#im not sure i like my writing in this but i feel like its been too long since i posted anything so.. tell me if u liked this !
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HAIIII OLLIE !!!!1!1!!!!!!1!!!!!ā(įµįįµ)ā ā(įµįįµ)ā ā(įµįįµ)ā IM LOWKEY SOOOOOO EXCITED THAT YOURE WRITING FOR TRANSFORMERS ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT BLOG ENTIRELY MADE FOR IT!!!!1! + you already KNOW who it is ā ITS YOUR BOY š¼š¼ /ref
iāve been tweaking so hard over tfone b-127 bumblebae boy bc heās so auuuhhh ā šš got me on my knees bc my type in men is so golden retriever boyfriends, BUT SPEAKING OF GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOYFRIENDS!!
i hope you donāt mind me requesting b-127 with a fem cybertronian reader whoās just his female counterpart drabble or hcs? like itās giving yapper x yapper and golden retriever x golden retriever, no freaking doubt both fell for eachother the moment they introduced themselves and started to yap together. OK I TALK TOO MUCH, PLS TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF OLLIE!!! DRINK UP, EAT UP, SLEEP WELL AND TAKE BREAKSSSS!! Loves ya much :)
Yapper Adoration
A/N, not important: Hope you like it, Frankie. I tried my best. Also, it's Gender Neutral, not fem. Sorry! Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.
-Ollie
CW: N/A(unless y'all see smth I need to add)
Words: 554
Summary: B-127 finally has someone to talk to
B-127 was first introduced to you via Elita-1. She had met you during her time in waste management, your bubbly and eager-to-please personality strikingly similar to Bās own. Elita-1, knowing she had two loud and boisterous bots that needed constant attention, stuck you together in hopes that you would both get along and stop bothering everyone else. To Elita-1ās delight and slight horror, the two of you stuck together like magnets.
B-127 finally had someone who not only was willing to listen to him, but someone who actively engaged in what he said. Not to mention you had worked similar jobs, causing a bond to form from the toil of sorting garbage and the dream of doing more. You were just as positive and rambunctious as him, causing B-127 to immediately latch onto you as his new best friend.
Not that you minded, of course. You had your fair share of bots whoāve been annoyed by your endless chatter, and finding someone who was similar to you in personality and mannerism was just as freeing to you as it was to B. Neither of you were much willing to separate after your first meeting. Despite Elitaās chiding of you both moving too fast, you had started dating the kind and energetic bot.
Youāre also one of the only bots B-127ās met that didnāt immediately think he was insane. Sure, youāve joked about his āfriendsā that he made down in sub level 50 before, but he didnāt sense a hostility in your tone like most others seem to have. You encouraged his interests and helped him find new friends, showing support heās never truly received before.
Thereās never silence when either of you are around, both of you capable of listening to the otherās prattling just as much as you converse back and forth. Having someone willing to listen to your interests and engage with them is something neither of you really realized you needed. While you were definitely more socially aware than B was, you werenāt much better at keeping friends around.
You comfort him a lot after D-16ās departure, allowing him to express his feelings in a healthy way while dealing with his quick gain and loss of friends. He leans on your positive attitude to keep his intact as well, and heās incredibly grateful to have you. He wants to have all of his friends back, but having you to lean on after losing one so quickly makes it easier to manage.
Neither of you ever stop bragging about landing each other, the both of you getting into basic lovers quarrels over who loves the other more. Whenever youāre seen together, youāre almost always touching in some way. Whether itās holding hands, hugging, or leaning against each other, thereās not much that can make either of you stray far enough to not be glued to the other. Itās mostly for Bās sake, as being alone for so long really had to put a strain on his mental health. Being able to hang onto you is a good reminder youāre not only real, but that youāre not going anywhere.
Heās your best friend through and through, and feels super safe with you. He wants you to know youāre his favorite person and reminds you like, every few minutes. Youāre everything heās ever wanted.
#transformers#transformers x reader#b 127#b 127 x reader#bumblebee x reader#b127 x reader#b-127 x reader#b-127#b127#tf bumblebee#tf x reader#tf bumblebee x reader#tf one#tf one x reader#bumblebee tf one#tf one b 127#tfone b-127#macadam#maccadam#bumblebee#tf1 bumblebee#tfone x reader#cybertronian reader x transformers
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i've been getting a lotttt of asks abt shy!reader and fratboy!chris so i just want to make a separate post to explain it cos people are a little confused (my bad).
ā¢ shy!reader and chris are not together. their situationship is on some sort of 'friends with benefits' line. they are just hooking up.
ā¢ chris does not love shy!reader, nor does he like her in any romantic type of way. (he does however have some sort of soft spot for her in his own weird way. but romantically ? no)
ā¢ shy!reader does not love chris. with her, she's never been in a relationship or any type of situationship with anyone before. she's had crushes ofc, but she doesn't exactly know what love is. (hence why i always make sure to write that shy!reader doesn't understand her feelings when certain things happen)
ā¢ yes. they fuck but don't kiss. it can happen in situationships. kissing can be seen as too intimate.
ā¢ if these two were to get together, it wouldn't be yet. it's too early. i love slow-burn, so this is going to be the slowest of burns.
ā¢ fratboy!chris is a mean asshole. i made him that way and he will most probably stay that way for quite some time. (mentioning this as i've seen a few asks with anons wanting chris to kiss her tears away when she's crying ... its not going to happen unfortunately. im sorry abt that)
ā¢ (i've mentioned this before) but even though shy!reader definitely needs to stand up !!! she's not stuck in this situationship with fratboy!chris. if she wanted to leave, she absolutely could.
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NNN day 5 | Whispers Of Madness
summary: ever since one unfortunate day, you havent felt the same mentally. The dark entity that now permanently stabled a special place in your mind, making you go more insane with each passing minute. Whenever you try to reach out for help to the one person you trust, being your best friend matthew he always argues that nothing is actually there and your brain is messing with you but you know more than youve lead onto. Are you going to finally shatter and possibly lead to murder, or maybe finally banish the evil living inside of you?
warnings: ANGST, demon possession, dark entity, murders, mental health issues, satanic language, dark topics, suicide, police involvement, heavy language, blood everywhere, choking, skin bruising, mysterious black goop, viewers advisory is supervised! Proceed continue reading caution!
authors note: somehow weāve made it to day 5 of consistently posting fics wohoo !! This one took me a portion of my time and this week has been pretty busy for me so Iām surprised I got this far, hope yall enjoy this bc I surely did writing it
no nut november | masterlist | guestlist
Ever since that unfortunate night, I have never felt the same mentally nor physically. A constant demonic voice mocking my every move and slowly driving me towards insanity, flashes of a dark entity remain stuck and impossible to get out of my mind, making me want gouge my eyes out to escape through death. Sometimes i dont even recognize myself in the mirror, just noticing each and every one of the changes in my physical apperance as well as my behavior and I think if others noticed them too or do am I the old me to them? or have I never actually changed and my mind can somehow create physical forms of different versions of me on its own?
- The night of the incident
I slowly stirr awake in the middle of the night due to strange noises my ears keep picking up, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand I glance out the window to see nothing but pitch-black ahead of me. The soft moonlight being the only available source of light pouring into the room, my eyes scan the dark room for a possible source behind the strange noises. Its almost like whispering but not human whispers in particular, almost like a demonic voice... yeah no, demons dont exist so there no such possibility. Just to be sure Im not going completely insane I do a double check but now looking harder into the dark to try and justify the source of the noise is nothing harmless.
Thats until I see something dark looming in the corner of my room.
It appears to be a shadow but with a dark and demonic energy radiating off it, my eyes scan the whole silhouette and get stuck on a pair of brigh red eyes staring down at me becomes imprinted in my mind permanently which sends a cold chill down my whole body, making me rise in awareness and fear, my body immediately waking and becoming completely stiff, my abilty to move vanishing from my grasp of control. The dark shadow figure starts to step closer to me and my instincts kick in, subconsciously backing away from the proximity of the red-eyed creature as it stands at the foot of it. "W-who are you?" I shakingly breath out, my mind becoming consumed with fear and theories that this could possibly be the end of my life.
The red-eyed figure doesnt make a sound or a single move, my breathing now labored and heavy as it continues to stare down at my shaking form. Feeling completely vulnarble and defendless, itās like theres no escape and I've been trapped, even cornered in the dark depths of my mind. "Agite... Tenebrae... Abyssi..." I hear a faint demonic whisper, identical to the ones I've heard before and realize where its coming from. Suddenly I get a shock down my whole body, almost as if a feeling of being possesed or something possibly entering my soul and attaching itself to it.
I convince my overthinking mind its nothing and Im just imagining things now, this is not real. Demons dont exist and they surely can't possess you, right? it cant be real, its not. Shaking my head to throw away any possible negative thoughts left behind and lay my head back down on my pillow, attempting to sleep of the demonic energy I still feel coursing through my veins. My mind manages to slowly drift off to sleep, my eye lids falling heavy as I slip into unconsciousness but the demonic whispers still remaining surrounding the shell of my ears.
- A month after the incident - Present day
A sudden snap of Mattās fingers in front of my face kicks me out of the negative energy in my mind, him giving me an unamused expression and sighing. āYou seriously werenāt paying attention again?ā He annoyingly huffs, his lips becoming a thin line as his arms cross over his chest. āIām sorry, I was just-ā while I am in the middle of my sentence and want to explain myself, the demonic whispers cut me off and start whispering in my ear until I look around and see him. The red-eyes creature. No matter how hard I want to take my eyes away from him, they just refuse to move alongside with my body. Just becoming frozen all of a sudden, āWhat? Are you good?ā He stammered visibly shadowed with concern, his eyes darting around the room to find the spot my eyes are stuck on but is met with a simple empty room.
āWhat are you staring at?ā He pondered, still in desperate search to find something I could possibly be staring at with such horror contouring my features. My breath starts to become more deep and shaky, the same feeling I felt coursing through my veins every time it appears, itās almost like itās making its appearance known before hand. Matt finally snaps me back to reality, jerking one of my shoulders to give him a response to his worried questions, when I look at Mattās face and back where it was standing. Itās gone. Itās not there anymore. āWhere did it go?ā I mumbled with a trembling bottom lip, becoming tense and more aware of my surroundings. āWhat do you mean by āwhere did it goā ? Youāre fucking freaking me out Eli.ā He inquired, still anxiously looking around before moving closer to me. Immediately noticing me tense up for some reason he doesnāt have the knowledge of and I just wouldnāt speak about it.
āItās fucking not there anymore! Itās gone, again!ā I clutch Mattās arm into my chest, seeking any comfort and safeness I could get a grasp on. The whispers start again, this time approaching me closer until I feel a faint icy breath breathe down my neck which makes me flinch. āĒØįølÄŹ-tÅ« yĒ«ur crÄÄį¹År, ĒLizaŹĘthā¦ā my hands immediately go to cover my ears, the satanic words echoing in my head and bouncing off every wall, almost delivering me a headache. Under my breath I keep begging it to stop, to release me from the hellish cage itās trapped me in against my will just to torment and demolish all thatās left of my soul that it hasnāt destroyed yet. My mental health wasnt the best before and it just got worse after, I reached out for help to everyone I could but they either called me schizophrenic or ācompletely gone off the rockersā by professionals, refusing to help me and ignore the actual issue.
āIs it this again? Seriously Eli, you have to stop scaring me like that!ā He argues, becoming slightly annoyed. No matter how much I tell him about this mister lurking in the shadows, he just says āyou need to get some professional help or go to a psychiatristā but when I tell him the stories regarding the āgetting professional helpā that they ignore me and donāt believe demons actually have a possibility of existing. āYou didnāt believe in this demon shit and always denied it, why do you suddenly act like you got possessed by a damn demon or something?ā In that moment it hits me, the realization and theory of being actually possessed by a demon hits my head and if weāre an object I would possibly get a concussion.
āIām not! Itās just thatā¦ oh, forget it. Itās gone now so it doesnāt matter.ā I state, taking a deep breath to wash away all of the emotions Iāve been feeling at once in a single moment. Itās shocking how much my body can take and has taken ever since it appeared in my life, or does it? Maybe my mind likes to think and make it seem like Iām doing good but in reality Iām loosing my mind completely? When is it going to end? How do I make it end? Questions rise in my head as I start to overthink and get my anxiety to an impossible level. āEli, what the fuck has been happening with you? You seem completely psychotic like those possessed girls in horror movies.ā
āI-I donāt know what I am at this point, please just go home and stay safe. Iāve scared you enough already I donāt want to give you a heart attackā I breathe out, gesturing for him to go away as I my ears perk up with the demonic soft whispers coming back, the dark figure standing right in front of me. I immediately cover my ears as the whispers get louder and louder, suddenly I feel a pair of cold hands wrap around my neck and pure force starting to pull me upwards into the air. I become short on breath as Matt freaks out and quickly runs over to my body in the air, now being face to face with the black figure. My arms immediately attempt to remove the arms off my neck for more air but it only tightens its grip, Matt pulls at my feet but itās not much affective. The red gloomy eyes staring into my soul and twisting my insides with the dark energy possessing my body.
The world around me becomes silent and I canāt hear whats happening around me. āĒØo ĒĆ dĆŖr ČÆf įøoom, Źou Éhall kjĆømbÄÅ„ Źo Źiln ĒŖne ČÆf įøhe Źeįø„ples ČÆf įČÆvƦr lĒv or Źe Å„Ć¦pt Ēn įøi ŹhyÄd Ē·ÄrtĒ¤, ČÆy ŹhĒÆice ElizĒbeth. ȶime É is spiraling ČÆutā¦ā the sentence constantly keeps being repeated until my ears start to bleed but I donāt feel blood coming out of my ears, some kind of cold black goop starts to escape through my ears as I finally get released. Falling back onto the ground with a loud thud and coughing hysterically, the pain and bruises spreading across my body as well as deep purple marks saturate my neck. I feel this sudden urge, something driving me up to my breaking point, willing to do anything to escape this hell.
Matthew quickly runs over to me, examining my body and the bruises left as horror and concern fill his features. āA-are you okay? Are you bleeding anywhere?- oh fuck!ā He stammered, noticing the mysterious black goop coming out of my ears. His eyes were so focused on my body he didnāt notice it at first, seeking as if he couldnāt handle all of this happening at once and neither was I but he was scared out of his mind when I was left with no emotions in my face. My mind backtracks to the demonic words spoken to me and somehow I feel I know what to do, I donāt feel like myself anymore. Itās like Iām some kind of puppet in a show being controlled on how Iām supposed to act, I pick myself up and walk towards the kitchen while ignoring the concerned questions falling from Mattās mouth.
I canāt believe Iām actually doing this but I canāt live like this anymore, he follows behind me and into the kitchen. My body starts to almost move on its own as if someone else had full control over it, reaching into the drawer where all of my knifes are kept and pick up the sharpest blade I own. Rising it into the air and turning to face Matthew, his anxiety immediately spikes to ungodly levels as he puts his now trembling hands. āWhat are you doing with that? Elizabeth, put it down!ā Desperate demands leave his mouth in attempt to make me out down the possible weapon in my possession but I donāt listen, as much as I donāt want to do it, I might be my only way of escaping.
I charge at Matthew and stab him in the chest multiple times as hysteric cries leave my mouth while he screams bloody. His blood squirts all over my clothes and stain them, he falls to the ground and quickly I jump on top of him to weight him down and deliver a stab to immobile his arms, more blood covers our clothes, faces and the floor all together as I continue to cry out apologizes and explanations. āIām sorryā¦ I have to do this, Iām so sorry, Matt Iām sorry but I have toā¦ā I cry out as blood and tears run my cheeks, to end the miserable pain he is experiencing I swing high into the air, gripping the handle of the bloody knife with both of my hands before apologizing for the last time and plunge the knife through his head which kills him in an instant.
My hands finally detach from the knife and immediately go up to my face, wiping off the blood and pouring tears from my face. Loud sobs fall from my mouth at what I have done, I just killed my best friend. Out of pure cold blood I killed my best friend, I-Iām a monster, a psychopath and everything fucked up. I am the demonā¦ the demonic figure whispers another sentence in the weird language it has been using ever since trying to communicate to me but now it sounds more evil, like curses stuck to my name by the black shadow and following me around anywhere I go. āĒŖne lĒ»st stČ
p ĒµhĒµn Ée dĒæne, ȵaM ÉĒæĢe Č
t Ée ĒµhĒµe ȶĒæ Ē·ČÆrld Č©free, hÄv ĒµŹŠ¾įø tɼČÆ įøon sĒælf É“Ēæw. įødĒæn įø„esÄ«į¹Č
te, Č
LÄ«zĒbeth.ā
The same feeling of knowledge runs down my spine, realizing what Iāll have to do next in order to be set free. My hands go back and take the knife out of Matthewās dead body and line the sharp tip with where my heart lies, I close my eyes shut and with one swing I plunge the cold bloody knife into my heart. My body falling down next to Matthewās already dead one, hearing the faint sirens of police in the distance as I slip into unconsciousness but by the time they make it to the kitchen, my body disappeared and only with the bloody knife left on the ground. It was evident two people have been killed in the process regarding the blood bath that was created but no matter how long or how hard they searched for my body, it was just gone. Almost as if a dark entity dragged it down with them to the deepest pits of hellā¦
Guestlist!
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#ā° ! šāš¬ ššØ šš®š ššØšÆšš¦ššš« ! ā°#ā° ! šššš ššššš š¦ ! ā°#ā° šÆšš«š š°š«š¢ššš¬ š¬š”š¢š ā°#angst#!please proceed with caution!#angst with a sad ending#demon possession#dark entity#dark energy#mental health issues#murder#dark topics#suicide commitment#police involvement#blood bath#skin bruising#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matt sturniolo angst#sturniolo fandom#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo angst#sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolos
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ngl hdg kinda amazes me in its ability to cater to my kinks pretty much perfectly while simultaneously triggering several of the worst parts of my trauma.
like how is it that it hits on everything i like on the surface, provides semi-decent worldbuilding to back it all up and enable the creation of stories, and even has consistent backstory and stuff, and yet the entire damn thing instills this looming sense of dread and fear that i can't shake enough to properly enjoy it...
below the break im gonna talk in like. moderate detail. about the parts that scare me. so uh yeah be aware that it'll get heavy that's just how it is.
ok, so the worst thing for me. wellness checks. the idea is cute and kinda hot on the surface. "make sure you're okay and if you're not you're getting domesticated" (which is supposed to be like. a happy thing. "now you get to just chill and be happy and get taken care of forever and in return you give me only your submission"). yeah, fuck it, im into that. hell that's not even an uncommon trope in the realm of cnc/mc writing.
except whenever i read an hdg wellness check story (in the sense of those long-ish tumblr posts that people writeāi haven't even really considered reading the longer form content on ao3) there's something viscerally... off... about the tone. it stops feeling like kink and starts feeling like a nightmare when things happen to line up just so, and then it clicks, and reminds me that i knew people, real people, who had "wellness checks" happen in real life, except that instead of it being a kink thing that made them happy and was genuinely for their wellbeing, it was that their parents had hired people to kidnap them and drag them to a psych ward when they just needed a therapist. not all of those people that i knew have come home, as far as im aware. some have been gone for years.
and what about the whole idea of the non-consensual part being okay because "it's for your own good". in hdg-land it is. it's genuinely good for you and everyone seems to be happy with it, other than the occasional "bad guy who hates good things" trope (feralists, in hdg, afaik). but that's exactly what they told me when they cut contact between my boyfriend and i while he was in the hospital. "it's for your own good." guess what, it wasn't. his parents didn't like our relationship. they wanted me to forget him. they either didn't understand or didn't care that i couldn't. it was a year and a half before he came home and i had forgotten nothing.
our loss of communication was the tipping point in a series of events that, had i made one decision differently in the end, would have killed me. thankfully i fucked it up and am here today, no longer in that bad of a place may i add. im choosing not to share any of what happened to me directly right now because i don't want to turn this into a full on trauma dump, but suffice it to say there are recurring themes.
it's so interesting to me because in a lot of ways i have found comfort from those experiences in kink and writing. take flames of averon: mech pilots are neurochemically bonded to their handlers. how different is this from what the affini do to their florets? well, you have to sign up to be a pilot, and there's no authority in the world threatening you if you choose not to. even the coalition military wouldn't dare force you to become a pilot against your will, though they might never stop sending you promotional flyers if they find out you're able to tolerate the cyberware /lh
hell, im into cnc. im really into it. i chose to leave it as an opening between pilots and handlers in foa. the implication exists that if a handler tells their pilot to do something the poor thing will have a hell of a time saying no. that's intentional. it's hot to me, on either end. but the safety comes from other things.
yes, your handler has a lot of influence over you at a level that's hard to imagine, but you chose them and they chose you (most of the time), or at the very least neither of you had any complaints to raise with your supervisor when the paperwork came in for syncing your link chips (holly and astrid from seat of consciousness).
yes it's true, you can't be reassigned now that you're bonded, but that doesn't mean you have zero recourse if your handler is treating you badly. if you need to, you can always file paperwork with your commanding officer to request that something be done.
plus, handlers go through a lot of training, which includes screening to filter out people who would actually harm their pilots. yeah, some handlers are a little sadistic, but when it comes down to it they are on your side. if that wasn't the case they would never have passed pre-basic.
put another way, as a pilot in flames of averon, the closest thing ive ever written to a floret, there are a multitude of points at which you could have said no and didn't, and although that's obviously still noncon in the grand scheme of things, it's "signing away your freedom" cnc compared to the hdg flavor of "you 'consented' via it being the best thing for you whether you like it or not."
even if your handler just told you to "stay" for the first time and you're currently panicking and trying to figure out why your legs won't move, you still have some tiny amount of agencyāan escape hatch, so to speakāand you'll just never end up having to use it.
and to me, the loss of that minute level of agency which will never be invoked is the difference between "this is hot as hell and feels perfectly safe" and "this is the abuse that was once leveraged against those i cared about, and to some degree myself, and it's simply been repackaged with a kink sticker slapped on."
none of this is to say i hate hdg, it's fans, those who write about it, or even the parts of it which scare me. i do think the idea is hot. hdg is pretty cool. hell, it was one of my inspirations in writing a lot of the pilot/handler dynamics in flames of averon. but it does scare me. and no matter what i tell myself i can't shake that fear.
it's frustrating, because oftentimes fear can be part of what makes something hot, but the particular flavor of fear which hdg instills in me is one which makes bitter all that it reaches. maybe someday i'll grow out of it. the traumatic memories from which that fear stems were only created in the past couple of years, to be fair. but something tells me a piece of that fear will never be fully dislodged from my mind.
so, all this to say, while i am into hdg, it's a complicated relationship.
(and on a sillier in character note to lighten the moodāplease feel free to respond to this with roleplay or whatever you like!)
to any Affini out there who might be reading this, know that im not scared of you. im not scared of what you represent. im only scared by the fact that you mimic that which has left the scars you see on my soul today. im not against being taken in as a floret, and none of this is to say that i hold any level of disdain for you.
i only ask that you be gentle with me. what has been broken once can be broken again. please, do not let it come to that.
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and now here we have reached the end of the journeyā¦ and what a journey it has been, listening and reading and trying to understand all the ins and outs of that fast, creative brain of yours @333creolelady ā¦ even before the first chapterā¦ even before the original collage, waiting for u to bring this thing to life
i fell asleep reading this and woke up with a mind to finish and i just wanted to say before all my other comments that it is just so pleasing and exciting to see how far youāve come writing wise. creating alongside u in what ive imagined to be this āimperfect parallelā coexistence so to speak. watching and listening and being inspired all the same and im so sorry if its a little exhaustive reading this but this is years worth of friendship, years worth of growth, so i might get a lil sentimentalā¦ youve gotten so good at the intimacy of this thingā¦ the art of making everything a moment, something to delve into and indulge and its so inspiring to me!
the fantastical, romantic bits can always take us to an ungrounded place i think, sometimes on purpose, sometimes for the sake of our own indulgences in wanting something absolutely out of reality BUT you bring it back in such a way that i really love. like idkā¦ but it all feels right and possible, and it feels good and you know how angsty i can be bit im coming around more and more everyday to happy endings.. to just having that overwhelming goodness of the moment
AND YOUR CHARACTERIZATIONā¦ one of my favorite iterations of romanā¦ and jane just feels so real and lived in and all the moments youāve cultivated are amazing. youve sat with this for so long and the end of it all speaks to that clearly
i think what gets me the most about this storyā¦. the way you write possession, which inherently can and is such a violent thing, and turning it into something that stems more from devotion than ownership. possession by choice, devotion and loyalty by choice, loving and living by choice.
youre just so good and amazing at this writing thing and im sure there is more to say and this is all just whats coming to me in the moment but yeahā¦. I wish more people could see how talented u are!
Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.9 (Finale)
Afab! Black OC x Roman Reigns (Pirate Au)
Warnings: SEX, Fem rec oral, Male rec oral, P in V penetration, Cursing, Discussions about Racism/ Systematic oppression, very light angst (with heavy fluff omg)
Word Count: A Whopping 34k. I am so sorry.
Official playlist link
Alternative playlist link
Official songs for this chapter: The whole world, Le style du Barry, Le lever du, Concerto G, Sonatas, The zong, Lord Mansfield, First impressions, The living sculptures, Darcyās letter, Jeanne Versailles, spring 1, Malena Titoli di coda, To the ball, Academy, Laverton, Merry, Misirlou, Danube, The pink room, You would be my wife, You already, Nobody gets me (classical).
Alternative songs for this chapter: The gentle rain, Flick, From scratch, Guitar song, 26, The only exception, Weāll never have sex, Futile devices, Love Story, Hide, Breathe, Possibly Maybe, Lover you should have come over, Feel like home.
Cover by @joannasteez
<-Chapter 8
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Jane Pov
There were many inexplicable occurrences that happened as a result of the island. For one, the seasons had changed. They were spat out somewhere between Totoguam and a British occupied port. This was a relief, as it would take them a very long time to get back to Europe from where they came. It took 6 weeks flat to reach the Port of Tillbury.
Jane agreed to accompany Roman to meet an old friend in Paris and take a breather after such a vigorous quest. A quarter of the pirates parted ways with the group to pay off debts, return to family, visit family, or simply retire. William was included in that group of people. Understandably so, he needed to make things right with his wife. Doctor Earl decided to stay a bit longer, simply stating that his work was not done yet. Caden would be accompanying Jane and Roman on their trip.
Before any real break could happen, business had to be dealt with. Roman left early in the morning to travel to London to clear warrants. Jane spent the day preparing for their trip. She started packing the new sets of clothes that Roman had picked out for her. Shoes, dresses, shifts, stockings, garters, stays, modesty slips, caps and fichus, paniers, petticoats, and engageantes. Roman had gone on a bit of an impulsive spending spree as he was terribly sorry about the destruction of the last ship and all their personal belongings. After packing her items she moved onto his. She prepared her hair in small twists, hoping to not be bothered with it for a week or two. The slip of her hair pomade in her hand made her grateful to be back in the general population.
With a smaller group of pirates, dinner took half the time to cook. Tilbury wasnāt particularly known for its fresh produce or quality cuts of meat. The boat had better food. Beef and potatoes were a favorite and it was a favorite this night just as any other night. Roman came back with a tired but satisfied look on his face. She could tell by his smile that the day had gone well. Before she can utter a word, his mouth is on hers, giving her a generous and suggestive greeting after so many hours apart.
ā Dinner is ready. Caden helpedā, She pulled away from the kiss with a chuckle, slapping her hand across his chest.
A goofy grin spreads across his face ā Great. Let us enjoy our meal in the bedroomā, he suggests lowly. She looks around at all the men sitting in the dining hall. They were far too busy stuffing their faces. Roman motions for the door with his eyes, trying his best to convince her. ācome onā, he whispered to her. Heās already holding his plate and hers. She pulls off her apron and sets it on the seat. One of the lower ranking pirates hoots suggestively as the two disappear behind the door. Roman doesnāt even bother his typical threats from his cheery mood.
The two reach the bedroom and she sets the plates on the table, pouring a glass of water for the both of them from the picher that sat near the window sill. Roman strips himself off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. He pulls off his tricorn hat and takes down his hair from his respectful ponytail.
ā Youāre in a good moodā, Jane laughs.
ā I am. I have great news. I was able to clear up some warrants for myself and the crew. You donāt even have a warrant anymore.ā Jane perks up at those words.
ā Indeed, you are declared missing in the country of England. This is because they found no remains. This means that all your debts and warrants have been cleared. You are freeā, Roman quips.
ā Freeā¦ā, the word bounces off her tongue in a peculiar way. She supposed that life in London was no freedom after all. If one could even call what she had before a life.
Roman sat next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her temple to his mouth for a peck.
ā A fresh start. You can even choose a new name if you like not that it will matter. I donāt have much business to do with London at this point. You wonāt have to go back here if you do not wish toā, he assured her.
