#it's very possible that I just need that break

[willowsnook]

Done Waiting

Lando Norris x bsf!reader

She isn’t you

Hi, could I request a salami sandwich with tomato on wheat bread, please, and thank you. Request from @itsnotsophiasworld

—-------------------------------

MF: SOS, can anyone fly to Spain to check on Lando? From what I’ve gathered, he is staying in an Airbnb by himself and very much in his head. I’m caught up in some work stuff, or else I’d make the trip myself. 

Your heart sank reading Max's text to your friend group. Lando had been having a rough season and was constantly getting ripped apart in the media, no matter what he did. All you could do was make sure that he knew you were there for him and try to be around as much as possible, which was easy as you also lived in Monaco. But after the last race before summer break, none of you had heard from him. 

Looking at flights, you quickly replied to the group saying that you could go. One of the many perks of working remotely was that you could pick up your computer and go anywhere, so leaving to help Lando was a no-brainer. There was a flight leaving tonight, so you purchased that and started to pack. 

You wished the world could see him the way that you did. He was a caring, down-to-earth friend who would do anything for the people he loved. It was hard for anyone who knew him not to like him, and it was hard for you not to be in love with him. 

It hadn’t taken you long after meeting him to fall for his charm, but he had been dating someone else then, so you settled for friendship. That was three years ago, and you’d dated guys since, but the feelings still lingered. He could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world, so it was easy to get sucked in. 

Ultimately, you valued your friendship too much to ever act on it, even when you were both single. You’d been through too much together to risk losing him. You had a hunch that he felt the same way about you because of how overly affectionate he was with you compared to everyone else and that you were usually his first call. Still, his life was busy, and you understood that a girlfriend didn’t fit in that picture right now. 

Landing in Spain around 10, you grabbed your luggage before jumping in a cab to the address Max had sent you. The Airbnb was a cute little beach cottage right on the ocean, and you inhaled a deep breath of salty air and instantly felt better. 

The door to the house swung open, and you were greeted by what seemed to be a very irritated Lando. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Making sure you don’t do something crazy,” you replied, mirroring him with his arms. 

“I want to be alone.”

“I don’t care.” 

You stared at each other for a while, neither one giving in before he finally sighed and moved past you to grab your suitcase, grumbling to himself. The cottage had windows on the backside, allowing a constant view of the ocean, which you could appreciate. Lando put my luggage in the guest room before joining me as you looked at the water. 

“You didn’t have to come; I’m fine,” he muttered. You looked over at him with a sad smile, reaching your hand down to grab his. 

“I wanted to come.” He gave you a small smile, and you took in his exhausted state, noting just how bad it really was. 

“Why don’t we get some rest? Then you’ll be ready for a full day tomorrow,” you suggested, and he looked over at you. 

“I’m here to relax, y/n,” he said, and you smiled mischievously. 

“It will be relaxing, I promise.”

It was not relaxing. 

You dragged Lando out of bed at 7 a.m. to go on a run, and he was not happy with you, but you were just happy he came along. Jogging through the little town, you could tell that his mood was improving as he kept pace with you. 

Out of breath, you were hunched over as you two had climbed to the top of a dune. 

“Are you not relaxed?” Lando teased, and you gave him the finger. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“Yeah, I need to log on when we get back to the place,” you wheezed, and he handed you his water bottle. “What are your plans for while I work?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, scroll through social media hate, maybe watch all my old races and critique everything I did; the possibilities are endless.” 

Shooting him a look, you sighed, “That would be funny if I didn’t know you’d already been doing that.” 

He looked down at his feet, and you moved over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. His head found your shoulder, he breathed deeply, and you held on tighter. 

“You’re going to be okay Lan,” you said, looking up at him. 

“I know,” he said sadly. 

Lando spent the rest of the day in the water while you worked, slipping away to get groceries for the night. He hadn’t had time to hide all the takeout bags and boxes he had been surviving on, so you figured a homecooked meal would do him well. 

Having dealt with him being a picky eater for a while, you were finishing up your favorite spaghetti and meatballs recipe when he came back into the house. 

“Smells great,” he commented and you smiled. “Can we eat outside?”

“You read my mind,” you replied, plating the food. 

Eating on the back deck, you felt a sense of serenity as the sound of waves crashing filled your ears. 

“This place is amazing; how did you find it?” You asked, turning to Lando. 

“Honestly, I just opened the app and picked the first place I saw that looked secluded,” he admitted. “I just wanted to be away from everyone.” 

“We are here for you to lean on Lan,” you said softly. “I’m never going to leave you.” 

“I know that, but I just don’t want to disappoint you,” he confessed, and your heart sank. 

“Lando Norris,” you said, forcing him to look at you. “There is nothing you could ever do to disappoint me. I am so insanely proud of everything you’ve accomplished. Please come back to Monaco with me tomorrow.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” He whispered, holding out his arms. You climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and running your fingers through his hair. 

“You buy me so much shit so I have to be nice to you,” you joked and he giggled. He pulled his head back to look at you, and your breath hitched because of the lack of distance between the two of you. Shifting, you tried to move back but his grip on you tightened so you leaned down to bring your lips to his. As you were a millimeter away his phone started to ring and you rested your head briefly against his, groaning internally. 

Sliding off of him you handed him his phone as it was Max calling. Hearing him tell Max he was coming home the next day made you smile, and you gathered all the dishes to clean up. He joined you a little later, and neither of you brought up the almost kiss; you wrote it off as something that happened in the heat of the moment. 

—------------------------------

Zandvoort was a dream, and you were so glad you made the trip with your friends. The next race you were going to was Singapore and Lando had invited you, Max, and some others to hang out the week before in Portugal. 

Your friend group had rented a big house, and you were ready to soak in the sun and relax after taking the week off work. Pietra and you had flown in together and met up with everyone that night at dinner. 

“Hi, I’m Mary,” a girl you didn’t recognize said to you, holding out her hand. You smiled back warmly, introducing yourself. 

“Mary and I met at a shoot early this year,” Pietra explained, and you nodded. You chatted with her for a while over dinner, glad to have another girl on the trip. 

You were less happy the next day when you watched this girl throw herself at Lando every chance she got. Right now, you were watching as she asked Lando how to show her how to hit the ball off the tee at the golf course where you guys were. 

“Ya know I went golfing with her two weeks ago, and she had a perfect swing,” Pietra muttered and you grimaced, watching Lando wrap his arms around the girl to guide her swing. It seemed like she would find a way to touch him no matter where you went. Up against him at dinner, clinging to him in the pool, leaning on him while you were watching a movie. 

At this point your jealousy was flaring up and you were trying to keep your composure, especially because this girl had been nothing but nice to you. What made it worse was that Lando entertained it, accepting her advances right in front of you. Your mind replayed that almost kiss back in Spain and the way the two of you had gotten closer since that trip. It had seemed to you that something was changing in your relationship, but clearly not. The whole trip you felt like your heart was being ripped apart and you were starting to wonder if you needed to take a break from being around him until you could get over your crush. 

Two nights before you were supposed to leave the group ended up at a club downtown as a pre-celebration for what you predicted would be a Lando win in Singapore. Rounds and rounds of shots were taken and you were dancing with Pietra on the dance floor trying to have a good time. 

You briefly glanced back at the VIP section, and your stomach dropped. Mary was sitting on Lando’s lap, and you watched as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Water instantly filled your eyes, and Pietra looked concerned before following your gaze. She looked at you with such sadness that you decided then and there that you were done. 

Leaving the club you walked back to the Airbnb alone. You weren’t sure if it was your drunkenness or just the emotional exhaustion of the situation but you started to get angry. Time after time, you were there for him and this is what you got back. It would be different if he had made it clear from the start that he wasn’t interested but he didn’t do that. He slept in your bed back in Monaco on nights like these, he spoiled you constantly with gifts, and you knew that he had told other drivers on the grid to back off from you, laying a claim. 

God, you were so fucking over it. 

You gathered all your stuff and threw it in your suitcase, calling for a cab to take you to the airport. You made it down the stairs just as Max was coming in. His face fell as he saw your bag. 

"No y/n don’t go,” he pleaded, and you shook your head, already feeling tears start to fill your eyes. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore Max,” you said, voice cracking. “I have to protect my heart.” 

“You know he loves you,” he said moving towards you to hold you. “Everyone knows that.” 

“If that’s true, why have I watched him with her this whole weekend? Why did I just watch him sit there when she stuck her tongue down his throat right in front of me,” you yelled and Max stayed silent. “Exactly. I need some space to figure out how things can move forward between us.” 

Max helped you carry your bag outside and the two of you stood silently waiting for the car. Just as it pulled up, Lando walked up to the house, alone. 

“Y/N!” He called out, not seeing your suitcase yet. “Where’d you run off too? I was looking for you.” 

You turned around and his eyes widened seeing your tear stained face, his gaze flickering down to your bag. 

“What’s going on?” He asked hoarsely and you just shook your head turning back to get into the car before you started to sob. 

“Let her go mate,” you heard Max tell him and you looked out the window to see him holding Lando back. The sight made you cry harder as the car finally drove off. 

Lando’s POV

Watching the car disappear down the street, Lando turned to Max, panic and confusion colliding in his mind.

“Why is she leaving, Max? What the hell happened?”

Max let out a sigh, his eyes searching Lando’s face with a mix of frustration and pity. “Mate, she’s in love with you. And honestly, you’re in love with her too, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Lando froze, the weight of Max’s words hitting him harder than he expected. He thought of all the moments he spent with you—the late-night talks, the shared laughter, the comforting silence. He thought about how he’d let Mary get close, but each time she reached for him, a nagging feeling crept up inside him.

She isn’t you.

The thought was so painfully clear now. It didn’t matter how kind or fun Mary was—she wasn’t you. And suddenly, he realized why none of it felt right.

“I need to go,” Lando said suddenly. “I need to go to the airport.” 

He took off down to the main street hailing a cab but when he finally got there, you were gone. 

—--------------------------------------------

You skipped the Singapore GP. You didn’t even watch it on tv so you didn’t know why everyone was wondering why despite winning, Lando looked miserable standing on the podium. 

He had texted you a million times begging you to call him but you declined the call everytime. You were trying to move on. You’d started running again in the mornings, working out of coffee shops,  and hanging out with your girlfriends. Basically you were doing everything in your power to not think of him; and it worked until 10pm each night. Then you were miserable. 

It was two weeks after Singapore when you heard knocking at your door one evening. You weren’t expecting anyone so you were especially surprised to see Oscar standing on the other side of your door. Considering he didn’t live in Monaco, you didn’t really know what to say, just stared at him silently. 

“May I come in?” He asked politely and you nodded, stepping aside to let him through. “Nice apartment.”

“Thanks,” you replied following him into the living room. “What are you doing here?”

He settled down on your couch, motioning for you to join him and you sunk down on the other side. 

“I need you to tell me what happened when you and Lando were in Portugal,” he said slowly and you immediately looked away. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, playing with your hands. 

“It does matter,” Oscar insisted. “It’s okay if you finally rejected him but I need to know how to fix him.”

Your head snapped up, “I didn’t reject him Oscar. He basically rejected me.” 

“There’s no way,” Oscar said, shocked and you told him everything that had happened from you flying to Spain for him to him making out with that girl at the club. 

“Trust me when I say that I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings, but I feel like this is a big misunderstanding,” Oscar said and you rolled your eyes. “He is so in love with you y/n. All he does is talk about you.”

“Then why did he never tell me!” You said, voice rising. “I’ve been there the whole time Oscar, and he has never said anything. I want to be with someone who isn’t afraid to love me.” 

Oscar’s heart broke at your words, knowing you were feeling this way. 

“I came here y/n, because he is a mess without you,” he said. “I’ve never seen him like this and it’s starting to affect his racing so I’m begging you to at least think about talking to him.” 

—-------------------------------------

You would have thought that Lando would stop texting after a while but he didn’t. Every morning he texted you “good morning” and gave you updates on his day even though you weren’t responding. His plan seemed to be to slowly chip away at you until you were ready to come back and unfortunately it was working. 

Brazil was the next race that your friend group was attending and you went back and forth on what you should do before finally deciding to book a flight. Max must have told Lando because you immediately were notified that your flight had been upgraded and your hotel had been booked. 

Because of a work event, you weren’t going to be able to get there until Saturday night and probably wouldn’t see Lando until qualifying or after the race. You joined Max and Pietra on the track, bright and early on Sunday morning and you were wondering how Lando would survive with it being this early in the morning. 

Oscar gave you a big hug when he saw you and you could tell he was incredibly relieved that you were there. Qualifying was 20 minutes away and you heading towards the Paddock club when you turned a corner and were immediately wrapped up in two arms. Inhaling his familiar scent, you relaxed into his touch. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he said into your ear and you hummed in reply. You were still unsure about pretending like nothing ever happened. He pulled back to look at you and his excitement was contagious, pulling a small smile out of you. 

“We’ll talk later okay?” He asked and you nodded. “I have a lot of things I need to say to you.”

He kissed your forehead before running off and you tried to keep your cool. Qualifying was good for him and you were feeling good about the race but a little nervous about the weather conditions. 

Sitting with Max and Pietra in the paddock club the mood was very much anxious. Lando had been doing great until a red flag reset everything. He had fallen down because of pitting and you watched as he went off the track on that first turn, your heart sinking. The rest of the race was a blur and he finished in P6 which you knew would not go over well with him. 

After the race, you felt hesitant heading back to the McLaren hospitality area. You weren’t sure if he’d want to see you, especially in his disappointment. But as you lingered by the entrance, you caught sight of him. Lando was drenched, exhausted, and his usual radiant energy seemed dimmed. Still, he locked eyes with you, a faint smile managing to pull at the corner of his lips.

He walked over slowly, stopping right in front of you. “You waited for me?”

“Of course I did, Lando,” you replied softly, feeling the gravity of the moment settle in. “I always do.”

He nodded, then glanced around at the crowded area. “Can we go somewhere… quieter?”

You followed him through the paddock until you found yourselves outside in a secluded spot overlooking the track. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, Lando took a deep breath.

“I was an idiot,” he began, voice raw with honesty. “You don’t know how many times I replayed that trip to Portugal, thinking about what I could’ve done differently. I didn’t understand how much it would hurt you… I was blind to everything but my own mess.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, unable to hold back.

“You’ve been the best part of my life for years, and it took almost losing you to realize how much I’d taken you for granted. I’m sorry, y/n. I thought I was protecting you by not… admitting how I feel. I thought if I never said it out loud, maybe it’d hurt less. But I can’t pretend anymore. I love you.”

Hearing those words, the walls you’d built around yourself began to crack, the anger and disappointment from before softening as you looked into his eyes.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered and he gave you a soft smile. 

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.” 

When he kissed you, it was tender and full of all the unspoken words and missed opportunities between you. As you pulled away, you both smiled, feeling the weight of the past couple of weeks finally lift.

