a few others, but lately mostly Silviana. And yourself?”

“Silviana, too.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was not the whole truth. “I take turns picturing all the people who have made me cross.”

“And somehow you rarely hit your target.”

“Perhaps I would have more luck if the person I wished to strike was in the vicinity. There is only so much the imagination can do.”

A lull fell over the conversation. “I suppose you must quit this place when you and the Duke marry.” An odd expression crossed over her face at the word marry.

“Nonsense – this is mine.”

“Yours? How?”

“My late father bequeathed to his cousin, Philip Allard, in his will -–”

“–– The Duke of Beaufort?”

“Yes. His only daughter, Lady Daphne, is married.” Castora detected a hint of a grimace in Vivianne’s voice. “Since the family hates London, he saw no use for the property, so he gave it to me.”

Ah. This was as close to Vivianne’s as it could be, and yet it did not truly belong to her. It was charity. It was alms for a less fortunate relative. Castora understood. At least Vivianne owned something, bittersweet though it may be.

“My distant cousin who inherited Uppercross after my Andrés’s passing pays for my lodgings in London for the Season.”

“Do you reside at Uppercross the rest of the year?”

“No,” Castora scoffed. Uppercross wasn’t the home she had as a child, the one she lost twice over. It did not belong to her anymore. It never did. “I usually take invitations from friends in the countryside. I toured the Lakes with Lady Pandora the last year.”

“Your mother does not miss you?” It did not surprise her that Vivianne knew that her father was gone, but did not know what happened to her mother. No one really cared what befell Isabella Aguilar in the wake of her husband’s scandal.

“My mother is dead,” Castora replied flatly.

“Mine is too.”

“I suppose that makes us both orphans.”

“It’s quite an ugly word, do you not agree?” Vivianne sipped her tea. “It comes from the Greek word orphanos, which means ‘bereaved.’”

“Orphanos.” Castora tested the word on her tongue. “You are right. It’s ugly. What is the best way to shed the label, orphan, do you think?”

“Why, marriage, of course.”

Castora hesitated before asking, “Is that why you are marrying Duke Capulet?” It was odd, their match – after all, before all this Vivianne Sloane had been a spinster.

Another one of Vivianne’s inscrutable expressions crossed her face. “No. Not the whole of it.”

“Is it a love match, then?”

“What constitutes a love match in your opinion?”

“The fool’s errand known as love, of course,” Castora replied. “But I suppose it can be a love match if you love his house, his title – I would hardly begrudge anyone a desire to become a duchess – although I would characterize that as a love arrangement, not a love match.”

“I did not take you for a romantic – is that why you are still unmarried? Holding out for love, Miss Castora?” Such blunt questioning from anyone else would have offended her, but from Vivianne, Castora did not mind.

“I do not wish to marry.” Only the greatest love could persuade me...or an offer from a Duke, a Marquess, an Earl, or a Viscount. Barons and men with gambling debts need not apply. Both options struck her as improbable, if not outright impossible. “It seems to me that every marriage I’ve witnessed has only brought misery...particularly for the women in the match.” Sure, her Uncle Aguilar’s marriage was quite happy by all accounts – surely, it helped that Ramona’s mother died young before the marriage had time to sour.

Vivianne seemed curious. “What do you intend to do then?”

“My cousin, Ramona, is adored by the ton. She shall marry well.”

“And what if you received an offer from someone suitable?”

“I would...consider it, as long as he is not a drunkard or a gambler. Actually, I believe I could deal with a drunkard. No gamblers,” she said. “Anything is better than ending up as a....governess.”

“I could not picture you spending your days tutoring children.”

“My mother was one, actually, before she married. She worked for a good family, too. One that Vivianne was likely acquainted with. That was the other thing about Isabella Aguilar – she was intelligent. She was unfortunate, but bright. Love robbed her off her senses and killed her in the poorhouse. “She was unable to get back into the line of work with a child, however.”

“Children complicate matters,” Vivianne said solemnly. The rumors of Vivianne Sloane’s first Season being delayed by a year floated back to the top of Castora’s head; there were whispers of a bastard child, but Castora had know interest in Vivianne’s secrets unless she chose to share them with her.

“We do,” Castora said. “Lady Vivianne – I hope this goes without saying, but could you –– could you not repeat that my mother was a governess?”

She nodded. “You have my word. Drink your tea, Castora. Before it gets cold.”

Liston Hall was a lovely country estate of middling size; it was pretty, spacious, and very green, everything a country estate ought to be, but it paled in comparison to the surrounding homes such as Campden Court. The true glory of Liston Hall was its apple orchard, where the archery exhibition would be held.