ā Processing the paperwork will taking some time. We will head to Paris by carriage the day after tomorrow. Caden will escort you to the shops tomorrow to get anything you need for our stay which will be three weeks long.ā
Jane brows raise in surprise ā Three weeks?..What on earth will we be doing for three whole weeks?ā
Roman playfully rolls his eyes, ā Can a man not surprise and plan things for the woman he loves? If you were supposed to know I would have told you by now ā, he chuckles.
ā Not even a hintā¦.youāll spare me ?ā, Jane scoffs.
ā Itās a vacationā, Roman muttered, scraping the last bit of potatoes off his plate. Jane was so excited she couldnāt even finish her meal and instead pushed her plate towards his.
āI suppose that will be enough. Iāll try to get more out of you laterā¦ I have my ways,ā she teased. A rumble in his chest tickled her ears as she stifled a laugh and he pulled her into his lap.
Roman leaned into the crook of her neck. āSpoiled rottenā¦ never let me have the last word, can you?ā He quickly caught her off guard with a smack to her bum. She squealed, jumping up and diving for the bed.
As promised, the day after the next, two carriages awaited them at the end of the dock, drawn by four large white horses. The carriages were brown with gold embroideryāno doubt they were expensive. The coachmen placed Janeās and Romanās luggage on top of the carriage. Roman helped her step inside while the coachmen held the door open for her. Inside the small cushioned box were three medium-sized windows with retractable blinds. There were two cushioned benches adorned with beautiful swirly embroidery around the perimeter of the carriage. The ceiling was dark red with gold designs dancing across it. Jane sat down, and Roman sat across from her. The coachmen closed the door and opened the two additional windows to let in the light.
āThe quality of this carriageā¦ itās so rich. It almost looks like a royal carriage,ā Jane said, looking around in awe. It even smelled nice. A beat of silence passes. āIs this a royal carriage?ā Jane frowned in confusion. Roman chuckled knowingly.
āI take it you havenāt traveled in very good carriages before?ā he deflected. Jane rolled her eyes, aware of his angle but deciding to drop it.
āI wouldnāt call a wooden bench staring at the back of a horseās arse particularly āgood,ā so Iām easily impressed so far,ā she snorted.
He chortled. āWell, if itās that easy to impress you, prepare to be astonished once moreā¦ very soon.ā
āHow long before we get to Paris?ā
āAll of today. We wonāt reach Paris until nightfall.ā Roman removed his jacket and rolled it behind him into a pillow.
A day was nothing. The two of them lost track of time in conversationāa common occurrence when they were together. Roman told old pirate stories, and Jane listened intently. The bottle of ale certainly helped keep the topics interesting. Eventually, around midnight, Jane could wait for Paris a second longer. After a long rant about a specific color of dress she could never seem to find, she slumped against his chest. Sleep claimed her, and Roman, a bit of a night owl, decided to join her in slumber. He didnāt want to miss her reaction.
Jane's body sensed the carriage stop, stirring her awake, which in turn woke Roman. He looped an arm around her waist and pulled her upright before opening a blind. Jane gasped as she looked out the window.
A palace? Why would she be at a palace of all places? Why would Roman take her to a palace when he practically hated nobility? None of it made sense. She glanced between his eyes and the massive property just feet away.
A little knock on the door startled her, as she couldnāt see anyone standing there. Reluctantly, she opened the door. A small voice cleared its throat, and her eyes shot down to a sandy-brown-haired girl with large, poofy ringlets split into two ponytails on either side of her head. She wore a childās nightdress with a robe and matching pink slippers. Her large eyes, tiny bulbous nose, and round pink lips made her look like a little cherub. More surprisingly, she was incredibly tiny, appearing to be around four to six years old. Maybe it was because Jane hadnāt been around many children; most of the earls and ladies she had worked for were older with grown children. The little girl smiled at her. āBonjour! Parles-tu franƧais?ā she asked.
āUhā¦ no,ā Jane replied awkwardly, a small chuckle rising from her chest as the little girl eyed her curiously.
āHello, my name is Eloise!ā the little girl said, sticking her tiny hand out to Jane. Her accent was distinctly French, and her voice was sweet yet clear, as if she had spoken two languages her entire life.
Jane, bewildered but charmed, took the childās hand in her own and introduced herself. āJane,ā she smiled.
The child turned to Roman. āAnd you must be Papaās friend. He said you were coming. Heās not back yet from his hunting trip with Mama, but donāt worry. I can give you a tour since heās not here. I know all the rooms of the palace and theāā
āEloise! What did I say?! You are to be in bed! Une dame ne salue pas ses invitĆ©s dans ses vĆŖtements de nuit. A lady must be presentable!ā a woman called from the top of the steps leading to the entrance of the palace.
The little girl took off running into the palace, a guard jogging behind her, shadowing her every move. Jane and Roman stepped out of the carriage as she disappeared around a dimly lit corner. A woman in her fifties with deep brown hair, green cat-like eyes, a long defined nose, and cherry-red lips approached the couple. She wore a long deep green gown, and her hair was styled in a puffy updo. Jane glanced back to see Caden still in his carriage parked a few inches away, greeted by a different courtier.
āMonsieur Roman, Mademoiselle Ramlalāwelcome. My name is Beatrice. I split my time between being a governess to Lady Eloise and a courtier for the Duchess of Orleans. The Duke will be so pleased to have you both here,ā she said, respectfully curtsying and smiling at them.
āHiā¦ Is thisā¦ Versailles?ā Jane asked, looking around curiously at the architecture.
The woman covered her mouth to suppress a chuckle. āNo, maāam. This is Palais Royalāhome to the Duke and the Duchess. However, Versailles is just up the road, an hour away by carriage. You will experience the wonders of the Kingās home soon enough. Not to worry.ā
āThank you, Beatrice. This is Janeās first time in Paris, so sheāll need some time to adjustā, says Roman.
āOf course! Let me show you to your room, and we can do a tour of the property after the Duke and Duchess return. Let us take the short way, as I know you two must be very tired. Right this way,ā Beatrice smiled kindly, signaling to the officers to unload the luggage, which was then picked up by four servants who appeared quietly in the background.
On the short walk to their quarters, Jane took it all ināwhat she could see, at least. Before her stood an architectural giant, its grandeur dwarfing the buildings in England. It worried her slightly that Versailles would be even bigger than this. The palace, with its striking classical faƧade, was an intricate tapestry of columns and arches. Tall Corinthian pillars, fluted and carefully proportioned, rose imposingly toward the sky, framing the grand entrance like sentinels of history. The creamy stone glowed warmly against the light, each detail sharp and vivid against the Parisian night sky.
Janeās gaze swept over the expansive courtyard, where the geometric design of the paving stones seemed to lead her deeper into the heart of the palace. To her left, the vast gardens unfurled, their manicured hedges and vibrant flowerbeds a riot of color, contrasting beautifully with the pale stone of the building.
The sheer scale of the Palais Royal filled her with awe; it seemed to stretch endlessly, a labyrinth of wealth and privilege. How did people live like this? The intricate ironwork of the balconies twinkled in the moonlight, and the ornate sculptures perched atop the faƧade looked down like ancient figures, frozen in time. Every detailāthe delicate carvings, the imposing gates, the shimmering windowsāleft her wide-eyed. This was not just a palace; it was a gateway to a life that was completely alien to her old one. And she thought the Earl she worked for was rich?
āRoman, we are criminals. We cannot be here,ā she whispered quietly to him as they walked behind the governess. They were in the foyer, heading up a marble staircase so clean she felt she could eat off it.
He looked down at her, noticing her nervous glances over her shoulder as if there was a guard about to handcuff her. āDo you really think Iād take you somewhere where they would arrest you? Itās taken care of, remember? Besides, the Duke and I are childhood friends. He would sooner hide us than give us up to the lawāa law we are no longer in trouble with. Relax. Itās what youāre supposed to do on vacation.ā He looked down at her again as she continued to glance around suspiciously. Jane could send him into hysterics when she wanted to. This was one of those moments. She grabbed his large hand tightly, and he squeezed her small fist reassuringly.
āOkay. Here are your quarters. The Duke has informed us that you would like to share a room,ā Beatrice led them down a winding, tall, echoey hallway that Jane nearly slipped on. She wasnāt used to walking on stone yet. They arrived at the room, and Beatrice opened the door. Jane held back a gasp.
The bedroom was lavish and opulent. The room featured grand, ornate furnishings with rich fabrics and intricate detailing. The walls were adorned with delicate wallpaper in a soft goldish-brown color with floral patterns. A large, canopied bed served as the centerpiece, draped in expensive linens and surrounded by tapestries.
Gilded accents and antique mirrors with elegant chandeliers illuminate the room with a warm, soft glow. Decorative vases and fresh flowers bring life and color to the space. Cushioned gold chairs and mahogany tables line either side of the room. A small table and two chairs sit near the large window with a balcony. The rug is spotless; not even a speck of dust or dirt can be seen on it, despite its cream and gold colors. The fireplace is large, with fresh wood sitting inside it. The room is adorned with ancestral paintings and murals. The marble floor features intricate designs. The ceiling is gold-trimmed.
āYour things will be here shortly. Ms. Ramlal, your measurements will need to be taken.ā
āOhāI brought my own dresses, no worries,ā said Jane.
āThis will be for your Versailles trip. Here, the court is a little more relaxed. However, Versailles is more traditional. The King doesnāt particularly like British fashion, so youāll have to respect the rules of his court. Otherwise, you may insult him. His Highness is a little moreā¦ particular, ā Beatrice explained gently.
Jane blinked with surprise. āOhāI was not aware. Thank you for letting me know.ā
āMy pleasure. Oh look, your bags have arrived,ā Beatrice said, stepping aside to allow the male servants to place the luggage trunks next to the room dividers at the far end of the room. Two more servants, this time female, entered the room. They greeted her quietly, and she returned the favor. Roman was sitting in a chair, going through a small bookshelf that sat on the opposite side of the room. Jane walked to the full-length mirror next to the suitcases and allowed the ladies to take her measurements. The process took all of two minutes before they left with a swift curtsy.
āYou two enjoy the rest of your evening. There will be a Butler named Joffrey stationed outside your door. If there is anything you need, report to him, and he will have it done. Is there anything else I can assist you two with?ā
Roman stood from his sitting position. āNo, that will be all, Beatrice. We truly appreciate your hospitality. I wish you a good night.ā
āAnd you as well. See you both in the morning, Monsieur..Mademoiselle,ā Beatrice curtsied and left.
Jane let out a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders. āGoodness. I felt like I was in a play.ā
Roman chuckled knowingly. āThe people of the court are almost as intense as the royalty. Every nicety must be observed. Every interaction is uptight. But trust me, the Duke and the Duchess are not like that.ā
Jane looked around the room, turning her body to take in each part of it. At the end of the room sat assorted berries, chocolate, chocolate-covered berries, scones, soups, cheeses, breads, and wines. Jane rushed over to pick a berry from the tray.
āMmmā¦ā she said, picking another and putting it in her mouth. Utensils lined the tables. She picked one up, only to realize it was pure gold. The thought tickled her. Wouldnāt silver be just fine?
Chocolate was a rare delicacy. Sheād tasted it maybe twice in her life and then never again.
āFan of chocolate?ā Roman smiled, watching her pick over the food table.
āFan of anything sweet, if you couldnāt tell,ā she chuckled.
Roman stood, his knees groaning from sitting all day. He pulled off his dress coat and placed it on the side of the chair. āThe Persians love their sweets, so you wonāt leave this place unsatisfied. Come, let me loosen your corset.ā
Jane washed down her berries with a splash of wine before she shuffled over to Roman, kicking off her heels and letting her toes sink into the carpet. Roman stood behind her with his tall stature, pulling down the straps of her corset and loosening the ribbons that wound up her back. The final tug at the bottom of the corset popped the cage loose, allowing the fabric to fall down to her hips. She could feel her breasts spill out, but she made no move to hold them. She carefully pulled it off, revealing a thin, sheer undergarment slip she wore underneath. She lifted the garment over her shoulders and tossed it on the floor, leaving herself in bloomers and nothing else. She felt a calloused finger trail along her back and up her right shoulder. There it was again, that tension that had been brewing for weeks. She peeked over her shoulder, and his eyes were focused on her skin, painting small circles and patterns against her back and shoulder. His pupils, darker than usual, met her own, and she nearly flinched from the heat of them. They stayed there for a minute while a silent conversation was held.
Any day now, it would happen. His lust was so incontestable, so palpable, she could reach out and touch it. He took a step back and surrendered to their circumstances. No, not yet. Close, but not quite yet. It had been a long day, and his eyes lowered to her dress on the floor. He picked it up and set it alongside her luggage.
When she entered the elaborate bathroom, she noticed a large, spacious marble bathtub sitting by the window. She requested a bath, and Roman took his shortly after hers. The exhaustion set in fast as the two barely uttered goodnight before reaching deep sleep.
The morning sun illuminated every corner of the gold-speckled room, creating a shiny and soft haze over her eyes. To wake up glowing was strange after living inside a wooden ship for the better part of a year. Jane sat up to find that Roman was gone, which made her a bit nervous. A small note sat on her pillow, and she opened it.
āGone to have a smoke with Arnaud. Pull the rope, and your chambermaids will come and get you ready for breakfast. Iāll see you soon.ā
Arnaud? That must be the Duke. She pulled on her bathrobe and walked to the golden rope hanging by the door. She tugged it twice and stood in front of her bed, waiting to see if the maids would arrive. When they did, they greeted her quietly and walked her over to the center of the room.
She wasnāt really sure how to speak to the servants; part of her felt guilty. She used to be one. But how does one possibly speak from the other side of it? She supposed it was best to let them do their jobs. Most of the time, she just wanted to be left alone in the presence of the wealthy. Small talk bored her, and she had a million other worries on her mind than which outfit looked better on which hair color. So she let them work her clothes off in silence.
What happened next was absolutely ridiculous. She realized she hadnāt been dressed by another person since she was at least five years old. She was dressed in layers, more layers than she was used to. She felt like a noblewoman, and somehow the dresses she had brought with her, came alive in a way they hadnāt before.
This dress was light pink and frilly. It almost made her look like she belonged in this place. It had bows, lace, and a dramatic bust. The dressmaker had stressed to her how something this beautiful could only be worn somewhere of beauty. He told her that she must wait for a special occasionānow was the occasion. What else would you wear to breakfast in a palace? She put on matching pink pearl jewelry. The price was exorbitant, but it was something that Roman had picked out for her. Things were different now; money was no issue, despite the feeling not yet setting in. The dresses he had bought her when they first met were niceāexpensive dresses evenābut this was on a whole new level.
The ladies huddled around her and added a pink rouge to her cheeks that complemented her skin tone well. Then, they added a lightly tinted glossy pigment to her mouth that caught the light perfectly. They used a waxy substance on her lashes to elongate them and then pressed a clean-scented powder to her skin. It was perfume, she realized. She never really bothered with perfume, but this one was gorgeous. It smelt like vanillaā¦cake and berries. She kept raising her wrist to her nose to smell it. One of the mousy maids reached for her hair, and Jane gently grabbed her hand to stop her.
āMadameā¦ your hairā¦ do you not want it styled?ā she asked curiously.
āUhā¦ my hair is a bit of a mystery. I canāt style it like the other ladies; itās far tooā¦ complicated. Please, let me figure it outā Jane scrambled. She ended her sentence with an awkward chuckle as the two maids looked at her strangely.
āNo worries, madam. Eloise has special hair too; it requires gentle hands. One moment,ā the maid said before disappearing to speak with the butler outside the room.
Jane and the chambermaids sat in awkward silence for a painful five minutes. A woman rounded the corner, her hair wrapped. She wore a white variation of the maid's dress, and her face was kind and smiling. Jane realized that this woman was the first person sheād seen who looked like her in ages. Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a long sigh.
āMary, madame. I see you are in need of a hairdresser? I can helpā the woman asked in a thick French accent.
āWell, I was just going to wear it in twists,ā Jane muttered.
āTwists are pretty, but maybe something more elaborate to go with such a detailed outfit. Trust me, mademoiselle, Iāve touched many heads like yours,ā she suggests. A knowing smile crossed her face, disarming Jane. She spoke with such old wisdom that Jane immediately nodded.
Mary whispered something to the maids, and they left. She gently began to take Janeās hair down, twirling the soft curls around themselves. The maids returned with curling rods and other hair products. They started a fire in the fireplace and quietly dismissed themselves. Now it was just Mary and Jane.
āYou do this style often?ā Mary asked.
āYesā¦ when Iām not wrapping it up. Can you tell?ā Jane replied shyly.
āThe hair has memory for sure. Itās very healthyāthatās a hard thing to maintain when you have so little product to work with. I made these creams myself. I use them on la petite Eloise. Her hair is thick and not quite like other little girls her age. It requires some work, but itās very beautiful. She only allows me to touch it.ā
āIt used to be even harder, so I would just wrap it. It was hard to keep it soft at times. I had to make my own product beforeā¦ā Jane stopped herself. Was she talking too much? This woman hadnāt asked for her life story. And why did she suddenly feel so self-conscious about what Mary might think of her? Jane tucked her lips as she snuck a glance at the woman in the mirror.
āBeforeā¦ go on,ā Mary chuckled.
Jane cleared her throat. āBefore I met the gentleman I traveled with.ā
āAhhā¦ Monsieur Roman. Iāve heard many stories about him. He is the Dukeās longest friend, and heās supposed to be very fierce. Sir Roman is he yourā¦?ā Mary trailed off as she parted Jane's hair. Jane looked down into her lap. Would it be in bad taste to say the truth? They werenāt married. Truthfully, she didnāt think it would matter; they would go back to being pirates after this. Pirates donāt have wives.
āMy companion. M-my friend,ā Jane blurted. Women donāt have male āfriendsā, especially not in high society, but itās not like she had a ring to say otherwise.
āI see. Well, he certainly will be able to tell you a thing or two about Paris. He used to frequent Paris quite a bit. Iāve seen him aroundā
Janeās mind went blank. Why had she suddenly forgotten how to speak to a woman? She needed more friends, thatās for sure. āYes. He brought me here as a surprise. D-do you like Paris?ā
āLike? Sometimes. I think itās easier to see the beauty in a place when you donāt live there. I can at least admire the architecture.ā
āYes. The buildings are a sight to see.ā
Mary brushed Janeās hair in sections, clipping up most of it while pulling a small piece out. She walked over to the fire and placed a long metal rod above the flames. After about a minute, she returned to the styling chair and wrapped a piece of cloth around Janeās hair. She looped the hair around the heated rod, using the cloth as a barrier. After twenty seconds, she released the hair to reveal a large ringlet. Jane gasped.
āWow,ā she said, touching her hair gently with the tips of her fingers. She didnāt want to mess up the style, but it amazed her. Somehow, it made her hair look longer yet the curl was more dramatic. Sheād never manipulated her hair in that way. āYou are going to do that all over my head, just like this?!ā
Mary burst into laughter. āYou look like little Eloise after I do her hair. She jumps out of her seat and then starts dancing and posing in the mirror. Of course, mademoiselle, itās why Iām here. Now hold still,ā Mary said, resting the rod on a thick piece of cloth and pulling out another section of hair.
Jane could feel her excitement bubbling over as Mary continued to work on her hair. She couldnāt remember the last time she got excited about something like this. Having her hair done was a luxury she wasnāt sure she could part with.
āSoā¦ what part of France are you from?ā
āI am from Haiti, but I came to Paris when I was about eight years old. I grew up here in Palais Royal with the former Dukeāthe Kingās brother. My mother was a dressmaker, and I was her little assistant.ā
āAh, I see. Do you live here in the Palais? Or away?ā
āOui, in the servantsā quarters. Though I have my own apartment due to Eloiseās favor. The Duke treats his staff quite well,ā Mary spoke with a relaxed tone, as if Jane were her longtime girlfriend. She liked that. The other maids seemed so high-strung and tense.
āIām not from hereā¦ in Europe, I mean. Iām from Trinidad. I came to Europe as a child too,ā Jane admitted. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She wasnāt about to pretend to be something she wasnāt.
āAn island girl like myself? Who would have thought. What a peculiar place for us to be, no?ā
āPeculiar indeed.ā
āSo I take it youāre not a former Kings gift? Or rather a Bastard to a Duke or Marquis?ā Mary said playfully, with a suspicious tone.
Jane held back a laugh. āWhat gave it away?ā
āYou look me in the eye when you talk.ā
Jane pondered that for a second. She remembered those days slaving away over a stove, serving a dish to people who couldnāt see her. She was invisible. Over time, that invisibility became a comfort.
āAnd if they were to look you in the eye, they would only be looking at their reflection in it,ā Jane quipped absentmindedly. Mary let out a high-pitched laugh.
āWhat was your job before this?ā Mary asked, working quickly and already finishing the back and crown of Janeās head.
āCook. I have fingertips of steel. I could probably wrap my hand around that rod and not feel a thing,ā Jane joked.
āExplains the humor. Well, Madame Jane, I can tell that you and I are going to get along just fine,ā Mary grinned knowingly.
The two fell into chatter and banter like friends. Mary was funny, and she seemed to know so much about everything. Jane even had to excuse herself from cursing a few times as it slipped out. Mary found it funny. The connection could only be explained as the harmony of having a conversation with another womanāthere was nothing quite like it. And while Roman was the keeper of her secrets, he preferred to pacify and soothe. But talking to a womanāthere was something almost spiritual about it. The idea that someone would just āget it,ā whatever that āitā might be. The comfort in knowing that somewhere, your stories lined up, even if just for an instant.
Mary pinned Janeās hair in a rolling pattern that accentuated her long neck. She left a singular thick curl hanging down against her shoulder. Then she dusted Jane's hairline with a pink sparkly gold powder that matched her pale pink dress and makeup. Jane gasped when she saw herself in the mirror.
āWhat do you call this style?!ā
āThe tĆŖte de mouton, or sheep's head. The ladies in Paris love this style.ā
āI see why. Wow, Iāve never looked like this before. I mean, you practically did magic!ā Jane exclaimed, brushing a finger against the curl on her shoulder.
āI am very pleased you like it, madame. Now one moment. The governess wants to meet with you before breakfast. Iāll see you soon,ā Mary said, stepping back and curtsying before leaving the room.
Jane stood in front of the mirror, eyeing every detail. Sheād never looked so beautiful. She pondered if the novelty of being dressed and styled to perfection wore off for wealthy women. She could never tire of thisāof feeling pretty.
The governess broke her out of her trance with a clearing of her throat. Jane turned around and curtsied. The governess returned the gesture and walked further into the room. Jane couldnāt help but feel that these sorts of greetings were growing tiresome. The governess was a serious woman but kind enough. āDonāt worry about curtsying back to the help. A short, quick curtsy to ladies of the court is fine. More dramatic and precise curtsies are suitable for nobility. Just remember to bow to the Duke and Duchess. They are to be referred to as 'Your Grace.' We will go over other things for your Versailles trip. Are you ready?ā she said.
Jane sensed that the governess was in a rush, so she didnāt bother to ask any questions yet. āI am.ā
āSplendid. Follow me,ā said Beatrice. Their heels tapped against shiny winding staircases. It took every bit of five minutes to reach the entrance of the dining room. Two guards stood on either side of the double doors and opened them for the pair.
āMadamoiselle Jane of London,ā a white-wigged announcer called from the back of the room. It nearly startled Jane, but she stepped into the path of the room and walked through the doors. A ridiculously long table, which nearly stretched across the entire room, revealed little Eloise, the Duke, the Duchess, Roman, and Caden. Each corner of the room had a guard, and a line of cooks stood near the entrance of the kitchen. Everyone stood as the Duke and his wife joined hands and walked closer to where Jane stood. She bowed alongside the governess, muttering āYour Graceā and āPleasure to meet you.ā
āOh, I canāt help it!ā Charlotte lunged for Jane and wrapped her arms around her. She was a pale woman with curly, frizzy strawberry-blonde hair, large downturned green eyes, a button nose, and a bow-shaped mouth. She had a single mole on her right cheek. Slightly shorter than Jane, her comically large bust nearly cut off Janeās circulation when she squeezed her so tight.
āHi, call me Charlotte! Arnaud has told me so much about you two. Youāre even more gorgeous than Roman could have ever described in the letter. Iām so happy to have you here!ā the woman squeaked. Her British accent surprised Jane. Blinking at her with a flustered look, Jane smiled at the radiant woman before her. Charlotte had a porcelain-doll quality, and her bubbly personality fit her well; however, Jane hadnāt expected her voice to be so high.
āNice to meet you, Charlotte.ā
The Duke offered his hand for a shake, and Jane took it, happy to be over with the formalities. āArnaud, Itās so nice to finally meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Paris.ā His French accent was thick, but she understood him clearly. Arnaud was tall, almost as tall as Roman. He had a thick beard, slanted almond eyes, a broad nose, full downturned lips, and dark skin. For a moment, the concept didnāt register, and a blank stare crept onto Janeās face as she held his hand.
āYouāre the Duke ?ā she asked, dumbfounded.
A knowing smile crept onto Arnaudās face. āI have my paperwork to prove it if you donāt believe me.ā
āNoāsorry. I meanā¦ you know what? Never mind,ā Jane scrambled to find the words.
āRelax. I get it. Not what you were expecting,ā Arnaud laughed.
āWellā¦ no,ā Jane sputtered.
Suddenly, something tiny and furry ran through the gap between Janeās feet, causing her to nearly stumble off balance. Arnaud caught her. A tiny body pushed past her feet on all fours, yelling in French.
āMauvais chat! Come back here!ā Eloise shouted.
āGood heavens!ā the Governess gasped, clutching her chest. Eloise was chasing a white fluffy cat around the expensive dining room on all fours, meowing like a cat.
āEloise! What did I tell you about chasing that cat?! Get off the floor! Youāre terrorizing the poor thing!ā Charlotte dodged for the little girl, crawling on the ground herself as Eloise chased the cat under the dining table. It was truly a sight to see, as most high born mothers did not bother reprimanding or even parenting their children.
Jane wasnāt sure if it was appropriate to laugh, but she had never seen anything like it in her life. Then the guards started chasing after all three of themāthe cat, Eloise, and the Duchessātrying to prevent an accident and stop the cat from running up the drapes.
Arnaud turned to Jane with a tired look. āOne thing I can sayāI am never bored in this house.ā
āI can see that,ā Jane chuckled as he walked her to her seat next to Roman.
Roman pulled her chair out for her, and she took a seat, taking in all the wonderful dishes. A male servant greeted her and set a plate in front of her. The Duke sat across from them as if utter chaos wasnāt unfolding in front of them and started loading Janeās plate with food. No one of Arnaudās status had ever served her food.
She could feel Roman draw closer as he whispered, āYou look stunning.ā
āI hope so after how long it took to get ready,ā she smiled.
Roman took her hand and kissed the back of it. Jane looked to Caden, who had been quiet as a mouse this entire time, watching Charlotte crawl past him with a determined look on her face as she grabbed hold of Eloiseās leg. Suddenly, Roman shifted in his seat and caught Eloise with one hand, lifting her in the air. There was a tiny shrill of her voice before she went limp in his iron grip.
āPas juste!ā she pouted. (No fair)
To Janeās surprise, Roman muttered, āLa vie n'est pas juste,ā chuckling at the cat darting underneath the chairs before it was caught by a guard. (Life is not fair)
āMaybe for you,ā Eloise teased.
Charlotte grabbed the child and quickly swatted her on the bottom, though it made no difference given how thick the childās dress was. Instead, she just snickered as the governess took her to her room. Charlotte fixed her hair and straightened her dress before sitting down next to her husband. Order was restored to the room as Charlotte regained her breath. Arnaud looked to his wife and whispered something to her that caused her to giggle.
āI apologize that you all had to be subjected to that chaos. Eloise is a very advanced child, which means that left to her own devices, she will attempt to dominate whoever or whatever is in her vicinity,ā Arnaud admitted. He almost looked proud of it, which made Jane look away to avoid laughing even harder.
āWe hope the food is to your liking,ā Charlotte added. They dug into the food, and at first, there was just the quiet of chewing and plate scraping. Then Caden decided to break the silence.
āSo, Arnaud, how did you and Roman meet?ā asked Caden. Jane finally got a good look at him now. A yearās worth of grime had been washed from his light chocolate hair, and he looked every bit of his teenage yearsāso baby-faced and bushy-tailed. He wore a matching brown jacket with black trousers. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He looked uncomfortable, which was understandable. Although Roman and Jane had interacted with nobility in the past, Caden had never even seen a palace up close. Jane would be sure to check in with him when she had the chance.
āRoman and I are what one might sayāadopted. We have a very similar backstory. We met when I took a trip to Germany as a young boy. The king was negotiating with their territory, and I saw someone my age playing in the ballroom. No introductions needed. Instant friends.ā
āAnd heās been a pain in my arse ever since,ā Roman grumbled.