[koolades-world]

Hey! I love your writing and your descriptions, I wanted to ask for HC Very specific, of the brothers and side characters dealing with an MC who isn't very comfortable around men, in the plural, like an MC who gets nervous when she is in the room and all the brothers are gathered and close to her, an MC who feels nervous about intimate touches from men. Not in a bad way, like she didn't like the brothers, but because of trauma with Mens.

hi! sure thing :)

enjoy <3

Mc uncomfortable around men

Lucifer

he knows he can be a lot, so he tones himself down for you

if he has to yell at mammon, he'll make sure you're out of the house

in fact, if it makes you more comfortable, he can arrange for you to live elsewhere

Mammon

he understands that you need space

he wants the best for you, so he will try his best to not be too much

anything he can do, just let him know <3

Levi

he likes his space, so he hopes you'll feel less triggered around him

he will also keep his voice down and won't yell at his games

if he can help you, he will

Satan

he knows his wrath can make you not want to be around him

he'll work on himself even further to ensure you are more comfortable

anything for you <3

Asmo

he loves you and wants to respect your boundaries

he makes sure he's always doing just that

he never wants to make you uncomfortable, so please let him know if he is!

Beel

he thinks of you as family

he'll hold back on hugs and things of that manner if you want him to

he'll still make you feel welcome and included, because you still mean the world to him

Belphie

he feels even more guilty about the events of lesson 16 now

he doesn't expect you to want to be around him anymore, and he's made his peace with that

however, if you still do, he'll make sure he makes it up to you in every way possible

Diavolo

as the prince of the devildom, he has many resources at his fingertips

whatever you need, he can get it for you

all you have to do is let him know however you are most comfortable doing <3

Barbatos

if you even need a break from the hol

you have a home in the palace

he'll make sure you're well taken care of, and the little d's will be more than happy to help

Simeon

if you ever want to talk, he makes sure he can be that for you

but if it can't be him, he finds someone trusted that you can confide in

his love is delivered in the form of baked goods, so he often makes sure a box of them shows up on your doorstep

Solomon

if you ever need any sort of spells or potions, he lets you know you can come to him

he could even create some sort of man repellent haha

but, in all seriousness, he will do whatever he can for you

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: thisapplepielife! @thisapplepielife has 37 works posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 24 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @thisapplepielife:

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind

Take the Money and Run

You Oughta Know

Never Not Mine

Let the Boy Be Merry

"They are my favorite Corroded Coffin writer. I found by accident their fic “Tuesday's Gone With the Wind” and loved everything they wrote since!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @thisapplepielife answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Steve Harrington. I found myself not connecting with S4 when it premiered, and decided that I probably just needed to rewatch the other three seasons again first, since it'd been a while between seasons. Well, Steve was always my favorite, but I left that re-watch with his voice fully lodged in my brain. So, I had to write something for him, just for myself. That was You Oughta Know. We all knew Eddie identified as a runner, and that just felt like the story to tell. Then somehow, for some unknown reason that I still cannot possibly explain, I decided to actually post it. I still don't know what possessed me to do that, honestly.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a good second chance fic: A divorced couple that eventually rekindles. A missed first chance that they get to take another crack at, later in life. I also like a good heartbreaker of a fic. I know, I know. Don't get me wrong, I still love happy endings, but I don't require them. Break my heart. Do it.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Slice of life? Is that considered a trope? I know I like to write about things we all deal with in real life, from the small and inconsequential: a mattress with a bad spring. The delight of clean sheets. Or the bigger: the real life heartbreak of unavoidable loss and grief.  And older Steddie is my favorite, I think. I love to spend time writing for them. These boys that turned into men, who made a full life together, and it's great. Maybe not perfect. But they wouldn't trade it for the world. That makes me happiest.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting by badpancake is the one I think of that grabbed me first, and did not let go. I still need to read the final part of the trilogy! My fic TBR is so, so long because I definitely struggle with writing and reading at the same time. I know there is amazing work out there that I've just never read yet. But I look forward to it, absolutely. It's just something I've never figured out how to manage well. Joining Tumblr has helped that immensely, though! Reading the shorter fics here has been wonderful, and I've enjoyed it so much. There are amazing things being posted every single day! And I gotta say that don't start (too late) by Ark is one of the best "first time" fics I've ever read in any fandom. Eddie's inner voice is wonderful. I believe every word he thinks while he experiences this brand new thing with Steve.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

It's not brand new to me, but there's a found family one that I've been tinkering with for a very long time, and that excites me.  And I do love events for tossing me situations or prompts to write for that I may not have thought of, independently. @steddiemicrofic especially has been so, so fun. I think it was the very first event I wrote for on Tumblr, and the challenge of having a very limited amount of words, but still trying to make it feel like a whole story has been told, has been a blast. Thanks to @wynnyfryd and @steddieas-shegoes for challenging us all each month!

What is your writing process like?

I don't outline or anything. I just write, and edit, as I go. And I'll edit obsessively. I'll tweak and change small things over and over, ad nauseam. And even then, I know I still miss mistakes. But my mistakes are my own, I have no beta, because I kind of like being solely responsible for anything I write. Right or wrong. Here it is, take it or leave it. I also talk things through things in my own head a lot, especially dialogue, or I'll open a document, and just see where that takes me. And if I'm writing a long fic, like Tuesday's, I write totally out of order when scenes come to me. I wrote on every single year of that fic all at once. Then kept writing until they'd stitched themselves together into a full story. That's my last part of writing. Putting in the transitions from one scene to the next, when needed.  Sometimes ideas are more fully formed before I start putting words to the page, and other times I literally just start and figure it out as I go. There's one fic I wrote for Steddiemas last year where I sat Steve down at a mall food court and then just started writing. I had no idea what that was going to be. (It was Eddie turning up as the Mall Santa.)  Also: Research, research, research. I love the research aspect of writing. I'm curious in general, and if I can even think to look something up to see if it's true, or of the right time period, I will. And I like to add mixed media to my fics. That was a huge part of Take the Money & Tuesday's. All the newspaper articles and such. I felt like they were needed to make it feel like this really happened to these characters we all love so much. I did newspaper articles all throughout writing Tuesday's. In fact, I think that main article, the one at the top, was written and designed very early on in the writing process. They weren't all done at the end, they were done as the story needed them.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Short paragraphs. I love 'em. You'll pry them from my cold, dead fingers. Also see: Long sentences.  Honestly, I do like to throw out the rules, a bit. I write by feel. How does it sound, to my own ear? If it works, for my character, my fic or just me in general, I'll use it. "Don't use two "ands" in a sentence." Okay, but sometimes I'm gonna when that flows the best. Or: "That's a run-on." Okay, but I like the way it reads. "You don't need a comma there." But, I like the way that it breathes, so it's getting one. All this is especially true if writing from someone's POV. I know I don't always think in proper grammar, and I don't expect them to either. I don't want things to feel hard to read, but I do want them to feel natural. If that makes sense. I walk around, pacing as I write or edit on my phone, as if the moving somehow lets me see it differently. I think it does! And I don't know if this is a quirk, but some of the characterizations formed while writing Tuesday's have stuck, hard. Gareth is Gareth Jones, and where you find him, you'll probably find Di. Freak is Goodie. Jeff is Jeff Williams. These things have been decided in my brain, and now I feel compelled to take them with me, fic-to-fic. I didn't intend to build a headcanon I wouldn't be able to shake, but here we are.  I feel like I can transplant Steve and Eddie anywhere, into anything, and be comfortable changing things up. But the Corroded Coffin boys are cemented, as they were created, for the most part. Maybe that's because I did have to do so much shaping for them. Steve and Eddie, we know. We're all working off a decent amount of canon content. Corroded Coffin only had a few moments on screen to help flesh any of us flesh them out into real characters. And now that I've made my choices, for good or bad, they're here to stay.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Finished, definitely. My three long fics were all mostly written before I started posting, and I still struggled to get the last part of All of Across the Universe out in a timely fashion. Tuesday's was posted over one week, one chapter per day, and I really enjoyed that fast schedule. It didn't give me any extra time to overthink the finished product. It was going out, and that was that. I had to trust that I knew what I was doing when I deemed it finished.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind. I truly thought I was done after Take the Money and Run. And then this idea slapped me in the face, and I spent five months just lost in their world. These versions of the characters came so naturally, and they are still with me today. I feel like most of what I've written since then is shaped by those versions. Also, that was the last fic I wrote without anything else coming down the pipe. The last one before I joined Tumblr. The last one that had my full, and utter, undivided attention. It's really special to me, and I'm beyond grateful to everyone that has embraced it and recommended it to friends. I know it's got some scary warnings, but for those that have dove in and let me know that it spoke to you in some way, you've made me so happy. It spoke to me, too.

How did you get the idea for Tuesday's Gone With the Wind?

By watching the documentary "If I Leave Here Tomorrow" about the band Lynyrd Skynyrd. As I was watching it, there was an interview section where one of the band members spoke about their assistant road manager, saying: "He was like a bartender roadie. Where he took care of us really good, you know? Anybody who was sick, or needed a little more attention, he was just there for you. He was like the big brother, and sister, and your mama and everything." My brain whispered, Steve Harrington.  And that was that. Corroded Coffin were going to get Road Manager Steve Harrington, and he was gonna take care of them as they headed towards this unavoidable disaster. I wrote like 5k words the first night. It was just in there, waiting to spill out, somehow. And I think it's also an anomaly for me, but I'm fairly certain I started that fic with what turned out to be the opening. That first bit of Eddie's first interview section. I think that's where I started telling the story, and it held throughout. That's pretty rare for me. (Fun fact: I wrote all the interview bits in a separate document, and then just fit and tweaked them into the story, as needed. But not that opening. That was the launch pad into everything else.)

When writing Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, what was something you didn’t expect?

It's not exactly a Steddie answer, but - Gareth! Gareth Jones, my beloved. I wasn't on Tumblr when I wrote Tuesday's or any other social media in a fandom way. I was in my own bubble, doing my own thing. So, I didn't know the fandom had given him a fanon surname. I chose my own, and now he's just Gareth Jones to me, and always will be. He's also Eddie's best friend. I've pondered on more than one occasion on if Take the Money and Run would be different if I knew that first, lol. Just exploring my version of a character that had so little screen time to work off was incredibly fun. And has remained fun. Gareth is definitely gonna show up again in my future works. He's to Eddie, as Robin is to Steve in my head now and forevermore.

What inspired Take the Money and Run?

These lyrics from the song "Me and Paul" by Willie Nelson: Almost busted in Laredo But for reasons that I'd rather not disclose But if you're staying in a motel there and leave Just don't leave nothing in your clothes I had a literal shower thought that made me laugh. And thought, well, why are they even in a motel? Oh, they must be on a road trip. So, I wrote that little scene mainly in my head, but jotted it down, just in case, and assumed that was the end of it. But then I just kept writing it. Until I was knee deep in maps and mileage and research trying to figure this road trip out from a logistics standpoint. All because I thought it'd be funny if Eddie left weed in his pants and Steve got all put upon because of it.

What was your favorite part to write from You Oughta Know?

I loved getting to include all the fun 90s things, since that's when I was a teen, and can remember a lot of it very distinctly, first-hand. And I loved getting to use El's powers to look in on Eddie, so while they might not know where he is, they did know that he seemed to be doing okay out there in the world. Also, if I could go back and change one thing about it, I'd fix that I said Eddie's never had an acoustic guitar. I didn't notice his acoustic in his room until my re-watch. Oh well. This version of Eddie didn't, I guess, lol. (This might be from the second part, Eddie's POV. But still. It's my Roman Empire. I think of this mistake at least once a week and beat myself up. If I'd been on Tumblr at the time, I feel this would have never happened, because someone would have blogged about it, drawing my attention to it, surely.)

How do/did you feel writing Never Not Mine?

This one is heavily inspired by the Taylor Swift song imgonnagetyouback. It was fun to dig into a slightly angstier world for a bit. Because things don't always work out, or if they do, not always the first time around. I like to think they'll find each other again, in any universe, but they might not take the easiest path. They aren't perfect, and that's realistic.

What was the most difficult part of writing Let the Boy Be Merry?

Crying while writing it. This one slapped me around a little while writing. Life isn't always as romantic as fic leads us all to believe which, the audacity, honestly, lol, but the kind of love and relationship in this fic? That feels real to me. Old, and familiar, and even as well as you know a person, you can't read their mind. You don't always get what the other needs immediately, you don't get how important things can be to them, but figuring out how to compromise is love. Real, lasting love.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This question was hard! I'm gonna pick two from Tuesday's: For the first, I cried while writing and then cried again while editing the scene where Eddie and Steve hash out how serious their relationship is, and realize they've kind of been on different pages. There are two scenes in Tuesday's that got to me, and made me cry while writing them, over and over, and I don't even know why. (The other is Gareth picking that fight with Steve. Yeah, yeah, I know. Neither of these parts are the saddest parts of Tuesday's. But they stripped me raw, for whatever reason.) And a second, more fun, favorite: I'm gonna go with the scene where Eddie's naked and tripping on mushrooms in the backyard while Steve hangs out with him, and Eddie thinks they've written "Tom Sawyer" by Rush. That was so fun, and just a feel good write, if that makes sense. That whole summer they spent at the lake I look back on writing fondly. They are so in love there. They are all happy. And this scene is carefree in a way that they won't always be, due to circumstances coming down the pipe.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I run @corrodedcoffinfest and I've got a whole list of planned pop-up events coming up over the next few months for that. Steddie is absolutely welcome, so if anyone would like a little more Corroded Coffin works in their life, consider coming to join us! I also finally updated my masterlist, so everything I've written for Stranger Things is finally gathered together. There's a lot that's still only on Tumblr and not on Ao3 at this point.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Thanks so much for including me and my works in this! And to the person who nominated me, thank you, thank you! You really made my day. It was fun to think about these fics again, and answer these questions. I've really enjoyed writing for Steddie, and I've also enjoyed making friends in the fandom. Thanks for welcoming me. Thanks for showing my fics love, and commenting or leaving kudos or reblogging. Just, thank you all so much. And I'm sorry if these answers were too long, lol. As a habitual "end notes" kind of writer, that's just the way I roll. 

Thank you to our author, @thisapplepielife, and our anonymous nominator! See more of thisapplepielife's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[i-hold-deaths-hand-in-mine]

rio collects a soul; an excerpt from my fanfic

The room was so dark when Rio opened her eyes hours later to a familiar and unwanted tug. Beside her, Agatha snored, and it brought a small smile to her lips as she leaned over to kiss her temple. 

“I’ll be back,” she whispered. Agatha murmured her acknowledgement, then promptly went back to snoring. 

Rio closed her eyes and gave herself to the shadows, dissolving into them, letting them bring her to where her soul was being called. 

It was a bedroom, quiet and lifeless. 

She was in her Death form, but her face was human, soft and gentle and warm. This, she realized with a cold fist around her heart, was her least favorite form. It was the one that did not belong, halfway between Death and human, and for one purpose only –

When a soul was scared, and needed gentleness. 

These moments were the ones that haunted her most, made her understand that she was not ever meant for much more than destruction and death. She took, and took, and took, and never left anything behind but a body. 

Just like with Nicky , she tried so hard not to think. 

The boy sat up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Rio stood in the doorway, smiling invitingly at him. She reached out a hand, beckoned him forth. 

He yawned. “I don’t want to get out of bed,” he told her. “It’s so warm and comfortable.”

Her heart was already breaking. How many times was it possible for a heart to break and mend and break and mend and break and mend before there was nothing left to put back together?

“I know a place that is warmer,” she told him, “and much more comfortable. I can take you there.” It was so hard for her to speak, even though for the first time that night, all of her words were true, true, true.

This enticed the boy to throw his blanket back and swing his legs over the side of the bed, but then he paused. “Will my mom and dad be there?” he asked. 