Castora had not been to Gloucestershire since she was a child, accompanying her mother and forced to bear witness to her demise. During her year here, she had never been to Linton. The families of the other Gloucestershire estates – the Craven’s of Campden Court, the Daly’s of Aubrey Park, and the du Pont’s of Kellnych Hall – were not the type to deign to visit Linton Hall.

At least, that’s how Castora remembered them. She prayed that some things never changed.

Whether or not the neighboring aristocrats visited seemed irrespective today – more than half the ton was here, but no one in the ton that Castora actually liked –-- except for Vivianne.

Who she could not find.

Good God – she had one friend, or one person who was close to a friend, here and she could not find her. There was only so much small talk a girl coud do with a glass of lemonade, as anything stronger would not be served until dinner.

Leaving the hall to look for Vivianne, Castora collided into the chest of a gentleman, almost spilling her lemonade all over him. Well, perhaps there was a splash or too on his shoes....and slight more than a splash on his white cravat. Said gentlemen did not seem angry so much as annoyed, however. Still, Castora wished she could melt into the floor.

“I apologize, sir, I am sorry,” she started, her cheeks aflame.

“It is quite alright.” Oh no, this was worse – he was trying hard to be genteel about this. Something about his voice – and face, and countenance – looked familiar, but she could not place him.

“Let me fetch a servant, perhaps they can....wash it?”

He looked at her curiously, as though he was trying to place her, too. “I live at Campden Court – I shall send for a change of clothes direct.”

Realization hit Castora like a ton of bricks. “You are Everett Craven, Marquess of Montrose.” She dropped into a courtesy and cursed every God for not answering her prayers. “I apologize again, my Lord.”

He had come into the title several years ago with the death of his father and was one of the most desired bachelor’s in England –– and one of the most skilled at fending off ambitious mamas. He was almost more desired because he was, by all accounts, a proper gentleman who left rakish activities to the rest of his peers; it truly was a miracle he left London alive and unmarried.

She had heard more fearsome stories about him, however. The Season before her and Ramona’s debut, he accompanied Catherine Daly to London, as Lord Daly was unwell at the time, and practically bit off the head of every man who came near her.

“I am. Pardon me – have we met before, my lady?”

Yes. See, while Isabella Aguilar was unable to find work as a governess, her former employer, the damned du Pont’s of Kellnych Hall, had found employment for Isabella at a lady’s maid to Lady Daly of Aubrey Park. She told them she was a widow, and with Bastian du Pont’s introduction, they accepted a lady’s maid with a child of the right age to be a playmate to their three daughters.

Melting into the floor suddenly seemed insufficient. Perhaps she could suddenly collapse and die, like a lady in a novel, and be reincarnated as a bee. Yes, that seemed good.

“No, I do not believe we have had the occasion, my lord.” She shook her head again, “Just Miss. Miss Castora Aguilar of Uppercross.”

“Castora? That is quite an––”

"–– You can say unusual, my Lord. I cannot take offense since I have ruined your cravat.” At least it didn’t spill on his pants.

He looked at her again. “Are you sure we have not met before?”

“Perhaps in London?” Castora lied. “London is full of faces and names, it’s hard to keep them all straight. Especially during the Season.”

Just as he was about to say something again, Vivianne rounded the corner. “Miss Castora, there you are ---” Whatever words were on her lips died when she saw the Marquess. It was quite a spectacular (and quite unsettling thing) to see Vivianne Sloane rendered speechless.

She looked at the Marquess. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Is it too late to melt into the floor? Castora wondered, thinking about how to best extricate herself from the situation.

Suddenly the lemonade-stained cravat seemed like the least of everyone’s problems. “Lady Vivianne,” the Marquess greeted.

“Lord Montrose,” she said, similarly stiff. Neither pair seemed to notice Castora. They only had eyes for one another. God, now would be a lovely time to answer my call for death.

She took a step backwards in the hopes of sneaking out and leaving them to...whatever was going to happen, but unfortunately, Fate had other plans for them as a person – namely, Duke Capulet – had rounded the corner in search of his wife-to-be.

Duke Capulet was tall and distinguished with greyed hair; age suited him. He walked like someone who never doubted his importance and was unused to being denied. Castora had a difficult time thinking of him as anyone’s husband, or father, or guardian.

“Montrose,” he said in greeting, falling back to Vivianne’s side. The man appeared jovial and pleasant, but there was an air of darkness about him – and he appeared to be in quite a fowl mood.

“Capulet,” the Marquess replied. Castora searched Vivianne’s eyes for a single clue as to what was happening. The future Duchess gave no indication that anything odd was going on.

“What on earth happened to you, Montrose?” the Duke asked, gesturing to his clothes.

“I was not watching where I was going and collided into the young lady whilst she carried some...water?”

“Lemonade,” Castora quietly corrected. “The Marquess is too kind. This is my fault.”

“Regardless of whose fault it is, I hope you shall excuse me to get this matter sorted with.”