āWho are you telling? I canāt get rid of you,ā Arnaud bantered.
āSo I suspect your home is a bit further away?ā Jane asked curiously. She hoped she wasnāt being too forward, but she had to know.
āSierra Leone, actually.ā
āI see,ā a sad expression crossed her face. He was indeed a long way from home, just as she and Roman and Mary wereāa feeling so unique from regular homesickness.
āWhat about yourself?ā asked Arnaud.
āTrinidad, originally.ā
One of his brows twitched in surprise. āHow on earth did you two meet?ā
āHeā¦ saved my life, actually.ā
Roman rubbed the back of his neck. Jane didnāt understand his hesitance. āLong storyā¦ā
Jane took his hand and placed it on his lap subtly, not wanting to draw attention. It was reassurance. She felt safe to open up a bit. Arnaud and Charlotte were already drawn in, judging by their concerned expressions.
Jane cleared her throat. No turning back now. āYesā¦ he found me. The ship I was traveling on had a terrible accident. I was floating on a life raft for God knows how long. He found me and helped me get better. That was over a year ago. I owe my life to him.ā
āYouāve saved my life as well. You have no debt with me, I assure you,ā Roman muttered back quietly.
āWowā¦ what a strange way to meet a person. Iām so very glad youāre here with us, Jane,ā said Charlotte.
āWho are you in relation to Roman?ā Arnaud asked Caden.
āRoman took me in when I was young. Heās looked after me ever since. If you start meeting a lot of his friends, youāll notice a pattern: everybody owes them their life. He nursed me back to health too. I think he has an affinity for finding the strays of the world,ā Caden joked.
Arnaud let out a quick snort. āVery maternal, that one.ā
āNow youāre pushing it,ā Roman warned Arnaud. He chortled at Romanās irritation.
āWhat about you, Charlotte? How did you and Arnaud meet, and how long have you been together?ā asked Jane.
āA tavern in Southwark. His carriage broke down, and he came inside to have dinner. I served him. That was seven years ago now,ā Charlotte smiled as she remembered the day fondly. Jane was even more confused.
āServed him?ā Jane tilted her head.
āWhy yes, I can only sell the highborn act for so long. I served beer to drunkards for a living, darling. My father was a farmer,ā she giggled.
And there it was. Charlotte had a very approachable quality about her. Despite how pretty she was, there was a carefreeness to her that only someone working in the general public could have.
But how on earth was that marriage approved? Let alone them being from two very different parts of the world. However, Jane didnāt want her questions to come off as rude. Sheās asked enough questions. One thing was for certain: they were an intriguing pair. Opposites certainly attract. She could tell Charlotte was the wild one, and Arnaud was the relaxed one. Perhaps she and Roman werenāt so different when it came to opposites. Jane had a tendency to be more reserved and withdrawn. It took time for her to get out of her shell. Roman was more straightforward, rougher around the edges. He wasnāt loud, but he wasnāt quiet either. He was just right for her, just opposite enough to make her a better person.
Breakfast was a surprising delight. The conversation was hysterical. Roman and Arnaud, as storytellers, were quite the pair. They were almost like siblings the way they shared mannerisms and inflections at times. Before they knew it, they had been sitting at the table for two hours.
Plans were made. There would be an official welcome dinner with all members of the Duke and Duchess's court. There were plenty of people that Jane hadnāt met yet. After that, Charlotte raved about the Opera with the live orchestra that she wished to invite Jane and Roman to. Jane had never been to a ballet, nor had she seen an orchestra play live before.
Until then, Arnaud took them on an expansive tour of the palace, which took every bit of an hour. She had no idea how or why the home of someone had to be so big. But itās easy to forget just how many people lived in the palace: servants, soldiers, teachers, cooks, doctors and nurses, animal attendants, gardeners, and more. Not to mention the courtiers and advisors who lived there simply to keep the nobles company. The acreage was just as expansive. There was a vast greenhouse, gardens, orangeries, and horse pastures. Each bedroom was practically a mini museum, with portraits of the long line of royalty that once lived in the palace. Thankfully, there werenāt any in the bedroom they shared.
The rest of the day would be spent at her leisure. Charlotte decided to ride horses with Eloise. Arnaud and Roman went to have a drink on the balcony. They had a lot of catching up to do. She took this opportunity to have tea time, which apparently involved relaxing in a room lined with oil paintings, satin pillows, and floor-to-ceiling windows that swung open like doors. She brought Caden along with her.
āAre you okay?ā Jane asked him quietly. The boy had his feet swinging over the side of the couch as he stared up at the mural above him.
āWhy wouldnāt I be?ā he asked with an inquisitive tone.
āBecause I donāt want you to be uncomfortable.ā
āI think theyāre a bit strange. Not my idea of nobility. But I guess thatās a rather good thing, considering that with a warrant, Europe would be searching for Roman with dogs by now,ā Caden scoffed.
āI think theyāre rather sweet. Though I canāt imagine how people must talk about them behind their backs. Those poor people,ā Jane muttered quietly.
āShe probably gets the worst of it. She said that sheās a commoner, right?ā
āYes, which is why I donāt know how it happened. He must have some sort of favor. I donāt imagine an old king being nice enough to grant somebody their true love. Itās always duty and sacrifice with that bunch.ā
āRich people problems. Beats me,ā Caden shrugged.
āHow quickly you forget that you are, in fact, a rich man now. Though youāve barely spent any of it quite yet. Iām very proud of you. Donāt let Rory set an example,ā Jane sighed. Rory had suddenly decided he needed a new fur coat collection for the winter, which wouldnāt be for months.
āWhy thank you Mother,ā Caden teased. Jane chuckled. At times, Caden really did act like a teenager, which warmed her heart.
The room fell silent as she thought about their arrival for the trip. She understood Roman wanting to visit an old friend. But this was such a stark difference from what she was used to. With the way he talked about royalty, she never expected him to have any friends that were still affiliated. She felt there was more than one reason as to why they were here. She didnāt sense any malice or ill intent, thankfully, but he was so subliminal about the whole ordeal.
āHas Roman ever talked to you about Paris?ā
āTaking you there, yes. Said something about how he had something special planned for you and to be on my best behavior, blah blah blah,ā Caden sighed, turning over to face the cushion of the couch. āIām taking a nap. Those bloody white-wigged bastards woke me up at 5 in the morning to dress me like some stupid baby. Iām tired.ā
Jane scoffed and chugged the rest of her tea before retreating to her bedroom for the afternoon. Roman hadnāt come back yet, and she was starting to miss him. She had been informed that heād gone into town, which surprised her. She would have gone with him had he asked her.
Later that evening, as the sun went down, Jane prepared for dinner with the court. This was an observed dinner with everyone from the Duke and Duchess's court included. Touch-ups were made to Janeās hair and makeup. She changed into a deep blue dress. The bust, sleeves, and creases of the dress were trimmed with delicate black lace. The skirt was dramatic and wide, with flared sleeves, and the forearm of the dress was flared. She liked that this dress contrasted with the light, airy nature of the first dress. The finishing touch was a black lace choker, a smudge o black on the waterline, and a fake mole on her cheek. Face dots were especially popular here in France, and some women would cover their faces with them. Jane opted for just one. She changed into black heels, and a sheer glitter was added to her hairline. A matte dark red lipstick gave the look the perfect finish. A knock on the door grabbed Janeās attention. It was Roman, holding a box in his hand. He had changed, and his hair fell down his back in damp waves.
āThat will be all for now, ladies. Thank you,ā she excused the group. The maids curtsied and left. Roman shut the bedroom door and closed the distance between them, standing behind the chair she sat in. The two of them faced a large mirror that nearly spanned the entire wall. āYou are never wearing pirate hand-me-downs again. I forbid it when you look like that.ā
A small smirk ghosted across Janeās mouth before she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. āWhere have you been all day?ā
āOh, have I upset you with my absence?ā Roman slyly leaned down and kissed the side of her neck. It took everything in her not to fall into him the way she usually would, to submit to the heat of his touch as she always had.
āI missed you. I had nobody to talk to. Caden went to sleep. It would have been nice to have company. I donāt know my way around here,ā she pouted. Roman brushed his lips against her soap-scented skin.
āI went to the city to buy you something special to wear with your dinner dress,ā he taunted. Carefully, he twirled the box in his hand and placed it in her lap. He pulled out a smaller second box and placed it on the table.
āYou canāt open the little box quite yet. But this one is for tonight,ā he explained. Jane hesitantly took the larger box, all blue and wrapped in red ribbon. She pulled off the silk and lifted it open to find a sizable necklace filled with sapphires and diamonds. She gasped at the way it glinted against the fireplace light.
āRomanā¦ this must have cost you a fortune,ā her hand flew to her mouth as she lifted it up, feeling the heaviness of it.
āWell, I couldnāt let you make your appearance without something special. These sorts of dinners are all about status, no matter how much they deny it. Having something nice on is a great way to avoid being treated poorly or ignored. Itās also a fantastic icebreaker. I canāt imagine what Iāll do if you are mistreated and Iād rather not find out. This will be a good conversation starter. I think it will match with your light blue dress. You can wear it for your portrait tomorrow.ā
It took a moment for Jane to register what he was saying at first. ā...My portrait?ā she asked.
āYes, your portrait. Here, let me see how it looks.ā Jane reached up to take off her choker. He gently pulled the necklace from her grasp and placed it around her neck. She turned her neck to admire the way it sparkled. Truthfully, Jane wanted to inquire about the portrait, but there was so much going on at once that the thought slipped her mind when the jewelry hit her skin.
Her fingers graced the smooth stone. āItās beautiful... I love it,ā she murmured.
ā You wear it wellā, he compliments.
āWill you walk with me to dinner?ā.
āIt would be my honor.ā
They dressed Roman in what was called the habit Ć la franƧaise: his coat, waistcoat, breeches, silk stockings, jabot, cotton shirt, decorative cuffs, and cravat. His coat and breeches were a deep gray color. It complemented her outfit, and thatās when she realized that the people who dressed them corresponded. Beatrice escorted them to the great hall, and the doors opened for them, revealing a full room of people that looked like they wanted to eat her alive.
Roman POV
When you were presented before a court, you were sized up. It was one of the things he hated most about prestigious society. Roman wasnāt here for his health. A future for Jane must be secured, and in order to do that, he would be metaphorically offering the love of his life up to vultures. Except these vulturesāmore akin to peacocksāwere flashy, rich, perfectly powdered, yet rotten on the inside. This would be their reality for the next two and a half hours.
The royal announcer called their names, ringing the dinner bell to hungry hounds as hollow, glistening, depraved eyes landed on the pair of them. Caden had already snuck his way into the room, his youth allowing him to sink into the background in a way they couldnāt. They paid their respects to the Duke and Duchess. Next came their courtiers and other members of rank. Janeās bow was perfect. Charlotte kissed both sides of her cheek to show favor, something to sway the court. There would be a wait for dinner, and the great hall was full of bigwigs talking about feeble nonsense.
There were whispers, snickers, glares, and stares. Most of them were from the women, which was to be expected. Roman wasnāt particularly fond of the men and their obvious gawking. He and Jane stood near the dual windows overlooking the courtyard. Carts of beverages were rolled around. Roman grabbed a glass of champagne, while Jane chose water. She lifted the glass to her lips, her eyes widening as it fizzed against her palate.
āThereās something wrong with this water,ā she warned.
āThereās nothing wrong. Itās supposed to be that way,ā he chuckled at her shock as she cautiously took another sip.
āItās bubblyā¦ why is it bubbly?ā
āVichy water. Itās sparkling mineral water from Vichy, France, from the volcanic region. It has salts and healing properties. Sometimes they use it to treat gout or an upset stomach. Some people just like the taste.ā He watched as she took small sips. She shrugged it off, seemingly satisfied with the sensation of the fizzing.
She fidgets, āShould I make conversation?ā she asked hesitantly, looking around the room.
āNo. Let them come to you.ā
āHow do you even know itās me theyāre staring at? It could easily be you. Pretty men are a rarity.ā
A knowing smile crossed Romanās face. āIām not much of a crowd favorite. I wasnāt particularly known for my charming attitude prior to you. Youāre shiny and new; Iām old news.ā
Before Jane could even protest, a woman walked up. It was Madam Bernard. She was a woman in her late 30s, a member of Charlotteās court and an official lady-in-waiting. Madam Bernard was a gossip but usually the most curious. She was also bitter that Roman would not bed her in his younger years. He nearly stepped protectively in front of Jane when her ghostly powdered face came into view. He resisted.
āLady Jane, a pleasure to meet you. I go by Madam Bernard,ā she smiled at Jane. Her teeth were always strangely sharp at the cornersāan unnerving quality. Jane curtsied briefly.
āI believe we have met, Monsieur,ā Bernard turned to Roman, a wicked glint bouncing off her eyes. Roman nodded stoically, not giving her the satisfaction of a true greeting.
āWhere on earth did you get a necklace like that?ā
āIt was a gift,ā Jane smiled, her disposition flustered.
Madam Bernard motioned toward Janeās outfit. āItās absolutely marvelous. And your dressā¦ blue is your color, my darling.ā
āThatās very kind of you to say,ā Jane smiled. The room could smell her nerves. But this wasnāt Romanās time to step inānot yet. Jane was more capable than most. This room, these people, were no different from the Englishāhungry with an appetite that would never be fulfilled. Jane knew how to navigate it. Two and a half hours. Just two and a half hours, and theyād be alone again. He was capable. She was capable.
So, with reluctance, he allowed their conversation to flow. He watched from afar. Eventually, Madam Bernard carried her off to her den of gossipers, and Jane was off and away. She mingled. She laughed. She twirled around in her dress to choruses of āOoh la la!ā and āMagnifique!ā
One glance at Arnaud across the room. He looked miserableāhe usually was at these kinds of gatherings. He cast Roman a knowing look as he held up a glass to his friend from afar. Roman did the same. Caden wandered over to him, snacking on a tray of berries now.
To Romanās surprise, Jane had come out of her shell. She worked half the room. People came up in droves to speak with her. A kiss on the back of her hand had him adjusting his collar to keep himself cool. Jane was receptive, inviting, smiley, polite, careful. There was no doubt about it: Jane was beautiful. No matter how much anyone tried to ignore it, no matter how much she fit outside the lines of the standard for the region, Jane was beauty with a face. Parisians took eye-fulls of beautiful women with no shame. He also understood that there was a novelty to Jane. Nobody in the court looked like her. That was a cause for curiosity. Still, there was a thin line between intriguing, obsession, and possession. Nobility liked to own more than anything. But she knew that. Jane was a smart girl.
The courtiers were strange the way they struck up conversation. Topics were never meaningful. They believed their leaders to be invested more than they really were. Aside from who they served, they thought of themselves as supporting characters. They treated the room as their stage, believing others were paying more attention than they actually were. Maybe they were right, because Roman couldnāt help but notice how peculiar they were. Men would come up to Jane and ask her about the weather or talk about how hot the room was. They would randomly include her in conversations she wasnāt part of. They would say, āThere are a lot of people here today,ā with not so much as a hello. Jane remained unperturbed ācareful, receptive.
Dinner was ready, and droves of chefs and servants flooded the hall to prepare the table. The Duke and Duchess would sit first. As Jane and Roman were seated, he could see the wheels turning in her mind.
āDo not touch your food until the Duke starts eating. Then you may eat. Use your utensils from the outside in. You start with the utensil furthest from the plate. Your fork is down on the table between bites,ā he whispered quietly to her. He placed a napkin in her lap and then his. He could see a worried look on Janeās face.
āIf you get lost, just copy me,ā he soothed. She gave him a quick nod and turned her attention back to the Duke, who quickly thanked everyone for joining him for the evening.
Dinner went on quietly. Roman shared quick glances with Jane. The man next to her struck up conversations about fashion and his favorite dishes. Jane chose Coq au Vināor rather, the āred chicken,ā which the gentleman found funny. He knew she didnāt speak French, so he ran down a list of French cuisines, sharing his favorites as well. This interaction was the least condescending or infantilizing conversation heād heard directed at her all evening. It gave Roman room to relax.
After the main course, there would have to be a wait for dessert. Roman planned to excuse himself to the restroom, but a commotion could be heard behind the double doors of the great hall. In walked King Joseph De Pointe. The entire room rose as his presence was announced. He had aged severely since Roman last saw him decades ago. It was as if a ghost had walked into the room. He stood about 5'10", medium-built with a bit of a stomach from old age, and he had a militant walk. As he walked to the center of the room, everyone he passed bowed in his honor. The Duke and Duchess swiftly walked toward him and bowed deeply at his presence. He whispered something to the Duke, and they both looked at Jane. Now Roman knew why he had come so early into the trip; he wasnāt supposed to meet Jane for at least another two weeks.
From the outside looking in, it might not seem that a commoner would mean so much to the King, that he would interrupt dinner to meet her. But he would. The Persians are just that vain, and nobility is even vainer. It matters that Jane is beautiful; it matters that Jane is poised. It matters how they look together. And while a favor is owed, he has the final say. He who is associated with the crown is someone of purpose and beauty. One has to know how to perform.
The old man walked across the large open circle of the connecting dining tables that filled the room and headed straight for Jane. Roman whispered quickly, āDo not look him directly in the eye.ā
āWhy?!ā she whispered.
āItās an invitation.ā
James's eyes widen before she lowers them. The King now stood directly in front of her. Roman bows first, followed by Jane, who says, āYour Majesty.ā His eyes scan Jane as she nervously stares past him. The intensity of his gaze prompts Roman to gently wrap his arm around Janeās waist. The King looks up at Roman as if he has suddenly appeared from thin air.
āTrĆØs bien,ā he calls to the Duke over his shoulder.
He falters on his feet as little arms wrap around his leg. Startled, he bursts into a hearty chuckle as he picks up Eloise and holds her in his arms. She is happy to see her adoptive grandfather. She has no inkling of the atrocities and chaos he has caused in other countries. She does not understand his alignment with eugenics or the people he has left hungry in the streets of Paris. All she knows is the warmth and adoration of her grandfather, who is not of her blood. In some sick and twisted way, it is a testament to how powerful love can be and proof of how many people are undeserving of it. Maybe karma isnāt real. Maybe oneās own torturer is not holed up in a cognitive doom, regretful, reflective, and repentant. Even the worst of people live their lives and move on. At the very least, their victims should, too. And thatās why he must take the life Jane is owed.
Whispers hum across the court as people notice the interaction between Jane and the King. They wonder about her importance. This is a good thing; it will earn favorāanything to make her interactions within the court easier.
The King stays for dessert, and thereās another 20 to 30 minutes of mingling before people begin to retreat for the night. Proper farewells are given to those who require them. Roman escorts Jane back to their guest suite.He watches as she removes parts of her outfit while storming down the hall, moving quickly as they pass their posted Butler.
ā30 minutes please, Joffrey,ā says Roman.
āVery well, sir,ā the butler responds.
Roman shuts the door, and Jane stands in front of the mirror, angrily taking the pins out of her hair. Her hair falls into long, voluminous curls that cascade onto her shoulders. She reaches for her corset, too proud to ask him for help.
āLet me get that,ā Roman insists.
āNO!,ā she barks.
Roman retreats from the sting of her tone and tosses his jacket on the floor as he sits on their bed. He runs a hand down his face, knowing heās in for an earful. āTell me what Iāve done.ā
āWhat sort of agreement do you have with the Duke that the king of France is having a staring contest with me in front of a hundred fucking people?ā she sneers.
Roman sighs.āJaneā¦relax.ā
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. āAre you planning on giving me away? Are you trying to send me off with one of those rich old men?ā she presses.
He stands at the accusation.āWhat!? N-No. I love you. Why would I do that?ā
Her breathing is labored. Her eyes shoot around the room as if sheās coming up with a plan. āI wonāt be his mistress or anybodyās mistress. Iām not marrying anybody you set me up with. You can act like itās for the best or youāre doing me some favor by whoring me out but Iāll sooner die! If weāre done, then have the guts to say it, but Iām not staying here ifāā
Romanās eyes nearly buck out of his head as he rushes into her space, holding his hands up in surrender as he tries to reason with her. āWhoa, whoa, whoa!!! Letās start over,āHe can see the beginnings of that familiar panicked and trapped look returning to herāone he hasnāt seen in a long time, and it turns his stomach. He wishes not to return to that dynamic.
āWhy would you think that I would ever send you away? You are my heart's keeper, Dove. You know this,ā Roman says, pulling her hands into his and pressing the backs of her fists to his mouth. She turns her head away in protest. He gently grabs her chin and holds it between his fingers. Her eyes are glassy with tears as she tries to cover sadness with anger.
āIām not going anywhere. You arenāt going anywhere. You are mine as long as you allow it. Let me explain it all to you. Youāll let me explain?ā He presses his forehead to hers. His tone is quiet, just above a whisperāa trick he learned to ease her anxiousness. If she could barely hear him, then she would have to focus on listening. It could stall her panic and help her calm down. She hesitantly nods but he can feel the panic steaming off of her.
āI came here to secure your futureāour future. I wrote to Arnaud weeks ago and asked for his favor in securing an honorific lordship title. Arnaud holds favor with the King. The King has the final say on who gets appointed a title, so he came to see what you looked like and will make his final decision soon. He wants to see how well you handle yourself in high society before he agrees. The only reason he made haste with the request was because I made a sizable donation to his church. This tactic is common in people who want something from him. People looking for political immunity or people who want to sway his opinion,ā Roman explains.
Janeās eyes shift from confusion to sharp understanding. However, she pulls away. āI thought you never wanted this life again. Why are you going back to what caused you so much pain? We have money. We donāt need these people.ā
āYouāre right; we do have money. However, we have no home. We have no property besides Totoguam which isnāt adequate enough in size if we were to settle roots there. We donāt even have bank accounts or investments. We will always have to hoard our stash; otherwise, we risk being suspected of criminal activity. If I go back to that ship and sail to another pirate-filled port after all this time, they will know. Iāll be a walking target. I am done putting you in harm's way. I want stability for you. If it means that you are safe, it will always outweigh the cost,ā he pleads. Janeās gaze switches back and forth between his eyes. Sheās reading him. Confusion is still etched on her face. He may not win her over.
Jane shakes her head in denial. āBut you love the sea. Why subject the rest of your life to being around these people you hate? Thatās a miserable existence. Shouldnāt your happiness matter too?ā
āWe would rarely make appearances. It would only be the most necessary parties that we attend, maybe three to four times a year. The countryside is three hours away from here, near the beach. We wonāt have to worry about keeping up with the Paris court. We can make our home whatever we want. It can be a sanctuary for all our brothers when they need it. If we want to sail, we sail. If we donāt want to sail, then we donāt. My point is that we will have something to come back to Jane. Out there in the open seaāitās all temporary. In a split second you could lose it all. This will give us the opportunity to have a real home. A true home, Jane,ā he urges. Jane goes quiet, and Romanās stomach sinks; she is still not sold on the idea.
He sighs a defeated breath as he steps back to give her space. Her body language is open but defensive. He drops her hands gently. āI should have consulted with you first. Maybe I didnāt because I knew you would be hesitant. I didnāt go about this the right way. It was never my intent to scare you. Itās just that ever since we met, Iāve started to really think about the future, Jane. You must understand, before you came into my life, I didnāt bother picturing what life would look like ten years from then. I lived moment to moment. But now that I have you, I must do this right. I must seize this opportunity to give you the life you deserve,ā he says. Sheās slightly disarmed, and her eyes trail down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. It was funny that even during a disagreement he could still see the love she had for him. That ultimately, they both wanted to understand each other even when their views were different. He loved herā¦
āYouāve sprung this on me very suddenly. Youāre right; you should have consulted with me. You have made your points and I can see how you would feel the way you do. I need some time to think about this. I canāt make any promises yet,ā she crosses her arms hesitantly. She looks down at the carpet. Her lips twitched as if she wanted to say more.
Roman says nothing but continues to study her. She walks back over to the bed, putting her head in her hands. āThis is a big step. And while we may be afforded solitude, there is still a duty to be fulfilled. How would we be any better than the people who have hurt us? No matter how low in rank, we would be part of this system.ā
He walks to her space, standing in front of her. āWe would be part of the French gentry, which are titled non-nobles. I would indeed have a vague association with the King, and that is something Iām willing to sacrifice morally to ensure your future. Iāve pondered this for many nights. If there has to be a bad person in this situation, then allow me to be the monster. I wonāt pretend that Iām not selfish when it comes to you. You make me impulsiveā¦you make me uncooperative and irrational at times. Maybe even most of the time. My condolences to whoever gets in the way. But Iā¦I must have you, Jane. You and you only.ā
His words burn in his mouth, but from the ensnared gaze she sends his way, she is on fire. She plays with her necklace and hair, biting her lip as she contemplates what he said.
āIām not giving you an answer right away, no matter how convincing you are. I need time to think,ā she mutters and stands. He doesnāt know why she feels the need to put her foot down, but he can at least afford her this. Heās already made the mistake of being sneaky. Now he must pay.
āThatās fine,ā he says, stepping closer, and she doesnāt move. Another step, and she doesnāt budge. He goes in for a kiss, and she dodges it at the last minute, turning around so he can undo her corset.
Jane's POV
Jane doesnāt think sheās ever been so conflicted in her life. Deep down, she canāt believe that he would want to leave his pirate years behind. What about Caden? What about Adhar? What about everyone? Everyone had a different idea of what their future would look like. William left to make things right with his wife. Other pirates, like Daniel and Gregory, retired alongside dozens of other mates. Rory wanted to keep sailing, and so did Caden. Roman, being a lord, also meant she would be his wife eventually. Could she do that? Could she do it well? How much of their lives would they give up to conform to this new standard? If she married him, would he change as they fell into domesticity? Would there not be enough excitement to keep him interested? Worst of all, what if she began to feel trapped? If she married him, he would own her. Could she take that chance?
Roman wasnāt there when she woke up. The servants informed her that he had picked out what he wanted her to wear for the portrait: a light blue dress and no makeup. As she sat to get her hair done, she noticed that Mary hadnāt brought any heating tools. āNo sheepās head style today?ā
Mary shook her head. āMonsieur Roman requested that you wear it down for your picture. But donāt worry; I will give you a more elaborate style before the show,ā she promised.
āSo be it,ā Jane rolled her eyes at the mention of him. As annoyed as she was with him, the requests warmed her heart. She remembered those quiet nights on the boat when it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Perhaps she was scared of change.
Mary wet her hair and wrapped her coils around her fingers, section by section. Each strand was left shiny and wet, waiting to air dry. She took breakfast in the courtyard to speed up the process. Caden spent most of his days in the library, and he showed it to her. There were so many books and documents to choose from. She spent lunch there before she was sent off for her portrait. She didnāt even understand why she agreed to this, but it was something to do.
She was escorted down a winding staircase that led to a marble hall. All of the rooms on this floor were open. At the end of the hall, she could see the Duke sitting next to someone. Arnaud was in front of a canvas.
āYour Grace?ā Jane called from the doorway.
āAh, Jane. Come inside. Make yourself comfortable,ā he said.
Jane walked into a room full of paint and plants. Every piece of furniture was covered in sheets. The windows were open, letting in a lukewarm breeze. Jane gasped as she saw portraits of people, animals, fruits, houses, and a baby who looked a lot like Eloise.
āYou did these?!ā
āOf course. Who else?ā Arnaud smiled. The man next to him started to mix paints, solvents, and thinners. The smell was strong, which was why the windows were open. She didnāt mind it.
āCan I sit here?ā Jane motioned for a seat by the window. Arnaud studied the lighting and shadows of the room and agreed. A servant offered her tea, and she accepted: two sugars and a splash of cream.
āI had no idea you were such a talented artist. Is that little Eloise as a baby?ā Jane smiled, motioning to the canvases on the wall.
āOh yes. She was about eight months old there,ā Arnaud said fondly.
āWhat about these other people?ā
āSome of them are from my courtāpeople Iāve met over the years. Some of them are from dreams.ā
āIām jealous. It must be a hard skill.ā
āItās a lot easier than you might think. Most of it is just shading and blocking. Itās about looking at the overall picture before focusing on the details. You can mold a shadow into the silhouette of a woman with practice. A trick I always use is squinting my eyes as I paint the foundation before I focus on the finer details. Iāve gotten better with practice.ā
āIāve never thought about it that way.ā
His assistant continued to add more colors to his palette before he bowed and left. āSo how have you been enjoying your stay?ā Arnaud asked.
Jane went to speak but hesitated. Has she been having fun? There had been enjoyable moments, but the conversation with Roman had been sobering. The interaction with the King was strange. āIt has beenā¦ interesting.ā
Arnaud stopped his blocking and paused to look at her for a moment. Jane nodded cautiously. āRoman and I had a discussion last night. He finally came clean about why weāre here.ā
Realization spread across Arnaudās face. He looked slightly guilty. āYouāre not the one whoās in trouble,ā Jane chuckled.