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. 

He got up and walked across the room to stand just in front of her, his eyes big and wondrous as he looked up at her. “You’re so pretty,” he said. 

She let out a noise that was half a cry and half a laugh. “Thank you,” she managed. 

His eyebrows furrowed as he thought for a moment. “Do you promise that my mom and dad will be there?”

Rio knelt down to look him in the eyes. One hand went to her waist, to touch the blade of her knife, and the other she lifted for the boy to take. “I promise,” she said, and it was true. Any reservations he had dropped away. He reached out, placing his little hand into hers –

And then he was gone, if only in one way; because in the morning, he would still be there, in the other way, in that heartbreaking way his parents had to learn. 

Rio walked over to the side of his bed, gently tucking the blanket around his cold body. Her hand touched his forehead, and then she collapsed to her knees, and she sobbed. She sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. 

But the house remained quiet, silent –

None heard when Death wept.

Still she did, every time she was called upon. Quiet, and alone, like a horrible birthright, an imprint on her very soul she was never meant to escape. She thought back to the last time she spoke to Charonides, the words she had proclaimed: I am Death. 

Death, Death, Death. 

Not a birthright. A curse. This was a curse, perhaps the oldest, the very first.

Because where, in all the world, could Death possibly escape itself? Where could Death have hidden, when none could hide from Death?

(And why did Rio feel like she was being swallowed whole by the overwhelming desire to do either?)

Then, a very small, very quiet, and very pleading voice, way at the back of her mind, whispered urgently her answer: Home . 

Where could Death run to? Where could Death hide?

Well…where would any of us?

Home , of course – whether a person, or a place, or a feeling…we can always run home . 

And so she went home. 

She buried herself beneath the blankets in their bed, smothered Agatha in a tight hug that briefly woke her only so she could then wrap her own arms around Rio. She inhaled deeply the scent of Agatha’s hair, of their laundry detergent on the pillowcases. 

She nestled herself within the feelings of safety and calm and warmth, within the arms of the woman she loved, within all these things she called home.

This was where Death hid.

[rainbowsky]

Heyy rainbowsky. I hope you're doing good. There's something that's been on my mind for a while regarding candies, esp the one regarding their social media and the ones that seem "intentional". Do you think these are directed at each other or to turtles. As a younger turtle I used to think it was for each other and would also see them as a stretch cause I couldn't see the point of putting so much effort in these if they were already together. But as I have taken a break and come back, (older and wiser i hope) and have myself found my footing in my queerness while still being largely closeted, I feel like I'm swaying more towards the latter. That they do this for the turtles, or more so for themselves and their identities. It's makes me think of how i wear a discreet rainbow bracelet as part of my everyday wear, ie, a quiet assertion of who i am to who is willing to see. What do you think about this? Also what do you think turtles represent for them? Do you also think for them, we are an escape from an otherwise homophobic and closeted world? I'd really like to know your perspective.

Hi Chaoticmoonlight! I'm getting by! I hope you're well, too! 😊

Well, these things don't have to be a case of either/or. They can serve multiple purposes at the same time. I think that when it comes to 'declarations of love', or a certain type of social media PDA in their posts (kadian, candies, etc.), it's almost always aimed at each other and at turtles simultaneously, as well as anyone else who knows them for who they are (friends, family, etc.).

If GG and DD want to send a message to each other, they can just pick up the phone. Doing so publicly or on social media inevitably involves an element of self-expression, and likely at times becomes a grander gesture because of the public nature of the message.

If a partner holds your hand at home, it's sweet. If they do it in public there's an added element of 'making a statement', of openly declaring their affection for you. This gesture can become more powerful as the risk of doing so increases.

I agree that it's also a lot like wearing a rainbow flag pin or carrying a rainbow tote bag, or all the other ways queer people express ourselves and show our colors. It's a way of being as open as possible about an important relationship, and about our identities.

I've posted about this a few times in the past. A very common misconception among most people - especially straight people, but even some queer people - is that closeted people will want to do everything in their power to hide their sexual orientation and relationship status/partner. I think this is a very misguided understanding of the closet.

People have a fundamental need to be seen, accepted and validated for who they are. It's not just a 'nice-to-have', it's something people truly need for their survival and well-being. People who don't get those needs met will generally not thrive, and will often suffer in deep and damaging ways.

A lot of people think the closet is a place where people go to stay safe, and therefore it's a 'safe space'. This is so untrue. The closet might be the best option among several bad options, but it's by no means a safe, happy place. It's often a place of loneliness, alienation, grief and pain. People don't generally stay in the closet because they're happy there - they stay there because coming out is more dangerous/scary than staying closeted.

The vast majority of people, if they knew that it was safe to come out, - that they'd be accepted, protected and respected - would do so in a heartbeat. But even from within the closet, there is still that need to be seen and known for who we are. Those needs don't go away just because someone is closeted.

Closeted people will often go out of their way to share as much as they possibly can about who they really are, right up to the line where they'd be fully outed.

Coming out is also not just a 'one and done' thing. It is a gradual process, and one that has to be repeated over and over again as the circle of 'those who know' expands over time. I talked about that in more detail here. The best way I can express it is to say,

people will be as 'out' as they are able to be at any given time.

For some people, being out among friends and family and showing some small under-the-radar expressions of Pride will be their personal safe limit. For others it might just be wearing a rainbow bracelet, or wearing their lover's scarf. That safe limit will often expand or shift over time. Sometimes it will even shrink. There's definitely such a thing as 'being thrown back/deeper into the closet'.

They might not be able to make a post sharing photos from a hiking trip they took together, but they can share enough information to ensure turtles know they took that trip (a special moment for both of them, not just turtles). They might not be able to post boasts and praise about their partner's successes and milestones, but they can in subtle ways express their joy so that those who know, know, and so their partner witnesses their praise. They might not be able to openly put their names side by side on charitable works, but turtles will do it for them.

GG and DD are in the unique position of having millions of people who believe they're a couple. While I'm sure it sometimes makes their experience of being closeted that much more terrifying (considering their relationship is being talked about so openly), I suspect that in most cases it makes their experience of being closeted much more bearable.

It's not just the gesture itself that is sweet. As I said earlier, the public nature of it - the fact that others are witnessing it - adds to the power and significance of it. GG seeing DD wearing a #29 helmet for racing practice on GG's 29th birthday no doubt made GG smile, but it likely also made him doubly happy to see us freaking out over it, and knowing that someone out there knows DD was celebrating him.

As I have said in the past, I feel like turtles probably give them strength as they deal with their day-to-day experience of being closeted and apart most of the time. This is a sentiment LRLG has often expressed, too.

Wishing you strength and support on your journey as well, chaotic-moonlight. There's no right or wrong way to be queer, and no timeline we have to meet. Being closeted in no way invalidates who we are.

Related posts:

Closeted Relationships

Coming Out

What BXG Might Mean to GGDD

About Kadian

Sun Wenjing and coming out in less than ideal circumstances

[333creolelady]

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, Darcy’s 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, We’ll 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

<- Back to Masterlist

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 wasn’t 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.

“ Dinner is ready. Caden helped”, She pulled away from the kiss with a chuckle, slapping her hand across his chest.

A goofy grin spreads across his face “ Great. Let us enjoy our meal in the bedroom”, 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. “come on”, he whispered to her. He’s 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 doesn’t 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.

“ You’re in a good mood”, Jane laughs.

“ I am. I have great news. I was able to clear up some warrants for myself and the crew. You don’t even have a warrant anymore.” Jane perks up at those words.

“ 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 free”, Roman quips.

“ Free…”, 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.

“ A fresh start. You can even choose a new name if you like not that it will matter. I don’t have much business to do with London at this point. You won’t have to go back here if you do not wish to”, he assured her.

“ 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.”

Jane brows raise in surprise “ Three weeks?..What on earth will we be doing for three whole weeks?”

Roman playfully rolls his eyes, “ 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 ”, he chuckles.

“ Not even a hint….you’ll spare me ?”, Jane scoffs.

“ It’s a vacation”, Roman muttered, scraping the last bit of potatoes off his plate. Jane was so excited she couldn’t even finish her meal and instead pushed her plate towards his.

“I suppose that will be enough. I’ll try to get more out of you later… I have my ways,” 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. “Spoiled rotten… never let me have the last word, can you?” 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 embroidery—no doubt they were expensive. The coachmen placed Jane’s and Roman’s 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.

“The quality of this carriage… it’s so rich. It almost looks like a royal carriage,” Jane said, looking around in awe. It even smelled nice. A beat of silence passes. “Is this a royal carriage?” Jane frowned in confusion. Roman chuckled knowingly.

“I take it you haven’t traveled in very good carriages before?” he deflected. Jane rolled her eyes, aware of his angle but deciding to drop it.

“I wouldn’t call a wooden bench staring at the back of a horse’s arse particularly ‘good,’ so I’m easily impressed so far,” she snorted.

He chortled. “Well, if it’s that easy to impress you, prepare to be astonished once more… very soon.”

“How long before we get to Paris?”

“All of today. We won’t reach Paris until nightfall.” 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 conversation—a 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 child’s 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 hadn’t 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. “Bonjour! Parles-tu français?” she asked.

“Uh… no,” Jane replied awkwardly, a small chuckle rising from her chest as the little girl eyed her curiously.

“Hello, my name is Eloise!” 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 child’s hand in her own and introduced herself. “Jane,” she smiled.

The child turned to Roman. “And you must be Papa’s friend. He said you were coming. He’s not back yet from his hunting trip with Mama, but don’t worry. I can give you a tour since he’s not here. I know all the rooms of the palace and the—”

“Eloise! What did I say?! You are to be in bed! Une dame ne salue pas ses invités dans ses vêtements de nuit. A lady must be presentable!” 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.

“Monsieur Roman, Mademoiselle Ramlal—welcome. 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,” she said, respectfully curtsying and smiling at them.

“Hi… Is this… Versailles?” Jane asked, looking around curiously at the architecture.

The woman covered her mouth to suppress a chuckle. “No, ma’am. This is Palais Royal—home 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 King’s home soon enough. Not to worry.”

“Thank you, Beatrice. This is Jane’s first time in Paris, so she’ll need some time to adjust”, says Roman.

“Of 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,” 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 in—what 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 façade, 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.

Jane’s 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 façade looked down like ancient figures, frozen in time. Every detail—the delicate carvings, the imposing gates, the shimmering windows—left 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?

“Roman, we are criminals. We cannot be here,” 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. “Do you really think I’d take you somewhere where they would arrest you? It’s taken care of, remember? Besides, the Duke and I are childhood friends. He would sooner hide us than give us up to the law—a law we are no longer in trouble with. Relax. It’s what you’re supposed to do on vacation.” 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.

“Okay. Here are your quarters. The Duke has informed us that you would like to share a room,” Beatrice led them down a winding, tall, echoey hallway that Jane nearly slipped on. She wasn’t 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.

“Your things will be here shortly. Ms. Ramlal, your measurements will need to be taken.”

“Oh—I brought my own dresses, no worries,” said Jane.

“This will be for your Versailles trip. Here, the court is a little more relaxed. However, Versailles is more traditional. The King doesn’t particularly like British fashion, so you’ll have to respect the rules of his court. Otherwise, you may insult him. His Highness is a little more… particular, ” Beatrice explained gently.

Jane blinked with surprise. “Oh—I was not aware. Thank you for letting me know.”

“My pleasure. Oh look, your bags have arrived,” 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.

“You 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?”

Roman stood from his sitting position. “No, that will be all, Beatrice. We truly appreciate your hospitality. I wish you a good night.”

“And you as well. See you both in the morning, Monsieur..Mademoiselle,” Beatrice curtsied and left.

Jane let out a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders. “Goodness. I felt like I was in a play.”

Roman chuckled knowingly. “The 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.”

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.

“Mmm…” 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. Wouldn’t silver be just fine?

Chocolate was a rare delicacy. She’d tasted it maybe twice in her life and then never again.

“Fan of chocolate?” Roman smiled, watching her pick over the food table.

“Fan of anything sweet, if you couldn’t tell,” 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. “The Persians love their sweets, so you won’t leave this place unsatisfied. Come, let me loosen your corset.”

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.

“Gone to have a smoke with Arnaud. Pull the rope, and your chambermaids will come and get you ready for breakfast. I’ll see you soon.”

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 wasn’t 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 hadn’t 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 hadn’t 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 occasion—now 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 nice—expensive dresses even—but 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 vanilla…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.

“Madame… your hair… do you not want it styled?” she asked curiously.

“Uh… my hair is a bit of a mystery. I can’t style it like the other ladies; it’s far too… complicated. Please, let me figure it out” Jane scrambled. She ended her sentence with an awkward chuckle as the two maids looked at her strangely.

“No worries, madam. Eloise has special hair too; it requires gentle hands. One moment,” 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 she’d seen who looked like her in ages. Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a long sigh.

“Mary, madame. I see you are in need of a hairdresser? I can help” the woman asked in a thick French accent.

“Well, I was just going to wear it in twists,” Jane muttered.

“Twists are pretty, but maybe something more elaborate to go with such a detailed outfit. Trust me, mademoiselle, I’ve touched many heads like yours,” 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 Jane’s 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.

“You do this style often?” Mary asked.

“Yes… when I’m not wrapping it up. Can you tell?” Jane replied shyly.

“The hair has memory for sure. It’s very healthy—that’s 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 it’s very beautiful. She only allows me to touch it.”

“It 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 before…” Jane stopped herself. Was she talking too much? This woman hadn’t 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.

“Before… go on,” Mary chuckled.

Jane cleared her throat. “Before I met the gentleman I traveled with.”

“Ahh… Monsieur Roman. I’ve heard many stories about him. He is the Duke’s longest friend, and he’s supposed to be very fierce. Sir Roman is he your…?” 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 weren’t married. Truthfully, she didn’t think it would matter; they would go back to being pirates after this. Pirates don’t have wives.

“My companion. M-my friend,” Jane blurted. Women don’t have male ‘friends’, especially not in high society, but it’s not like she had a ring to say otherwise.

“I see. Well, he certainly will be able to tell you a thing or two about Paris. He used to frequent Paris quite a bit. I’ve seen him around”

Jane’s mind went blank. Why had she suddenly forgotten how to speak to a woman? She needed more friends, that’s for sure. “Yes. He brought me here as a surprise. D-do you like Paris?”

“Like? Sometimes. I think it’s easier to see the beauty in a place when you don’t live there. I can at least admire the architecture.”

“Yes. The buildings are a sight to see.”

Mary brushed Jane’s 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 Jane’s 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.

“Wow,” she said, touching her hair gently with the tips of her fingers. She didn’t want to mess up the style, but it amazed her. Somehow, it made her hair look longer yet the curl was more dramatic. She’d never manipulated her hair in that way. “You are going to do that all over my head, just like this?!”

Mary burst into laughter. “You 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, it’s why I’m here. Now hold still,” 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 couldn’t remember the last time she got excited about something like this. Having her hair done was a luxury she wasn’t sure she could part with.

“So… what part of France are you from?”

“I 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 Duke—the King’s brother. My mother was a dressmaker, and I was her little assistant.”

“Ah, I see. Do you live here in the Palais? Or away?”

“Oui, in the servants’ quarters. Though I have my own apartment due to Eloise’s favor. The Duke treats his staff quite well,” 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.