“Of course. Shall I see you at the exhibition, Montrose?”

The Marquess nodded, made his courtesies, and left.

The Duke’s attention fell to her, “And who are you?”

Vivianne answered for her, “Miss Castora of Uppercross, dear. She is in the Hyde Park Amazons with me.” The Marquess of Montrose seemed surprised at the revelation that Vivianne was in an archery club.

“Right, of course. You and Lady Vivianne have been hard at work these past few weeks, I have gathered.” He looked at her. “You are Aguilar’s girl, are you not?”

“His niece,” Castora said quickly, pretending not to know his meaning. “He passed away several years ago.”

The Duke did not stop. “Your father was an interesting character, more than what one would expect from one of Montague’s whelps. I think he tried to swindle me during a game of vingt-et-un.”

“My family is very lucky to consider the Montague’s our friends, my Lord,” she replied diplomatically, keenly aware that she could not afford to offend one of the most powerful men in the country.

“For your sake, Miss Castora, I pray the apple falls far from the tree. My dear, see that you never play cards with her,” he said with a snake oil smile. Castora supposed it was a charming smile, if one could ignore the malice hiding in his words. Still, she laughed at his joke.

And I pray the same for your daughter, you wretched man.

“If you will pardon me, my Lord, I think I am going to replace my lemonade.”

“Let me accompany you, Miss Castora,” Vivianne said. “We have much to discuss before the exhibition.”

They returned to the main hall, arm in arm. Castora squeezed Vivianne’s hand, and the woman squeezed back in silent apology. What reason is there to marry this man? Surely a duchy is not worth it?

“I apologize for the Duke. He is not himself after travelling.”

There was something odd about resorting to pleasantries with Vivianne – they had so often bypassed them in their conversations in Hyde Park. A cold sensation settled into Castora’s bones.

“No apologies necessary, Lady Vivianne….how do you know the Marquess of Montrose?”

“Hmm?”

“It looked to be like you two knew each other.”

“A lifetime ago. I did not think he would come.” Castora quietly wondered if Vivianne had been making the same prayers she had made on the journey over.

Castora was lined up with the other ladies of the Hyde Park Amazons...in the very back of the group, where no one could see her miss the target. Vivianne was not there.

“Mrs. Silviana, have you seen Lady Vivianne?”

Silviana startled at Castora’s voice. “Oh, you are here.”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” She remarked before asking again, “Where is Lady Vivianne?”

Silviana’s eyes narrowed. “She has a headache and she is unable to join us. I am quite surprised, Miss Castora, that you do not have one as well.”

Damn her, Castora cursed, Damn her for leaving me to fend for myself. Damn her for breaking her promise.

“Are you alright, Miss Castora?” Silviana asked.

No. I feel rather foolish, you useless twit, she thought bitterly. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Right, dear. And – do remember to aim, please?” She nodded and glared at Silviana’s retreating figure. Aim. She could do that.

At last came time for the Exhibition. Gentlemen and ladies of the ton and other appropriate social circles gathered around the Hyde Park Amazons at a respectable distance, mostly on the sidelines by the tree. For this exhibit, the ladies were to fire five arrows and hit their targets. The more advanced archers would perform in a play about Artemis and her huntresses later in the day.

Five. You only have to get through five.

On the first arrow, she thought of Vivianne and aimed. Predictably, she missed – not as poorly as usually, however. On the second arrow, she thought of Vivianne and aimed. She missed again.

On the third, Castora vowed to clear her mind. Do not aim for anything but the target. When the last thought melted away, Castora closed her eyes and fired the arrow. The audience gasped.

Did I hit a bullseye? She opened her eyes to find that no, she had not hit the target. Her arrow was nowhere near the target. In fact, she could not see it all. Why is everyone staring at me?

The Hyde Park Amazon next to her, sensing Castora’s confusion, helpfully pointed at an apple tree towards the edge of their circle. Pinned to the tree by Castora’s arrow was a gentleman’s hat. One of the lower hanging apples helpfully fell to the ground.

And not just any gentleman’s hat. No, it was Duke Capulet’s hat. The man was positively glowering at her.

“Oops.” She swore quietly under her breath using a word she learned from Marcelo that no lady was supposed to know. I almost killed a duke. I almost killed a duke. Fuck, I almost killed a duke.

But she did not feel so bad for Cosimo Capulet after all. It wasn’t like she had stabbed him. It was only a hat, after all. It could be worse, Castora thought to herself. I could have swindled him during a game of vingt-et-un.

Suffice to say, while the play continued without incident later in the evening, the ladies of the first exhibit did not fire their fourth and fifth arrows.

After profusely apologizing to the Duke several times over, each time more insincere than the last, Castora excused herself from the luncheon with, appropriately, a headache. There

There was a knock at her door. Castora cautiously opened it to find Vivianne, standing in front of her right as rain. “Did you or did you not try to kill the Duke?”