Arnaud threw her half a smile and began painting again, building the structure of the picture. āAnd how do you feel about the idea?ā
āIāve never been more confused about anything in my entire life.ā
āMs. Ramlal, speak freely if you must.ā
Jane raised a brow at him. Did he really want to know? Or maybe Roman was friends with him because of their shared ideas? Arnaud had been nothing less than graceful since she met him. She didnāt want to offend him. His regality could be a bit intimidating despite his kindness.
āIām not sure it would be wise.ā
āDo you honestly suspect my utter allegiance to a place that held me hostage? At the very least, I afford myself criticism. Others are allowed the same,ā Arnaud sighed tiredly.
Jane paused. Well, he had a point. āRoman had a very difficult time in his early years. Europe has caused him much pain. Itās caused me much pain. I wonder if us being a titled family would make us guilty for the suffering of others. He says that if it does, heās okay with it. Roman has a habit of becoming tunnel-visioned when it comes to me. He is willing.ā
āRoman has a head made of stone when he sets his mind on something,ā Arnaud said. Jane chuckled.
āWe wonāt be nobles, just low-titled. He makes that distinction as if it makes things better. Perhaps it does. But we answer to the crown at some point. Even being hereābuying these expensive luxury goods. In some way we are contributing to someoneās suffering. I have a hard time getting over it. Being on the other side of it can feel very strange.ā
āIn some ways, you do,ā Arnaud agreed.
āI feel that if I accept this position, then I am betraying the woman I used to be. Betraying the women who I lived with and grew to know. Betraying people like me,ā Jane sighed.
āNow I must speak freely,ā said Arnaud. His tone loosened, falling out of that distant, respectable voice.
āPlease,ā Jane urged.
āThe grim reality, Ms. Ramlal, is that you do not get paid for suffering.ā
Jane froze at those words. They rolled off his tongue easily. They were slightly sharp when they hit her, but the kindness in Arnaudās eyes reassured her.
āWomen like you, people like youāthere is no reward for the pain. You get this life, and then you pass on. They dangle the idea of upward mobility above your head to keep you running. The minute you return to the earth, someone fills in your spot. Itās how the system sustains itself. It sustains itself on the guarantee that you will struggle and never see that reward. Not just you, but millionsāof people just like you. You are born in one specific position and that is your assigned role. Your duty it to stay at the post you were given at birth. Miraculously, impossibly, you have snuck past your assigned post and now you are here. You are not here as a servant, or a slave, or for entertainment. You are here by sheer luck. You have been given resources that were never intended for you. You have been given security that is supposed to be systematically withheld from you. You may very well be one of the only women with your background, your skin, your life to ever have some semblance of security. You werenāt stolen, you werenāt bought. You are here out of free will. I imagine that could be quite frightening in some aspects ?ā Arnaud glanced at her while mixing two colors to get a light blue shade.
āIt is,ā Jane said, her tone quiet and inward now.
ā You are guilty of no crime. You are not a bad person for ending up here. I donāt want to push you into this. Please believe me when I say thatā¦ I speak only from the purest intent when I say this. I believe that the people who came before youāall the people who have struggled in your bloodlineāall the people who loved you, none of them want you to suffer. None of them want your life to be any harder than it used to be. They never get to see the seeds they planted sprout and turn into trees.ā
Jane was unmoving as she stared back at him. She never would have guessed that he would say such a thing, to be so introspective from his pedestal.
āInstead, you have a choice. A choice is a beautiful thing to have, trust me, Jane. And within that choice, you make it alongside a man who is irrevocably, unabashedly in love with youāa rarity, even among the most noble of them all. There is no force, no violence. Only a blank canvas waiting to be filled,ā he said.
The room went silent now. Arnaudās eyes shifted from her face to the canvas. He was likely blocking in her face and hair now. She took a few sips from her tea, yet another small discovery since being here. She had never had it before. It was spicy and warm on her tongueācinnamon, orange, vanilla, and other flavors she couldnāt describe. Would every day be like this? A realization of just how small her world used to be?
For a moment, she nearly lost it. There was a knot forming in her throat, her palms becoming wet. Her composure was so close to snapping that it caused her to shift in her seat. This stranger gave her the permission she couldnāt even give to herself. She hated the way her voice wobbled. She hates the vulnerability of it all. But his presence is quiet and knowing. If she closed her eyes, she could believe he was a vessel from the other side in that momentāor maybe just a manifestation of his natural wisdom. āAt times, I worry that Iāve made my pain my identity,ā she says.
The look he gives her nearly blows her away. Itās a slip of his mask, tooāan acknowledgment, a subtle nod to the idea, a quiet āme too.ā
She finishes her tea, and now Arnaud is really working the canvas. A few minutes of silence pass before she gets the courage to ask about himāreally ask about him. She sits up straighter and clears her throat. ā Since weāre speaking freely. How exactly did you end up in Paris?ā
Arnaud inhales quietly as if he almost prepares himself to say the words. āIf youāve heard Romanās story, then youāve heard mine. Except I was actually royalty in my homeland. I was stolenāplain and simple. I was about seven years old. I was a gift to the āAngel of Versailles.ā Thatās what they call Queen Angelique De Pointe here. The King and Queen already had seven children at that point. Angeliqueās last childāa child about 7 years old, passed away. It was becoming popular in Europe to have one of our kind as companions. Angelique wanted one, and Joseph would stop at nothing to make her happy. Thatās where I came into the picture.ā
āVery similar stories. Iām glad you two at least had a friend in each other.ā
Arnaud nods. āOne of the better things to come out of it.ā
āYour daughter seems to adore him,ā Jane suggests.
āHe formed a soft spot for her in particular. All of his grandchildren are boys. He even has tea parties with her at the palace. Remarkable, isnāt it? That someone like him could hold adoration in his heart for a small child that has no relation to him in any way. I certainly wasnāt afforded any of his affections as a child. Then again, why would I want it? I would hate to love my kidnapper. It would make it all the more complicated to identify what is love and what is not,ā Arnaud shrugs.
ā... Do you want her to have a relationship with him?ā
āYes. Sheās far too young to understand. She will know one day. For now, heās just her grandfather.ā
āHe must hold some affection for you, though. I mean, you are a Duke. You have a royal title. You have some pull in the monarchy. Thatās unheard of. I thought most adoptees just faded away.ā
āIāve often wondered why he would go out of his way to title me as well. The only thing that could explain itā¦is that he is old. He has but so many years left. The closest atonement he has for his sins is to give people what they want. He knows the destruction heās left in his path. You see, itās the egoāthe cognitive dissonance of all of it. There is a belief that if you are a winner, if you are a conqueror, if you are stronger, you are favored by God. You MUST be a good person because of the power you hold. I'm sure that men like him believe this to be true. Iām sure thatās how he reasons with the violence. At least thatās my theory.ā
āHe had trouble swallowing his food, I noticed. Maybe youāre right. Maybe itās old ageā¦ and guilt,ā Jane says. Arnaud nods in agreement.
āTime has passed, and he has grown more tolerable. I'm no fool; I recognize that his growing friendliness toward me is less equal to that of a son and closer to how a man adores his dog. His children have married off and started their own families. For a while, I was the only one of his kids living at the palace. I regrettably and embarrassingly only started to live my life in my thirties. I was always thereāreliable, constant. Thankfully, things started to look up when I met Charlotte. I wanted to give her a better life, so I started asking for more. He granted my wishes. I suppose that somewhere deep in his heart, buried in the most human parts of himself, he feels he owes me for all Iāve endured at his hands. Though the idea will never cross his mind in his wake.ā
āIām sorryā¦ā Jane sighed sadly.
āItās alright. Itās just the way life plays out sometimes. I have found parts of this world that belong to me alone, like my love for Charlotte, my beautiful daughter, my art, the home Iāve made of Palais Royal. This is the post I have made for myself. I will not abandon it.ā
Jane smiles at the way his eyes light up as he talks about his family. His love for Charlotte is genuine, and Eloise is adored by everyone. āIām happy youāve found your family.ā
āAnd so have you. Which is why I think you will be just fine if Roman becomes seigneur.ā
āWhat exactly is a seigneur?ā
āA seigneur, or lordship, is a feudal title appointed by His Majesty the King. He is granted a large piece of land to rule over. This land is governed by the seigneur, who lives on the land and builds a community. He establishes farms, crops, wheat mills, churches, manages taxes and tenants, and grants licenses. He organizes a town, and the people in it answer to him. Donāt worry about the land belonging to anyone else. The countryside of France is rural with not many inhabitants. Roman would most likely govern there.ā
āI see. So essentially, Roman would have the power to create the community he wants?ā
āCorrect. Now, of course, there will be certain guidelines, but Iām sure heāll find a way around them like he usually does. It would be whatever you two make it.ā
āYou very well may be saving him from sleeping in another room tonight,ā Jane quipped.
A throat clears and it startles her. āVery bold of you to say, especially knowing youād get the most horrible sleep of your life,ā Roman scoffed.
Jane rolled her eyes at the smirk on his face. He strolls into the room and sat next to her on the couch.
āDonāt get ahead of yourself. I didnāt invite you to sit over here,ā Jane sighed.
āOh, donāt be like that. I just wanted to see how you were doing and ask if youāll allow me in the room if I agree to sleep on the floor,ā he smirks.
Jane shook her head, feeling a smile creep onto her lips. Roman leaned back into the couch, his long, muscular leg crossing over his knee. One of his arms sling over the seat as he stared back at her. He clearly felt no shame at her utter annoyance. There was nothing in his eyes but pure adoration, and his smile showed that he could feel hers, too.
āYou know what? I think this picture would be much better with both of you in it,ā Arnaud quips.
āFine. How should I pose? Do we need to start all over again?ā Jane asked.
āNo. Iāve got your clothing down. Iāll just restart from the neck up. Just keep looking at him.ā
And thatās how Jane found herself stuck staring at him for the next four hours. By the end, he had her laughing. He always did. He would say something, and she could feel the heat in the room rush to her skin. With nowhere to hide from the heat of his gaze, she was stuck. She should have known it was a ploy to get on her good sideāand it worked. When Armaund left the room she pulled him down for a kiss.
After a quick dinner, the time for the Ballet was approaching. A deep red dress with black trimmings would match the theater curtains, or at least thatās what her stylist said. Jane had never been to a theater, and she was intrigued about how it would feel to finally sit inside one. Mary kept Janeās natural curls but pinned them up in a pouf style, arranging her hair into a hive shape. A few face-framing curls pulled the look together. A ruby choker matched the color of her dress, but she kept her lips soft and bare; otherwise, it would be ātoo on the nose,ā according to Gaston.
Gaston was a male makeup artist who wore gold on his eyes and rings on every finger. His accent was heavily Mediterranean, and he always wore a tightly curled white wig as a status symbol. Not only was his style eccentric, but so was he. He was rumored to be one of the best in Paris, so Jane trusted his judgment. The two agreed to repeat the same eye makeup on her as the night before. He would place a black kohl-like substance on her waterline. When she asked what it was called, Gaston recalled Arnaudās friend's wife from North Africa. Apparently, she would smear a black color into her eyes to accentuate them.
āShe used something called kajal! I made my own products to mimic it. It made her look so sultry. Like a cat! I absolutely loved it! But you know the French women here all want to look like childrenāso obsessed with wide eyes and pinched cheeks. Stupide et ennuyeux! I never get to experiment. This is why you are sent from heaven. You have yet to say no to me. Finally, somebody who lets me work!ā Gaston gushed.
Jane laughed at the way he dramatically threw the back of his hand over his forehead. So far, there hadnāt been any misses with her assigned team of stylists. They always made her feel beautiful, and they were easy to talk to. Jane twirled in the mirror, admiring the final outcome of her look. āYou are ready to own the night, Mon Cher. This will certainly get back to Versailles!ā Gaston placed a jacket onto Janeās shoulders.
āI take it you're in on the operation to get Roman and me titled as well? Iāve been walking amongst traitors.ā
āYouāre just now catching on? Youāre a little late to the party, darling. Your beauty makes up for it. Now prepare to be copied. By the time they catch on, youāll already be onto the next thing,ā said Gaston.
Roman was quite pleased with the look. He stole many kisses in the carriage. Charlotte and Arnaud rode ahead of them and Jane couldnāt be more grateful for it. His beard burns across her dĆ©colletage as her fingers somehow loop themselves into his hair. What was once a ponytail was a tousled swell of silky black strands. Every time her hands would tug on his hair he would press into the side of her body harderāa welcomed punishment. She enjoyed the suffocation, the mugginess, the tight quarters. His teeth found her skin, gentle but alluring all the same. His mouth sucked the skin of her breasts leaving darkened flushed hues of pigment for anyone to see. Thank goodness for the low light of the theater. With many more appeasing yet reciprocal kisses, she convinced him that it was in fact important that they not skip the opera. After all, this was Janeās first time.
āIf you mess up my hair, weāre going to have a problem. Mary spent an hour on it,ā Jane gently pressed her hand against her updo. It was still intact.
āWhat about me? My hair was pulled back before we got into this carriage, need I remind you? Thatās not very fair,ā he scoffed.
āItās better down anyway,ā Jane smirked.
Roman opened the carriage door and helped her down the steps. Arnaud and Charlotte stood near the entrance waiting for the pair. The sounds of horses stomping and neighing filled the stone-paved streets as carriages pulled up to attend.
āWatch your step; thereās horse shit everywhere,ā Roman grumbled as he pulled her closer.
The tall, ornate doors, framed by intricate carvings of floral motifs and cherubic figures, loomed among the other buildings on the street. A marbled staircase, its steps worn smooth by the passage of countless patrons, ascended beneath a lavish canopy of crimson and gold fabric, fluttering softly in the evening breeze. Guests, adorned in their finest silks and lace, chatted animatedly, their laughter mingling with the strains of a distant orchestra. There were stares and whispers directed toward Roman and her; she had gotten used to it by now. The faint scent of perfume and the earthy notes of fresh-cut flowers from nearby arrangements wafted through the air, fighting against the smell of the horses. It dissipated the closer they got to the doors.
The towering columns seemed to reach the clouds, crowned by a grand pediment where allegorical figures danced in sculpted relief. The soft glow from within the theater spilled onto the steps. The foyer was noisy with the clicking of heels and the chatter of wealthy men and women. As they crossed the threshold into the auditorium, the stage revealed itself in all its splendor. Draped in deep crimson velvet, the proscenium arch was embellished with intricate golden filigree, framing a scene that was both inviting and magical. The stage itself, expansive and meticulously crafted, was decorated with lavish painted backdrops depicting ethereal landscapes, castles, and mythical realms.
The seating was arranged in a horseshoe formation, with plush, upholstered chairs in rich fabrics of burgundy and gold. Each seat was carefully positioned to afford an unobstructed view of the stage. Box seats lined the walls, each featuring velvet curtains that could be drawn to reveal or conceal the spectators within. These private enclaves, often reserved for the nobility, boasted intricate woodwork, showcasing the status of their occupants. The four of them would have the highest seats with a private catered booth.
Above, the ceiling soaredāa magnificent expanse painted in soft pastels, depicting celestial scenes filled with cherubs and swirling clouds, as if the heavens themselves opened up to watch the stage. Ornate plasterwork framed the scenes, and the edges were lined with delicate gold leaf.
The theater buzzed with whispered conversations and laughter, the anticipation palpable as the lights dimmed, casting a soft glow over the audience. The smell of smoke was strong in the air. A waiter came with trays of tobacco, pipes, alcohol, and a small box placed discreetly in the back of the tray. He filled Charlotte and Arnaud's orders before turning to Roman.
āBrandy and a pipe. What about you?ā Roman turned to her.
āThe vermouth, please,ā said Jane.
The waiter poured their drinks into sparkling, pristine crystal glasses. Her vermouth had oranges and limes in it.
āOh, what is that?ā Jane pointed to the carved black box on the serving platter.
āSnuff, madam. Would you like some?ā the waiter asked.
āDoes it go in the drink?ā Jane asked curiously. Roman chuckled with Arnaud.
āYou snort it, silly! It goes in the nose and makes you all fuzzy and happy. Itās like you drank ten cups of coffee. Iāll have some, sir,ā Charlotte put out her hand and turned it over with her palm facing the ground. The server placed the powder on the back of her hand with a small scooper, and Charlotte sniffed it up.
āYou donāt have to try it if you donāt want to,ā Roman murmured quietly to her.
āSensitive nose,ā Jane excused. Charlotte looked a little disappointed but nodded.
āDonāt feel bad for Charlotte. She will find any excuse to party. Youāll see at the ball,ā Arnaud chuckled.
āNot true,ā Charlotte playfully rolled her eyes and scooted into Arnaud's lap. He patted the side of her thigh as he exhaled a puff of smoke.
āA ānoā is good for her every once in a while,ā Arnaud joked. Charlotte flicked him on the forehead.
Roman took a small sip of his brandy and then a puff of his pipe. She drank a little from his cup. It wasnāt her favorite, but she deliberately placed her mouth on the part of the cup his lips touched. He caught her and his eyes darkened as he shook his head at her. She giggled mischievously when their eyes met.
Jane could see the wandering eyes of the other guests. Many people stole quick glances at the group. She wondered if they were glances of offense; it was often hard to tell with the Parisians. Either way, they had no authority to reprimand or kick them out. For once in her life, Jane felt untouchableācomfortable in a place that did not prioritize her comfort. Maybe it was their incredible hosts or just being alongside the man she loved. Jane sipped her own drink as she opened the brochure for the show while the curtains opened. The show began, and the room darkened. A single light appeared on the stage.
IphigĆ©nie en Tauride is a tragic opera based on the myth of Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon. The story unfolds as Iphigenia, saved from sacrifice by the goddess Artemis, finds herself in Tauris, where she serves as a priestess. Her brother Orestes arrives, pursued by the Furies for avenging their fatherās murder. The siblings, unaware of each otherās identities, are caught in a web of fate, sacrifice, and familial duty, ultimately leading to a reunion and a quest for redemption.
The experience of watching IphigƩnie en Tauride was enthralling and emotional for Jane. The stage props depicted the rugged landscape of Tauris, enhanced by dramatic backdrops and oversized body parts like hands and heads. The costumes of the actors were rich and ornate, with performers clad in flowing robes that reflected their noble heritage and emotional trials.
As the music swelled, she was captivated by the powerful arias and choruses, her emotions stirred by the blend of tragedy and beauty. The orchestra was so loud that the vibrations of the music rumbled in her chest. The gas lamps flickered above, casting a warm glow that highlighted the faces of rapt spectators as they reacted to the unfolding drama. Gasps, tears, and applause rippled through the crowd, creating a shared experience of profound themes of love, sacrifice, and fate that resonated with everyone in some way.
Jane was moved to tears. It was embarrassing at first, but then she realized just how many others were affected. Plenty of men cried alongside the women. Roman pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Jane, and she blotted her face with it.
āI would pay good money to see this for the first time again. I was like you,ā Charlotte sighed as she fanned herself.
āHow many times have you been?ā Jane asked.
āThis is my second year seeing it and my tenth time. Itās my favorite,ā Charlotte swooned.
āThe things we do for love. Grab your coat. ā Arnaud said, taking a final hit from his pipe and pulling Charlotte up from her seat. He placed her coat on her shoulders as she finished her glass of wine.
āI suppose those were tears of enjoyment?ā Roman asked as he helped her into her coat.
āEnjoyment. Sadness. Relief. Iāve never seen anything like it. I wish we didnāt have to go,ā Jane pouted.
āIāll bring you back for another show,ā Roman chuckled as they walked down the stairs to the foyer.
āOpera isnāt your forte, is it?ā Jane suggested.
āIām familiar with the arts. Iāve indulged in them to the point of apathy. But seeing you experience it was the best part of the night,ā Roman replied.
The four of them were swallowed up in the crowd heading for the doors. When the night air hit them, Jane felt energized after such an intense show. She wasnāt ready to end the night.
āYou two fancy a nightcap back at home?ā Arnaud asked.
āActually, I think weāre going to take the long way home. Donāt wait up for us,ā Roman said.
Charlotte and Arnaud wished the two of them goodnight. Jane was happy to be out with just Roman. He tipped the valet and led Jane down the paved streets.
She was thankful she had taken a coat. She looped her arm around Romanās as he led the way; he had a far better idea of where they were than she did. As the moon cast a silver glow over the cobblestone streets of Paris, she couldnāt help but notice the liveliness. Even though it was late, many people were still out and about.
Janeās dark dress whispered against her ankles as she glanced up at the ornate facades of the buildings, their windows darkened, some lit by a single candle. Roman, tall and composed, occasionally pointed out the elegant details of the architecture, his voice low and warm against the backdrop of the night. The air was cool, filled with the faint scent of baking bread.
They passed the Seine, where the water glimmered like scattered diamonds, and the distant sound of laughter from a tavern mingled with the soft rustle of leaves. Groups of couples rode past them on bicycles.
A flickering lantern illuminated their path, and they paused for a moment, taking in the beauty around them. Jane marveled at how the night transformed Paris into a romantic tableau. As they continued their walk, the distant tolling of church bells marked the hour, a gentle reminder of time slipping away. Jane leaned closer to Roman, comforted by his presence. She had never been so enthralled and present in her environment. Jane had never people-watched or taken time to notice the beauty of London. Where was the time? Was there any beauty? Maybe if she had been happier back then, she could have found it. Roman squeezed her hand gently, grounding her in the presentāa habit he had formed when he noticed her mind racing. It still perplexed her how he could tell when her thoughts were elsewhere. Jane perked up and looked at him.
āDonāt I owe you an ice cream?ā he asked quietly. It took a moment for it to register before a knowing grin spread across her face.
āYes, you do. You promised,ā she chuckled.
āWell, I donāt break my promises. Letās hunt you down some ice cream,ā he said, pulling her forward as his pace switched to a determined one.
It didnāt take them long to find an ice cream stand. Roman ordered only one and handed it to her in a tiny goblet-like cup. They walked to a bridge overlooking the water. She dug into the treat and spooned it onto her tongue. Her eyes lit up. āWow! That actually might be the best thing Iāve ever tasted.ā
āI tried to tell you,ā Roman laughed.
āHere,ā Jane scooped more onto the spoon and fed him some. He insisted that it was hers only. She didnāt put up a fight.
Roman took her to Sainte-Chapelle, a stunning Gothic chapel with stained glass windows. Even so late at night, it was open to bystanders. Sainte-Chapelle has a striking Gothic presence characterized by its tall, pointed arches, intricate stone carvings, and vibrant blue and gold tiles. The exterior was littered with delicate sculptures and gargoyles. It was an incredibly old building, featuring two distinct levelsāan upper chapel and a lower chapel. They walked inside to sit. Nobody was there, which made it deafeningly quiet.
The interior was breathtaking, dominated by stunning stained glass windows that rose to impressive heights. These windows, filled with vivid colors and intricate biblical scenes, created a luminous effect as light filtered through them, even during the night. The ribbed vaults of the ceiling soared above, enhancing the sense of grandeur. The atmosphere was serene and reverent. They slid into the seats.
āSurprised you wanted to come here. I thought you didnāt subscribe to religion ?,ā Jane quipped.
ā You are my religion darlingā, he quips. Her heart flutters but she hides it when she turns away to look at the large statues in the front of the room.
āI may not always agree with the talking points, but itās beautiful, is it not?ā
Jane nodded. āIt is. It never ceases to amaze me how people come together to create these kinds of giants. It must take such a long time. Itās almost hard to believe they made it.ā
āNot much can stop a determined manās hands. Not even heights, apparently,ā he retorted.
āIs that what you are? Determined?ā Jane jokes.
āI am most urgent,ā he hummed. Jane chuckled at that, but not a hint of humor gleamed in his eyes. His dark, toned eyes glossed over her face as he leaned further into the wooden pews of the church.
āWhat is making your haste?ā Jane playfully turned her head back to him.
āYouā¦ā he said quietly. His eyes drifted to the muraled ceiling. Jane followed, throwing her head back onto his shoulder to enjoy the view.
āMe?ā she echoed. A silent pause surrounded them.
āI had a vision when I went under,ā he said. For a moment, his voice wavered. It stunned her. A man who was always so sure of himself and the conviction of his words had lost that command. Jane listened carefully, careful not to throw him off his train of thought.
āWhen it was blackā¦I was not dead to the world. It was colorful. I saw many things. Revisited many instances. But what stunned me the most was that I saw memories I never had. Memories I was supposed to makeā¦with you,ā he whispered. A fragility in his voice wounded her. His words made it evident that this thought had been weighing on him.
āWhat did you see?ā she asked quietly.
āMy whole life with you. Me, old and withered. You, with white hair. You as my wifeā¦ā he said. Jane stilled, slowly lifting her head from his shoulder to sit up and look at him. His eyes found hers, mirroring her ownāstunned and surprised.
āLookā¦Iām okay if you decline the lordship. But that vision, or dreamāwhatever you want to call itāinstilled a fear in me that I have never known. And that fear is that somehow Iām making a mistake by not giving you a life of dignity. Iām making a mistake by not sharing your last name. Iām making a mistake by not being able to introduce you as my wife. And I can wait no longer. I canāt Janeā, he admits.
Her lip trembled as tears flooded her eyes. It nearly frightened her the way this feeling washed over her. Was it relief? Was it anxiousness? It was both. She hadnāt known how badly she wanted him to ask.
Roman slowly rose from his seat onto one knee. His stature was as tall as hers, even while she sat higher. He reached into his coat and pulled out the bright blue box she had seen days ago. He gently opened it to reveal a silver ring with blue sapphires circling around it. Jane shook as she looked down at it. With a hand over her mouth, she tried to hold back the sob that threatened to escape, but it was useless.
She could see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His voice cracked with the fear that she would say noāa fear he likely had already accepted as a possibility before he asked. āJane Ramalal. Will you be my wife? Will you allow me the honor of carrying your last name?ā
āYes. Yes, I will,ā she cried. Roman dove for her mouth like it was the only source of air between them. Her hands clawed at his hair, holding him against her. He pulls away to gently hold her hand. As he slid the ring onto her finger, she hurriedly wiped away her tears.
āItās heavy,ā she giggled, her laugh wet with tears. It was surreal. He wanted her last name of all things. And since he had dropped his own as a form of freedom, she had one to spare. So unorthodox and likely to ruffle many feathers. But wasnāt that their love at its core? Anything but ordinary. She was okay with that. She pulled him in for another hug, seeking the grounding feeling of his chest, scared that the high of this moment would make her float into the ceiling murals.
āI love you,ā he whispered into her hair.
āI love you more. And youāre going to be a great Lord. Youāre going to help a lot of people, Roman. I just know it. Youāll do greatā, she sniffled.
āWe are,ā he murmured.
She canāt quite remember the walk back to the carriage. The ride back to the Palais was a blur. All she could think about was how grateful she was for another chance at life. She watched the trees pass by from the carriage window. The ride was quiet with the occasional āI love youā. And what more was there to really say?
Roman POV
āAre you going to sleep the day away?ā Roman brushed the side of her cheek. They had gotten back very late last night, but now it was well after lunch. Jane rubbed her eyes as he opened the curtains. Streaks of black ran down her face from all the crying she did last night. Her hair was all over her head and smooshed in on one side. āYou want help?ā Roman asked.
Jane nodded quietly and sat with her back turned in the bed. He slid the pins out of her hair, and she sank her hands into the roots to shake it all loose. He brought her a wet cloth to wipe her face.
She made quick work of a bath, and he sat patiently for her at the foot of the bed, reading a book he had found in the room. She emerged naked and dry, slipped on a chemise, and called for assistance with a corset she had put on over it. She kept her hair down as she cleaned her mouth. It was a slow day at court. Many women hid in their rooms with beauty treatments that would paralyze them until late dinner. Men slept off absinthe-filled nights. There was no rush today.
Charlotte was having tea in the orangery. As soon as Roman walked in, Eloise swarmed him. āIs it true that you are getting married to Lady Jane?!!!ā, she yelled.
Her mother groaned. āToo loud, mon petit,ā Charlotte rubbed the back of her head. She was obviously hurting from the drinking last night.
āOui,ā Jane bent down to Eloise to show her the ring. Eloise squealed in that pitch only a little girl could manageāshrilly and glass-breaking. Charlotte gasped and rushed over to see as well.
āCongratulations! I told you she would say yes,ā Arnaud clapped his hand down onto Romanās shoulder proudly.
āAbout bloody time,ā Caden called out from behind an orange bush, where he was filling his pockets with oranges.
āOh, itās huge! Good job, Roman!ā Charlotte gushed as she held Janeās hand up. They went to sit, and Eloise climbed onto Janeās lap. Roman could see the humor on her face, considering that the two had had very brief introductions.