“I’m not from here… in Europe, I mean. I’m from Trinidad. I came to Europe as a child too,” Jane admitted. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She wasn’t about to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

“An island girl like myself? Who would have thought. What a peculiar place for us to be, no?”

“Peculiar indeed.”

“So I take it you’re not a former Kings gift? Or rather a Bastard to a Duke or Marquis?” Mary said playfully, with a suspicious tone.

Jane held back a laugh. “What gave it away?”

“You look me in the eye when you talk.”

Jane pondered that for a second. She remembered those days slaving away over a stove, serving a dish to people who couldn’t see her. She was invisible. Over time, that invisibility became a comfort.

“And if they were to look you in the eye, they would only be looking at their reflection in it,” Jane quipped absentmindedly. Mary let out a high-pitched laugh.

“What was your job before this?” Mary asked, working quickly and already finishing the back and crown of Jane’s head.

“Cook. I have fingertips of steel. I could probably wrap my hand around that rod and not feel a thing,” Jane joked.

“Explains the humor. Well, Madame Jane, I can tell that you and I are going to get along just fine,” 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 woman—there was nothing quite like it. And while Roman was the keeper of her secrets, he preferred to pacify and soothe. But talking to a woman—there was something almost spiritual about it. The idea that someone would just “get it,” whatever that “it” might be. The comfort in knowing that somewhere, your stories lined up, even if just for an instant.

Mary pinned Jane’s 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.

“What do you call this style?!”

“The tête de mouton, or sheep's head. The ladies in Paris love this style.”

“I see why. Wow, I’ve never looked like this before. I mean, you practically did magic!” Jane exclaimed, brushing a finger against the curl on her shoulder.

“I am very pleased you like it, madame. Now one moment. The governess wants to meet with you before breakfast. I’ll see you soon,” Mary said, stepping back and curtsying before leaving the room.

Jane stood in front of the mirror, eyeing every detail. She’d 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 this—of 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 couldn’t help but feel that these sorts of greetings were growing tiresome. The governess was a serious woman but kind enough. “Don’t 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?” she said.

Jane sensed that the governess was in a rush, so she didn’t bother to ask any questions yet. “I am.”

“Splendid. Follow me,” 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.

“Madamoiselle Jane of London,” 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 “Your Grace” and “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, I can’t help it!” 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 Jane’s circulation when she squeezed her so tight.

“Hi, call me Charlotte! Arnaud has told me so much about you two. You’re even more gorgeous than Roman could have ever described in the letter. I’m so happy to have you here!” 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 hadn’t expected her voice to be so high.

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

The Duke offered his hand for a shake, and Jane took it, happy to be over with the formalities. “Arnaud, It’s so nice to finally meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Paris.” 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 didn’t register, and a blank stare crept onto Jane’s face as she held his hand.

“You’re the Duke ?” she asked, dumbfounded.

A knowing smile crept onto Arnaud’s face. “I have my paperwork to prove it if you don’t believe me.”

“No—sorry. I mean… you know what? Never mind,” Jane scrambled to find the words.

“Relax. I get it. Not what you were expecting,” Arnaud laughed.

“Well… no,” Jane sputtered.

Suddenly, something tiny and furry ran through the gap between Jane’s feet, causing her to nearly stumble off balance. Arnaud caught her. A tiny body pushed past her feet on all fours, yelling in French.

“Mauvais chat! Come back here!” Eloise shouted.

“Good heavens!” 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.

“Eloise! What did I tell you about chasing that cat?! Get off the floor! You’re terrorizing the poor thing!” 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 wasn’t 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 them—the cat, Eloise, and the Duchess—trying to prevent an accident and stop the cat from running up the drapes.

Arnaud turned to Jane with a tired look. “One thing I can say—I am never bored in this house.”

“I can see that,” 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 wasn’t unfolding in front of them and started loading Jane’s plate with food. No one of Arnaud’s status had ever served her food.

She could feel Roman draw closer as he whispered, “You look stunning.”

“I hope so after how long it took to get ready,” 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 Eloise’s 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.

“Pas juste!” she pouted. (No fair)

To Jane’s surprise, Roman muttered, “La vie n'est pas juste,” chuckling at the cat darting underneath the chairs before it was caught by a guard. (Life is not fair)

“Maybe for you,” Eloise teased.

Charlotte grabbed the child and quickly swatted her on the bottom, though it made no difference given how thick the child’s 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.

“I 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,” Arnaud admitted. He almost looked proud of it, which made Jane look away to avoid laughing even harder.

“We hope the food is to your liking,” 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.

“So, Arnaud, how did you and Roman meet?” asked Caden. Jane finally got a good look at him now. A year’s worth of grime had been washed from his light chocolate hair, and he looked every bit of his teenage years—so 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.

“Roman and I are what one might say—adopted. 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.”

“And he’s been a pain in my arse ever since,” Roman grumbled.

“Who are you telling? I can’t get rid of you,” Arnaud bantered.

“So I suspect your home is a bit further away?” Jane asked curiously. She hoped she wasn’t being too forward, but she had to know.

“Sierra Leone, actually.”

“I see,” a sad expression crossed her face. He was indeed a long way from home, just as she and Roman and Mary were—a feeling so unique from regular homesickness.

“What about yourself?” asked Arnaud.

“Trinidad, originally.”

One of his brows twitched in surprise. “How on earth did you two meet?”

“He… saved my life, actually.”

Roman rubbed the back of his neck. Jane didn’t understand his hesitance. “Long story…”

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. “Yes… 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.”

“You’ve saved my life as well. You have no debt with me, I assure you,” Roman muttered back quietly.

“Wow… what a strange way to meet a person. I’m so very glad you’re here with us, Jane,” said Charlotte.

“Who are you in relation to Roman?” Arnaud asked Caden.

“Roman took me in when I was young. He’s looked after me ever since. If you start meeting a lot of his friends, you’ll 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,” Caden joked.

Arnaud let out a quick snort. “Very maternal, that one.”

“Now you’re pushing it,” Roman warned Arnaud. He chortled at Roman’s irritation.

“What about you, Charlotte? How did you and Arnaud meet, and how long have you been together?” asked Jane.

“A tavern in Southwark. His carriage broke down, and he came inside to have dinner. I served him. That was seven years ago now,” Charlotte smiled as she remembered the day fondly. Jane was even more confused.

“Served him?” Jane tilted her head.

“Why 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,” 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 didn’t want her questions to come off as rude. She’s 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 weren’t 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 wasn’t loud, but he wasn’t 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 hadn’t 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 it’s 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 weren’t 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.

“Are you okay?” 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.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked with an inquisitive tone.

“Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I think they’re a bit strange. Not my idea of nobility. But I guess that’s a rather good thing, considering that with a warrant, Europe would be searching for Roman with dogs by now,” Caden scoffed.

“I think they’re rather sweet. Though I can’t imagine how people must talk about them behind their backs. Those poor people,” Jane muttered quietly.

“She probably gets the worst of it. She said that she’s a commoner, right?”

“Yes, which is why I don’t know how it happened. He must have some sort of favor. I don’t imagine an old king being nice enough to grant somebody their true love. It’s always duty and sacrifice with that bunch.”

“Rich people problems. Beats me,” Caden shrugged.

“How quickly you forget that you are, in fact, a rich man now. Though you’ve barely spent any of it quite yet. I’m very proud of you. Don’t let Rory set an example,” Jane sighed. Rory had suddenly decided he needed a new fur coat collection for the winter, which wouldn’t be for months.

“Why thank you Mother,” 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 didn’t sense any malice or ill intent, thankfully, but he was so subliminal about the whole ordeal.

“Has Roman ever talked to you about Paris?”

“Taking you there, yes. Said something about how he had something special planned for you and to be on my best behavior, blah blah blah,” Caden sighed, turning over to face the cushion of the couch. “I’m taking a nap. Those bloody white-wigged bastards woke me up at 5 in the morning to dress me like some stupid baby. I’m tired.”

Jane scoffed and chugged the rest of her tea before retreating to her bedroom for the afternoon. Roman hadn’t come back yet, and she was starting to miss him. She had been informed that he’d 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 Jane’s 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 Jane’s attention. It was Roman, holding a box in his hand. He had changed, and his hair fell down his back in damp waves.

“That will be all for now, ladies. Thank you,” 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. “You are never wearing pirate hand-me-downs again. I forbid it when you look like that.”

A small smirk ghosted across Jane’s mouth before she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Where have you been all day?”

“Oh, have I upset you with my absence?” 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.

“I missed you. I had nobody to talk to. Caden went to sleep. It would have been nice to have company. I don’t know my way around here,” she pouted. Roman brushed his lips against her soap-scented skin.

“I went to the city to buy you something special to wear with your dinner dress,” 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.

“You can’t open the little box quite yet. But this one is for tonight,” 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.

“Roman… this must have cost you a fortune,” her hand flew to her mouth as she lifted it up, feeling the heaviness of it.

“Well, I couldn’t 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. It’s also a fantastic icebreaker. I can’t imagine what I’ll do if you are mistreated and I’d 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.”

It took a moment for Jane to register what he was saying at first. “...My portrait?” she asked.

“Yes, your portrait. Here, let me see how it looks.” 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. “It’s beautiful... I love it,” she murmured.

“ You wear it well”, he compliments.

“Will you walk with me to dinner?”.

“It would be my honor.”

They dressed Roman in what was called the habit à la française: 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 that’s 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 wasn’t 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 vultures—more akin to peacocks—were 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 couldn’t. They paid their respects to the Duke and Duchess. Next came their courtiers and other members of rank. Jane’s 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 wasn’t 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.

“There’s something wrong with this water,” she warned.

“There’s nothing wrong. It’s supposed to be that way,” he chuckled at her shock as she cautiously took another sip.

“It’s bubbly… why is it bubbly?”

“Vichy water. It’s 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.” He watched as she took small sips. She shrugged it off, seemingly satisfied with the sensation of the fizzing.

She fidgets, “Should I make conversation?” she asked hesitantly, looking around the room.

“No. Let them come to you.”

“How do you even know it’s me they’re staring at? It could easily be you. Pretty men are a rarity.”

A knowing smile crossed Roman’s face. “I’m not much of a crowd favorite. I wasn’t particularly known for my charming attitude prior to you. You’re shiny and new; I’m old news.”

Before Jane could even protest, a woman walked up. It was Madam Bernard. She was a woman in her late 30s, a member of Charlotte’s 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.

“Lady Jane, a pleasure to meet you. I go by Madam Bernard,” she smiled at Jane. Her teeth were always strangely sharp at the corners—an unnerving quality. Jane curtsied briefly.

“I believe we have met, Monsieur,” Bernard turned to Roman, a wicked glint bouncing off her eyes. Roman nodded stoically, not giving her the satisfaction of a true greeting.

“Where on earth did you get a necklace like that?”

“It was a gift,” Jane smiled, her disposition flustered.

Madam Bernard motioned toward Jane’s outfit. “It’s absolutely marvelous. And your dress… blue is your color, my darling.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Jane smiled. The room could smell her nerves. But this wasn’t Roman’s time to step in—not yet. Jane was more capable than most. This room, these people, were no different from the English—hungry 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 they’d 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 “Ooh la la!” and “Magnifique!”

One glance at Arnaud across the room. He looked miserable—he 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 Roman’s 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 couldn’t 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 wasn’t part of. They would say, “There are a lot of people here today,” with not so much as a hello. Jane remained unperturbed —careful, 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.

“Do 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,” he whispered quietly to her. He placed a napkin in her lap and then his. He could see a worried look on Jane’s face.

“If you get lost, just copy me,” 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 Vin—or rather, the “red chicken,” which the gentleman found funny. He knew she didn’t 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 he’d 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 wasn’t 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, “Do not look him directly in the eye.”

“Why?!” she whispered.

“It’s an invitation.”

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, “Your Majesty.” His eyes scan Jane as she nervously stares past him. The intensity of his gaze prompts Roman to gently wrap his arm around Jane’s waist. The King looks up at Roman as if he has suddenly appeared from thin air.

“Très bien,” 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 isn’t real. Maybe one’s 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 that’s 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 favor—anything to make her interactions within the court easier.

The King stays for dessert, and there’s 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.

“30 minutes please, Joffrey,” says Roman.

“Very well, sir,” 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.

“Let me get that,” Roman insists.

“NO!,” 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 he’s in for an earful. “Tell me what I’ve done.”

“What 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?” she sneers.

Roman sighs.“Jane…relax.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you planning on giving me away? Are you trying to send me off with one of those rich old men?” she presses.

He stands at the accusation.“What!? N-No. I love you. Why would I do that?”

Her breathing is labored. Her eyes shoot around the room as if she’s coming up with a plan. “I won’t be his mistress or anybody’s mistress. I’m not marrying anybody you set me up with. You can act like it’s for the best or you’re doing me some favor by whoring me out but I’ll sooner die! If we’re done, then have the guts to say it, but I’m not staying here if—”

Roman’s 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. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!!! Let’s start over,”He can see the beginnings of that familiar panicked and trapped look returning to her—one he hasn’t seen in a long time, and it turns his stomach. He wishes not to return to that dynamic.

“Why would you think that I would ever send you away? You are my heart's keeper, Dove. You know this,” 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.

“I’m not going anywhere. You aren’t going anywhere. You are mine as long as you allow it. Let me explain it all to you. You’ll let me explain?” He presses his forehead to hers. His tone is quiet, just above a whisper—a 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.

“I came here to secure your future—our 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,” Roman explains.

Jane’s eyes shift from confusion to sharp understanding. However, she pulls away. “I thought you never wanted this life again. Why are you going back to what caused you so much pain? We have money. We don’t need these people.”

“You’re right; we do have money. However, we have no home. We have no property besides Totoguam which isn’t adequate enough in size if we were to settle roots there. We don’t 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. I’ll 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,” he pleads. Jane’s gaze switches back and forth between his eyes. She’s reading him. Confusion is still etched on her face. He may not win her over.

Jane shakes her head in denial. “But you love the sea. Why subject the rest of your life to being around these people you hate? That’s a miserable existence. Shouldn’t your happiness matter too?”

“We 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 won’t 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 don’t want to sail, then we don’t. My point is that we will have something to come back to Jane. Out there in the open sea—it’s 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,” he urges. Jane goes quiet, and Roman’s 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. “I should have consulted with you first. Maybe I didn’t because I knew you would be hesitant. I didn’t go about this the right way. It was never my intent to scare you. It’s just that ever since we met, I’ve started to really think about the future, Jane. You must understand, before you came into my life, I didn’t 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,” he says. She’s 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 her…

“You’ve sprung this on me very suddenly. You’re 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 can’t make any promises yet,” 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. “This 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.”

He walks to her space, standing in front of her. “We 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 I’m willing to sacrifice morally to ensure your future. I’ve pondered this for many nights. If there has to be a bad person in this situation, then allow me to be the monster. I won’t pretend that I’m not selfish when it comes to you. You make me impulsive…you make me uncooperative and irrational at times. Maybe even most of the time. My condolences to whoever gets in the way. But I…I must have you, Jane. You and you only.”

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.

“I’m not giving you an answer right away, no matter how convincing you are. I need time to think,” she mutters and stands. He doesn’t know why she feels the need to put her foot down, but he can at least afford her this. He’s already made the mistake of being sneaky. Now he must pay.