Castora ignored the question. “How is your headache, Lady Vivianne? I do hope you will be able to attend the ball.”

“Castora – did you try to kill the Duke?”

“No, of course not! Not intentionally at least! The only thing I ended up killing was his hat, and a trip to a good haberdashery could fix it right up!” She insisted.

Vivianne closed the door to Castora’s guest chamber behind her. “You deeply offended him, Castora,” she said seriously.

“I was aiming for the target. I missed. That is not out of the ordinary for me, Lady Vivianne. Nor is it for you, and if you had shown up, you may have done worse!”

“Perhaps, but as it stands, you are the one who accidentally attacked a duke. You also accidentally hit his future son-in-law in the face with a pall-mall ball several months ago – an incident of which the Duke is very much aware of. You can see why this...why this is problematic.”

“It was an accident. I have offered to pay to replace the hat, an offer which the Duke said he is considering.”

“Castora, the Duke has strongly suggested to me that I find another hobby outside of the Amazons.”

Her face fell. But you’re my friend, the girl wanted to protest. “He is not your husband, yet. He cannot make you do anything...unless you wish to leave.”

“In some matters of life, what you want does not matter.”

“Surely it does in this one?”

Vivianne smiled bitterly, “Dear Castora, I forget how young you are sometimes.”

With that, she left, closing the door behind her. Castora did not know why, but she had the sudden desire to cry for the first time since her mother’s death.

There is absolutely no way this evening can get worse, Castora thought to herself as she prepared to enter the ballroom for the evening festivities. No chance in hell.

Still, halfway to the ballroom she turned on her heel and thought best not to risk it. On the way back to her room, Castora decided that she did not want to sit in her room all evening and decided to visit the Liston Hall library.

Scouring through the library, Castora settled on The Mysteries of Udolpho, a novel she had greedily consumed several years ago because Ramona suggested it. She had not liked it much, as Castora was not one for Gothic romances, but she was in no mood to explore. Take me away, Mrs. Radcliffe, to a world far less complicated than ours.

Settled by her desk, she was halfway through the second chapter when she heard two voices, one belonging to a man and the other to a woman, deep in the throes of an argument. The man dragged the woman into the library.

Castora froze – it was Lady Vivianne and Lord Everett. They did not see her from her position, and so they kept on spitting venom Castora did not comprehend at one another. Wishing to avoid another awkward encounter with the both of them, she simply sunk behind the desk before they could see her and waited for them to leave.

About ten minutes later, they were still arguing and Castora still had no idea what in the hell was going on because she was trying not to eavesdrop, but sometimes she could not help it.

But what she did hear was the Marquess of Montrose, voice laced with pain, asking Vivianne why she was marrying him. It did seem to be the question of the day.

“Someone knows about Cyrus.” There was an eerie silence across the hall; Castora resisted the urge to emerge from her hiding place to ask Who is Cyrus? “They are trying to exhort me for money, but no one would dare come for me, or Cyrus, if I am Lady Capulet.”

“How much? Who is blackmailing you?” Reasonable questions.

“It matters not, Everett.” I fail to see how that is true.

“Vivianne, how can you say that?” Castora quietly noted the use of their Christian names, and quietly prayed to God for the upteenth time to day, that they would finish their argument somewhere else.

“Because what is done is done. I cannot break this engagement.” Fair enough.

“You did not seem to have much of an issue with that before.” Ah, okay. There is that mystery solved.

“Don’t you dare. This is not remotely the same situation. If I do not marry Cosimo, then I will be ruined. Cyrus will be ruined. By association with me, Juliana will be ruined. I cannot have that.” A love arrangement, Castora realized.

“I loved you,” the Marquess said. To Castora’s ears, it did not sound like his affections were in the past tense. Vivianne did not respond to Everett with words, but with actions.

Oh no. Oh no. Dear God. From her hiding position under the desk, Castora saw the Marquess’s – clean – cravat flying off. Their….noises grew closer, and she heard someone place the other on the desk, knocking the copy of Udolpho off the table, but too far out of reach from Castora.

How generous, Castora thought dryly, realizing that there would be no escape for her now.

Castora covered her ears and cursing God, she laid back, and tried to think of England.

Much to Castora’s surprise, Silviana welcomed her back the following Thursday to the Hyde Park Amazons, remarking something along the lines of “At least we know you can hit something now, Mis Castora.”

To everyone’s greater surprise, and Mrs. Silviana’s palpable disappointment, Vivianne showed up for practice. “I hope you are feeling better, Lady Vivianne. You can go and practice with Miss Castora in the back,” the instructor commanded.

“I know the place,” the future Duchess replied, unable to keep the hint of bitterness out of her voice, before walking over to her and Castora’s usual spot.