āUmmmācan I be your flower girl?ā, she begged.
āWell, if itās alright with your parents,ā Jane looked up at Arnaud and Charlotte.
āYou have no idea what youāve just done,ā Arnaud joked.
āEloise loves weddings. Sheās been a flower girl many times, and she will not take no for an answer. But if itās alright with you and Roman,ā Charlotte laughed.
āYAY!ā Eloise squealed.
āAnd youāll be the ring bearer, Caden,ā Jane teased.
āNo way. Thatās for little kids,ā Caden scoffed.
āIt will probably be something small anyway,ā said Jane.
āWell, what certainly wonāt be small is the yew ball. Your invitations came today,ā Charlotte quipped. Arnaud handed them the folded cards. āWhatever youāve done has worked. Youāre very close to becoming lordship now. The ball will really be the time to impress. My dressmakers are coming over today to fit pieces on you and Eloise. Expect to go all out. People wait all year for this ball.ā
āI donāt understand why I would matter so much to someone as powerful as the King. Why all this performance? Why not just give Roman the title?ā
āNobility, in its very nature, is about performance above all else. Even with you two being non-nobles, it must be evident that the two of you are special enough to be bestowed a title. Your looks can get you far here in Paris. There have been enough whispers about you to make him send the invitation directly, despite it being open to the public.ā
Jane agreed that she was ready and willing to do what needed to be done in order to get Roman titled. Roman was ready to start their lives outside of Paris. He was ready for a house to call their own and quiet nights with just the two of them. A town to do with as they pleased. A real community. But there was one last show. The Ball.
In unorthodox fashion, Roman stayed for the fittingsātest runs for her makeup, test runs for the hair. He stayed for the dancing lessons with Beatrice, the older woman being very thorough and rigid about what was acceptable and what wasnāt. They went over dining etiquette and greetings. The whole thing felt like preparing for war, and by the end of the day, Jane was clearly tired.
Jane came to bed late from how much time she spent preparing. Roman welcomed her with open arms. She climbed onto his chest, allowing him to rest his head on her own.
āRoman,ā her sweet voice called out into the dark.
āMm?ā
āYouāll tell me if you get bored, right? Tell me you want to go back to the sea if our new life doesnāt fulfill you. You wonāt keep it from me?,ā said Jane, her voice fragile and worried.
āWhy on earth would I ever get bored so long as the woman of my dreams is by my side? I donāt think I even possess that level of selfishness,ā Roman hummed. She could feel the shift of her head indicating that she was looking right at him.
āOur new life wonāt have the twists and turns of the sea. There wonāt be as much spontaneity.ā
āSays who? I can think of several different things we can do to keep the spark.ā
āLike what?ā
āJane canāt wear clothes in the house on Fridays,ā Roman scoffed. He could nearly hear her eyes roll.
āYou would love that, wouldnāt you?ā
āI donāt need some grand adventure in the background to love as much as I did the day before. Donāt you and I, of all people, deserve some domesticity? Some normalcy? And whatās more spontaneous than creating the community you and I longed for when we were younger? Making that happen for somebody else who really needs it?ā
Jane silently agreed. Roman knew that there wasnāt much he could say to calm her fears about marriage. Truthfully, thatās what this was all about. She feared that their marriage would become mundane and that he would grow bored of it. But Roman wasnāt the type of man to do that, and the only way he could prove it was by never turning into the man she feared. Easy enough.
Jane Pov
In true fashion for the night of the Yew Ball, everyone was running around in a frenzy. Gaston was sweating bullets. Mary wore a look of concentration sheād never seen before. It had taken hours for her to get ready, to the point that Roman and Arnaud had left. The girls would meet them there.
As Jane stood in front of the mirror, she marveled at the way the light danced off the rich fabric of her gown, illuminating the intricate details. The gown, a breathtaking creation in a solid gold color, shimmered like molten sunlight, each layer a testament to the artistry of Parisian couture.
The bodice was cut daringly low, exposing an enticing dƩcolletage, which was a risky choice. The corseted waist was cinched tightly, making the bottom of the dress truly pop. The midsection of the dress was elegant, embroidered with patterns of swirling vines and blossoms in darker gold thread adorning the bodice. The sleeves were extravagant, flaring largely at the forearm, fashioned from sheer silk that flared out at the shoulders before gathering at her wrists, allowing for a playful glimpse of her skin beneath.
Beneath the opulent exterior, the dress cascaded into a voluminous skirt, lined with layers of rich satin that rustled softly with each movement. The hem was embellished with delicate lace. The fabric itself was a masterpiece, woven with threads of gold that caught the light at every angle, creating a mesmerizing effect that was nothing short of breathtaking.
To complete the ensemble, Jane paired the dress with a stunning diamond and gold choker that sparkled like stars against her skin, while a matching necklace draped elegantly over her collarbone. Her ears sparkled with dangling gold and diamond earrings that caught the light with every turn of her head.
Gaston decided that his impromptu kajal eye makeup was old news. He created his own gold-flecked eye shimmer. It was thick and extremely pigmented. He applied it with a gentle hand onto her eyes and added it generously to the front of her hairline. He kept her lashes dark and her lips and cheeks a soft, subtle pink. At the very last minute, he began to lightly dust her entire face, arms, neck, and chest in a sheer gold shimmer.
With hours of heat styling, it took Mary time to get Jane's hair just right. She gently twisted and wrapped Jane's natural curls around the heated rods, creating loose spirals that would later form the base of her lower transitional pouf. The pouf would rise high above her shoulders, showcasing her graceful neck, with a long framing curl that would fall down her back.
Once the curls had set, Mary carefully unwrapped the rods, revealing bouncy, voluminous spirals. With expert precision, Mary began to sculpt the pouf, gathering the curls at the back and securing them with delicate pins. The height of the hair was a status symbol, and tonight they went big, adding a few inches to Janeās stature.
As the final touches were made, Janeās hair was decorated with accessories: a few sparkling hair pins shaped like delicate blossoms, glinting softly in the light, and a sheer ribbon woven throughout the curls, cascading gracefully down one side. A small cluster of gold-painted feathers was tucked artfully into the pouf, adding a touch of whimsy and sophistication.
Most striking of all was the solid gold masquerade mask she held delicately in her hands. Its elaborate filigree design matched the gown perfectly, promising an air of mystery and importance the moment she stepped foot in the palace. With each detail carefully considered, she knew that tonight was not only about her. This was about all the people who came together to make this night possible for her: the designers, the makeup artists, the hairdressers, the shoemakers. All the people who used their creativity to make the elite look their best. These events created revenue for them, and despite her not wanting to go, she could at least bring attention to those who helped her.
Charlotte burst into her room with Eloise in hand, gasping at the sight of her. āYou look amazing! You look like the gold sculptures of Versailles!ā
āYou two look incredible,ā Jane laughed as Eloise twirled like a ballerina, showing off her dress. Charlotte wore a blue dress with puffy shoulders and a huge skirt that jutted out on the sides. Pearls and diamonds littered her skin, accentuating her eyes. Eloise looked like a princess in her pink fluffy dress, her hair twisted into a crown.
āEveryone is going to love my dress. Iām the best dressed,ā Eloise sighed confidently. Charlotte and Jane burst into laughter. Eloiseās confidence knew no bounds, but Charlotte would never take that away from herāespecially knowing that she would only experience about three hours of the party before it became adults-only.
āYouāre absolutely right, mon chĆ©r,ā Charlotte kissed the top of her head.
āWe're already behind schedule. Letās go now before they start dancing,ā Charlotte said, grabbing Eloiseās hand, and the trio rushed for the door. Caden was already waiting in the carriage.
A wide-set carriage would have to do, given how big their dresses were. Even so, Caden was squished against the window, talking about how he refused to ride back with the rest of them. Eloise just laughed and teased him for the entire hour.
Roman Pov
āIf she does not arrive within the next few minutes, Iām going to go look for her.ā Roman anxiously sipped his brandy. The mask was rubbing against his face so uncomfortably that he nearly tore it off. The room was muggy, and the alcohol likely didnāt help. A good portion of the people in this room hated his guts. Some of their friends had met unfortunate ends by his hand. Those early days of running rampant around Europe, committing crimes would leave a lasting stain on how he was perceived. He didnāt care for forgiveness, but he knew that Janeās reputation was in a fragile spot. Tonight, she must do well.
The parties of real nobility were where the true monsters resided. They did not care to hide their prejudices. Arnaudās court was more tolerant and open-minded. However, these people were a different breed. They did not often brush shoulders with outsiders. They believed in a ānatural orderā and made it known. He would do his best to dodge those conversations.
āYou forget how heavy those dresses are. It takes them ten minutes just to get downstairs to the carriages, and then even more time to get out. Youāre anxious. Relax. Sheās done this before,ā said Arnaud. He always had the same laid-back disposition. Roman used to have it too, once upon a time. Then he met Jane, and the stakes were higher.
āIām not anxious,ā Roman scoffed.
āYouāve adjusted your tie about twenty times since youāve been hereāstanding at the bottom of the stairs. You know these environments like the back of your hand. It will be what it will be,ā Arnaud sighed.
āIf I hear one thing that I donāt like, I might start flipping tables over, Arnaud. I mean it,ā Roman warned, an edge to his voice that sounded more pirate than gentleman.
āYou will do no such thing. There is too much at stake. You underestimate her,ā Arnaud chuckled.
āI do not.ā
Arnaud rolled his eyes. āYou do. Sheās a smart girl. Iāve seen her work her charm. The Parisians love charm. Now if you donāt relax, Iāll have to give you something stronger.ā
Roman cursed under his breath as he adjusted his tie one more time. This event was open to the public, but direct invitees wore masquerade masks. This alone drew a line in the sand of who was important and who wasnāt. It also dictated who was invited to dinner and who wasnāt.
A commotion stirred at the top of the steps, and a wooden staff echoed across the room. Someone was coming.
āThe Duchess of Orleans, Charlotte Du Pointe, and her lady daughter, Eloise Du Pointe!ā the announcer projected across the room. Charlotte appeared at the top of the steps with her daughter Eloise. Their masks glistened against the soft lights of the room, matching their dresses.
Their dresses were big and bright: Charlotte in cotton candy blue and Eloise in light pink. Eloise had a big smile on her face as she yanked her hand from her motherās hold. āHIII, everybody!!!ā she yelled, waving to the room. The guests chortled, chuckled, and swooned at the little girl as a guard escorted her down the stairs in a hurry. She was still at that age where everyone looked at her with adoration and humor. Charlotte softly giggled instead of reprimanding her daughter, a clear indicator of her humble background. She allowed Eloise to be a child. Eloise, still fearless about the world and the people in it, immediately ran to Arnaud and buried her face in his knees.
āPapa, do you like my dress?!ā she giggled. Arnaud picked her up with nothing short of pride in his eyes as he complimented the beauty of his daughter. His wife appeared poised and graceful by his side. He kissed her cheek. For a moment, the former pirate forgot what was at stake as Arnaud became enraptured with his family.
Three more clicks of a wooden staff, and the announcer cleared his throat. The room paused, chatter fading as always, ready to cast judgment, ready to gawk and gossip. The minute a glimpse of gold peeked over the stairs, the room fell from quiet to dead silent. āMademoiselle Jane of London and Monsieur Caden of Grimsby!ā
Jane, glimmering, golden, and shiny like stardust, stepped into everyoneās line of view at the top of the stairs, Caden by her side, a helpful arm for her to hold onto. Everything about her defied the rules of court, yet everything about her drew the crowd in. That gold on her, the way her skin absorbed it and then shot it back around the room like a source of light. Her body shimmered with it. Her mask, completely solid gold to match. The cut of the dress, her jewelryļæ½ļæ½ļæ½her first step down the stairs set off an echo of gasps everywhere. The crowd inched forward slightly, each shift of her dress and click of her heel bouncing off the waxed marble floor, alerting everyone to her presence. Jane was a vision, a statue come to life.
As she made her way slowly down the stairs, Roman could hear the shock, the whispers, and murmurs.
āProvocante!ā (Provocative)
āLāaudace!ā (The audacity)
āAudacieuse!ā (Bold)
As she inched closer, the details of her beauty stood out against all others. She parted the room with each step. The murmurs grew louder as she stepped onto the main floor. Roman was there to greet her with a kiss to the back of her hand. He pulled her by the waist into his chest, her hands gently placed on his. Her sparkling eyes met his gaze, not an inkling of shyness in them.She had changed from when they first met. This was her final form. Or ratherāher true one.
āYou are absolutely stunning. I would ask you to marry me again, but I already did,ā Roman sighed. To say that he was mesmerized would be an understatement. She laughed and raised herself on the tips of her toes to meet his kiss.
āWell, ask again if you must, but my answer will probably be yes, just so you know,ā she smiled. She pulled away to look at his outfit. āYou look absolutely amazing. They did such a good job matching us.ā
āIt was a nightmare letting them dress me. The stylist had to stand on a stool to put on my shirt. Iāll be glad to leave this place,ā Roman complained.
āNot too fast. You owe me the night,ā she purred.
āDo I? I donāt remember making any promises, but with how you look right now, Iām inclined to comply.ā
āIf you know whatās good for you,ā she smirked.
They went to get a drink at the refreshment table. She kept complimenting his suit.
He wore a tailored deep black coat with a sumptuous finish that caught the light, fitted at the waist and flaring slightly at the hips. Beneath it, a crisp white linen shirt had billowing sleeves and a high ruffled collar. His black waistcoat featured intricate gold embroidery, complementing Jane's attire. The perfectly tailored trousers tapered at the ankles, revealing polished black leather shoes. He completed the look with a soft ivory silk cravat fastened by a delicate gold pin and a black masquerade mask adorned with a single feather, like Jane's.
Roman looked around the room at the glares directed at his fiancƩe. He noticed something quite particular: many of the women had teased, curly hair, clearly manipulated by heat to the point of frizz. They wore dark eye makeup and dark gowns. This style was not popular in the French court; women typically opted for bright colors. Dark colors were seen as too mature or even suggestive. So to see so many women in dark reds, greens, blacks, and blues was almost jarring.
Thatās when he realized that Jane had become a bit of a muse. There would never be an admission as to who they were imitating. The thought nearly made him burst into laughter. And now she was wearing a color that was hard to produce: a pure gold dressātrue to the color. Another peculiar choice for French society. Jane had left her mark.
āWhen is the food coming?ā Caden interrupted, startling Jane as she forgot he was hovering around.
āIs that all you think about?ā Roman laughed.
āIām a growing boy. Oooāhors dāoeuvres!ā Caden trailed off, following one of the servers holding a tray of snacks.
After the arrival of guests, the opening ceremony started. The royal family was introduced with a live orchestra performance. After the opening ceremony, balls like these had a specific order: the first dance, dinner, special performances, more dancing, closing festivities, and departure. This would be a long night.
There would be no first dance without the King and Queen participating first. He pulled his much younger wife onto the dance floor. She wore a pristine all-white gown. Everything she wore was white, including her hair and the whites of her eyes. The King tried his best to match her, but the blueness of his veins stood out against the absence of color. Everything was so manufactured between the two of them, even down to the smiles they gave one anotherāa pretending love. A love that never was.
Everybody in this room should want to be them, to want what they had: as many children, as much money, as much power as they did. Roman looked at Jane as she watched the two of them, her expression indifferent but calm. He was standing next to the sun. He had something more valuable than what any monarchy could provide. A true love, an undefiled, uncultivated love. A love that money couldnāt buy. She caught his gaze. He held his hand out to her, and she took it without hesitation as they walked to join the dancing couple along with Arnaud and Charlotte.
The minuet, a slow and graceful dance characterized by its elegant movements and intricate footwork, was typically danced in 3/4 time. It involved a series of steps that included gliding movements, turns, and the signature minuet pose, where dancers would often bow or curtsy.
The most intimate part of the dance was when the couple circled each other, with one hand pressed against the other in the air. He always found the dance a bit silly, but not this time. Janeās natural grace added beauty to the dance. The staring eventually got to her, and she decided she was ready to sit down. Soon after the first dance came dinnerāa whole other beast.
Dinner was all about the King flexing his power over others. High-ranking nobles sat elevated in the center of the room. Anyone below the Duke and Duchess sat on the outskirts. Low-ranking nobles stood to eat. Special guests also stood to eat. The whole ordeal would have been unforgivable if not for the delicious food: stuffed lamb, roasted duck, Canard aux Cerises, Boeuf Ć la Mode, Poisson Ć la Sauce Duxelles, Soupe aux Choux, canapĆ©s, tarts, artisan breads dipped in butter, roasted vegetables of all kinds, fish, mussels, clams, oysters, lobster, mince pies, potato pies, quiches, mousse, cream, pastries of every variety, candied fruits with crackly coatings, marzipan. The list went on and on and on. Jane whispered to him how sheād rather eat alone with a spread like this, which made him laugh. Back on the ship, there were no manners besides keeping your food and hands to yourself. Heād seen her bite into the side of a chuck roast like a lion. He wasnāt much for manners himself; he found table manners taunting in a way. Food had to be eaten in a certain order with a certain utensil. Thankfully, with them placed on the outskirts of the room, there was nobody to witness him eat his slice of ham quiche in one singular bite, except for Jane of course. She had to swallow her food before she choked from laughing.
Nobles used toasts to shine the spotlight on their eloquence and witāalways circling back to the King and Queen. There had been five toasts that night, and soon it became rather pathetic. In the distance, Charlotte had to cover her mouth with a fan after the viscount stood to give a speech about France being the most powerful country and how good looking the King wasā or something of the sort.
After dinner, there were performances. Ballet dancers entranced the crowd with their grace. A very young violinist by the name of Joseph Bologne stunned the crowd with his musicality, making his instrument create sounds beyond comprehension. Jane was particularly amazed by him. English circus performers showcased impressive skills, such as acrobatics, juggling, and contortion. They performed daring feats, captivating the audience with their physical abilities. Fire-breathing got the crowd rowdy and lively.
Magicians and illusionists interacted with the crowd, pulling doves from scarves and rabbits from hats. The performances were wrapped with plate-spinning dancers from Shanghai, who spun porcelain plates on ridiculously long sticks and walked on stilts, doing difficult stunts and synchronized dancing in colorful outfits with elaborate makeup.
More dancing ensued, this time with livelier dances like the gavotte. Dessert wines like Sauternes flowed as people became looser. Children were sent off to bed while the adults enjoyed the rest of the festivities. Parlor games were played during the intermission, like charades. Roman enjoyed a few rounds of the card game baccarat with Arnaud in a private salon near the ballroom, savoring a few smokes.
Jane was having a good time, and he was in no rush to ruin the fun. She had finally realized why they called Charlotte the life of the party. The two danced and drank repeatedly as the crowd became increasingly intoxicated. A fireworks show ended the night as the crowd slowly dissipated over the next few hours. With the King and Queen retiring to bed, there was no need to impress. People took champagne bottles for themselves. Roman had to search the room just to find Jane and Charlotte near the balcony, sharing a bottle of wine and grapes.
āHave you gotten it out of your system?ā Roman stood a few feet away, watching the pair as they draped over each other.
āJust wait until the wedding,ā Charlotte snickered.
āSMALL wedding,ā Jane laughed. She reached her arms out for Roman, and he picked her up onto her feet. Arnaud was on his way to his wife, who was entering a zone of drunkenness that was inappropriate for court. But with most of the nobles gone, nobody really cared now. Jane was flirty, more handsy than usual. She had a light buzz but still had her wits about her.
āDid you have fun?ā he whispered to her as he picked her up bridal style. She took the opportunity to kick off her heels and carry them.
Caden would stay the night along with Arnaud, Charlotte, and Eloise. Charlotte promised him a Versailles breakfast, and the young lad agreedāa bit drunk himself and cycling through sleep on one of the chairs near the dance floor.
āAfter everybody got drunk, absolutely. I danced circles around those old farts with Charlotte. Now my feet hurt,ā Jane sighed.
āWe can get you into a hot bath to help those feet, and you can tell me all about your night.ā
āMy night? What about your night? Did you like any of it?ā
Roman set her down inside the carriage and stepped in foot first. āMaybe the food. I also won a gambling match with one of the viscounts from Italy. I won his gold watch. The old bloke was fuming.ā
āGambling? You really are a pirate, arenāt you?ā Jane snickered.
The carriage dashed into the night with the horses rested and ready to sprint. Jane was already ripping at a piece of her costume and throwing it on the floor of the cart.
āThis thing is so hot,ā she grunted.
āItās the wine. Itās a chilly night.
ā Help me take it offā, she whined. Roman obliged and loosened her corset for her.
ā Nonoā¦I just need the skirt cage off ā, she pleads.
ā Iā¦I have to go under your dress and I can barely see anything.ā
She rolls her eyes. ā What are youā¦scared somethingās going to jump out and bite you? Itās not like you havenāt visited down there before. I donāt have an extra set of teethāI promise.ā
Roman chuckled at her bluntness. ā I donāt want to mess up such a beautiful dress. You know the stylists are really fickle about how you take off the dress. I could break somethingā
ā Roman. Take off the fucking cage.ā
Taken aback by her tone he dives right into action and drops to his knees. ā Yes maāam.ā
On the floor, he pops under the skirt of her dress and feels along her skin. The smooth silk of her flesh is almost enough for him to forget the task until her hips wiggle when he stalls. She really wants it off. He feels up and over her hips where the buttons securing the contraption are held together. He blindly tugs and pulls away at the fabric until something snaps.
ā You got itā, her voice calls out in a dramatic hopeful tone. He backs away with the cage in his hands, pulling it from under her. The bottom of the dress deflates.
ā I mean I found something hard and smooth so I figured it had to be it.ā
ā I knew youād find it. Youāre notoriously good at finding buttons. You may be the only man in Europe who actually can ā, she jokes suggestively. Roman chuckled quietly as he sat on his knees on the carriage floor. Her cage sat next to her and the clicking of horse hooves seemed to fill in the gaps of silence. Janeās smile melts into something more assertive, more sultry.
With great attention to her expression, he testfully grabs onto one of her ankles and brings it to the side of his face, sniffing it before resting it on his shoulder
ā Did you put perfume here ?ā He asks quietly. His voice swells with a daring tone. A hidden question really. Is he reading her correctly?
ā Yesā, she says in a quiet tone. A small smirk spreads on her painted lips.
ā Now, Why on earth would you do that?ā, he tests.
ā Well it got your attention didnāt it ?ā, she quips. A cheeky edge to her words. Her eyesā a challenge.
He says nothing, only takes the same leg on his shoulder and trails his fingers down the side of it in a slow manner. His eyes remain planted on her as he draws swirls up into her inner thigh. Her breath is slightly labored, the rise and fall of her breasts noticeable from the way the corset fabric sparkled in the low light.
Large and calloused hands massage her inner thigh. He can feel her muscles tense and release under his touch. He brushed the other thigh with the tips of his fingers, starting the process over and again. Working and winding her up as he watched her fingers dig into the cushion of the seat underneath her.
Slowly, he pulls down her undergarments and flings them behind him. The heat radiating from her skin met itās peak here. She parts her legs further, a beckoning. An invitation to come closer.
His hand meet soft, wet, warm skin. He groans despite knowing it would be there. How could it not? It had been weeks since he last touched her. They had been busy and coming down on the high of finding the treasure. She was sopping. A true testament to how much her body missed him. They both groaned audibly when his thumb pressed that spot where she needed him most. She melts into his seat, head lulling back as she moans against each wet sweep of his thumb.
ā Were you like thisā¦all night ?ā
ā Yesā, she whines. Shifting in her seat, he closes the space between them until her butt is nearly touching his torso. Both of her legs rest on his shoulders as he firmly rubs her in circular motions.
ā Tell meā¦ā
ā T-Tell you what?ā, she stutters
ā What thought led to what Iām feeling underneath my fingertips right nowā, he gruffs.
ā F-Fearā, she sighed breathlessly.
ā Of what?ā
ā Fear that when you make me cum..it wonāt be enough. It wonāt be enough until I have all of you.ā
ā You have meā, he urges.
ā Not in every wayā, she gasped as his fingers speed up on her clit. It didnāt take much with her. Not with his skill.
ā Speakā, he commands. And heās sure it feels like being doused in cold water with the way she jerks at the sound. Especially when all she wants to do is sink into the sofa and melt away. But now his breath was laboredāheart racing as he anticipated the sound she would make.
ā I Need Your Cā ,ā and her sentence is cut short with an abrupt squeak as she cums against his fingers. He presses and rubs until her writhing stops . A restlessness still prevalent even after sheās gotten her fix.
ā You finish that sentenceā, he leans in to kiss the sides of her neck as his hands trail up and down the sides of her. Sheās hazy from the orgasm.
Shyly.. she continues in another way. ā What youāve given me all this time. It was enough thenā¦but not anymoreā, she pants.
Roman needed no other explanation and he dare not make her second guess. Instead he sits back and pulls her to a straddle on top of him. She grabs his face and kisses him. The smokiness of his mouth makes her rut into his crotch feverently, nearly making him release into his pants. He has to stop her prematurely.
Kissing, tugging, pulling, gripping. The surprising sting of a bite to his chest. The tearing of fabric theyāll regret later. The panting across exposed skin. The drag of nails scraping across heated flesh. She made a mess of him to match her own. A whole hour swallowed by the lust of two.
When the carriage screeched to a stop they both paused to assess the damage. Romanās top was destroyed. He noticed the way she glanced at her handsālikely wondering how she possessed the strength. He threw his coat over her shoulders as the help escorted them back up to their bedroom.
ā Hot water in the tub Joffreyā, he calls to the butler already waiting at the door.
Three servants take turns walking in and out the room to fill the tub awaiting in the other room. Jane watches quietly as she grips the oversized jacket around her. Her lips are swollen from him. Her biting the corners doesn't make it any better. It doesnāt make this any easier. Doesnāt give him any more composure .
Jane Pov
ā Will my bath slow the momentum ?ā, she asks quietly. She doesnāt want the maids to hear.
ā Have I not proven my patience by now?ā
ā Is it wrong to ask? Have you noticed youāre about to rip out of your pants?ā Roman frowns at her in confusion. Her eyes trail down to his sizeable erection that jutted from his black dress trousers. His eyes meet it with surprise as if he forgot. So used to ignoring his body in respect of her boundaries. In respect of her limits.
ā Iāll take my bath coldā¦in the other room ā, he calls out to the servants in the bathroom.
With a kiss to her forehead, he leaves behind the servants. Maybe some distance would be for the best. The bath would give her time to think. The scented oils relaxed her but she still felt so empty. The desire to be filled, something foreign to her until now.
She took her hair down in the tub and pinned it up again, less uniform, uncaring if some strands got wet. She scrubbed her skin with something scented. She made quick work of it.
She dried off, creamed her skin, and took off her jewelry. She kept thinking about what to wear. What do people usually wear? Well ā¦nothing by the end of it she supposed. But how to entice ? She knew nothing about seduction. So maybe nothing could be something ? She wiped the color from her lips from her mouth. No time to get rid of the eyes. She found a thick hair ribbon, she wrapped it around her neck and tied it into a bow. The dress that the maids brought up in pieces included the stockings that she rolled up her thighs. A once over in the mirror and she felt it was enough. Courtesan in a way.
She draped herself in her robe and waited. She didnāt send for him. He would come back when he was ready. It didnāt take long thankfully. She could hear him send away the butler for the night from behind the door. Her hands sweat as the doorknob turns.
He stands in the hallway. Brooding and wide, like when they first met. His hair wet and his skin coated with a light mist from his bath. No shirt, loose fitting cotton trousers. Every tattoo is even bolder than she remembered. His eyes were hungry but controlled as always. She stands carefully as he turns to close the door and lock it . By the time he turns back around sheās quickly slipped off her robe. He freezes in place, eyes darkening even in the light.
He doesnāt move to grab her. No throwing her down on the bed. Instead, he slowly walks over to the table at the far end of the room. A fire crackles next to it. He sits down at the chair, legs spread wide. He motions his finger for her. A quiet āstand in front of meā. Being gawked at all night did nothing for her. It didnāt move her. But under his gazeā¦she could barely take it. Hesitantly, she makes her way to him.
For a moment sheās stunnedānearly losing the steam to do this. To be this courageous, sexy, brave woman who takes charge. But when he finally speaks itās simple. āTake down all your hair. Pleaseā, he says. An authority in his voice, controlled, quiet. She reaches for her hair pins and lets her tresses down, loosening the curls with a shake of her hand. ā Perfectā, he whispers.
Going with her gut, instead of stepping closer she gets on her knees. Intrigued, his gaze tracked her movements as she began to crawl to him slowly. One hand extending out behind the other carefully and methodically. She reaches his knees and places her hands on the both of them. That cold bath did nothing for him clearly. His erection was jutting out of his pants like a sword.