“That’s fine,” he says, stepping closer, and she doesn’t move. Another step, and she doesn’t 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 doesn’t think she’s ever been so conflicted in her life. Deep down, she can’t 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 wasn’t 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 hadn’t brought any heating tools. “No sheep’s head style today?”

Mary shook her head. “Monsieur Roman requested that you wear it down for your picture. But don’t worry; I will give you a more elaborate style before the show,” she promised.

“So be it,” 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 didn’t 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.

“Your Grace?” Jane called from the doorway.

“Ah, Jane. Come inside. Make yourself comfortable,” 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.

“You did these?!”

“Of course. Who else?” 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 didn’t mind it.

“Can I sit here?” 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.

“I had no idea you were such a talented artist. Is that little Eloise as a baby?” Jane smiled, motioning to the canvases on the wall.

“Oh yes. She was about eight months old there,” Arnaud said fondly.

“What about these other people?”

“Some of them are from my court—people I’ve met over the years. Some of them are from dreams.”

“I’m jealous. It must be a hard skill.”

“It’s a lot easier than you might think. Most of it is just shading and blocking. It’s 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. I’ve gotten better with practice.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way.”

His assistant continued to add more colors to his palette before he bowed and left. “So how have you been enjoying your stay?” 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. “It has been… interesting.”

Arnaud stopped his blocking and paused to look at her for a moment. Jane nodded cautiously. “Roman and I had a discussion last night. He finally came clean about why we’re here.”

Realization spread across Arnaud’s face. He looked slightly guilty. “You’re not the one who’s in trouble,” Jane chuckled.

Arnaud threw her half a smile and began painting again, building the structure of the picture. “And how do you feel about the idea?”

“I’ve never been more confused about anything in my entire life.”

“Ms. Ramlal, speak freely if you must.”

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 didn’t want to offend him. His regality could be a bit intimidating despite his kindness.

“I’m not sure it would be wise.”

“Do 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,” Arnaud sighed tiredly.

Jane paused. Well, he had a point. “Roman had a very difficult time in his early years. Europe has caused him much pain. It’s 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, he’s okay with it. Roman has a habit of becoming tunnel-visioned when it comes to me. He is willing.”

“Roman has a head made of stone when he sets his mind on something,” Arnaud said. Jane chuckled.

“We won’t 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 here—buying these expensive luxury goods. In some way we are contributing to someone’s suffering. I have a hard time getting over it. Being on the other side of it can feel very strange.”

“In some ways, you do,” Arnaud agreed.

“I 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,” Jane sighed.

“Now I must speak freely,” said Arnaud. His tone loosened, falling out of that distant, respectable voice.

“Please,” Jane urged.

“The grim reality, Ms. Ramlal, is that you do not get paid for suffering.”

Jane froze at those words. They rolled off his tongue easily. They were slightly sharp when they hit her, but the kindness in Arnaud’s eyes reassured her.

“Women like you, people like you—there 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. It’s how the system sustains itself. It sustains itself on the guarantee that you will struggle and never see that reward. Not just you, but millions—of 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 weren’t stolen, you weren’t bought. You are here out of free will. I imagine that could be quite frightening in some aspects ?” Arnaud glanced at her while mixing two colors to get a light blue shade.

“It is,” Jane said, her tone quiet and inward now.

“ You are guilty of no crime. You are not a bad person for ending up here. I don’t want to push you into this. Please believe me when I say that… I speak only from the purest intent when I say this. I believe that the people who came before you—all the people who have struggled in your bloodline—all 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.”

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.

“Instead, 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 you—a rarity, even among the most noble of them all. There is no force, no violence. Only a blank canvas waiting to be filled,” he said.

The room went silent now. Arnaud’s 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 tongue—cinnamon, orange, vanilla, and other flavors she couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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 moment—or maybe just a manifestation of his natural wisdom. “At times, I worry that I’ve made my pain my identity,” she says.

The look he gives her nearly blows her away. It’s a slip of his mask, too—an acknowledgment, a subtle nod to the idea, a quiet “me too.”

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 him—really ask about him. She sits up straighter and clears her throat. “ Since we’re speaking freely. How exactly did you end up in Paris?”

Arnaud inhales quietly as if he almost prepares himself to say the words. “If you’ve heard Roman’s story, then you’ve heard mine. Except I was actually royalty in my homeland. I was stolen—plain and simple. I was about seven years old. I was a gift to the ‘Angel of Versailles.’ That’s what they call Queen Angelique De Pointe here. The King and Queen already had seven children at that point. Angelique’s last child—a 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. That’s where I came into the picture.”

“Very similar stories. I’m glad you two at least had a friend in each other.”

Arnaud nods. “One of the better things to come out of it.”

“Your daughter seems to adore him,” Jane suggests.

“He 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, isn’t 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 wasn’t 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,” Arnaud shrugs.

“... Do you want her to have a relationship with him?”

“Yes. She’s far too young to understand. She will know one day. For now, he’s just her grandfather.”

“He 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. That’s unheard of. I thought most adoptees just faded away.”

“I’ve often wondered why he would go out of his way to title me as well. The only thing that could explain it…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 he’s left in his path. You see, it’s the ego—the 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. I’m sure that’s how he reasons with the violence. At least that’s my theory.”

“He had trouble swallowing his food, I noticed. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s old age… and guilt,” Jane says. Arnaud nods in agreement.

“Time 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 there—reliable, 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 I’ve endured at his hands. Though the idea will never cross his mind in his wake.”

“I’m sorry…” Jane sighed sadly.

“It’s alright. It’s 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 I’ve made of Palais Royal. This is the post I have made for myself. I will not abandon it.”

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. “I’m happy you’ve found your family.”

“And so have you. Which is why I think you will be just fine if Roman becomes seigneur.”

“What exactly is a seigneur?”

“A 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. Don’t worry about the land belonging to anyone else. The countryside of France is rural with not many inhabitants. Roman would most likely govern there.”

“I see. So essentially, Roman would have the power to create the community he wants?”

“Correct. Now, of course, there will be certain guidelines, but I’m sure he’ll find a way around them like he usually does. It would be whatever you two make it.”

“You very well may be saving him from sleeping in another room tonight,” Jane quipped.

A throat clears and it startles her. “Very bold of you to say, especially knowing you’d get the most horrible sleep of your life,” 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.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I didn’t invite you to sit over here,” Jane sighed.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I just wanted to see how you were doing and ask if you’ll allow me in the room if I agree to sleep on the floor,” 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.

“You know what? I think this picture would be much better with both of you in it,” Arnaud quips.

“Fine. How should I pose? Do we need to start all over again?” Jane asked.

“No. I’ve got your clothing down. I’ll just restart from the neck up. Just keep looking at him.”

And that’s 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 side—and 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 that’s 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 Jane’s 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 “too on the nose,” 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 Arnaud’s friend's wife from North Africa. Apparently, she would smear a black color into her eyes to accentuate them.

“She 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 children—so 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!” Gaston gushed.

Jane laughed at the way he dramatically threw the back of his hand over his forehead. So far, there hadn’t 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. “You are ready to own the night, Mon Cher. This will certainly get back to Versailles!” Gaston placed a jacket onto Jane’s shoulders.

“I take it you're in on the operation to get Roman and me titled as well? I’ve been walking amongst traitors.”

“You’re just now catching on? You’re a little late to the party, darling. Your beauty makes up for it. Now prepare to be copied. By the time they catch on, you’ll already be onto the next thing,” 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 couldn’t be more grateful for it. His beard burns across her décolletage 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 harder—a 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 Jane’s first time.

“If you mess up my hair, we’re going to have a problem. Mary spent an hour on it,” Jane gently pressed her hand against her updo. It was still intact.

“What about me? My hair was pulled back before we got into this carriage, need I remind you? That’s not very fair,” he scoffed.

“It’s better down anyway,” 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.

“Watch your step; there’s horse shit everywhere,” 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 soared—a 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.

“Brandy and a pipe. What about you?” Roman turned to her.

“The vermouth, please,” said Jane.

The waiter poured their drinks into sparkling, pristine crystal glasses. Her vermouth had oranges and limes in it.

“Oh, what is that?” Jane pointed to the carved black box on the serving platter.

“Snuff, madam. Would you like some?” the waiter asked.

“Does it go in the drink?” Jane asked curiously. Roman chuckled with Arnaud.

“You snort it, silly! It goes in the nose and makes you all fuzzy and happy. It’s like you drank ten cups of coffee. I’ll have some, sir,” 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.

“You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to,” Roman murmured quietly to her.

“Sensitive nose,” Jane excused. Charlotte looked a little disappointed but nodded.

“Don’t feel bad for Charlotte. She will find any excuse to party. You’ll see at the ball,” Arnaud chuckled.

“Not true,” 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.

“A ‘no’ is good for her every once in a while,” 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 wasn’t 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 untouchable—comfortable 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.

Iphigénie 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 father’s murder. The siblings, unaware of each other’s 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 Iphigénie 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.

“I would pay good money to see this for the first time again. I was like you,” Charlotte sighed as she fanned herself.

“How many times have you been?” Jane asked.

“This is my second year seeing it and my tenth time. It’s my favorite,” Charlotte swooned.

“The things we do for love. Grab your coat. ” 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.

“I suppose those were tears of enjoyment?” Roman asked as he helped her into her coat.

“Enjoyment. Sadness. Relief. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wish we didn’t have to go,” Jane pouted.

“I’ll bring you back for another show,” Roman chuckled as they walked down the stairs to the foyer.

“Opera isn’t your forte, is it?” Jane suggested.

“I’m familiar with the arts. I’ve indulged in them to the point of apathy. But seeing you experience it was the best part of the night,” 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 wasn’t ready to end the night.

“You two fancy a nightcap back at home?” Arnaud asked.

“Actually, I think we’re going to take the long way home. Don’t wait up for us,” 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 Roman’s 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 couldn’t help but notice the liveliness. Even though it was late, many people were still out and about.

Jane’s 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 present—a 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.

“Don’t I owe you an ice cream?” he asked quietly. It took a moment for it to register before a knowing grin spread across her face.

“Yes, you do. You promised,” she chuckled.

“Well, I don’t break my promises. Let’s hunt you down some ice cream,” he said, pulling her forward as his pace switched to a determined one.

It didn’t 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. “Wow! That actually might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I tried to tell you,” Roman laughed.

“Here,” Jane scooped more onto the spoon and fed him some. He insisted that it was hers only. She didn’t 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 levels—an 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.

“Surprised you wanted to come here. I thought you didn’t subscribe to religion ?,” Jane quipped.

“ You are my religion darling”, 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.

“I may not always agree with the talking points, but it’s beautiful, is it not?”

Jane nodded. “It is. It never ceases to amaze me how people come together to create these kinds of giants. It must take such a long time. It’s almost hard to believe they made it.”

“Not much can stop a determined man’s hands. Not even heights, apparently,” he retorted.

“Is that what you are? Determined?” Jane jokes.

“I am most urgent,” 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.

“What is making your haste?” Jane playfully turned her head back to him.

“You…” he said quietly. His eyes drifted to the muraled ceiling. Jane followed, throwing her head back onto his shoulder to enjoy the view.

“Me?” she echoed. A silent pause surrounded them.

“I had a vision when I went under,” 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.

“When it was black…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 make…with you,” he whispered. A fragility in his voice wounded her. His words made it evident that this thought had been weighing on him.

“What did you see?” she asked quietly.

“My whole life with you. Me, old and withered. You, with white hair. You as my wife…” he said. Jane stilled, slowly lifting her head from his shoulder to sit up and look at him. His eyes found hers, mirroring her own—stunned and surprised.

“Look…I’m okay if you decline the lordship. But that vision, or dream—whatever you want to call it—instilled a fear in me that I have never known. And that fear is that somehow I’m making a mistake by not giving you a life of dignity. I’m making a mistake by not sharing your last name. I’m making a mistake by not being able to introduce you as my wife. And I can wait no longer. I can’t Jane”, 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 hadn’t 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 no—a fear he likely had already accepted as a possibility before he asked. “Jane Ramalal. Will you be my wife? Will you allow me the honor of carrying your last name?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” 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.

“It’s heavy,” 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 wasn’t 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.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you more. And you’re going to be a great Lord. You’re going to help a lot of people, Roman. I just know it. You’ll do great”, she sniffled.

“We are,” he murmured.

She can’t 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 “I love you”. And what more was there to really say?

Roman POV

“Are you going to sleep the day away?” 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. “You want help?” 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. “Is it true that you are getting married to Lady Jane?!!!”, she yelled.

Her mother groaned. “Too loud, mon petit,” Charlotte rubbed the back of her head. She was obviously hurting from the drinking last night.

“Oui,” Jane bent down to Eloise to show her the ring. Eloise squealed in that pitch only a little girl could manage—shrilly and glass-breaking. Charlotte gasped and rushed over to see as well.

“Congratulations! I told you she would say yes,” Arnaud clapped his hand down onto Roman’s shoulder proudly.

“About bloody time,” Caden called out from behind an orange bush, where he was filling his pockets with oranges.

“Oh, it’s huge! Good job, Roman!” Charlotte gushed as she held Jane’s hand up. They went to sit, and Eloise climbed onto Jane’s lap. Roman could see the humor on her face, considering that the two had had very brief introductions.

“Ummm—can I be your flower girl?”, she begged.

“Well, if it’s alright with your parents,” Jane looked up at Arnaud and Charlotte.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” Arnaud joked.

“Eloise loves weddings. She’s been a flower girl many times, and she will not take no for an answer. But if it’s alright with you and Roman,” Charlotte laughed.

“YAY!” Eloise squealed.

“And you’ll be the ring bearer, Caden,” Jane teased.

“No way. That’s for little kids,” Caden scoffed.

“It will probably be something small anyway,” said Jane.

“Well, what certainly won’t be small is the yew ball. Your invitations came today,” Charlotte quipped. Arnaud handed them the folded cards. “Whatever you’ve done has worked. You’re 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.”

“I don’t 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?”

“Nobility, 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.”

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 fittings—test 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 wasn’t. 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.

“Roman,” her sweet voice called out into the dark.

“Mm?”

“You’ll tell me if you get bored, right? Tell me you want to go back to the sea if our new life doesn’t fulfill you. You won’t keep it from me?,” said Jane, her voice fragile and worried.

“Why on earth would I ever get bored so long as the woman of my dreams is by my side? I don’t think I even possess that level of selfishness,” Roman hummed. She could feel the shift of her head indicating that she was looking right at him.

“Our new life won’t have the twists and turns of the sea. There won’t be as much spontaneity.”

“Says who? I can think of several different things we can do to keep the spark.”

“Like what?”

“Jane can’t wear clothes in the house on Fridays,” Roman scoffed. He could nearly hear her eyes roll.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t need some grand adventure in the background to love as much as I did the day before. Don’t you and I, of all people, deserve some domesticity? Some normalcy? And what’s 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?”

Jane silently agreed. Roman knew that there wasn’t much he could say to calm her fears about marriage. Truthfully, that’s what this was all about. She feared that their marriage would become mundane and that he would grow bored of it. But Roman wasn’t 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 she’d 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 décolletage, 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 Jane’s stature.

As the final touches were made, Jane’s 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. “You look amazing! You look like the gold sculptures of Versailles!”

“You two look incredible,” 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.