Castora could not look her in the eye. She refused to do so, for if she did, she would admit to all she saw and heard. Around 15 minutes went by of excruciating silence, before Lady Vivianne chose to break it.

“How are you, Miss Castora?”

“I am well.” I want to die. “How are you, Lady Vivianne? How is Lord Capulet’s hat?”

“We are both fine,” she responded wryly. “Once the Duke calmed down, he did not object to me continuing on with the Hyde Park Amazon’s...you can look at me, Miss Castora, I will not bite your head off.”

Do not say anything, she commanded herself. Do not –– “Lady Vivianne, I was in the library during the Liston House ball.”

Vivianne, who was preparing to fire an arrow, loosened it without bothering to see where it landed. The blood drained from her face. “I do not know your meaning, Miss Castora.”

“I wish I did not know my own meaning either.”

She lowered her voice, “How much did you hear?”

Too bloody much. “All of it, unfortunately. I did not intend to. I truly, truly did not intend to. I decided against going to the ball, and was trying to read when you and the Marquess entered. I thought it best to hide until you two were finished ––” Everything seemed like a poor choice of words, but Castora persisted. “–– And I did not intend to hear….so much.”

Vivianne was silent for a long time. The girl in front of her was so distressed that she could not help but believe her, and then, “The Mysteries of Udolpho, really, Miss Castora?”

“I am not proud of it either. Listen, Lady Vivianne, I want to assure you that I...I will say nothing of...of, well, anything, to nobody. I do not know, or care, who Cyrus is. Or that you were once engaged to the Marquess, or that you two appear to still love each other very much.”

“I appreciate your discretion, Miss Castora, but I must correct you on the last point. Whatever we had was in the past.”

“From where I stood, what was past seemed present.”

“I would prefer if you did not discuss myself and the Marquess anymore.”

“As you wish, Lady Vivianne –– however, there is one point, I do have an inquiry on. Who is blackmailing you and is there any way I can help?”

“No, dear girl, there is not.”

The pair were quiet for a long moment. “I think you would be a better Marchioness than a Duchess. Marchioness Vivianne sounds better than Duchess Vivianne, does it not?”

“That is your opinion.”

“And what is yours?”

“Miss Castora, I thought we agreed not to speak about the Marquess anymore.”

“Yes, but in all honesty, I like him more than the Duke and I think you do, too. He is titled, wealthy, and is capable of weathering scandals. The Craven family is powerful. No one would dare come for a Marchioness of Montrose, either. If Duke Capulet was ever unwise enough to gamble with my father, I do not know how wise he will be in the future. And Juliana Capulet is set to be married in a month to a powerful, wealthy man. She could weather her father’s broken engagement if done with grace.”

“There are more forces at play here than you understand, Castora.”

“Yes, but I understand enough to know that you do not deserve the misery that is to come with a life chained to Lord Capulet.” Yes, but after everything I was forced to witness in that library, this the least you could do for me.

“And you are convinced the Marquess is a good man from the five minutes you saw of him?”

“He is always kind to those lower than himself.”

Vivianne laughed, “You are a romantic, after all.”

“No, I simply believe that the only reasons to marry are for great, true, unshakeable love, or comfort and protection. The Marquess appears ready to provide you with both,” Castora said.

“I did not realize you cared so much.”

I saw my mother collapse in on herself from misery; I will not see it happen again. “I--I like my friends to be happy, Lady Vivianne.”

“Happiness requires miracles. You and I both know too well to believe in them.”

Castora could not argue with Vivianne on that point.

Mrs. Silviana screamed and ran up to the region her two least favorite students were exiled to. “Oh my God, you did it! Which one of you did this?”

The pair followed her gaze to the target where the last arrow Lady Vivianne fired had landed in the center of the target. A bullseye.

For a moment, Vivianne Sloane and Castora Aguilar both believed in miracles.

#&. asks | answers & memes & drabbles & more oh my #diverona regency au #this was supposed to be up on valentine's day ooops #&. vivianne | a reflection in a fun house mirror #&. vivianne | in another life we would fight side by side #so many bridgerton and austen easter eggs because i can't think of names oops

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welcome-to-green-hills · 4 years ago

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Hey Mystery I was wondering if I could ask you something. (if that’s ok) What is the meaning behind Halloween?,In Australia some people do celebrate it,and then some few others don’t answer the door or say not interested.But some people still do the holiday here for fun ps-When I was younger I got lots of lollies and some people gave me chip packets and coins if they had none xD (I’m gonna go with my younger cousins this Halloween. ^w^)

🎃Oh man! That sounds a lot of fun! I hope that you stay safe on your rounds with your cousin this year! 🎃

To begin, we have to keep in mind that Halloween, or All Hallow’s Eve as it was called before, does have different cultural meanings and practices around the world. Halloween in America will be different from Mexico, Mexico would be different from Ireland and Britain. The do takes nods to the root of the practice, but they do have different cultural customs.