ā Are sure ?ā, he asks. She doesnāt answer, only slides her hands up his chest reassuringly. This is the man she loved. The man she was going to marry. This was safe. He was safe. Heād proven that long ago. She united the strings holding his cotton trousers. He lifted up when she pulled them down. His erection sprung out and hit his stomach.
She seized it in her hands and felt the pulse of him around his fingers. Roman had time to learn her. He studied the way she liked to be licked. The way he wanted his mouth slated against her cunt. The speed of his tongue. He knew how to make her fall apart in seconds. She had not learned him. Never tasted him in her mouth. Never felt the beat of his pulse on her tongue. She wanted to do this well.
His girth has always been impressive but not painfully thick. With time she could take the stretch of him without thought. His length, however, was a whole other feat. How on earth would all of it fit? She cut those thoughts off before she chickened out.
At least it was beautiful. Lengthy, curved upwards, a fleshy pink tip, dusky shaded skin, chiseled in thick veins, a heavy sack. Pearls of arousal glisten at the top of him. She swipes away at it with her tongue. Heās completely still, watching her closely, waiting for her to back out. But the alarms werenāt ringing yet. She needed to give him what he gave her. Or at least try her best to do so.
Boldly, she wrapped her lips around the head of him and looked up at him through her lashes. Heās biting his fist. She gives him kitten licks. He takes a deep inhale and grabs the arms of his chair with a vibe grip. She pulls back and softly strokes him with both hands.
ā Iāve never done this because I wanted to until now. So youāre going to have to tell me what you want. What you like and what you donātā, she says quietly.
ā Well, youāve got the first step down. You put your mouth around me. Donāt stop on my accountā, he grunts. Jane resumes, taking him into her mouth.
ā Use your hands where your mouth canāt reachā, he says. A shaky edge to his tone. She listens, using the spit that rolled down his shaft beneath her hands.
Sheās timid, careful not to hurt him. Not to squeeze him too hard. Heās so big that if she goes too far she gags a bit. That didnāt scare her knowing that she controlled the pace. The sound of him grunting was a motivator. Everytime she pressed her mouth further down his shaft, not only would her eyes water but her mouth would too. Her hands were drenched. She pulled away to get something to clean some of the mess up. He gently stops her.
ā Youāre doing it perfectly, leave it ā, he says. His composure slipping through a clenched jaw. He didnāt want to cum but she sumized it would be easy to get him back up if he did.
So she goes back for more, inching further and further down his shaft. She made a proper mess of herself. She destroyed her eye makeup. Her nose was running, her mouth was watering like a spigot. He holds her hair for her but he keeps his hands clear from the back of her head.
She sort of liked the mess. The sound of her working him in her mouth, the choking, the sniffling, the sounds of his groans whenever her hand drifts to his sack. The sound he bit back when she massaged them. It was easy to get enthusiastic when she felt his composure slipping from him. When his groans turned into audible sighs when she sucked his head harder.
She pulls away to catch her breath, panting from the exertion of it. In some strange way she felt powerful. Which was funny considering that she was the one on her knees. But maybe it was the reassurance that she could please him successfully. That she was capable of giving back what she had received for so long.
ā Spit on it.ā
ā spit on it ?ā, She echoes.
ā Like it just pissed you offā, he dares.
Jane nearly laughs but he was clearly serious. And so she does. His hips shift as she works her hand over him before doing it again and licking it up. That earns a full out moan. She bobs up and down the length of him, getting as much in and she could comfortably allow. Bubbles form at the sides of her mouth. She wraps her mouth just around the engorged head and sucks firmly.
Instead of stroking him up and down she began to gently twist with each pump of her fist as her mouth suctioned around the head of him. Then ever so often she would twist her mouth as she came up. Roman, once so stoic and controlled, was hissing in agreement with her new found technique. The praise sent waves of arousal tingling on her breast, her cunt, and deep in her stomach.
ā God dammitā¦just like that. What a good girl you are. Are you my good girl ?ā, he cooes.
ā ā-Glaahhjksmm!āā, she talks around his cock as she pushes against the barrier of her reflex. Spit froths and flows as she gathers it around his sack and massages it in time with her strokes. A full on moan wrecks his throat from the vibration on her mouth. His eyes danced around the room and his head falls back.
And just as sheād been taught, she sucked it all up and spat it right back onto the head of his cock. A gut punching sounding groan falls from his lips. This time, instead of sucking, she begins blowing air around the cock in her mouth, gargling and gurgling against his skin as she pushed down down down down. His hips twist and bend. ā Alrightalrightaright wait... Fuuckkk. Stopā, he stutters. She pulls away quickly.
ā Did I knick you?ā She panics.
ā No. But this will be over before it starts if you keep going dove. Fucking hellā¦.ā, he chuckles. She can see his brow broke out in the sweat earlier. She looks down at her hands. Her chin is drenched. Her makeup is sliding down her cheeks.
ā Maybe I should get cleaned up firstā, she giggles. Roman looks at her, eyes full of admiration like they were when she came down the steps. To her shock he grabs her and kisses her, tongue and all. When he pulled away it stunned her.
ā Enjoy the taste ? ā, she chuckles .
ā I should ask you the sameā, he teases. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a wet cotton rag, helping her to clean up her hands and mouth.
He places the rag on the table and abruptly picks her up. She squeals in surprise, wrapping her legs around waist.
Her back hits the bed. He climbs on it, going straight for her legs. Slowly, he peels her stockings off with his teeth. Heās sure to nip her ankles and the inside of her thigh. His beard a welcome sensory against the sensitivity of her skin.
He makes no introduction, only an immediate shot for her clit. He sucks her into his mouth and watches her thrash against him. Immediately sending her into sensory overload.
He laps at her with the tip of his tongue before running it over the entirety of her cunt. Pressing his entire mouth on it and sliding his lips across it like an open kiss. She can already feel her peak approaching as he hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her closer. Her hands reach for his hair and tug aimlessly.
He makes a show of it, growling into her. Thumbing at her breasts. Sheās about to cum already. Almost embarrassingly soon. But he had learned her for months now, an advantage that he took happily.
ā Are you in a rush?ā, she whimpered.
ā Iām in no rush, your body on the other hand seems to beā, he mumbled against her skin. She fell apart on his mouth, back bowing against the bed. He left her no room to pull away, no room for reprieve as he sucked her through her orgasm and after. He made no move to pause until she cried out into the room, shouting expletives that were half gibberish.
He went back for more. She nearly protests this until she realizes just what she was up against. This generous foreplay wasnāt just for his pleasure or her own. It was to prepare her. She fought past the overstimulation and held herself to the mattress as he started all over again.
But Roman would take and take and take. What she would allow he would take for his own. For these matters he had no mercy. Enough was never enough. He would drink and never be full. With her second climax she dug her feet into his back, trembling against the intensity of it. That familiar haze washes over her, making her brain all muggy . Bringing a tingle to her lips and feet.
ā I know you have one moreā, he rumbled against the side of her thigh.
ā Mmpphhmmā, she groans.
When his tongue dragged against her clit she flinched. His hands snaked around her waist as he swung his face in a nodding motion against her, lazily swiping his tongue up and down the entirety of her. Each pass, more sensitive than the other. His large hands rest at the bottom of her belly, pressing down each time her back tried to depart the bed. A reminder that she wasnāt going anywhere until she gave him exactly what he wanted.
Teasingly, the tip of his tongue would swirl around her clit, purposely missing where she wanted him most. Her hips followed his mouth, swirling and bucking towards him as pulled away further. His licks turned to gentle flicks, a glint of playfulness in his eyes as he watched her grow increasingly impatient. Suddenly, so responsive after claiming to be too sensitive.
ā Come on baby, right thereā, she grabbed the backs of his hair with her fist and brought him to where she needed him. Still testing her patience, he kissed her skin gently instead. She threw her head back as she tried to push herself toward him.
ā Please ā¦pleaseā, she moaned.
And with that, he enclosed his mouth around her nerves and sucked hard. Instantly, she gasped as he punished her with fast hard licks, pressed firmly against her skin.
ā AAAH!!ā, she cried. She came harshly against his mouth, throbbing against each pass of his tongue. He made her ride out her climax until the bitter end. Twitchingāshe pushed his forehead. He pulls away, kissing up stomach. He sucks bruises into her skin. The suction of his mouth pulls her nipples to pebbles, electrifying a path down her stomach.
ā Arenāt you going to unwrap me? Iām not fully undressed until you doā, she pants. She was tired from those series of mini climaxes that he inflicted upon her. She can feel the rumble from his chuckle vibrate against her chest. He kisses a path back up her chest. The scrape of his beard tickles her neck and he unties it with his mouth. His fingers reach down between her legs to feel her arousal.
Her heart races as he pulls her closer, adjusting his position between her legs. Involuntarily she stiffens. His fingers feel it along her muscles. He stops immediately to assess. ā Where are you right now ? Where did you go ?ā
She blinks a few times before she answers. ā Habit. Iām sorry.ā
ā Any moment. Even seconds from now or minutes or an hour from now. You can tell me to stop. We can start again when you want. We can try again on a different night. Itās your choice.ā He grabs her face in his, his forehead against her own.
ā I know. I know, I want this now. I'm just anxious.ā
ā It doesn't have to be perfect Jane," he says quietly. A thoughtful look spreads across his face. She had an idea in her head of what this would be. She would be responsive, she would look perfect, be perfect. But there was no audience. There was nothing to prove. This was for them and nobody else.
She nods quietly and reaches for him. She needed him close to drown out the panic and the noise. To feel his breath in her face, his warmth. He leans down, elbows on either side of her face. With one hand he reaches down and graces his fingers across her cunt, spreading around her arousal. When she relaxes he pushes in one finger. A small gasp leaves her lip but her composure remains.
He asks. ā Okay?ā
ā Okayā, she nods.
He pumps it in slowly back and forth, gently sawing with the pressure. Roman is watchful, nearly nose to nose with her as he tests her. A second finger and she groans from the sensation. Her body could tell how long itās been for her. She's pulsing around his digits as she involuntarily sucks him in. No pleasure was present quite yet. But that was to be expected. For now her focus was only on trying to stay calm.
ļæ½ļæ½ļæ½ Iāll let you. Iāll let youā¦ā, she whispers to him. Her voice so fragileāin this moment she felt like she was made of glass. He felt it too. He stares at her for a moment, unsure if sheās sure. She nods silently. His fingers pull away and his right arm returns to the side of her head.
He uses his other hand, reaching in between them to center himself with her opening. Then she feels it, that pressure, the stretch. Her eyes widen as he surges forward gently. Janeās hands fly to his shoulders as she feels a sound creeping up from behind her lips.
Determined to distract her, he grabs her face with soft hands. ā Heyā¦relax. Relax. Where are you right now? Are you with me ?ā, he asks gently.
ā Yes Iāmā¦yes Iām with yoāā, she loses control of her breathing as the air leaves her . She can feel all of him now. Heās sheathed inside of her and the fit is snug.
ā Am I causing you pain?ā
ā Noā¦yesā¦I mean no..I donāt fucking knowā, she sputtered. The sensation was overwhelming. To be so filled, so stuffed. To feel the heat of him inside her. The tight fit despite her being the wettest sheās ever beenā¦ā¦ā Youāre just soā¦bigā, she sighed.
ā Your body will get used to it the more I move. We can try anotherā.ā
ā NO ā¦no, just give me a secondā, she urged. So instead his mouth found hers as he waited for her body to relax. She was squeezing him so tight he wondered if heād actually be able to move at all. Sly fingers slip back between them to swipe at her clit. Another wave of arousal seeps around him. He shudders from it. She sucks his tongue. He nips the side of her jaw.
ā Slowlyā¦ā, she rasps against his mouth. She can hear a decompressing sigh from him as his muscles shift and he pulls out and in, slowly. Methodically. The drag of him against her walls, his veins, his heat. Foreign, too foreign to derive pleasure so soon. Yet too comforting to hate.
She looked between them as he lifts up slightly, getting a full view of the way he appears and then disappearsācoming out gleaming in her arousal. It was her body doing that. It was her body capable of that. It took a moment to register.
ā Youāre still far awayā, he pants. His composure bending against the pressure of his arousal. His tone swollen with need -velvety and full.
ā Maybe Iām just broken down there. Iām not exactly the type to finish during these endeavorsā, she mutters. He doesnāt like that at all. She can tell by the way he tucks in his lips. He pauses for a moment, as he sits back on the heels of his feet. The head of him is just barely tucked into her body.
ā That wasnāt sexā, he says firmly. ā but this isā¦and itās a head game. I mean your brain doesnāt even realize how close you are. I can feel it Janeā, he looked down at where they connect. His thumb rolls over her clit as he feels her contract around him. āHow about thisā. Roman searches the bed for the ribbon he pulled off her and holds it above her face. ā Iām going to put this over your eyes and weāll see just how much you ādonāt workā. With nothing to distract you, you have no choice but to feelā, he explains. Jane looks at the red ribbon. Who would have thought sheād be wearing it as an eye cover.
ā Okayā, she says. He placed the ribbon over her eyes, wrapping it twice around her head. Her fingers press gently against the silk when heās finished.
Then heās inside again. Behind the blackness of her lids, she imagines what it looks like. But with her mind racing and her sight missing, the feeling of him inside her is even more prominent. It quiets the noise of her mind as she listens to the soft grunts that escape him as he presses into her. Every little moan that leaves him raises the stakes of her arousal. She can hear how wet she is now and so can he. Her hands seek the wrists he balanced himself on. They wrap around them, feeling the veins in his skin. She canāt even enclose her fist around it. He was just that big. And strangely enough, that thought grew and grew into something more. A naughty thought that ignited all the other hidden ones.
His thrusts change and with a pass of his hips, they thrust upward and press. He brushes up against something startling. Again and again. Each pass becoming more and more sensitive. Her body learns to become reactive to his touch. The pleasure sneaks up on her and wraps itself around her like a thick smoke, clogging her mind. She envisions it as it invades her, fully claiming her. It arrives and her mouth wrenches open in a long, aching, desperate moan.
Encouraging murmurs fall from his mouth but theyāre drowned out as small moans bursts from her mouth. Suddenly, she had no control over her volume, no control over what she said. It was as if this foreign pleasure that he promised her had already possessed her entirely.
ā Oh..OHHāfuck!ā, she cried. Now sheās thankful for the ribbon. She wasnāt sure if she wanted him to see the way one of her eyes uncontrollably rolled into the back of her head. He surges a bit deeper than before and she can barely control the squeeze of her toes. Itās too complicated to focus on her breathing so every few thrusts she decided it was easier to hold her breath.
ā Breath or I stop ā, he warns.
ā I canātā¦pleaseeeā, she croakes. Her nails begin to bite the skin on his wrists. That just makes him surge deeper.
ā You canāt cum if you pass out. I need you awake. I need to watch your face when you finally do ā, he pants.
She can feel his mouth on the side of her ankle and his thumb on her clit again. Something rushes through her, itās so overpowering that it forces the air back into her lungs and then out again, Her body erupts in tingles from head to toe.
This release is deeper, more concentrated, more intense than sheās used to. She squeezes around him so harshly that he hisses as she cums. Her legs shake as he rubs her clit in deep circles, wringing every bit of her pleasure out. She shakes against him like sheād been left out to dry. For a moment she remembers that Roman is greedy. He has no mercy for pleasure and he would very much let it drown her in it if she allowed it.
ā Okayyyy. Okay! Fuckfuckfuck!ā, she bursts as she pushes against his chest. He pulls out and gives her some reprieve as she scrambles for the ribbon covering her eyes. He gets to it first, pulling it off for her.
Her eyes are wide when the lights of the room come into view. Heās flustered, sweaty, hair wild all over his head. Suddenly he bursts into a deep chuckle, showing his pearly white teeth as he gazes down at her bewilderment.ā Youād think you saw a ghostā, he snickered.
Her body still tingled, ears still buzzed. She sits up and so does he. ā So I may or may not have overreacted before all of thisā, she admits sheepishly. He laughs even harder. No seriously, if she would have known it would be this easy. If sheād known that it would feel like that, she would have done it sooner.
ā Come here. Weāre not doneā¦ ā, Roman turns to lay on his side. She crawls to him and he pulls her back against his chest. His arm pushes behind her head for cushion while the other hitches her leg up. He slides in with an almost comical ease compared to only minutes ago. Yet, she was just as breathless. Still gasping at the feeling of him inside of her. She turns her head to watch him as he keeps a steady but firm pace. She has to shake off another climax from his expression alone. His eyes are desperate. She swore she could read every dirty thought on his face. She so badly wanted her to enjoy this and it was so evident just by the way his fingers wouldnāt leave her clit. Desperate to make her cum. She canāt help but to steal another kiss because of it.
He angles his hips and her head lulls back into his arm, her eyes rolling up into the ceiling. He was brushing up against that spot again and her volume control went out of the window. The pleads spill out of her endlessly, calling out for something she couldnāt put into words.
ā Right there?ā
She nods frantically. āYESyesyesrightthereā, she groans. He leans down to the side of her breast and presses his mouth against her nipple. One of her hands tangles against the duvet and the other scratches the side of his chiseled stomach. The way his hips roll into her should be a crime. His precisionā unmatched. When his mouth pops off her flesh she reaches back and feels his hair. He leans closer, pressing his mouth against her ear. A sweet torture, a whisper from his mouth only to her own ears.
ā Is that what you want?ā, he grunts.
ā Yes I need it. I need itā, she moans drunkenly. Her brows furrow, mouth biting for the skin of her own lip. The hand under her leg abandons it for her neck. She keeps her leg thrown over his own. Sheās wide open to the room. When his hand clasps around her neck, her head falls directly on his arm giving her a full view of his face. A natural surrender. She canāt help the smile that creeps up in between shouts of ecstasy. Thereās no pressure in his hand. It just means something. She never felt the desire to be owned or found the appeal. But To be coveted. To trust enough. To admit the defeat of her own walls and hangups. To even allow to let his hand to stay there. To not want him to pull it away. He catches the glint in her eye and a wicked grin spreads across his mouth.
The speed of his thrusts increase and that earns him a nice squeak of surprise on her end. The hand around her neck trails to her jaw. He was especially deep now, so deep she could hardly take a full breath. His eyes darkened as he pressed his fat thumb past her swollen lips and pressed down on her tongue. Her mouth closed around his flesh like it fed her oxygen. A guttural, brutish sound left his mouth at the sight. She could see his jaw clench. A sigh of avidity flows from him. Her eyes rolls back as the climax sweeps her. ā You beautiful creature, my desires incarnateā, he seethes into her mouth. Her tongue slips into his. She tastes the brandy on his tongue and it surges the kiss deeper.
Still, he doesnāt eaves her no time to recuperate as he turns her onto her stomach. His hands find her ass and squeeze. His chest to her back, her head to the mattress, his mouth just above her ear. He feels entirely different inside of her from this angle. He feels wider, endless. She moans his name as inches in.
With the buffer between her ass and his stomach, depth and pace could be more forgiving. However, the angle was even more precise. The tip of his cock dragged against that spot in the most toe curling fashion. He was practically poking it with the way he angled himself into her. He barely pulls out as he rocks into her. Her eyes cross behind her closed lids.
The feeling is so intense, her hands shoot above her head, reaching out for something. His palms come down over the back of hers, holding them flat to the mattress. It feels like heās molding himself to her like a second skin. He guides her hands underneath her chest, cocooning himself over her body as he gains momentum. The sound of skin slapping echoes across the room, blending with each gasp from her mouth, timed perfectly.
ā Youāre sooooo deepā, she grunts against the mattress, muffled and all.
ā You want some out ?ā
ā I donāt fucking knowā-oh my goddddā, she whines and sputters and twists as he rocks into her. She likes the weight of him against her. She likes the feeling of his heart beat on her back as he ruts into her, grunting his praises. The slickness of their bodies against each other. Grunting his appreciation.
But the sensitivity grows and blooms deep in her stomach. Every sensory combines and jumbles into a looming monstrous feeling.
ā Is it broken?ā He taunts.
ā No!ā, she shouts.
ā but I thought you said it doesnāt work?ā, his thrusts turn to daggers. An attempt at compliance that she gave freely. Rubbing her words in her face.
ā It worksitworksssā, she screeches. His words only riling her up. Only making this deliciously more underable. And those shouts she tried so hard to control finally rolled into screame.
It was sobering to realize just how easily he could reduce her to a screaming, squirming, crying, whining, shell of herself. How easily he could control her body and play it with such precision. He had broken her down into bits, put her together, pulled her apart and washed her away with pleasure. It was scary to know the sheer power of his hands, his mouth, his body āand know that he actively chose to only inflict pleasure with them.
On this very night she was ruined. It could only be him. Now her mind was racing but not the way it was before. Nothing feels this good, nothing should feel this good. And every thought of him that pops up just adds to the pleasure. This is what she wanted for the rest of her daysāgentleness, the whisper of sweet nothings, hearty breakfasts, warm beds that smell like him, cigar smoke, late nights, expensive wines, non judgemental ears and mind bending pleasure. In every fucking position. Missionary first and whatever this is second.
ā YESā¦. YES PLEASE ROMAN. PLEASEEE!!ā, she bellowed from her stomach. She spat the words from her mouth like they were poisonous. Like the last words of a drowning person. Deep in her gut she felt the wraith of his passion. A transformative love that grabbed her soul and wrung it dry. Was it pleasure or torture? Could pleasure be torture? Was it natural to feel so much at once āto be loved to the point of insanity ? Because she already came and he was still going. Not even a shudder from his lips or a falter in his hips when she met her climax.
ā ITS SO MUCH!ā, she yells .Sheās soaked herself and him completely. A new wave of arousal making itās appearance heard loud and clear. She didnāt think it possible to be aroused so heavily. To be throbbing with pleasure and still want more. To be so unraveled.
She wonders if she has the same effect. His mouth hung open just above the side of her face, brows furrowed, grunting with each thrust. And there was no shame, he didnāt hide his pleasure. His face broke up in the way hers did and her heart sang. She felt the firmness of his muscles on her back and ass, the sweat of him seeping onto her skin, the strength of his arm encompassing her, the powder of his hips. He was perfectā¦absolutely perfect.
ā Do you feel it my love ?I kept my promise.ā
ā FUCKKā, she screeches, voice cracking from the exertion of release after release.
ā I know. I know.ā, he whispers. And her emotions meet a peak. Should she be embarrassed to cry? Because she was about to. Howling, sighing, reasoning, praising him. In awe of his beauty, of his strength, of his love.
He was killing something inside of her. Something rotten that had taken root and burrowed itself deep within her being. In the fibers, tissues, blood, and bone of her existence. A spoiled bit that inflicted her mind with fear, desperation, sorrow. It had convinced her she would never be loved. That she would never know pleasure. That she would be left unsated, unhappy and unwanted. That she was nothing. He dug for that bit, seized it, squeezed it, and obliterated it with every swell of pleasure that left her trembling. He washed it away with whispers of āI love youā and āyouāre beautifulā. As he leaned over her, their eyes connected as her head turns. To hold his gaze only resulted in another wave of gut wrenching ecstasy.
I will take your darkness and turn it sweet. This I vow to you.
She remembers. She remembers those words. And Should could feel the orgasm building from her toes all the way to the nerves under her fucking teeth. āRomanā¦.ā, she pleads.
ā Give it to me.ā
āItās so muchā, she warned weakly. Slightly afraid from the strength of the release she was harboring. A load too big to carry on her own.
ā I have you.ā Roman liked to watch her fall apart. To deploy into the madness of climax. He liked the grit of an orgasm. Not being able to control the eyes or the face. The contortion of the body. Seeing the most primal, stripped down, raw version of someone. She could hardly catch her breath. There was tightness in her chest like she had been running. One of his hands slipped down between herself and the mattress to reach her mound. With just a few swift and firm circles against her clit , she was bursting at the seams.
She came so hard she burst into a hiccup of tears, shaking against the wrath of her orgasm like a leaf in the wind. Her ears rang, white washes over her vision like the sun came out in the middle of the bedroom. He kept his face pressed to hers. He pulled out every bit of her orgasm and rode her wave until the very end. When she finally relaxed into the mattress, nerves shot to hell, he allowed his climax. When he fills her up he shouts. He grinds until heās twitchingāhis body yielding him to stop. He trembled as he pulled away.
She turns onto her back and he falls on top of her, careful not to crush herā though she doesnāt mind. They pant out into the room as they catch their breaths. He leans to wipe her face with the back of his hand.
With a voice raspy from the screaming she clears her throatā¦the first to break the ice. ā Yes again, to the marriage thing by the way.ā
If this would be marriage. She could get used to this.
Roman Pov
The next few days were spent giving Jane many more firsts. They went horseback riding and hunting. He sat and watched Arnaud teach her Croquet. Jane was pretty good and became competitive over time. They played card games, went sightseeing and even attended Ballets.
The trip extended itself due to Charlotte wanting to help plan the wedding. In the Palais Royal, a few hundred meters from the property, sat its own chapel. It was an old building, but it was beautiful and surprisingly small compared to the rest of the estate. Jane had expressed numerous times that she wanted to get married soon, surrounded by the friends sheād made along the way. No extravagance, no dramatic entrances, no showboating. Roman obliged without any issue whatsoever. So as he stood at the altar in front of the minister, he wondered if this was enoughāif the simplicity of this would be enough for her to remember fondly. Eloise wore a white poofy dress with shiny tap shoes, throwing white flowers down the aisle. She was hopping and skipping, eventually throwing the flowers on guests by accident, of course. Caden was the ring bearer, with much persuasion and bribes on his part.
When he saw her appear at the entrance of the chapel with Earl beside her, all doubt was washed away. Here Jane was in a simple white slip gown, hair down, holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums that Eloise had picked for her in the garden.
Sheād been crying, he could tell. But her smile was radiant. It was probably nervesāthe same nerves heād been feeling the night before and just moments prior. The hairstylist Mary, stylist Guston, Beatrice, Charlotte, and Arnaud were welcomed guests. Rory, Adhar, Cortez, and a dozen other pirates filled the rest of the seats. It was quite a sight seeing the filthy men cleaned up in fancy clothes for the event. It only made sense for Dr. Earl to walk her down the aisle. He cleaned her wounds, nursed her to health, and looked after her in her weakest moments. Heād taken care of everyone on that ship at one moment or another. In some strange way, he was a father to many. His quiet knowledge had been a lifeline at times.
When he took her hand in his as they exchanged vows, he looked deeply into her twinkling eyes. He could see their whole future in them. Sheād never looked more beautiful than she did right now. Her thumb swept over the back of his hand when she spoke. He wished he could remember all that was said, but all he could focus on was how beautiful she was and how lucky he was. He stole kisses when he wasnāt supposed to, long before the minister could pronounce them husband and wife.
The reception was held in the orangery, filled with tables, food, cakes, and flowers. He struggled to pull away after the first dance, holding her in his arms, looking into her eyes, whispering things that made her laugh. He lost track of time.
Caden danced with Eloise, twirling her around as she squealed with joy. Rory asked Jane to dance, and she obliged. Adhar raided the dessert bar. Cortez had an intense conversation with Arnaud about his travels east. Charlotte and Earl spoke in German, and it seemed like a comfort for her to finally communicate that way, considering that her mother was German-born. Beatrice, Mary, and Guston enjoyed a drink. Roman was okay with just watchingājust taking in all the amazing people heād come to know. Jane and him had a community that was budding and growing. Now it was only a matter of time before they could give that community itās own name.
On the high of post-marital bliss, the lordship announcement came late at night at the end of the week. A semi-vacant estate had been cleaned, prepared, and was being filled with help. It was located in the French countryside, overlooking a cliff leading down to the beach.
And after another extended week of waiting, the time finally came. Roman decided it would be better if they arrived first. Everyone else could come later, but this experience would be shared between the two of them first. Jane obliged, and they set out on a three-hour carriage ride with their belongings.
The French countryside alpes maritime offered greenery, peaks and valleys, cobblestone markets, and flower fields. It was comforting and quiet as they inched closer to the property. Jane was anxious, so he held her hand in his as they watched the scenery. A mile from their property, they approached green pastures that expanded for acres. Trees, flower fields, and fresh air with subtle hints of salt characterized the area.
The building itself was Georgian style, with a light brown brick surrounding the entirety of the home. It was characterized by its warm, buttery yellow faƧade, complemented by crisp white trim around the windows and doors. The exterior had a smooth finish, giving it a refined yet welcoming appearance. The roof featured dark slate tiles, contrasting beautifully with the lighter tones of the walls.
Pebbles rumbled and scratched against the wheels of the carriage as they came to a halt. Fifteen servants stood at the stairs. Tall, multi-paned windows allowed abundant light into the interior, framed by decorative white shutters. The entrance boasted a grand door, framed by a small portico supported by slender columns, creating a stately focal point.