“Everyone is going to love my dress. I’m the best dressed,” Eloise sighed confidently. Charlotte and Jane burst into laughter. Eloise’s confidence knew no bounds, but Charlotte would never take that away from her—especially knowing that she would only experience about three hours of the party before it became adults-only.

“You’re absolutely right, mon chér,” Charlotte kissed the top of her head.

“We're already behind schedule. Let’s go now before they start dancing,” Charlotte said, grabbing Eloise’s 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

“If she does not arrive within the next few minutes, I’m going to go look for her.” 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 didn’t 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 didn’t care for forgiveness, but he knew that Jane’s 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. Arnaud’s 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 “natural order” and made it known. He would do his best to dodge those conversations.

“You 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. You’re anxious. Relax. She’s done this before,” 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.

“I’m not anxious,” Roman scoffed.

“You’ve adjusted your tie about twenty times since you’ve been here—standing at the bottom of the stairs. You know these environments like the back of your hand. It will be what it will be,” Arnaud sighed.

“If I hear one thing that I don’t like, I might start flipping tables over, Arnaud. I mean it,” Roman warned, an edge to his voice that sounded more pirate than gentleman.

“You will do no such thing. There is too much at stake. You underestimate her,” Arnaud chuckled.

“I do not.”

Arnaud rolled his eyes. “You do. She’s a smart girl. I’ve seen her work her charm. The Parisians love charm. Now if you don’t relax, I’ll have to give you something stronger.”

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 wasn’t. It also dictated who was invited to dinner and who wasn’t.

A commotion stirred at the top of the steps, and a wooden staff echoed across the room. Someone was coming.

“The Duchess of Orleans, Charlotte Du Pointe, and her lady daughter, Eloise Du Pointe!” 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 mother’s hold. “HIII, everybody!!!” 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.

“Papa, do you like my dress?!” 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. “Mademoiselle Jane of London and Monsieur Caden of Grimsby!”

Jane, glimmering, golden, and shiny like stardust, stepped into everyone’s 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 jewelry—her 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.

“Provocante!” (Provocative)

“L’audace!” (The audacity)

“Audacieuse!” (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 rather—her true one.

“You are absolutely stunning. I would ask you to marry me again, but I already did,” 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.

“Well, ask again if you must, but my answer will probably be yes, just so you know,” she smiled. She pulled away to look at his outfit. “You look absolutely amazing. They did such a good job matching us.”

“It was a nightmare letting them dress me. The stylist had to stand on a stool to put on my shirt. I’ll be glad to leave this place,” Roman complained.

“Not too fast. You owe me the night,” she purred.

“Do I? I don’t remember making any promises, but with how you look right now, I’m inclined to comply.”

“If you know what’s good for you,” 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 fiancée. 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.

That’s 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 dress—true to the color. Another peculiar choice for French society. Jane had left her mark.

“When is the food coming?” Caden interrupted, startling Jane as she forgot he was hovering around.

“Is that all you think about?” Roman laughed.

“I’m a growing boy. Ooo—hors d’oeuvres!” 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 another—a 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 couldn’t 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. Jane’s 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 dinner—a 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 à la Mode, Poisson à la Sauce Duxelles, Soupe aux Choux, canapés, 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 she’d 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. He’d seen her bite into the side of a chuck roast like a lion. He wasn’t 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 wit—always 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 was— 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.

“Have you gotten it out of your system?” Roman stood a few feet away, watching the pair as they draped over each other.

“Just wait until the wedding,” Charlotte snickered.

“SMALL wedding,” 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.

“Did you have fun?” 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 agreed—a bit drunk himself and cycling through sleep on one of the chairs near the dance floor.

“After everybody got drunk, absolutely. I danced circles around those old farts with Charlotte. Now my feet hurt,” Jane sighed.

“We can get you into a hot bath to help those feet, and you can tell me all about your night.”

“My night? What about your night? Did you like any of it?”

Roman set her down inside the carriage and stepped in foot first. “Maybe 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.”

“Gambling? You really are a pirate, aren’t you?” 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.

“This thing is so hot,” she grunted.

“It’s the wine. It’s a chilly night.

“ Help me take it off”, she whined. Roman obliged and loosened her corset for her.

“ Nono…I just need the skirt cage off “, she pleads.

“ I…I have to go under your dress and I can barely see anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “ What are you…scared something’s going to jump out and bite you? It’s not like you haven’t visited down there before. I don’t have an extra set of teeth—I promise.”

Roman chuckled at her bluntness. “ I don’t 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 something”

“ Roman. Take off the fucking cage.”

Taken aback by her tone he dives right into action and drops to his knees. “ Yes ma’am.”

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.

“ You got it”, 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.

“ I mean I found something hard and smooth so I figured it had to be it.”

“ I knew you’d find it. You’re notoriously good at finding buttons. You may be the only man in Europe who actually can ”, 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. Jane’s 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

“ Did you put perfume here ?” He asks quietly. His voice swells with a daring tone. A hidden question really. Is he reading her correctly?

“ Yes”, she says in a quiet tone. A small smirk spreads on her painted lips.

“ Now, Why on earth would you do that?”, he tests.

“ Well it got your attention didn’t it ?”, she quips. A cheeky edge to her words. Her eyes— 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 it’s 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.

“ Were you like this…all night ?”

“ Yes”, 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.

“ Tell me…”

“ T-Tell you what?”, she stutters

“ What thought led to what I’m feeling underneath my fingertips right now”, he gruffs.

“ F-Fear”, she sighed breathlessly.

“ Of what?”

“ Fear that when you make me cum..it won’t be enough. It won’t be enough until I have all of you.”

“ You have me”, he urges.

“ Not in every way”, she gasped as his fingers speed up on her clit. It didn’t take much with her. Not with his skill.

“ Speak”, he commands. And he’s 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 labored—heart racing as he anticipated the sound she would make.

“ I Need Your C— ,” 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 she’s gotten her fix.

“ You finish that sentence”, he leans in to kiss the sides of her neck as his hands trail up and down the sides of her. She’s hazy from the orgasm.

Shyly.. she continues in another way. “ What you’ve given me all this time. It was enough then…but not anymore”, 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 they’ll 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. Roman’s top was destroyed. He noticed the way she glanced at her hands—likely wondering how she possessed the strength. He threw his coat over her shoulders as the help escorted them back up to their bedroom.

“ Hot water in the tub Joffrey”, 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 doesn’t make this any easier. Doesn’t give him any more composure .

Jane Pov

“ Will my bath slow the momentum ?”, she asks quietly. She doesn’t want the maids to hear.

“ Have I not proven my patience by now?”

“ Is it wrong to ask? Have you noticed you’re about to rip out of your pants?” 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.

“ I’ll take my bath cold…in the other room ”, 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 …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 didn’t send for him. He would come back when he was ready. It didn’t 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 she’s quickly slipped off her robe. He freezes in place, eyes darkening even in the light.

He doesn’t 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 “stand in front of me”. Being gawked at all night did nothing for her. It didn’t move her. But under his gaze…she could barely take it. Hesitantly, she makes her way to him.

For a moment she’s stunned—nearly losing the steam to do this. To be this courageous, sexy, brave woman who takes charge. But when he finally speaks it’s simple. “Take down all your hair. Please”, 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. “ Perfect”, 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.

“ Are sure ?”, he asks. She doesn’t 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. He’d 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. He’s completely still, watching her closely, waiting for her to back out. But the alarms weren’t 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. He’s 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.

“ I’ve never done this because I wanted to until now. So you’re going to have to tell me what you want. What you like and what you don’t”, she says quietly.

“ Well, you’ve got the first step down. You put your mouth around me. Don’t stop on my account”, he grunts. Jane resumes, taking him into her mouth.

“ Use your hands where your mouth can’t reach”, he says. A shaky edge to his tone. She listens, using the spit that rolled down his shaft beneath her hands.

She’s timid, careful not to hurt him. Not to squeeze him too hard. He’s so big that if she goes too far she gags a bit. That didn’t 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.

“ You’re doing it perfectly, leave it ”, he says. His composure slipping through a clenched jaw. He didn’t 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.

“ Spit on it.”

“ spit on it ?”, She echoes.

“ Like it just pissed you off”, 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.

“ God dammit…just like that. What a good girl you are. Are you my good girl ?”, he cooes.

“ —-Glaahhjksmm!—”, 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 she’d 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. “ Alrightalrightaright wait... Fuuckkk. Stop”, he stutters. She pulls away quickly.

“ Did I knick you?” She panics.

“ No. But this will be over before it starts if you keep going dove. Fucking hell….”, 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.

“ Maybe I should get cleaned up first”, 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.

“ Enjoy the taste ? ”, she chuckles .

“ I should ask you the same”, 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. He’s 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. She’s about to cum already. Almost embarrassingly soon. But he had learned her for months now, an advantage that he took happily.

“ Are you in a rush?”, she whimpered.

“ I’m in no rush, your body on the other hand seems to be”, 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 wasn’t 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.

“ I know you have one more”, he rumbled against the side of her thigh.

“ Mmpphhmm”, 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 wasn’t 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.

“ Come on baby, right there”, 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.

“ Please …please”, 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.

“ AAAH!!”, 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. Twitching—she 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.

“ Aren’t you going to unwrap me? I’m not fully undressed until you do”, 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. “ Where are you right now ? Where did you go ?”

She blinks a few times before she answers. “ Habit. I’m sorry.”

“ 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. It’s your choice.” He grabs her face in his, his forehead against her own.

“ I know. I know, I want this now. I'm just anxious.”

“ 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. “ Okay?”

“ Okay”, 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 it’s 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.

“ I’ll let you. I’ll let you…”, she whispers to him. Her voice so fragile—in this moment she felt like she was made of glass. He felt it too. He stares at her for a moment, unsure if she’s 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. Jane’s 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. “ Hey…relax. Relax. Where are you right now? Are you with me ?”, he asks gently.

“ Yes I’m…yes I’m with yo—”, she loses control of her breathing as the air leaves her . She can feel all of him now. He’s sheathed inside of her and the fit is snug.

“ Am I causing you pain?”

“ No…yes…I mean no..I don’t fucking know”, 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 she’s ever been……” You’re just so…big”, she sighed.

“ Your body will get used to it the more I move. We can try another—.”

“ NO …no, just give me a second”, 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 he’d 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.

“ Slowly…”, 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 disappears—coming out gleaming in her arousal. It was her body doing that. It was her body capable of that. It took a moment to register.

“ You’re still far away”, he pants. His composure bending against the pressure of his arousal. His tone swollen with need -velvety and full.

“ Maybe I’m just broken down there. I’m not exactly the type to finish during these endeavors”, she mutters. He doesn’t 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.

“ That wasn’t sex”, he says firmly. “ but this is…and it’s a head game. I mean your brain doesn’t even realize how close you are. I can feel it Jane”, he looked down at where they connect. His thumb rolls over her clit as he feels her contract around him. “How about this”. Roman searches the bed for the ribbon he pulled off her and holds it above her face. “ I’m going to put this over your eyes and we’ll see just how much you “don’t work”. With nothing to distract you, you have no choice but to feel”, he explains. Jane looks at the red ribbon. Who would have thought she’d be wearing it as an eye cover.

“ Okay”, she says. He placed the ribbon over her eyes, wrapping it twice around her head. Her fingers press gently against the silk when he’s finished.

Then he’s 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 can’t 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 they’re 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.

“ Oh..OHH—fuck!”, she cried. Now she’s thankful for the ribbon. She wasn’t 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. It’s too complicated to focus on her breathing so every few thrusts she decided it was easier to hold her breath.

“ Breath or I stop ”, he warns.

“ I can’t…pleaseee”, she croakes. Her nails begin to bite the skin on his wrists. That just makes him surge deeper.

“ You can’t cum if you pass out. I need you awake. I need to watch your face when you finally do ”, he pants.

She can feel his mouth on the side of her ankle and his thumb on her clit again. Something rushes through her, it’s 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 she’s 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 she’d 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.

“ Okayyyy. Okay! Fuckfuckfuck!”, 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. He’s 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.“ You’d think you saw a ghost”, he snickered.

Her body still tingled, ears still buzzed. She sits up and so does he. “ So I may or may not have overreacted before all of this”, she admits sheepishly. He laughs even harder. No seriously, if she would have known it would be this easy. If she’d known that it would feel like that, she would have done it sooner.

“ Come here. We’re not done… ”, 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 wouldn’t leave her clit. Desperate to make her cum. She can’t 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 couldn’t put into words.

“ Right there?”

She nods frantically. ��YESyesyesrightthere”, 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 precision��� 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.

“ Is that what you want?”, he grunts.

“ Yes I need it. I need it”, 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. She’s 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 can’t help the smile that creeps up in between shouts of ecstasy. There’s 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. “ You beautiful creature, my desires incarnate”, 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 doesn’t 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 he’s 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.

“ You’re sooooo deep”, she grunts against the mattress, muffled and all.

“ You want some out ?”

“ I don’t fucking know—-oh my godddd”, 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.

“ Is it broken?” He taunts.

“ No!”, she shouts.

“ but I thought you said it doesn’t work?”, his thrusts turn to daggers. An attempt at compliance that she gave freely. Rubbing her words in her face.

“ It worksitworksss”, 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 —and 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 days—gentleness, 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.

“ YES…. YES PLEASE ROMAN. PLEASEEE!!”, 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 —to 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.

“ ITS SO MUCH!”, she yells .She’s soaked herself and him completely. A new wave of arousal making it’s appearance heard loud and clear. She didn’t 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 didn’t 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 perfect…absolutely perfect.

“ Do you feel it my love ?I kept my promise.”

“ FUCKK”, she screeches, voice cracking from the exertion of release after release.

“ I know. I know.”, 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 ‘I love you’ and ‘you’re beautiful’. 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. “Roman….”, she pleads.

“ Give it to me.”

“It’s so much”, she warned weakly. Slightly afraid from the strength of the release she was harboring. A load too big to carry on her own.

“ I have you.” 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 he’s twitching—his 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 her— though she doesn’t 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 throat…the first to break the ice. “ Yes again, to the marriage thing by the way.”

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 she’d 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 enough—if 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.

She’d been crying, he could tell. But her smile was radiant. It was probably nerves—the same nerves he’d 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. He’d 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. She’d 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 wasn’t 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 watching—just taking in all the amazing people he’d 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 it’s 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 façade, 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 rooms—one for guests and one for more intimate parties—a 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 it—the real beginning of their story—a 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 town—more 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 shore—a 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.

“It’s blue! They painted it blue!?”, 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 figurehead—a 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 image—her face—was carved into the mermaid.

“’T’was Roman’s idea if you hate it,” 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.

“It’s good luck—a mermaid in your likeness to bring us luck and protect us. She even wears your talisman around her neck. See?” Rory pointed at the mermaid's necklace. There it was—somehow 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 itself—a representation of the trials they’d 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 ever—a 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 didn’t 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 ‘Really, Captain?!’and ‘Are you sure, Captain?’ fell from his mouth. Fear and excitement clashed.

“You’ve 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,” 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 Roman—a silent goodbye to two partners. Rory was his right hand, the man who did the hard jobs. A trusted friend.

Cortez and Adhar’s 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 she’d come to know. He taught her sword fighting. They talked about London on numerous occasions and kept her company.

“I’m going to miss you. Write to me,” she sniffled.