Halloween was meant to be a GOOD thing, not a BAD thing.

Think of it when the holidays come forward in December and we talk about the cultural relevance to Santa Claus/Kris Kringle/Father Christmas. Sometimes he’s seen as a portly man in red jackets, other times he depicted as a tall elf I sh man in a green coat that drags a sleigh with toys and has a single deer accompany him. (Saint Nicolas was a real Saint from Turkey in the 3rd and 4th century CE that did deliver goods to the poor. He was a wealthy man that used his inherited money to buy clothes, food, and toys to give to poor families. Sometimes he’d leave some coins in a bag and left it inside their homes or on the doorsteps.). The interpretations of Saint Nicholas vary from country to country today, as well as celebrating the holiday in general.

Back to my point: Halloween, just like Christmas, has different meanings and interpretations that vary around the world.

——————————(🎃 👻🎃)——————————

The beginning of Halloween can be traced by the Celts in Ireland and part of England:

During that period of time, the Druids used Hallows Eve as a way to light bonfires, wear ceremonial costume, and dance to ward off evil spirits while bringing forth the good. This practice was called “Samhain,” (sow-win), which takes recognition that within this realm and other realms of higher powers, there were good spirits and bad spirits. Samhain took place during the quarter half of the year when it was the darkest. The Celts would make animal sacrifices, collect their harvest, and make wooden wheels to set on fire representing the sun. It was believed that if this practice wasn’t done each year, then they’d all burn in a place similar to Hell and be cures with evil spirits forever.

In Rome, when the Celts were conquered, saw that they could combine some of the harvest traditions with the own Roman Gods and Goddesses. Samhain in Rome was used to honor Pomona (goddess of fruits and trees) by bobbing for apples. They also used this day to pay respect for lives that have moved on.

In England, when monasticism took over, Samhain was to be used as a way to honor the saints—similar to Feast Day for those who are of Catholic and Christian belief—if the Christian belief and spent three days celebrating their life and achievements: October 31st to November 2nd. Samhain is taught again with the Celts that existed in the 11th century. These groups of Celts tried to bring back their old roots that were taught by Druids—Druids were the only ones in Celtic culture/societies that could record history and teachings—then it was taken over again. Christian belief entwined with Celtic beliefs and created, “All Souls Day.” On this day, it was to honor the dead spirits, the good ones, and dressed up in costumes to ward off the bad demons. There were parades and bonfires as well, which was another three day ceremony. Then we have “All Saints Day,” which ties into All Souls Day. All Saints Day is the preparations made for All Souls Day, like Halloween Eve. (Yes, that’s a thing). It was more of a prep day for the holiday, which was widely celebrated by Celtic traditions.

In the United States of America, where I am from, Halloween does have a biblical meaning to it that’s lost its grasp over time.

In the USA, the day of Hallows Eve was meant to be the reflection of All Souls Day, but it had a twist to it. Hallows Eve was only practiced in one state at the time, not really popular. When the Americans invaded Native American territory, the Native American traditions meshed with the European Christian belief. This was when we celebrated the harvest, told stories of the dead, sang and danced, and did fortune telling. There had been times recorded where Colonies told scary stories to others just to scare the living hell out of people into doing good deeds. Around the 19th century here, during our Industrial Revolution and the beginning of the 20th century, we had a sudden boom in activity where people around the world colonized in the Americas. This brought All Souls Day and Samhain as well.

During this time, the Americans took the practice of All Souls Day, Samhain, and Hallows Eve to dress up in costume and go door-to-door to beg for food and money. Eventually it became the norm to do so in American, thus creating this strong tradition of handing out some money or food. There were also some ties in America where this practice of telling stories of “evil” deemed you as a witch, thus having people believe that witches were among the settlers and people burned at the stake. The food begging, dressing up in costume, and going door-to-door was kept during the harvest part of Fall.

Tricks came around for those who didn’t give these costumes people food. Such as creepy stories told to them that heeded warning. Kids and adults took part in this activity, that’s what made it popular. In the early 20th century, when it was common to dress up and “curse” people with stories, parents took to media and asked them to tone down the cursing and the scaring of families so more could participate. With this, the creepy and religious side of it was taken out completely.

All Hallows’ Eve was meant to be a good thing in religious terms, especially for the Celts when it came to honoring the harvest and chasing away bad luck. The skeletons and ghosts part of it didn’t come until much, much later. And that, my dear, is where the practice came from.

I hope that this answers your question, friend!🙂🎃

Sources:

Samhain History!

Halloween, 2020!