The estate was set amidst lush, landscaped gardens that enhanced its beauty. The grounds were meticulously maintained, with vibrant flower beds filled with seasonal blooms, neatly trimmed hedges, and a variety of trees providing shade and privacy. A winding gravel path led up to the entrance, flanked by ornamental shrubs and colorful blossoms.
Two primary servants, a male and a female, stood to the left of the property. The pair seemed to be the head footman and the head housemaid. They greeted the couple, referring to Roman as Lord Ramlal and Jane as Lady Ramlal. Jane squeezed his hand as they approached the steps.
The interior featured high ceilings adorned with intricate cornices and decorative plasterwork, typical of Regency design. Large windows allow natural light to flood the spaces, framed by heavy drapes in rich fabrics that added warmth and texture. The color palette was warm and inviting, with soft creams, muted greens, and touches of gold. Floral-patterned wallpaper in the drawing room featured delicate designs that added a touch of refinement without overwhelming the senses. The dining room sported a richer hue, a deep navy, complemented by gilded accents.
There were two wings of the home, which housed additional bedrooms and private spaces. A staggering 9 bedrooms, each thoughtfully decorated to provide a unique yet cohesive aesthetic, along with eight well-appointed bathrooms featuring elegant fixtures that combined functionality and style. There was also a library and a study, serving as quiet retreats for reading or work.
The floors throughout the estate were a mix of polished hardwood. In common areas, rich rugs defined seating arrangements and added a layer of comfort, while the staircase featured a beautifully crafted wooden banister that was both sturdy and ornate.
The furniture was a tasteful mix of Regency-era pieces and more contemporary selections. Plush sofas and armchairs, upholstered in luxurious fabrics, invited relaxation, while mahogany tables and sideboards showcased intricate craftsmanship. Decorative accents, such as vases and paintings, added character to the rooms. The house felt lived in.
There were drawing rooms, two dining roomsāone for guests and one for more intimate partiesāa small dancing room, servants' quarters, and multiple kitchens for staff and the family. It was almost too much to take in. Jane looked overwhelmed, and Roman was absorbing the information from the head maid.
When they were left to their own devices inside the piano room, the silence was deafening. This was itāthe real beginning of their storyāa long one he hoped. This house would soon fill with countless memories, its own smell, and the sound of happiness. They would bring her own touch to it.
Their respective wedding guests all piled into carriages to visit the property. The sound of their voices was nothing short of echoes of support and excitement. Caden chose his bedroom like an excited small child. While still wanting to be a pirate so badly, he promised to come and visit often. Being so young, he was still figuring things out. There would always be a home for him if he changed his mind.
Later in the day, they toured the town. It was practically barren, waiting to be filled with the lives of more residents. About twenty people lived there now, and most of them were from humble means. Roman introduced himself as he passed them. Jane, being a bit more shy, stayed behind in the carriage and waved. In his words, he promised to bring life back to the townāmore jobs, better food. In the coming weeks, he had his work cut out for him.
But perhaps the best part of the entire estate was that just 800 meters from the back of the house sat a cliff overlooking the ocean. Stone steps lead down to the pebbled shoreāa perfect spot for his crew to stop and visit.
The boat that carried them from the dragon's mouth sat in the distance. Roman and Jane walked down the steps followed by Ahdar, Cortez, Rory, and Caden. The rest of the crew waved from from the sides of the ship in the distance.
āItās blue! They painted it blue!?ā, Jane gasped.
A whoosh of salty wind burned their cheeks as they watched Jane. She got closer to the ship. At the front of the boat was a blue-carved figureheadāa mermaid. Jane squinted as her bare feet sloshed through the pebbled water. She looked up at the ship, and then her eyes widened. In her imageāher faceāwas carved into the mermaid.
āāTāwas Romanās idea if you hate it,ā Adhar blurted.
Jane was in shock, her mouth hanging open as she stared up at the giant statue of herself. Then her hands found her mouth, and her eyes teared up.
āItās good luckāa mermaid in your likeness to bring us luck and protect us. She even wears your talisman around her neck. See?ā Rory pointed at the mermaid's necklace. There it wasāsomehow carved in and bolted into the statue was her talisman. A huge smile spread across her face. She gushed about how much she loved it.
On the side of the ship, a blue Bakunawa was carved, chasing a fish. The god itselfāa representation of the trials theyād all been through. Through its mercy, they all lived another day. Officially called the Blue Bakunawa, it would sail the seas as the largest pirate vessel everāa giant among ants. Blessed by Lady Jane Ramlal. The woman of Ramlal Manor. Lady Jane, of the Blue Bakunawa. The best thing that had ever happened to anyone aboard the Black Pearl. Imprinted on the black hearts of many pirates.
The goodbyes were teary. Jane didnāt want Caden to go. He unexpectedly got teary, too. Roman surprised him at the last minute by executing one of his final authorities as captain to appoint him an official crew member. Caden was a pirate. The young boy screamed with joy. His crewmates cheered.
The sun hid itself behind the horizon, going to sleep once more. It was getting late now. Roman took his pirate hat from his head and gently placed it on Adhar. For a moment, the young man did not register. And then he did.
Constant echoes of āReally, Captain?!āand āAre you sure, Captain?ā fell from his mouth. Fear and excitement clashed.
āYouāve served me well. I hope you find that girl in your journey east. I wish you all the luck. And when you get her back, bring her back here. We would love to meet her,ā Roman chuckled. Adhar, still in shock, looked nothing short of a child as he nodded with exaggeration.
Rory picked Jane up and spun her around, as always. Sentimentally, he touched foreheads with Romanāa silent goodbye to two partners. Rory was his right hand, the man who did the hard jobs. A trusted friend.
Cortez and Adharās farewells were also surprisingly teary. Roman teased them for it. But then Jane lost it when Adhar hugged her. Understandably, this was hard. Adhar was yet another friend sheād come to know. He taught her sword fighting. They talked about London on numerous occasions and kept her company.
āIām going to miss you. Write to me,ā she sniffled.
āI will. Iāll be back soon, I promise. This time next year weāll all come back. Iāll even drag William with me if I have to,ā Adhar smile.
Roman grinned. āThank you for all youāve done for me and for her. Youāll make a great captain.ā Adhar clapped a hand over Romanās shoulder in appreciation.
Roman went on to thank Cortez for being such a fantastic helmsman. He steered the ship with iron hands and a remarkable knowledge of the sea and the monsters they faced. He was valued beyond measure. He got them back in one piece.
āAāright you mangy mutts. New change of plans. Youāll answer to Adhar now. I expect your presence at my dinner table in one yearās time. I order you lot to stay alive until then. Is that clear, you scallywags?!ā
āAye, aye, Captain!ā the crew replied in unison. Their stances were rigid as they gave him a pirate saluteāthe swing of a palm towards the forehead. A final sign of respect.
Hundreds of hands and hats wagged and waved on the side of the Blue Bakunawa as the ship set sail once more. Roman and Jane waved their goodbyes as they watched their friends become smaller, and smaller, and smaller...and smaller.
āAnd then there were two,ā Jane sniffled. She looked up at her husband with joyful, teary eyes, parting ways with the life of a pirateāa crew that had saved her long enough for her to find herself again.
āTwo indeed. We have work to do, darling,ā Roman quipped, giving her a swift kiss.
āYou know what?ā
āMmm?ā
āI think I know what my final wish will be,ā she urged.
His eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down at her determined face. āWhat is it?ā
She sighed. āYou said to use the wish on myself, but this is something I want. I want this now more than ever.ā
āOkay...ā he replied, waiting patiently. Her eyes closed as she leaned back into his chest.
āUh... Dragon?ā she called out.
A few moments later, a thunderous and regal voice responded. āWhat, child?ā
āIām ready to give you my last wish,ā Jane blurted.
ā...Go on,ā said the dragon.
āI wish for our townāthe town that Roman and I will buildāto be a sanctuary for all misfits. For every āother.ā For every unprotected, unrepresented, undervalued person. A town that will share a real community. A town that does not steal from one another. A town that protects its women and children. A town of men with compassion and honor. A town with resources. Nobody will be needy. No one will want for anything. A town that is protected from hatred, prejudice, and disdain. Let this town grow in number and let us have enough housing to accommodate everyone. Let it attract those with open hearts. Allow this town to be a safe haven for all who may seek it. Grant good health to all those who live in this town. And most of allālet there be no evil force strong enough to penetrate it. Let this town be self-sustainable, resilient, and content,ā she said.
When the dragon did not answer, she wondered if she had botched her wish. Roman could since her becoming nervous. She wanted quite a few thingsāsurely it couldnāt count as one wish. Could it?
āIt is done... goodbye,ā said the ominous voice. It echoed and trickled away in the wind, just as Janeās wish did. Now all that was left to do was watch it come to fruition.
Jane POV
Six months into building their town, Jane had realized a few things. She loved being a wife. She loved the flowers at the end of the week. She loved the candlelit dinners. She loved the authority; people called her Lady Jane or Seigneuress Ramlal. She loved wearing her ring on her finger. She loved the fact that Roman carried her last name. She loved it all.
She loved carpentry. Roman had built a wheat mill with his bare hands, along with the help of 20 other men. She had no idea that he had a background in carpentry and construction. He taught her the basics, allowing her to help along the way.
She fucking loved sex. She loved it so much it usually crossed her mind at least once a day. It was kind of ridiculous. Roman certainly didnāt mind. Her needs were met almost always on demand. It had become well known that all servants were to stay on their wing after 11 oāclock at night.
And last, she loved the friendships she was building. Not just any friendshipsāgirl friendships! Mary was a frequent visitor, along with Charlotte. Three girls, cut from the same cloth, living a life they could be proud of. She never realized just how much they had in common, sharing stories by the fireplace over a bottle of wine, going on long walks on the estate until Ramlal Manor was the size of a dot, and sitting in the grass watching the horses graze. She had never felt the warmth of female friendship until now. Sure she had friends back in London but everybody had to work. There was no time to really bond. Now, She could talk about anythingāno judgment. She told stories in detail, stories that would be far too painful for Roman to hear. They did the same, sharing memoriesāgood and bad. There was no shame, only laughter and "me too's." It was comforting and recharging. She loved friendship.
People were coming to the town in droves. More buildings were being bult: farms, businesses, houses, apartments, theaters, taverns and more. The economy was growing and bursting. People needed jobs, and there were plenty to go around.
With much contemplation, she started writing to Aunt Jillian in Westminster, England. Jillian was one of the few relatives she had left. Most of her family in the islands had passed away. They exchanged letters over the span of four months. She wrote about Roman and how they met. She told the story of their love and the people she had come to know. She mentioned nothing of the dragons, monsters, or mysterious island. For now, it was all just "inheritance." She sent a sizable amount of money and planned to visit her family in the next few weeks to discuss relocating to a separate guest property on the estate. It was a relationship she was afraid to pursue, but Roman encouraged it when she brought it up over dinner. Jillian expressed how proud she was of her niece and was saddened that she hadnāt reached out soonerāa reminder to how oneās own suffering can cut them off from the world.
Money had the power to fuel generosity. Now, Jane could help people in ways that she couldnāt before. She couldnāt deny that it was somewhat self-serving; every donation felt like it healed something inside her. She thought back to all the times she wished someone would have come to her aid, all those nights she spent hungry, wondering if things would ever get better. She could be that glimmer of hope for someone.
She started sending money and letters to her old roommates in London with whom she had shared an apartment. It took weeks for them to respond out of skepticism. When they finally wrote back, they were convinced it was some scam and started asking her questions that only the "real Jane" could answer. She responded with precision. The next letter detailed their surprise and shock; they thought she was dead. A few days later, the eight of them were reunited as she convinced them to possibly move to her budding town. They all agreed to make the transition.
Roman had his own hobbies. He loved hunting with Arnaud and his gentleman friends. He enjoyed communing with his town members and made friends with the hardworking men at the mill. He loved reading in his office though Jane loved to interrupt him so that he could fulfill his āhusbandly dutiesā. Roman tried his hand at growing his own tobacco to pair with his pipe collection, and it was a success; he raved about it all day long. Things were coming together well. They grew just as much as individuals as they would together.
While they sat in their dining room, Jane looked up at the portrait that Arnaud had painted of them. She loved it and often stopped to admire it as she passed through the house. As her fork pushed around her dinner, Roman noticed her distracted demeanor. āWhatās on your mind? Does the food displease you?ā
āNoāno. Itās great. Iām just not as hungry.ā
āWhatās wrong?ā
Jane paused for a moment. Was this really a good time? As understanding as he was, sometimes men got weird about these topics. He hadnāt brought it up, so she was taking a leap. āPeople around town have been asking me when Iām going to have a baby,ā she blurted.
Roman paused mid-chew as he studied her face, a mix of light concern and surprise. She wanted to sink back into her seat. āHas this upset you? Who was it? I will have a talk with theāā
āNo, no. Iām not upset at all. Besides, you know how middle-aged women can be sometimes. Itās natural for them to askā, Jane insists.
āIt does not have to be natural if you do not wish it,ā he explained.
āI knowāI understand. I think our life feels pretty full with just the two of us. Iām fulfilled. Iām happy with you all to myself. However, Eloise has changed my mind on a lot of things. She is very loved. I worry that my past would inhibit me from being a good mother.ā
āI think if you care so deeply about being a good mother, then thatās usually a good indicator that you would indeed be a good mother,ā Roman chuckled. Jane smiled.
āWell... what do you think? Should we?ā
āIām okay if we do. Iām okay if we donāt. After finding you, I feel no need to push my luck. If the innocence of a child is bestowed upon us, I will be most thankful for the privilege.ā
āI think we should enjoy each other a bit longer. Maybe Iām selfish, but weāre due a few more years of just being husband and wife. Maybe itās not in the cards. Weāve had a few accidents,ā she shrugged.
āIs it an accident if you beg for it?ā Roman scoffed. Jane laughed; he certainly had a point.
āWellā¦ if it was going to happen, it would have happened by now.ā
āYou and I both know that a few accidents do not guarantee pregnancy. It takes consistency. If we really tried, it would be a everyday all day affair. The whole thing is very meticulous.ā
āHave you not been meticulous?ā she smirked.
āNegative. I can show you meticulous,ā he warned. She shook her head playfully.
āHow do you know all this anyway?ā Jane squinted.
āI have plenty of fathers for friends. They give me unwarranted advice too. Itās not just you,ā he snorted.
āIām sorry to hear that.ā
Roman pulled her chair closer to his. āWhatever future is ahead of us is a future fulfilled. I could ask for no more. I am incredibly lucky to have you.ā
āAnd I you. I wonāt push my luck. If it happens, it happens. If not, there is no loss. When weāre really ready, we will know,ā she hummed.
āNo loss whatsoever,ā he agreed, placing a kiss on her temple.
A tap at the window alerted them. The two fell quiet, waiting for the sound again. Two more taps, and they stood up from the table. Roman walked over to the window and opened it. Jane followed closely behind as a cold draft wafted into the room. A tiny fluttering hoot called from the darkness, and the patter of tiny feet slapped against the balcony railing.
The hoot of two doves perched on the balcony called for their attention. They walked into the light, eyeing the couple.
Jane swooned. āAww, what on earth are two doves doing all the way out here? Isnāt this a bit too close to the sea?ā
āYou know, I asked myself the same thing once, but then something really amazing happened,ā Roman grinned.
āLetās not question it then,ā Jane smiled warmly.
The End.
Authors note: Well, there ya have it ! I would like to take this time to thank @sortudademais @2-muchsauce @joannasteez @thesamoanqueen @harmshake @fuffduff and many more for being so kind and making my writing experience such a pleasurable journey on this app. If youāve sent me a kind message or interacted with this story, I Thankyou from the bottom of my heart. I cared so much about these characters. I hope Iāve done them justice.
Epilogue may be pending if I have something else to say but for the most part every end has been tied up. My next work in progress will feature Jey USO and it will be a surfer story so stay tuned for that. Thank you for reading. Reblogs always help but most importantly, tell me what you thought of the story if youād like. It really makes writing all the more worth it. Bye for now! ā¤ļø
#MICHELIN STAR SERVES#read it read it read it#pirate au#roman reigns#roman reigns x oc#roman reigns au#roman reigns x black oc#lotbb
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stacy is sooo interesting because she's in love with house but knows that they will never ever be able to have a healthy, stable, sane relationship because they're too similar so. she finds house-lite instead and marries him and. essentially moves on with her life! and is successful in this because she's a moderately well-adjusted person!
wilson, in contrast, never manages to escape the inevitable, in spite of his best efforts to find a house-lite of his very own, because he's an absolute fucking freak and ends up glued to house to the bitter. bitter end
#yeah im too sleepy to revise this. UNFILTERED posting wooahh#some may b shocked but i do actually read thru most of my posts several times to make sure i didnt accidentally write mein kampfe 2#recently ive come to the realization that i am in fact not an incredibly chill person#and that the constant paranoia and fear in which i live my life is actually PROBABLY a symptom of severe anxiety#like damn. ive always known that im pretty prone to depression but ive preetty much always been aware of that#my mom is a chronic depressive so i know the symptoms i know the signs i have a pretty good arsenal of healthy coping mechanisms#UNFORTUNATELY mommy's mental health problems did not help her not abuse me as a child#so i ended up being a terribly anxious kid who was constantly being screamed at and told i was overreacting (because i was. because i had#a severe anxiety problem that was making me react irrationally.) to everything all the time#which is you know. it is VERY difficult to deal with a mental health problem when you arent aware you have a problem!#its incredible how much. better. my life has gotten since i figured this out and started actively trying to work out what triggers it#and being able to like. realize 'oookay. there is an Issue here and it needs to be overcome'#instead of just beating on myself constantly for not being able to do things without feeling sick or getting breathing problems!#anyways. trauma dumping in tags is over now!#house md#hilson#greg house#james wilson#stacy warner
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Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.
Ein wunderliche und erschrƶckliche Hystori von einem groĆen WĆ¼ttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen
A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death
#hellsing#alucard#kouta hirano#translation was found in a comment by u/lazyfoxheart on r/Kurrent#fun fact this is the highest quality version of this image that exists online#i know because i've been looking forever for a version that's clear enough to actually read what hirano wrote under '1443'#but there weren't any so i had to take matters into my own hands#the real image on the back of the guidebook is only 2 inches tall so i had to take this with my smartphone and will my hands not to shake#anyway i'm pretty sure it's supposed to say EÄrigƶz (the location vlad was imprisoned) so yeah. thank you hirano very cool#if i might rant for a sec it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure that out because i didn't have the guidebook at first#and in the images i could find online that part was just a blur that looked suspiciously like a person's signature and i was like. who tf#i was thinking matthias corvinus since he issued some political propaganda against vlad iirc but it didn't match his signature on wikipedia#then i thought it might be vlad II dracul's since he probably had to sign an agreement to send his sons over as hostages at some point#but that didnt seem right either so i kept skimming vlad's wiki page#and then i was like goddammit...hirano.....you just misspelled EÄrigƶz didn't you.. ....#i maybe should've made a separate post dedicated to this instead of writing a novel in the tags but eh#the hellsing brainrot runs deep#also- i put it in the source link at the bottom of the post but the german inscription is copied off a real woodcut of vlad from 1491#except instead of depicting him as an adult hirano drew him as a child which gives the inscription a very different feel imo#the one final thing that interests me about this is the fact that hirano published this calendar in 2002#which is REALLY early in the series. like this was before volume 5 came out??#i have no idea why he decided to do a massive spoiler drop in a random piece of japan-only merch#sandwiched between a drawing of alucard as john travolta from saturday night fever and integra as a fish no less#it makes me really curious to know what the fan response to this was back then. like did people even know who this was#maybe im just an idiot and everyone back then was like 'ah yes its alucard as a 12 year old. how very informative'
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It's been exactly 2 days, 4 hours, and 32 minutes since you and Kuroo got married.
It was the kind of wedding you thought youād never get the privilege of havingā small, comfortable, and filled with familiar facesā not to mention, the most memorable day of your life. Youād never thought you could be that happy, or that youād be surrounded by so many people who shared the sentiment. But if Kuroo has done anything through the course of your entire relationship, itās prove your negative thoughts wrong.
And then, of course, came the honeymoon.Ā
Previously, youād argued with him a lot about where to go for the honeymoon period. He thought somewhere in Japanā like Hokkaido with its breathtaking natural scenery, or Kyoto with its countless templesā would do just fine. But youād nagged him about taking you somewhere outside the country, reminding him of the fact that you live in Japan; you have the rest of your lives to travel around Japan, but who knows when youāll get the chance to go to Europe again?
After a few weeks of going back and forth, discussing all the possible locations and looking up things till one in the morning, you finally agree on Italy, specifically, Venice. Itās the perfect mix of culture and fun for both of you, and youād be lying if you said you werenāt dying to see The Grand Canal, especially with all the lights at night.
So, after a day of post-wedding packing, and a long day of traveling, youāre finally in Venice. In Venice, on your honeymoon. And it would be absolutely perfect, if you hadnāt lost your husband of two days in the crowd of locals.Ā
Youād done a lot, a lot, of research on spots in Venice that you wanted to visit during the 3-week stay. And youāve always known (after a lifetime of fantasizing about this trip) that if you come to Italy, you have to try their gelato. So you went through a few articles, bookmarked a few websites, and found this shop, Gelateria il Doge.Ā
Itās been described as a hidden attraction, and youāve always loved discovering hidden gems. The excitement was so overpowering that the first thing you decided to do once you settled down in your hotel room is go out and find it. Kuroo canāt say no when youāre so excited, so it only took twenty minutes to find yourself at the desired spot.
You went in, without Kuroo because he insisted on slowing down and taking some more pictures, and you finally ordered the gelato youāve been thinking about since you agreed to come to Italy. But it seems to have cost you your husband.
Heās not where he was standing five minutes ago, you turn and scan the mass of people walking by, but you donāt spot the familiar head of dark hair. Your phone rests in your cross bag but your hands are full with gelato, so you hesitantly accept your fate and sit on the nearest bench you can find, assuming that youāll just spot him when he comes back from wherever he went.Ā
You sit and admire the cold treat in your hand, itās beautiful and inviting and it makes you feel like youāve never had ice cream before. It makes you feel like your life is about to be altered permanently, even though youāre not completely sure what flavor you gotā something about poor Italian skills and taking risks.
Youāre about to taste it for the first time, practically salivating at that point, when a strange guy sits on the same bench, seemingly popping out of nowhere. You pause, mouth shutting, as you peer at him with caution. Heās undeniably good looking, skin-kissed tan skin and brown hair falling over warm green eyes, but heās not exactly your type. No other man could be.
You attempt to ignore his presence, but he turns his head and you make intense eye contact. Your mouth hangs slightly open as he scans your face, itās awkward and you feel the awkwardness paralyze you into speechlessness. Youāre sure you look incredibly dumb but your mind is too busy malfunctioning to save you.Ā
His eyes go down to your hand and he says something in Italian that you donāt understand. A few seconds pass by before he reaches for it, your hand that is, with wide eyes. You reflexively flinch away, alarmed at the sudden approach. What the hell is going on?
āOh my god, you idiot, the gelato.ā He speaks, frustrated, this time in the language you can understand, with a heavy Italian accent.Ā
You look down at your hands and youāre surprised at the trail of melted gelato on your hand. Oh, heās not a creep, you realize, he was just trying to help.
You bashfully keep your head down, embarrassed at how you reacted and the fact that you were too tense to realize he said the word gelato about 3 times. God, this is embarrassing, where is your husband when you need him?Ā
āSorry about that,ā you lick the melted sweet off as discreetly as possible, āI donāt speak Italian.āĀ
He raises an eyebrow at you. āYeah, I can tell.āĀ
Youāre silent, ashamed to be specific, as you eat the rest of your gelato before something else happens. He observes you for a few minutes, as you eat from both cones to prevent any disasters, before he chuckles quietly.Ā
āTourist?ā He asks.Ā
āKinda,ā you answer, slowly relaxing as the embarrassment wears off.Ā
He nods, āHow did you find this store then?ā he points to Gelateria il Doge. It stands there proudly, almost mocking you for making a fool out of yourself in front of a local.
āOh, lots of research.ā You laugh to yourself, remembering the sight of a very tired Kuroo by your side while youāre on your thousandth new tab. āIt actually wasnāt that hard.āĀ
āDo you like it?ā He asks.Ā
āThe gelato?āĀ
He shakes his head, āItaly.āĀ
āOh,ā you smile, āyeah, itās lovely and Iāve wanted to visit for a really long time.ā He hums approvingly so you go on. āYouāre Italian, arenāt you? Grew up here?ā
āKindaā, he retorts and you giggle, āI grew up in the south, but my brother lives here.āĀ
You nod your head in understanding; more questions are on the tip of your tongue (like his name for example?) when youāre interrupted by a familiar voice.Ā
āOh I thought you looked familiar.ā You turn your head and see your husband of two days walking towards you and this Italian stranger. He beams at you, happy to be reunited with the sight of your lovely face, but halts for a second when his eyes shift over to the guy. He tips his head to the side, silently asking about him, and you just smile. Iāll tell you later.Ā
āYou werenāt going to eat both gelatos yourself after all,ā the Italian says, which reminds you of the two cones youāve been holding yourself the whole time, and the fact that your husband walked off and left you all alone, in Venice of all places. Youāll definitely yell at him once youāre alone, but for now, you settle on standing up and handing him his cone.Ā
āIāll leave you lovebirds alone now, enjoy the honeymoon, ciao.ā
He winks at you discreetly, maybe not discreet enough because Kuroo suddenly places his arm around your shoulder protectively, and you manage to wave at him before heās gone.Ā
Kuroo turns to you, eyebrow raised, āwas he hitting on you?āĀ
You laugh, āthatās all you care about, isnāt it? What about telling me where the hell youāve been? Or apologizing for making me wait so long,ā you slap his chest, āitās actually your fault I had to entertain another man.āĀ
He holds your hand against his chest, grinning at the fake annoyance in your voice, āI apologize my dear, dear wife.ā His eyes rest on the ring he put on your finger for a second, feeling prideful. ā Letās sit, we have to finish this before it melts.āĀ
While you eat, you tell him about the whole interaction with the Italian man and every small thing that happened while you were apart. He scoffs at the events between you and the guy, fully convinced that he just wanted an excuse to touch your hand. You laugh and tease him about how attractive the guy was, telling him maybe you shouldāve gone with the guy who didnāt leave you all alone. He flicks your forehead before you can continue and that conversation gets lost between all the other topics. You ask him what he was doing while he was gone, and he smiles, all-knowing and mysterious.Ā
āYouāll see.ā
#i cant stop writing about this guy with ice cream and ice cream relatives.. what is wrong with me..#anyways expect more of this if i dont get ambushed by classes#im not sure i like my writing in this but i feel like its been too long since i posted anything so.. tell me if u liked this !#word count : 1.4k#this is longer than the og ice cream piece lmao#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#kuroo tetsurÅ x reader#kuroo x reader#kuroo fluff#kuroo tetsuro x reader#kuroo scenarios#kuroo tetsurÅ
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writing a fic abt rick having an ed bcs why would i recover when i can just project all my issues onto fictional old men in cartoons and pretend everythings better now ā¼ļø
tw eating disorder, minor self harm and vomit near the end
Morty stopped in the open doorway of the garage, watching Rick who was sat scribbling down some kind of invention idea, or equation, or whatever it was he did when Morty wasn't around, for all Morty knew he might well be writing fanfiction.
An involuntary smile pulled at his lips at the idea of his almost 70 year old genius grandfather spending his free time writing silly little stories at his work bench. What would he even write? Ball Fondlers fanfic? Maybe he wrote about his stoic bird friend, Rick had always been touchy with him and Rick wasn't touchy with anyone.
When Morty focused back on Rick he wasn't writing anymore, the slightly crumpled piece of paper shoved to the side as he fiddled with what looked like a small metal box with a bunch of brightly coloured wires poking out of the sides. A small spark shot out of one of the wires Rick was holding and he cursed loudly, shaking his hand.
"Fuck, Morty, are you just gonnaā gonna stand there, or are you gonna pass me the fucking, uhā the thing."
Rick waved his hand in the general direction of the shelf nearest to Morty, but there were so many assorted trinkets on the shelves, Morty had no idea if Rick wanted a wrench, or a hammer, or one of his laser guns, maybe the box was like a new battery for them?
"W-what thing, Rick?"
"The thing, Morty! The fuckingā the uh, destornillador."
"What? Rick, I don't know what that means. W-w-what is that?"
"Jeez, Morty, what are they teaching you at that crap school you love so much?" Rick scowled, tossing the box to the side and getting up to grab the screwdriver himself.
"I havent been to school in like a month, Rick!" Morty exclaimed. "And even then I only got to stay for like an hour before you were dragging me out again!"
"Whatever." Rick said with a burp, "School's dumb, Morty. I'll teach you Spanish myself. B-but, uh, not now."
He turned back to his box, done with the conversation, but Morty stayed hovering in the room, remembering what he had come for in the first place.