“I will. I’ll be back soon, I promise. This time next year we’ll all come back. I’ll even drag William with me if I have to,” Adhar smile.

Roman grinned. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me and for her. You’ll make a great captain.” Adhar clapped a hand over Roman’s 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.

“A’right you mangy mutts. New change of plans. You’ll answer to Adhar now. I expect your presence at my dinner table in one year’s time. I order you lot to stay alive until then. Is that clear, you scallywags?!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” the crew replied in unison. Their stances were rigid as they gave him a pirate salute—the 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.

“And then there were two,” Jane sniffled. She looked up at her husband with joyful, teary eyes, parting ways with the life of a pirate—a crew that had saved her long enough for her to find herself again.

“Two indeed. We have work to do, darling,” Roman quipped, giving her a swift kiss.

“You know what?”

“Mmm?”

“I think I know what my final wish will be,” she urged.

His eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down at her determined face. “What is it?”

She sighed. “You said to use the wish on myself, but this is something I want. I want this now more than ever.”

“Okay...” he replied, waiting patiently. Her eyes closed as she leaned back into his chest.

“Uh... Dragon?” she called out.

A few moments later, a thunderous and regal voice responded. “What, child?”

“I’m ready to give you my last wish,” Jane blurted.

“...Go on,” said the dragon.

“I wish for our town—the town that Roman and I will build—to be a sanctuary for all misfits. For every ‘other.’ 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 all—let there be no evil force strong enough to penetrate it. Let this town be self-sustainable, resilient, and content,” 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 things—surely it couldn’t count as one wish. Could it?

“It is done... goodbye,” said the ominous voice. It echoed and trickled away in the wind, just as Jane’s 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 didn’t 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 o’clock at night.

And last, she loved the friendships she was building. Not just any friendships—girl 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 anything—no judgment. She told stories in detail, stories that would be far too painful for Roman to hear. They did the same, sharing memories—good 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 hadn’t reached out sooner—a reminder to how one’s 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 couldn’t before. She couldn’t 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 “husbandly duties”. 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. “What’s on your mind? Does the food displease you?”

“No—no. It’s great. I’m just not as hungry.”

“What’s wrong?”

Jane paused for a moment. Was this really a good time? As understanding as he was, sometimes men got weird about these topics. He hadn’t brought it up, so she was taking a leap. “People around town have been asking me when I’m going to have a baby,” 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. “Has this upset you? Who was it? I will have a talk with the—”

“No, no. I’m not upset at all. Besides, you know how middle-aged women can be sometimes. It’s natural for them to ask”, Jane insists.

“It does not have to be natural if you do not wish it,” he explained.

“I know—I understand. I think our life feels pretty full with just the two of us. I’m fulfilled. I’m 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.”

“I think if you care so deeply about being a good mother, then that’s usually a good indicator that you would indeed be a good mother,” Roman chuckled. Jane smiled.

“Well... what do you think? Should we?”

“I’m okay if we do. I’m okay if we don’t. 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.”

“I think we should enjoy each other a bit longer. Maybe I’m selfish, but we’re due a few more years of just being husband and wife. Maybe it’s not in the cards. We’ve had a few accidents,” she shrugged.

“Is it an accident if you beg for it?” Roman scoffed. Jane laughed; he certainly had a point.

“Well… if it was going to happen, it would have happened by now.”

“You 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.”

“Have you not been meticulous?” she smirked.

“Negative. I can show you meticulous,” he warned. She shook her head playfully.

“How do you know all this anyway?” Jane squinted.

“I have plenty of fathers for friends. They give me unwarranted advice too. It’s not just you,” he snorted.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Roman pulled her chair closer to his. “Whatever future is ahead of us is a future fulfilled. I could ask for no more. I am incredibly lucky to have you.”

“And I you. I won’t push my luck. If it happens, it happens. If not, there is no loss. When we’re really ready, we will know,” she hummed.

“No loss whatsoever,” 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. “Aww, what on earth are two doves doing all the way out here? Isn’t this a bit too close to the sea?”

“You know, I asked myself the same thing once, but then something really amazing happened,” Roman grinned.

“Let’s not question it then,” 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 you’ve 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 I’ve 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 you’d like. It really makes writing all the more worth it. Bye for now! ❤️

[dangerousartisanwerewolf]

To all the Americans doom scrolling tumblr rn...

I am not American, nor am I old enough to vote yet as I missed being the legal voting age for my province by only about a week- curse my extremely late birthday.

(which weirdly enough has also had such an incredibly tight election that they are still counting the votes right now even though it happened 2 weeks ago because the two parties are basically tied. }

but I am also very worried for you guys way down south. Hopefully America will put the right person into power this time and everything ends up being ok for you all. Not to be too cliché but I am sending thoughts and prayers and I hope you guys all stay safe down there. I honestly can't even imagine how you guys fell- I don't even live there and I've been feeling increasingly nauseous as the hours go by and I have had to offline for the most of the day.

Remember:

To take care of yourselves. Just in general, in whatever way you see fit

You absolutely do not have to live stream the election polling/results thing on TV, doom scroll election content the whole day long, watch the news, or consume any other election related content. As horrible as it feels to say this; the results will be the same regardless of whether or not you are watching it. Sometimes it is just better for you and your mental health to just log off of sm/screens for the night

If it all does feel like its getting too much for you, please log off/take a sm/screentime break

Most importantly, if you haven't already, please vote!!!! I am not American and am barley old enough to be considered a legal voter (Missed my own countries election *tears*) so I can't really help in terms of providing resources but I am sure there are all sorts that can help you I'm sure. I know that its getting late at night; some polls have closed already but not as many as you would think. I found out that most are actually open way later than I thought. As it turns out, some are even open til 1! You learn something new every day I guess!

Just Please, Please, Please go out and cast your ballot and make your voice known, with how close this is quite literally every voice matters!!! GO VOTE!!!

Poll closing times in case you need it (I only included ones that close 8pm and upwards because it is 7:30 at the time of writing this)

8 p.m. ET

Alabama

Connecticut

Delaware

District of Columbia

Florida (Polls in Eastern time zone close at 7 p.m. ET; part of Panhandle are in Central time zone)

Illinois

Maine

Maryland

Massachusetts

Mississippi

Missouri

New Hampshire (Polling hours vary by municipality and are listed by location here)

New Jersey

Oklahoma

Pennsylvania

Rhode Island

Tennessee

8:30 p.m. ET

Arkansas

9 p.m. ET

Arizona

Colorado

Iowa

Kansas (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties in the west)

Louisiana

Michigan (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties)

Minnesota

Nebraska

New Mexico

New York

North Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in all but eight counties)

South Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in the east)

Texas (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET for most of the state except three counties in the west)

Wisconsin

Wyoming

10 p.m. ET

Montana

Nevada (The polling location at City Hall in West Wendover closes at 9 p.m. ET)

Utah

11 p.m. ET

California

Idaho (Polling locations in the south close at 10 p.m. ET)

Oregon (Polling locations in Malheur County close at 10 p.m. ET)

Washington

12 a.m. ET

Hawaii

1 a.m. ET

Alaska (Polling locations close at 12 a.m. with the exception of Adak)

I'm not really sure what other useful info I could put as I don't know much about America or it's electoral system but I hope that helps.

A lot of people I have seen have been posting about how they feel sick to their stomach's and that they can't get off the news and how they just feel terrible so...

Things you can do to distract yourself for the rest of the night (And possibly the next few days, idk how long it takes to count votes)

Have an early bedtime/take a late nap (Only go to bed after 9 at least though, otherwise you'll mess up your sleep schedule and make you feel worse.) Just sleep your way througb it if you cant help it.

To add on to point one I often use asmr if I can't fall asleep right away/to distract myself. My favorites are: Jaden Aliana Asmr, Oceans Asmr, Kaitlynn Reha asmr, and my absolute favorite Goodnight Moon ASMR (Check out her babble brook, 1920's, or valley girl series')

Listen to a podcast (I like Rotten Mango- informative true crime, Buzzfeed unsolved- funny true crime/ghost hunting, Look behind you- also true crime, and Chris Chan; a comprehensive history)

Never too late for some cleaning! Clean your house, bathroom, bedroom, closet, do a deep clean.

If your a student like me- do your schoolwork! I know you have some studying or homework that needs to be done! Get on it!! I use the pomodoro method if that does anything

Have a self care night- do an everything shower or fancy bath, make facemasks, mani pedi's ect.

Watch a movie or marathon t.v shows you love/that are comfort shows (Some of my comfort shows are; Bobs burgers, Gravity falls, the moomins 1990, the office, what we do in the shadows, black books, derry girls, moone boy, and all creatures great and small and M.A.S.H. Some of my comfort movies are; Little women, the cornetto trilogy, Emma, Legally blonde, Pride and Prejudice)

Never too late for some cooking! One of my favorite hobbies is cooking and baking (Mostly baking) Make some chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies, muffins, cupcakes or try a fun cake.

Go for a night walk! Just make sure you bring a buddy and some flashlights of you're in total darkness like I am right now. (Love me a Canadian fall! Already snow where I am so of course that means everyone now needs to immediately put up Christmas decorations lol. At least the lights are nice at night)

Spend time with loved ones. Call or text a friend, spend time with your family, roommates, whoever. If your on campus at a uni see if there's literally any activities or clubs open at this hour you can go to

Read. I know you have a tbr you keep meaning to get to

Go on a research rabbit hole about something interesting. Try to learn something new. Some topics to get you started relating to where I live cause why not; Try to learn about : The Animals of Canada, Indigenous cultures and peoples of Canada- ex: try to learn some Cree or Halqemeylem phrases, try to memorize all of our provinces and territories.

Get through any chores you still have to do

Make/do something creative: Play an instrument, record a song, make a collage, paint, draw

Play some music, listen to your favorite songs on loop (Spotify's still collecting data for wrapped!)

Download a videogame on your phone- just one to pass the time even if its total addictive trash. Some ones I like: Moomin town- Idle, relaxing, town building, slowpaced, free, Miriam webster quizitative- free, wordgames, has an end to it, Toca boca hair salon- not free, hair salon game, endless, Toca boca town- not free but there are dupes, dollhouse game, bird bnb- townbuilding, slowpaced, as well theres all sorts of cute isle cat games; I like the grocery store and cafe ones

Make sure to:

Drink water

Eat at regular intervals

take breaks from screens (It'll hurt ya eyes)

get some sleep at some point

Don't sleep all day (Try to get up at a normal time)

if you feel like you need- put screen time limits on your phone. Or as well, turn down the brightness if you feel you have to doom scroll.

That's all for now. Hope you guys are doing ok and that the results are what we are all hoping for. Just know that you are in pretty much everyone's minds and we are all thinking of you (Even if we don't live in America). Stay safe and take care of yourself and your mental health.

Love, thoughts, prayers, and support from Canada/Tumblr and have a good night.

Congrats if you managed to get through this absolute brick of text. I commend you. I'll probably check back in tomorrow.

[maiden-of-the-waters]

Oceans Rebirth

Summary; Bèiké’s control is slipping, her mind is breaking, storms ravage the land, droughts rage and fishermen yield nothing. When the Buddha is consulted, he offers a solution to her and her alone, but it’s not answer Bèiké really wanted to hear. Can she do what needs to be done before Sun Wukong interferes?

Warning; Angst, broken minds, arguments, hurt/kinda-comfort, self sacrifice, this was before Bèiké knew she was one of the true immortals. Art depicting mild gore. Please read with caution.

Taglist; @vap0rwave-dr34ml4nd @tunadunanana @szynkaaa @marcu-bug @s0rr3l @bottyshaker-900o (if you want to be added let me know.)

It’s finally done!!! 😭😭Strap in folks, this is going to be a long one.

————————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————————

Being stretched so thin makes it difficult to be where I am in the moment… It’s hard to be everywhere at once, all the time…

Those are words that Bèiké has said more times she than could count. Words filled with exhaustion and a reality she had no choice but to accept.

Her mortal mind ever the servant to the very thing she immortally personified.

Part of her often wondered if the universe had made a mistake. Should she exist as she is? What if the water was just supposed to just stay water?

Why have a body? A consciousness?

Why possess a human heart?

The human body is such a fragile form to hold when you are Water.

As she lounged in a plush pillow-nest that filled a luxurious room within the palace of the Water Curtain Cave, her thoughts cause another morose sigh to escape from her. Which - in turn - caused a disgruntled chirp to rip her from her thoughts as she turned to face her ever wandering attention back onto her Simian Stone Brother.

Who, in turn, stared at her with sulking expression.

“Your mind wandered again.” Sun Wukong stated matter-a-factly. His tone as grumpy as his expression. The Great Sage not liking being anything less than the center of attention.

Instinctively, Bèiké’s mind filtered through a hundred possible excuses before she settled her mind and sighed. “I’m sorry brother… it’s hard to be here today.” She answered honestly.

Sun Wukong blinked. His expression loosing its annoyed grouch as he moved to sit a bit closer, getting in her space until their knees touched, his hands went to grip hers. She tensed at his proximity but didn’t move away, allowing him to initiate contact.

For all his foolishness and impulsive nature, he what he wasn’t was dull-witted.

“Hard-to-be-here as in, within this cave? Or hard-to-be-here as in, being in a body?” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. Having known about her mind’s struggle to exist within her human form for a while now. Having found her dangerously dazed on more than one occasion when she had come to visit him and the Phoenix Maiden on the mountain of Flowers and Fruit he proudly called home.

Her mind had been so scattered that she neglected the body she - for reasons unknown to everyone accept the Buddha - possessed. She’d forget to eat, forget to move, forget to breathe, and in extreme circumstances, she’d forget to make her heart beat.

Her eyes would be open but staring at sights that weren’t in front of her. Sun Wukong had been forced to jerk her consciousness back into her body on multiple occasions, even biting her harshly to shock her out of her dazed state. Kick-starting her heart back up.

He had - back then - harshly scolded her for allowing herself to get to that state until he had learned just what had caused it. What she was constantly fighting. What she was eternally trying to hold together with no breaks or reprieves or mercy. He pitied his sister as much as he found himself begrudgingly admiring her.

Now, she stared at his hands as she tried to focus on the Monkey King in front of her, not the rush of the water curtain cave as it beat the rock into submission, not focus on the fish swimming through the veins of the river or the clouds overhead moving as though on a breath.

She tried to focus on the soft fur, not the whales casting their bubble nets to catch fish on the other side of the world, their songs vibrating her ears. Or the blood running through the creatures of the worlds veins as they ran, or slept, or played, or fought, or-

A louder chirp made her flinch back to reality as she met the glowing ember eyes her brother ever possessed, staring at her with more than a little worry.

“Is it getting harder sister? Tell this Sun Wukong and I will do what I can to assist.” His stone calloused hands rubbing over her arms in an attempt to ground her, his nails gently scraping and pinching against her skin. Trying to comfort her in the way his people do.

She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be grounded as she leaned forward slightly to rest her forehead against his. His heat a steady anchor against her normally cool skin.

He cooed at his little sister. The sound reverberating from the back of his throat. For all his playful nature and mischievous tendencies, Sun Wukong, the great sage equal to heaven, was a good king who cared for his people. And he had claimed her as one of his. His nature wouldn’t allow him to be anything less than attentive to the woman he had taken as his younger sister.

So he took it in stride when his normally reserved and touch-adverse sister gripped the fur on his upper arms.