#mystery anon #off topic #I am an anthropologist

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astroismypassion · 4 years ago

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hi!! saw that you’ve been having difficulties with the message section, I wouldn’t mind putting the reading on here

Hi!

Thank you for buying me this delicious hot beverage. I drank irish cream black coffee with rice milk while writing your interpretation. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing! And I listened to Leon Bridges - Shy while writing. ;)

Your dominant planets are: 1. Saturn, 2. Mercury and 3. Moon. Your dominant signs are: 1. Leo, 2. Aquarius and 3. Pisces. Your main mode is Cardinal. You are Air dominant.

FAMILY, SIBLINGS, EARLY LIFE

You have Cancer Sun in the 2nd house. Your father was a bit of a passive figure in the family. He likes to stay at home, indulge a bit, but he is also a hard worker. He values family and home. He can be moody and stubborn. You have Libra Moon in the 5th house. Your mother is kind, loving, playful and has a childlike spirit. You have Virgo Lilith in the 4th house. The “negative” side of Lilith could happen here. You might be over critical of your family members, nit picky, a bit controlling and bossy. You might be of help to them, but you expect this help returned. You might be a bit of a “user” at times. And expect your family members or siblings, share your possessions, items, belongings, even money with you. You have Sun square Moon. Your mother and father are quite different personalities wise. They have different characters and traits. They might have not agreed on the style of your upbringing or they were not in sync in the style of parenting you. You have very strongly aspected Sun. You might have felt a bit restricted, limited and not supported by your father. You might have felt like he didn��t give you enough praise and thank yous. You have a deep and complex relationship with your mother. You have Virgo IC. You learnt how to speak and read early on. You were a responsible and mature child. Parents emphasized realistic goals for you and to choose something practical to do in life. You liked to read as a child or your parents read to you often. If you have any siblings, they are Leo, Libra, Taurus, Virgo or Gemini.

PARTNERSHIPS AND FRIENDSHIPS

You have Leo Venus in the 3rd house. This is who you attract, what you value in yourself and others. You attract lively, childlike, talkative people. Who are outgoing, generous, kind and have an inner child. You like to shine in your local town, among your siblings, cousins and family relatives. You might be the popular, well liked cousin! You have Libra Mars in the 5th house. This is how you approach your crush, how you act, what you’re passionate about. You are a bit passive when it comes to taking action. But it’s still sly and calculating. You might flirt with people unintentionally. You like your attention reciprocated back. You might like someone, but then back off a bit and just study and observe them for a while. You can appear cold and detached. You like giving compliments to others. You have nice manners and dress well. You have a nature sense for fashion and know what looks good on you. You have Venus sextile Mars. You might be attracted to younger partners or partners who energize you. Someone who uplifts you, motivates you and brings you out of your shell. You have Venus opposite Jupiter. You might be over loving and over generous, especially when you’re in love. You could be too generous with your money, attention, affection, praise, admiration and compliments. You have Venus trine Saturn. You like partners that are younger or older than your own age. You might be attracted to responsible, reliable people, who are ambitious, have high status or are just very hard workers. You have Venus opposite Uranus. You might have a long distance relationship at some point in life. Or you could start online dating. You like your partnerships to have a friendly air first. You might like to be friends before you are lovers. You could also date your friends. You have Libra, Scorpio, Taurus, Aries, Capricorn and Cancer, Virgo, even Gemini friends.

CAREER, PROFESSIONAL LIFE, PUBLIC IMAGE

You have Pisces MC. You might be a caretaker or help others and guide them somehow. YOu might also help people organise their life. You will be seen as caring, imaginative, creative, loving, compassionate and an old soul. You have Aries Saturn in the 11th house. You might like to work on your own or don’t like to network as much. You might be a great leader of a club, group or community. You have Aquarius Jupiter rx in the 9th house. You could be a teacher, life coach, motivational speaker or someone is a mentor to others. You could work in the health field, nursing, business, finance or accounting. You might be a professor or an educator on a topic. You have Virgo North Node in the 4th house. This indicates your life purpose. You could specialize in whichever topic you are willing to research more in-depth. You might like to take care of your mind and body. You are an excellent host! You might often host parties or gatherings at your home. You are a people’s person. You are called in this lifetime to organise, establish healthy boundaries with your family members, take care of your health. You would benefit greatly from owning a pet. You might be interested in dietetics, nutrition, wellness, mental and physical wellbeing. You’ll need to create a steady routine, focus on the now and your day-to-day life. You might work from home, online or if you have a family business, continue that. You have Pisces Part of Fortune in the 10th house. This represents your natural luck and good charm. You might be at your happiest when you help others, when you “heal” someone, when you can show your imaginative and creative side.