"Okay, um, w-w-well lunch is ready."
"I'm busy."
Morty sighed, having expected that answer already. "When's the last time you ate, Rick? Or slept? Or... showered?" Morty said, wrinkling his nose a little.
Rick ignored him, pulling at a blue wire.
"Rick!" Morty frowned.
"What, Morty? J-jesus christ, what the fuck do you want?"
"I want you to have lunch with the family."
"And I said no, so screw off."
"Rick, come on, it would make mom so happy."
Rick glared at him, not bothering with an answer.
"...Wouldn't y-you do it for your original Beth if you could?" Morty tried.
Rick slammed the box on the table, causing the thin metallic shell to crack, sparks flying from it, the sudden noise making Morty jump.
"The fuck did you just say?" Rick snarled.
"S-s-sorry!" Morty squeaked. "I didn't m-meanā mean it in a bad way!"
"Get the fuck out." Rick said icily, eyes blazing.
Morty stumbled out of the room, shutting the door behind him to the sound of something crashing. Probably Rick throwing the damaged box across the room.
Morty winced. In his defense he was worried about Rick, and sometimes, depending on his mood, something like that would've gotten Rick to cave, clearly he wasn't feeling so sentimental today, more annoyed and angry.
"What was that about?"
Morty startled a little and turned to see Summer looking at her phone behind him.
"Just, y'know, Rick being... Rick."
"Mhm, pro tip, don't bring up his dead daughter to try and blackmail him into something he hates." Summer drawled. "You can only do that if he's already half convinced, or if he's feeling especially depressed sometimes.
"Summer! That'sā that's messed up!"
She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, so only you can manipulate grandpa Rick?" Summer scoffed. "God forbid women do anything." She said sarcastically and turned to walk away.
"Wait!" Morty fidgeted with his hands. "Can you... help me? To get him to have lunch w-with us? Please?"
"Yes, but not now. He's already upset so if we double down on trying to get him to eat he's only gonna clam up."
Morty nodded. "I know thatā but how do you? You don't spend as much time with Rick as I do."
"Because he's like mom. Who do you think got her to stop drinking before parent-teacher conferences at school?"
"Wow. That's pretty fucked up that you had to do that, though, y'know, Summer."
"Yeah, well, we're the Smiths, Morty. Is anyone in this house not disordered?"
Morty winced at the blunt statement, Rick really was rubbing off on her. But it was kind of true.
"Guess it runs in the family." He muttered
"Guess it does."
---
Morty hadn't been planning on seeing Rick again until the next day. He knew that when Rick got upset he needed his space. Morty didn't quite get it because when he was upset all he wanted was for someone to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay, but Rick wasn't like him he supposed.
If he was being honest it made him nervous to leave Rick alone in those bad headspaces he got into. Rick was volatile and unpredictable and a borderline danger to himself and often others. He'd walked in on a couple... compromising situations where Rick had had to explain away why he was passed out in his chair or why there was blood on his hands and his lab coat despite being the only person in the room.
Morty pretended to believe him when he said he had been doing a messy dissection experiment or that "This isn't blood, this is Balorkian dust I mixed with red Squanchenite fluid from Planet Squanch, Morty." But truthfully those moments haunted him.
However, he didn't want to invade Rick's space, so he let him be and tried to eat and sleep until Rick emerged like nothing had happened, even though Morty knew what habits of his went on behind those closed doors.
Of course Morty's patience had it's limits, like when two hours after he had left Rick in the garage, angry, there was the sound of something smashing, closely followed by an unmistakable sound that Morty had grown too familiar with since Rick had moved in. The sound of a body thudding to the ground.
He was up from the sofa in a flash, at the garage door before Summer could even put down her phone, flinging it open.
He felt like he couldn't breathe, but the only sight that greeted him was a smashed bottle and rick lying on the floor next to it, not looking any more dead than usual, looking up at Morty blearily, cracking a smile.
"Oh, hi Morty. H-hey buddy." He slurred, clearly drunk out of his mind.
"Jesus fucking christ, Rick." Morty said weakly.
"What happened?" Summer breathed, now standing at his side.
"He's just drunk." Morty muttered, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering smell that he hadn't registered before between his state of panic and shallow breathing.
Summer ventured into the garage, picking up an empty bottle and sniffing it. "God, grandpa Rick, what the hell are you drinking in here, fucking rubbing alcohol?"
"Sum-Sum! 'M just having someā some fun drinks. Fun drinks just a lil' bit. Besides I only ever drank rub-rubbin' alcohol once, n' it wasā tasted like shit."
"What? I was being sarcastic, why would you drink that?"
"Because I was sad... was sad 'nd lonely after B-b-blood Ridge, couldn't find anythin' else. But 'm not s-sad now."
"What's Blood Ridge?" Summer frowned, "Actually it doesn't matter right now, you need to sober up."
"Get him some water," Morty interjected. "I'll clean up the glass. I also know where he keeps all his hangover serums and stuff, but he told me not to let you into any of his drug stashes."
"Fair enough." Summer shrugged, leaving to get Rick some much needed water.
While she was gone, Morty felt along the wall until he found the small hidden panel under Rick's desk. He fished out the light blue vial of fluid for hangovers, the red one he'd forced Rick to make that would sober him up and a green one that basically equivalated to getting your stomach pumped if you took it, just in case he'd taken more than just alcohol.
He shut the panel securely and placed the three coloured vials on Rick's work bench, grabbing a purple tube-like gadget from a shelf. He pressed a button on the back of it and typed in "Broken Glass" on a small hologram keyboard that emerged, then pressed that first button again. A blue ray shot out, scanning the garage, and the pieces of smashed bottle disappeared in a matter of seconds.
Morty looked over at Rick, who was still lying on the floor, but now he was tracing his fingers along a crack in the cold ground, his expression so solemn he almost looked sober.
"Rick?" Morty asked hesitantly.
"I miss her." He said flatly. "I miss her s-so much."
His words were still a little slurred but his tone had lost all the previous levity.
"I tried to save her, Morty, I t-t-tried, but I couldn't bring her back. And no one could ever replace her." A rough sob escaped his throat. Morty felt frozen. "I'm a crappy fuckin'ā piece of shit father but I didn't want to be. I was gonna fuckin' giveā give up everything for them, and I would've been happy. I would've been so happy as long as I had them, but he fuckin' took that from me! I nnever even got a chance."
Rick was crying, he was crying so hard that his tears stained the concrete dark grey and snot ran down his face sideways. He was shaking like a leaf and gasping for air.
Morty crouched down next to him, fists clenching and unclenching, unsure if he should hug Rick, or if that would make it worse. What else could he do?
"Ohā oh shit, Rick, Iā"
"My little girl, my baby." Rick continued between sobs. "She meant everything to me. S-so yeah, I would be better f-for her if I could, but she's gone. There's no point."
Rick's sudden fit of violent sobs was calming down, replaced by a look that Morty could only describe as pure hoplessness and defeat washing over his features.
"'S no point in anything."
Shit, this was bad. Rick didn't admit defeat, and he certainly didn't talk so openly about his feelings like this.
"Aw jeez, Rick, come on don'tā don'tā don't say that. we killed Rick Prime, remember?" Morty said, wringing his hands anxiously.
"Yeah, I remember." Rick said, tone now devoid of emotion. "I remember killin' him with my bare hands, watchin' the life drain out of his eyes as his blood dripped down my fists. And I remember nothing changing. W-w-what d'ya do when you achieve your life long goal and nothin's better? It didn't bring them back, it didn'tā didn't give me closure or give me a reason to live. I still can't sleep, petrified he's in the fucking house, comin' for my new family, that he'll kill all of you to teach me that t-that's what happens when I-I care about people."
Rick wiped his face with his lab coat sleeve, rubbing away the snot, drool and dried tears while Morty just kneeled next to him, frozen and unsure what to say.
"Rick..." he started but then Summer stepped through the doorway and Rick's demeanour instantly changed.
"Summerfest!" he called out and Morty watched, a little shocked, as Rick's whole face changed in the blink of an eye, going back to the cheerful, goofy expression he'd been wearing when he and Summer first came in. It didn't look artificial to Morty at all, even now that he knew it was. How could Rick just switch it on and off just like that?
"I brought water and coffee." Was all Summer said, placing two mugs on the workbench. "And a cereal bar."
The second statement sounded a little more unsure and Morty could've sworn he saw Rick's jaw clench for a second.
"Gimmie coffee." Rick said, making grabby hands, still lying on the floor.
"Water first." Summer replied, handing him the larger of the two mugs.
Rick pouted a little but as soon as the mug was in his hands he drank thirstily, finishing the whole thing in one go.
"You want more?" Summer asked, taking the mug, but he just shook his head quietly.
"Okay," Morty cleared his throat when his voice came out a little shaky. "drink this."
He handed Rick the red 'get sober' vial and Rick chugged it obediently, making a face. "Tastes likeā like shit." He offered.
While he seemed a little calmer after the water and serum, his eyes were still unfocused and his voice sounded thick, like his tongue didn't fit in his mouth properly, hints of his accent were slipping through too.
"Did you- are you on drugs r-right now?" Morty asked, reaching for the green vial of serum.
"Maybe." Rick mumbled. His eyelids were starting to droop a little and he curled up more comfortably on the floor.
"Hey, Rick, don't go to sleep okay? What did you take?" Summer asked, crouching down next to him, shaking him a little. He groaned. "Come on, we just have to make sure you're not overdosing and then you can sleep. Maybe not on the floor."
"'M not overdosing." Rick grumbled.
"What did you take?"
"I dunno. Just some random alien drugs I found i-in my pocket." He said dismissively with a burp. "Actually one of 'em was probably adderall. Look at me bein' all responsible an-and takin' my meds n' shit."
He of course immediately showed his 'responsibilty' by gagging and then throwing up on the floor.
Morty winced, reaching for the purple device again while Summer tried to coax him into drinking the green liquid, frowning deeply.
Finally Rick gave in, sipping from the small vial, and almost instantly his eyes began to clear up a little bit.
"Why'd I make these work so well?" He groaned. Then, "My head is killing me, I want coffee."
Summer passed him the second mug and he gestured toward the hangover serum, which Morty promptly passed to him and Rick poured it in his coffee.
He gulped down half the coffee and sighed, wiping his mouth with his already rather dirty sleeve. "Fuck, that's better."
He downed the rest of it and placed the mug on the ground, getting to his feet shakily. He swayed and nearly fell, leaning onto the wall to steady himself as the dizzy spell passed, and then stretched, his back cracking loudly.
He took a few wobbly steps towards the door but Summer blocked the way.
"Fuckā fuck off Summer I gottaā I'm gonna go take a nap."
"Could you maybe eat something first?" She asked firmly, holding up the cereal bar.
"No."
Rick tried to sidestep her but she blocked the way again.
"Summer, don't fucking piss me off right now, I'm serious."
She stood her ground. "Just eat the cereal bar, grandpa Rick. Please."
"Summer, for fuck's sake, I said no!"
"Grandpa," She sighed, the arm holding the bar dropping defeatedly back down to her side. "Do you have an eating disorder?"
The garage was deathly quiet for a second.
"Wha-What?! I'm not a teenage girl in a f-f-fā goddamn netflix drama, Summer." Rick snarled. "What the fuck kinda question is that?"
He gestured wildly, taking another step forwards, which quickly seemed to be the wrong option as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him hard, making him almost loose his balance. He blindly tried to grab onto the back of his chair somewhere behind him, but missed and fell on his ass.
"Rick!" Morty and Summer both rushed to his side, Morty's eyes beginning to well up a little from all the stress of the day.
"I'm fine, don'tā don't fucking touch me." He said, shaking Summer's hand off his shoulder, which caused another wave of nausea to hit.
"Please eat this." Summer said nervously, voice shaking as she pushed the cereal bar into his left hand, his right one gripping at his hair.
"Summer, I promise you if I eat that shit right now I'm gonna throw the fuck up."
"Please?" Morty pouted, eyes big and teary.
All it took was one look at him, and with only a brief moment of hesitation Rick snatched the cereal bar from Summer, muttering angrily under his breath.
Morty only caught "Me cago en la puta." and "Maldito cabrĆ³n." which he more or less understood, more familiar with swear words than any other words in the Spanish language.
Rick peeled away the wrapper slowly with unsteady hands and took a small bite.
Morty and Summer watched in silence, not wanting to discourage him by saying the wrong thingāwhich with Rick could be anythingāas Rick uncomfortably ate the cereal bar.
"There you fucking go." He said weakly, Throwing the now empty wrapper at Summer, but missing as it was too light to travel more than a couple centimetres, landing somewhere by his feet.
"Thank you." Summer almost whispered.
They sat in silence for a while, Morty sniffling and rubbing at his eyes and Summer shuffling a bit closer to him for both of their comfort.
Rick was sitting with his knees losely bent and his head braced in his hands, trying to overcome another hit of nausea.
He wouldn't exactly say he tried super hard to keep the cereal bar down, but it wasn't deliberate when he vomited it down the front of his shirt.
"Oh! Aw jeez..." Morty winced.
"I did warn you."
"In our defense, you had every reason to be lying to us."
"Fuck you, Summer." It sounded weak even to his own ears.
She sighed softly.
"Morty, get his shirt off. Do you have pijamas or do you sleep in jeans and a lab coat?"
"Jeans an-and a lab coat."
"...I was joking, but okay." Summer said, flipping the switch that opened Rick's garage closet and grabbing one of his sets of identical outfits.
Rick squirmed, making noises of complaint as Morty tried to take off his current shirt.
"Rickā stay still, you have vomit on your clothes."
"I'm not fucking two years old, Morty." He scowled. "I can change by myself."
Rick tried to sit up but wobbled and then slumped back against the wall, needing more time to recover. Morty reached for his shirt again and this time Rick let him pull it carefully up over his head without resisting. Morty took the new set of clothes from where Summer had left them on the floor next to him.
Summer wasn't looking but Morty still shielded Rick's body from sight with his own, pointedly not mentioning the raised scars and jagged, angry, red cuts littering his arms which he had already suspected would be there.
Rick shifted uncomfortably, seeming relieved when Morty didn't want to talk about it.
"Okay." Morty said, helping Rick pull on his clean lab coat too.
"I'm going to bed." Rick grumbled, not waiting for him to continue, just getting up slowly.
He felt weak and shaky and his brittle old bones weren't exactly helping out. Despite his thousands of cybernetic implants he was still human, much to his dismay, and he couldn't treat his body as badly as he did when he was 30. Not that that ever seemed to stop him, managing to still maintain the same shitty habits he'd had for years at the ripe age of 67.
He stumbled through the dining room, Morty and Summer trailing after him, not discouraged by the glare he sent their way.
As soon as he reached his room, he slumped onto his bed with a groan.
"R-rick?"
"Fuck off, Morty." He snapped into his pillow, a little muffled by it.
Morty hesitated, exchanging a glance with Summer, who shrugged.
"...Ookay, Rick. Uh, seeā see you at dinner, today? maybe?'
"Don't count on it."
Summer frowned, Starting to say something, but Rick interrupted, "I'm gonna apply my room's Lock Protocols in ten seconds, so i-if you're still in here, I'm not letting you out until I'm done sleeping. A-a-and if you're standing in the doorway, you're gonna get fucking squashed in the doors."
"Whatever, Rick, fuck you too." Summer huffed, pulling Morty out of the doorway with her.
"Room, activate Sensory Protocol 2. And t-tell Summer to go fuck herself."
"Sensory Protocol 2 activated." Came the mechanical voice and a heavy metal door snapped shut. "Go fuck yourself, Summer."
Summer scoffed. "Dick." Followed by a sigh. "What are we gonna do?"
"I-I don't know." Morty admitted. "There's not much we can do if Rick won't accept help. And he won't."
"So what? We just give up on him?" Summer asked accusingly, putting her hands on her hips.
"No, Summer, J-jeez. I justā We're gonna have to get creative."
"Fuck."
---
thats it thats the end i didnt know how tf to end this but my goal wasnt to rewrite like the bible idfk it was just to put rick through shit and put completely unfair expectations on summer and mortys shoulders so that they could ALL suffer in this fic !! :3 also this is so mf long i sincerely apologise if u read all that
#i feel like all the few rnm fics ive written are set in the garage im sorry š#thats where rick mostly is when hes not out in other dimensions tho ig#also even tho my fics r all rick centric i cant not have my boy morty in them#i just love him too much#also obligatory birdrick mention in the start bcs theyve been on my mind#also in regards to is anyone in this house not disordered let my drop my smith sanchez family disorder hcs >:)#okayyy#so starting off strong with beth: an alcoholic like her father probably anxiety stemming from her abandonment issues and possibly depressio#next up my boy morty: anxiety also and most likely ptsd from all the shit hes experienced ik a lot of ppl hc him as autistic but i dont#possibly adhd dyslexia or dyscalculia tho or all of the above idk#oookay next up jerry: i really spend incredibly little time thinking about jerry so idk im open to hearing hcs abt him tho#wait back to beth: maybe also ocd or smth like that#okay now summer: my girl has a lot of substance abuse issues as we see and fomo but idk if anything else maybe social anxiety or smth#aaand its rick time: alcohol and drug abuse definitely ptsd for sure depression and autism possibly adhd or bpd or both#in this fic he has an ed also so that#paranoia too#and thats it i think#also going back to the topic ofautism tho#i just cannot see it with morty at all like he shows no symptoms?? i dont see them at least idk i could be wrong#i honestly see it more with beth or summer maybe#but idk#also i almost never put the accents when i write in spanish lol but i did so#vey professional of me ik#gotta let rick say cabron properly#alex says shit#rick and morty#rick sanchez#morty smith#summer smith#rick and morty fanfiction
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I've started playing Potion Permit, and so far it's one of my favorite games I've messed around with, but the most big brained move the devs made was giving you a dog on day 1, and then making that dog able to track NPCs and lead you directly to them no matter where they are in the town.
#im still early game but i like the play and the writing is passable#like#Theres a flatness#the characters Are distinct but theyre mostly just their jobs#with only a few who stand out and have like. something to really grab onto#Like rue? rues entire deal is little girl you can date. Nothing else behind those eyes. She has nothing better to talk to you about#than the fact her favorite color is red#Sorcelia? Sorcelia is a goth nun who loves singing and teaches one of the village children#Reynerd? sure is a guy#got nothing else to say about him. hes just a Guyā¢. Victor? Has ghost friends and loves bugs and cares deeply about the cemetery#he tends to. At the moment it feels like they're trying to imply there aren't actually ghosts. and hes just talking to himself/#insisting his imaginary friends are real people#and so far? The games been cool about it. Victor's a member of his community and his eccentricities are accepted and not ridiculed#all four characters ive mentioned are romance candidates. but its just as hit or miss with the regular towns folk#Opalheart is an older woman and a world renowned blacksmith who only takes jobs if they will do Good. regardless of whether or not they#pay well. She declines to make a dagger for a rich man but makes a helmet for a childs father bc the girl asked#and olive is here#anyways you can be best friends with a cat (shes just a regular cat) and i appreciate that#idk im putting it above sun haven in my ranking of life sim games#purely because there are older romance candidates.#no fat romance candidates. but sun haven doesn't have thise either.#and sdv has neither fat or old candidates Nor can you fuck a cat boy. it goes at the bottom.#gameplay wise sunhaven is at the bottom then sdv then potion permit at the top. sunhaven has the Mostā¢ but having#a lot of crap doesn't mean its fun and it ends up making half the game feel really incomplete#idk. Sdv is a game you should've started playing a year ago. sun haven is a game that perpetually needs another year worth of updates#before id say its worth it bc the devs keep pushing content ā¢ updates instead of quality of life or polish so what is there is uh#Bad. plentiful. and a large portion is good#but a Lot is just bad.#its insincere and cant take itself seriously it gives you (the right dialogue option) an (the shit joke option) which is worse than just#i ram out of space. tldr. potion permit is good Now. sdv Was good. sun haven Might be great Eventually
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Forgot to post this here butttt
Working on a welcome home animation and mighttttt take me a while
#the idea is just wally getting the barnaby plush and thats kinda it#i did plan this before when i ordered the wally plush (sep 8 2023) but didnt have the motivation and stuff for it#its inspired by the image of wally peaking out of homes side window with the text below āthere he is!ā not sure if its wally saying it#either wally noticed someone or someone noticed him but anyway#i saw that image and was thinking to make an animation of it instead of the āthere he is!ā text its going to say āhe's here.ā#i also realized i might need to voice that only line or even make sounds for the backgroundš#i already was close to finishing background 2 (where eddie will be seen walking to wallys house) but my tablet died#grrrrrr#also unrelated but i wrote in my book todayyy (i never write at all) but hey its kinda fun to write my ideas huahahahaah#i plan on doing some research on welcome home and write it down (maybe even some theories hmm??) also doing research on the characters#just to try to get to know them more (cuz i have been crazy for them for AGES and still feel like i haven't done enough)#oh yeah CALL ME CRAZYYY butttt since the irl world sucks i plan on making little writings like im IN welcome home just because idk#more explaining and better ones on my tiktok vid description (user in my bio)#also i feel like things might be getting better for me cuz wowie i never thought id be animating again#but now all this motivation...so many ideas appearing...need to focus on one at a time...darn#HEY! 12 days till a break from the evil cell of educational purposes??? (school) FINALLY PURE HEAVEN I CAN BE FREE WITHOUT SUFFERING#welcome home#partycoffin#wally darling#welcome home arg#welcome home fanart#welcome home wally#7 backgrounds left to do...then ill have to animate...oh evilllll so evillll
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dandelion is indeed the worst but if heās not present in the next book i would legitimately be sorrowful as the whole thing will become a slog . you basically cannot have the āshort storiesā era-of-the-timeline iteration of geralt without dandelion, it would be like eating unbuttered bread.
though itās not like season of storms did them dirty, i wasnāt disappointed with it (ā¦ with regards to them), but since itās literally been over 20 years since the saga was finished iām trying to prepare for any potential reality
#however i will accept an absence of dandelion IN THE CASE OF we get to see geralt and yennefer living together in vengerberg#but if itās regular geralt day in the life then if dandelionās not there itās gonna suuuuuccckk#i mean as in geraltās life sucks without him. badly#and it also? sucks with him. good-ly.#itās august and we donāt have a title yetttt š„² and they said 2024 ā¦ hmhm sure#i just feel like rupaul āand donāt fuck it upā.gif#like iām excited but also wtf? new witcher book? are we on punkād?#itās not going to be the best but iām hoping it will be at least as good as season of storms. not a high bar ok!#this from the person who was optimistic about the n*tflix show. donāt trust me i like to believe in the future#i was going to say āand i trust sapkowski more than i trust n*tflixā and then i laughed.#i donāt trust himāi donāt even trust the version of him from the 90s and 00s!#one side of me canāt believe iām still here after the guardswomen of kerack. and the āwell iām only gay for cloutā villain motivations#the other side of me is intensely curious wtf geralt will get up to this time and how witcher could maybe even denigrate further#but season of storms ending was actually good and = well itās not like sapkowski forgot what it was about#then again itās been 10 years and a bad adaptation since then so im biting my nails#all i ask : please stick with the naming convention of the other books. i donāt want to write an absurdly long or short name or acronym out#sooooo weird that in a few months i will be saying: there are 9 witcher books.#actually rn i just say thereās 7 and discount season of storms as a legitimate heir but mention it as footnote lol#i just hope i can survive until this new book and until its translation LOLLLL#they said translation in 2025 but you know the track record#new book: *releases winter 2024* | english translation: coming 2045!#jk i think they finally figured out that witcher is a money printer so they will be eager to translate it now and not waffle around#they kicked their butts into gear with the hussite trilogy so ! and they made new hardcovers.#the elbow-high diaries#new book 2024
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maybe i didnt need to worry about anything, maybe i just had to make the comic
#quail talks#hi š«¶ i am just excited and feeling such euphoria rn#i just wrapped up one of the last pages in this opening scene and im so !!!!!!!!!!#i have about 20 pages ahead sketched and i'm slowly working through it between homework and general life drudge#its so wonderful..........i mean. i knew i always loved comics. this is technically my 4th#but this is my BIG ONE you know. the one i am Coloring. and its longer than 40 pages#the one i want to Periodically Release (i have no idea when i will be- i want to make sure i am far enough into it! backlog!!)#but i do plan on releasing it along the way of producing#i was so so so stressed out about Planning and Scripting and oh goddd is the story even GOOD enough.#hey. claire. (gripping her shoulders) you've been working on this story for 4 years. you have plenty planned and outlined i promise#and the story will continue to change!! im excited to be rangling this beast along the way#i just had to get started and im so glad i have#it might take my 4 more years to complete- but does a story ever finish truly?? its about the process......................................#and i dont need to worry about the story being Perfect- i am only 21. this is not the last story i will ever write lol#it just feels like a door in my brain has been opened that has always been supposed to be opened#i hope you guys like it as much as i do when i do release it :3
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yeehaw just wrote over 3k and i can't publish Any of it without miles of fantasy au context
#technically its a full scene and a half#brain: hey what if a solid thousand words was just silly puppets having breakfast#and then i said 'damn youre so right' and yeah. silly puppets having breakfast and arguing over ale vs mead#i love writing from barnaby's pov. im so unfunny that its ruining his reputation#i go There Could Be A Joke Here#but head Empty so there isn't one. i continue on. rinse and repeat#anyway big scene of barnaby and wally bonding#as i was writing i was honestly like 'the wallaby enjoyers would have a field day with this'#am i one of them? no. however i know my 'qp barnaby and wally' belief bleeds into my writing#so yk. its easily read either way.#of course i immediately counteract it by sprinkling in a laughingstock crumb or two but yk yk#fantasy au is so fun to chew on... everyone gets to say Fuck and threaten genuine violence...#absolutely unprompted#speaking of writing im actually going to Attempt nanowrimo this year#im gonna try to belt out the roughest rough draft of a standalone book idea#i still need to finish the outline but! im sure i can do that in 10 days!#but anyway ive been having so many fantasy au feelings lately idk why#i think i need to rewatch lotr! extended editions of course im not an animal.#well i am. but - yeah whatever yall get it#im craving that sweet sweet high fantasy & worldbuilding & high quality cinema
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actually stunned by how gay The Beatles has been all this time and I just never knew
#like its always just been there in my life but i just never paid attention#my university roomie was obsessed w them and had several beatles posters that i looked at every day#so stuff like the pictures of them from the let it be album are like engrained into my brain#and yet i never knew the lore??#nor did i know until recently that they were actually all high school buds nor did i know they wrote their own music#nor that they genuinely basically invented modern bands n using the studio the way they did etc. so all that was very impressive and cool#but THEN on top of that omg the angsty gayness of john and paul#like all i knew previously basically was that john was a thing w yoko ono and paul had a young wife recently#i had at one point heard of people shipping j&p together and was just kinda like wow i guess people will ship anything#I DIDNT KNOW#that they were actually like that cute and that insane together and that their song writing together was like an actual marriage#anywayz the old pictures and videos of them are just like jesus look how they look at each other i dont think it was just being bros#i am sort of in the camp of they prob didn't act on it for real but there was def some insane tension/chemistry going on#and then ofc once youre aware of this their songs take on so many possible meanings outside of just singing about their gfs and wives....#anyways i just have to vent about this somewhere bc im actually shocked at how this has just passed me by all these years#and it definitely was not on my bingo card for 2024 to fixate on the beatles but here we are lol#more proof to me that my ultimate fave trope or wtv is 'besties to enemies when really they actually probably wanted to be lovers'#gets me every time!!!!#whats been fun about this rabbit hole is how just every single one of my expectations has been reversed as well#i went in assuming i would like them best in this order:#(1) george (2) ringo (3) paul and (4) john#i was sure i would hate john i thought he sounded so pretentious and like such a douche#but no actually he is my fave one and it's literally in reverse order for me i find george my least fave#(i like his music and feel bad for how he got ignored in the band but i like him the least)#and then i literally am john paul ringo george in order of faves now#i just love when i get surprised like that idk it keeps me on my toes and keeps things exciting and fresh#and yes john is indeed pretentious and a douche but i didn't know he was also funny and vulnerable and that i like his voice and songs#the most in the bunch almost every time as well#the beatles#p
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.
#i cant fucking take it anymore#every week its the same thing#i apply to like 18 jobs and wait. i write 18 different cover letters and wait#and its been like this for two fucking years#and i cant fucking stand it i hate this#i have no purpose no prospects no joy#i feel fucking useless!!!!!#and i never have energy and i feel like im trapped and i want nothing more than to escape#but im not sure i could survive anything other than this wasting away#i told myself id move out in 2023. then this year#i even said if i havent moved out by my 25th birthday id kill myself#bc ive basically failed. game over. thats it.#and the closer that gets the less it looks like iāll have moved out#i just feel so hopeless#shut up chili
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