ADDITIONAL OBSERVATIONS

You have Libra Chiron in the 5th house. There is a certain wound or a past hurt when it comes to your one on one relationships. You might have been rejected by your first crush or they didn’t like you back. You might not have an ideal example when it comes to a healthy relationship. Maybe your parents separated or they didn’t have a healthy relationship, so that ruined the image of relationships a bit for you. You have Pisces Ceres in the 10th house. This is how you take care of others and how you like to be nurtured. For you it is important to allow yourself to get lost in daydream at least for a bit or listen to music, or just a creative outlet for your emotions. It’s how you stay emotionally sane. You like to be of help to others, do things for them, give them your unconditional love and support. You have Cancer Juno in the 2nd house. This indicates your ideal partner, your ideal soulmate, be it platonic or romantic. I find it interesting that it is the same as your Sun sign and position! This would mean you would like someone who is the same as you. You might like a partner who is caring, compassionate, loving, kind, highly opinionated, stubborn, love and values home, tradition, family. Likes security, safety and comfort. Someone who is an excellent chef as well! You have currency Pluto, Saturn and Jupiter transiting your 8th house. You might find it harder or easier for at least a half of a year to gain money from others. You might reevaluate, think more of gain better focus on the following topics: shared resources, sex, physical intimacy, dee trusted bonds, spirituality, occult, mysticism, inheritance, death, transformation and rebirths. You might feel like you are in a transitory period. You could also undergo many internal transformations. This is an excellent time to talk to others on a deep level or even therapy. You could also be an excellent listen or somehow a bit of a therapist to OTHERS.

CHART RULER

Your chart ruler is Mercury. The chart ruler of the 1st house is in the 3rd house. Your personality shines through best when you are connecting with your peers, siblings, cousins, people from your local hometown, your elementary and high school friends. Your ego, character, self esteem, self image might develop through 3rd house topics, such as writing, communicating, learning a new skill, connecting people from your local scene, hanging out with your siblings and peers. This is also a part of your life purpose besides Virgo North Node in the 4th house. Here is an additional video on the topic by a fellow astrologer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBu9sY2RHJI .

HOUSE RULERS

The ruler of the 1st house is in the 3rd house. You may seem like “the girl (or boy) next door. Life is oriented toward communicating, gathering information and daily interactions. You gossip about the way people look. The ruler of the 2nd house is in the 5th house. You use your money for artistic projects. You are possessive of creative projects. Financial security depends upon your personal creativity. The ruler of the 3rd house is in the 2nd house. You discuss issues of self-worth and self-esteem. Writing is a way to earn a living. Your ability to communicate affects your ability to make money. Siblings affect your self-worth. Gathering information is oriented toward making money. The ruler of the 4th house is in the 3rd house. Home is a place to have lively conversations. Cultural upbringing has a strong bearing on your thoughts. Feeling included or rejected by your family influences your day to day interactions. Home is a place where people come and go. You bring your private inner self with you when you write, keep a journal or blog. The ruler of the 5th house is in the 3rd house. You communicate in a playful and lighthearted way. Romance and fun express themselves through a love of reading and writing. Fun is found through gossiping. Relaxation comes through conversation and writing. The ruler of the 6th house is in the 6th house. You work in a health-related field. Your daily habits impact your ability to find a job. You create habits and routines that focus on health, work, and relationships with employees, coworkers and animals. The ruler of the 7th house is in the 9th house. Partners help you expand your horizons. Your partner needs to be broad-minded. You want to be with someone who likes to discuss philosophical topics. Your open enemies are people from other cultural or religious backgrounds. The ruler of the 8th house is in the 11th house. You find it hard to be “just friends.” You bring your need for depth interactions to friendships. You need to belong to groups of like-minded people who share your intensity. Your groups and clubs involve research and investigation. You join occult groups. You have to adjust your debt to achieve long term goals and dreams. The ruler of the 9th house is in the 9th house. You find meaning by devising your own personal belief system. You travel to expand your horizons. You gain wisdom by learning about religion. You find meaning in higher education. The ruler of the 10th house is in the 8th house. You bring a professional approach to depth psychology. You find your true vocation by exploring occult subjects. Your career revolves around the need for intensity of experience. Your career involves working with other people’s emotional baggage. Your true vocation involves in- depth interactions with other people. You achieve recognition as a researcher. You receive awards for your work with people on the fringe of society. The ruler of the 11th house is in the 5th house. You are friends with all your romantic partners. You bring your social awareness to your children. The people you connect with are self-expressive and entertaining. You belong to artistic groups. You’re in a band. You are a huge fan of the arts. The ruler of the 12th house is in the 3rd house. You talk about things that make you sad. Your imagination is stirred by talking and writing. You work your dreams into your daily conversations and writing. You have a dreamy voice. You bring imagination to your writing and the way that you speak.

#astrology #natal chart #chart reading #astro chart #horoscope #zodiac #zodiac signs #birth chart

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