She gently rubbed her nose against his. “Forgive this Bèiké, Wukong. You should be anticipating the celebrations for the Day of your birth, you only have 4 full moons left… not worrying about a woman slowly going mad.” She released the hold she had on his fur with a sigh. “I can hear the voices of the water calling me, I don’t think I am strong enough to fight them anymore… do you blame me?”

Wukong nuzzled his forehead against hers with a soft coo. “Of course not dear sister. You’re forced to stretch yourself thin, I can’t blame you for something you have no control over. Go and rest. Regain your strength so that you can better worship this Sun Wukong later.” He grinned and gave her ear a chaste nip, hooting out a laugh when she flinched back and glared at him. “As you say, there are four months until the day of my birth is here. I expect great presents from you for my birth celebrations. An offering as great and handsome as I.”

She blew out a breath in his face to get him to back further away from her, which he did with his own flinch that left her chuckling. “Worry not brother, I plan on gifting you a treasure that will surely enhance your glory. Mayhaps it will also grant you some humility.”

“How dare you, insolence! I am a Pious Buddhist.” Wukong guaffs, crossing his arms, scowling but happy she’s feeling better enough to play with him.

“Yes and the Lady QuanYin throws celebrations every night for the inebriated.” She rolls her eyes as she gets to her feet. Finally giving into the urging of her voices in her mind commanding her to return to the sea.

“Your faith in this Sun Wukong is lacking sweet sister.” He pouts, snapping his teeth at her.

“I simply see the truth of you dear brother.” She smiles back at him as she steps to the Water Curtain, visibly relaxing as the spray drizzles across her skin.

She turned to give him one last hug before she allowed her physical form to quite literally melt away, rejoining the water curtain, then the river, then the ocean. Where she expanded to a vast nothing that was everything.

It was much easier to think when she didn’t have a physical form. Flesh, bones, organs and a functioning brain are complex and hard to maintain. It was much easier to exist when she didn’t need to worry about feeding her immortally mortal body, or keep track of her limbs, organs and senses.

The waters, or more specifically, allowing herself to rejoin the waters gave her clarity.

And she took advantage of that clarity.

The celebrations of Sun Wukong’s birthday for one. She already had an idea of what she wanted to gift him.

The storm summoning whistle and the abyssal armor.

Both grand and glorious and would be useful to him in his battles should he need to regear up to defend his kingdom.

Useful gifts, gifts that will give her brother a fun gleam in his eye. Gifts she knew Sun Wukong would love.

As whales sung in the distance, sharks made their migrations, carp fought their way upriver, children played in the streams, rain rehydrated the land and all the other things the waters of the world did, Bèiké thought about her families and friends, and wondered what they would do next.

And she tried not to think about how it was getting harder and harder hold her body in its physical state. Her chest painfully tight, her lungs stuttering.

She didn’t want to think about a fact so scary it had left her weeping in her hidden rooms on more than one occasion.

She may be immortal… but her body was failing.

And nothing could stop it or slow it’s failing down.

She didn’t know when it started, if she had to put her finger on a specific timeframe. Perhaps it was always that way and she only became aware of it the past hundred years or so. Or maybe it was just a switch that day she grew aware of her mind becoming more and more disoriented.

And as vast as the knowledge in the ocean was, there was little that could be done to stop a human body from being crushed by it.

But she didn’t want to think about that.

So she forced her wandering thoughts back to what she could get for her friends and family when she returned to her palace.

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

Bèiké remembered the first thing she ever heard. She didn’t know when exactly her consciousness had begun, only that she had one day become aware of the fact she had one.

“There you are, what a beautiful child you’ll become. Welcome to the world, Maiden of the Worldly Waters.”

The voice had been masculine in nature. But gentle and happy. The voice one should associate with a person meant to be a mentor or a guide.

She had known with a certainty she didn’t know she possessed that it was the Voice of the Buddha. And she had decided she liked his voice before she even knew what it was to ‘like’ or ‘dislike’ something.

The ocean is old, timeless and ever shifting, No one truly knows exactly how old the Waters of the world are.

By the time that thought occurred to Bèiké, she was already a part of it. And to have a consciousness be born of the waters is an unexplainable experience.

Bèiké remembered the first time she opened her eyes.

She was in the deep ocean, the light far away but still visible. She felt so small yet far too large at the same time. She felt powerful yet small, loved and feared, wild and free.

Her first act had been to head to the surface, the light had been so beautiful from under the waves and she had wanted to see it up close.

The first time she stepped out of the water and onto land it was a wild storm. She laughed with the thunder and danced in the rain. Making it dance around her in turn with nothing but the mist to cover her modesty

The world felt so alive.

She can’t recall now how long she had danced. Only that when the storm had finally calmed, she was back in the middle of the ocean, the waves creating flowing skirts around her hips and her hair covering her chest to flow into the waters as pearls formed to begin adorning her.

She was sitting on top of the waters, leaning back to watch the clouds when they arrived.

She remembered thinking how pretty and bright their armor was, how delicate their movements. The bright objects they held gleaming in the light and appearing to glow - she’d later learn that they were called swords and spears, weapons. - And they guided down a Man and a Woman to stand before her.

Bèiké remembered thinking that the man’s clothes and hair were radiant. And that his brow was stern.

The woman, similarly, was a stunning beauty. Something about her felt familiar to Bèiké, and even without the older woman saying a word, the maiden knew in her heart that she was fond of her.

The conversation had been brief. Having been so long, Bèiké struggled to remember exactly what was said,l that day, but they held curiosity and caution towards her. Bèiké, in her innocence of being newly formed and freshly capable of speech, and done little help relieve any suspicion.

When she simply told them she was water, that they stood on her body, that they held her within them, it was the older woman, who introduced herself as the Lady Mazu, who confirmed their suspicion.

The Lady Mazu was delighted, and took the maiden as her own right away, giving her the name she most popularly went by. “Bèiké” little seashell, her precious ocean gift. Encouraging the Jade Emperor, to agree.

———

The time in the jade palace had been a time of great learning, how to read and write, proper speech and posture, songs, poetry and dance, palace life and hierarchy, avoiding the empress and her secretive glares and false niceties.

Bèiké was kept busy

So busy, that it took a long time for the whispers to be heard.

She remembered when it happened the first time.

A dinner banquet for one of her brother’s promotions had been coming to a close. Beike had remembered being on edge all day but not knowing why. Her precious attendants, Tian Shui and HeHua were similarly concerned.

It had snuck up on her, like a snake hidden by shadows, coiled and ready to strike. Bèiké had no idea the danger was so close. Perhaps that was why it had snuck up on her with such success.

It wasn’t a trickle of sound that steadily grew louder, no. It had been a cascade. The dam bursting and the floodgates flying open.

Beike had collapsed holding her hands over ears, trying to block out a torrent of sound that was coming from her mind.

Rushing through her like a wild river and a riptide combined. The crash of noise that left a single repeating message in the front of her mind.

“I must return.”

She didn’t remember her body fading or her return to the water. Only that when the sound finally, finally stopped, and she was able to open her eyes once more, she was deep in the ocean. The only sound she could hear was the beating of her own heart.

Relief.

The rest was a blur, vaguely aware of dragons, great, shining, metallic beasts coming and checking on her on behalf of her royal family. But even the exchanged worse were fuzzy at best. Eventually she was able to “Wake Up” again and come out of the waters and she was later told she was gone for three weeks.

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

She had learned since the day of her brothers promotion banquet, when the crescendo washed over her and forced her back to the ocean for over a fortnight. She had learned the signs to look for and the whispers to pick up on.

It didn’t completely disappear the problem, however it made it more predictable. She knew when she had to return to water, to listen to the voices before it was too late and the whispers went from a whisper to a scream, a small request to be heard to a deafening demand to be obeyed.

Instead of a tidal wave of noise that appeared all at once, it had in time become a creeping whisper that steadily grew louder at a much more tolerable rate.

Still…

It was easy to get lost in the whispers of her own nature. The waters from around the world, the clouds above growing fat with rain, the ebb and flow of the waters over the land, the last dried breath of the parched to the gasping struggles of the drowning. The rivers widening and bending, the lakes and ponds rising and falling.

Life ever moving, water ever flowing. And her mortal, human mind struggled to keep up.

It was getting worse…. How frustrating.

“My Beike!”

She jumped back to her body and blinked at her adopted mother, the Lady Mazu’s eyes fixed on her with worry, her hand clutching hers in a grip as tight as her delicate hold would allow.

Bèiké gripped her skirts as she forced her attention back to her present body.

“Mother, I am here.”

The goddess of the Sea and guardian of sailors looked at her daughter with eyes filled with doubt and worry. “…Are you?”

Bèiké sighed, unable to lie to her. “For the moment… I’m sorry mother.”

The Lady Mazu furrowed her brow and gave her daughter a chastising look. “Naughty girl, why must you make your poor mother worry so?” She sighed, gently ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair, untangling the pearls that inlay the long sea-colored strands before gently cupping the young woman’s cheek. “I am worried for you dear, I fear that I see less and less of you. And then when I do see you, I can’t entertain the joy in my heart because your eyes are still far away.”

Despite knowing it wasn’t truly her fault, Bèiké still felt guilt tighten her chest at her mother’s distress. “I have failed you mother, I haven’t been filial. I beseech you to forgive your foolish child.” Bèiké pressed her cheek into her mother’s touch, her hands soft and warm, soothing, grounding.

“Oh you silly girl. How can I blame you? I should be the one apologizing.”

Bèiké sucked in a harsh breath and flinched back. “What? No! Mother you mustn’t, I should’ve never put you in this position of worry.”

Lady Mazu simply sighed and and summoned her regalia, sitting up straight, fixing her skirts and holding her head high. “I am the mother of the sea, I can sooth storms and protect sailors, I am a guide, a saint and savior…” her face filled with sadness again. “Yet I can’t sooth your mind, I can’t guide you home… I can’t protect your heart. You must forgive your helpless mother.”

Bèiké shook her head, unwilling to let her mother take the blame for her. “My lady please, there’s nothing to forgive, I have never blamed you. Mother. I owe the person I am today thanks to you.”

“Oh my sweet child. I only wish I could fix your mind.”

The conversation had then turned to more light-hearted topics after that. Mother and daughter catching up and Bèiké happily gifting her mother with precious treasures from the deep, enriching her palace evermore. Doing her filial duty to the woman who adopted her as family.

They both tried to avoid the forbidden topic of the Pearl Maiden’s mind.

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

It started a month ago with a single storm.

Bèiké had been swift to quell it. But it had devastated all the same.

Not in damage or loss of life. No.

In fact, since it had been in the middle of the ocean, nothing had been harmed. It was devastating in a far more subtle way.

Bèiké had had no control over it.

It had been created without her conscious control, and despite being water, it resisted her command.

That shouldn’t have been possible.

She Was water.

Quelling a storm was a simple to her as raising a hand above her head. And yet…

She felt fear take root in her stomach, her hands shaking as she kept them clenched to her chest.

She was losing control…

What did that mean for her? What did that mean for water? Her mind scrambled to find an answer but there was none to be had.

She had been far too frazzled to return to the Jade palace, she couldn’t risk the courtiers, the eunuchs, or even her precious attendants observing her in such a state.

But in desperate need for some sort of connection, something to stop the torrent of panic flooding through her, she went in search of it among people who wouldn’t judge her for being anything other than the gentle princess.

And so it was, that she had found herself on the mountains of flowers and fruit. And Sun Wukong, though surprised, had welcomed her into his home all the same.

“Pray tell brother - and you mustn’t judge me for this query- but say you feel like you’re loosing control over your body. How would you handle such a dilemma?” It was a question Bèiké had casually asked the victorious fighting Buddha hours after they had sat for dinner. Wukong’s limbs had been loosened with his favorite wine, he had been coming down from his more festive mood that had started the evening with his people.

Still, he gave the question some serious thought all the same… or as serious as the wine allowed him to be.

He answered her as he fell back, draping himself across her lap and putting her hand into his golden mane, demanding some head scratches. She obliged him as he answered her, his eyes shut and the smile on his face content.

“I would try to think about what could possibly be causing this body of mine to be so bold as to disobey its master.” He grinned all teeth. “If I came up with nothing, had no pompous trickster cursed me, had no imperious scalawag tried to poison me somehow, I would simply assume it was an internal issue and I’d open myself up to take an intimate look.”

She blanched as she looked at him. “I don’t presume you’re being metaphorical in your words.”

Wukong hooted out a laugh at her expression. “I take it Brother Wujing and my dear Phoenix didn’t tell you the story of the three insufferable Tao priests who presumed to be immortal?”

Bèiké slowly shook her head as she resumed his head scratches as his whined persistence. “No, I don’t believe anything involving Taoist priests came up.”

Wukong shrugged. “Well, it’s no matter, this Sun Wukong can happily give you a demonstration.” He jumped out of her lap and hopped to his feet. “Little monkeys! Go get this Old Sun a sharp blade! Watch as your great king demonstrates his greatness!”

Bèiké insisted he didn’t need to prove his immortalities to her of all people, she was there for the aftermath of Lao Tsu’s furnace incident afterall.

However Wukong was already too deep in his feverish mania to be stopped, he wanted to brag and show off, and so he would. Bèiké doing her best to not be obvious in her looking away.

She had politely excused herself shortly after getting him drunk off of his favorite wine again so that her departure wouldn’t be noticed.

Well that had been…

Graphic…

Fruitless in answers as well… she doubted ripping herself apart to look at her own insides would enlighten her to the answered she desired.

She couldn’t even hold a physical form for long, let alone focus long enough to disembowel herself. Wukong was mad she decided, utterly mad. Not that that was really surprising news to her.

Still…

As her heart thumped audibly in her chest, she laid a hand against it as she found herself thinking.

As the waters churned around her, and she felt her control slipping bit by bit as the sun began to brighten the sky once more, she contemplated…

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

Bèiké huddled in a corner of her room, her head in her hands as her body shook.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, keep it together, you have to breathe.” She repeated that mantra to herself over and over.

The whispers were a near constant yell in her mind now. And much to her horror, control had fully slipped weeks ago.

And even worse, she couldn’t return to the water.

She was stuck in her human body, and as her mind and nature struggled to return to its source - return to water - it beat and slammed against the fragile, mortal shell like a vicious trapped beast. Shredding and biting and screaming.

It hurt so bad.

Her need to return was a constant pounding in her head. Her mind ripping itself apart.

Water acted now without her permission, her own body betraying her. Storms either ravaged the land or refused to hydrate the land entirely.

Massive floods and severe droughts were reported around the world. The loss of life had already overwhelmed the kingdom of shadows, the underworld was choking on the dead.

Fishermen, too, yielded nothing. No fish, no urchins, no crabs or shrimp, no octopus, not even seaweed were successfully caught.

And combined with the severe droughts and floods, the mortals were starving and thirsty.

And as mortals do when desperate; They prayed.

Prayed for relief, prayed for mercy, begged for something to save their families and themselves.

The gods, celestials and denizens of the sea did what they could. But fighting a never ending storm was no simple task.

The Lady Mazu had run herself to the ground in exhaustion trying to sooth the storms and save the people with little to no results. The waters disobeying her as much as they had sliced themselves loose of Bèiké.

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, causing her to sob as she sucked in a breath that she distantly realized she had not taken for 7 minutes. Black spots littering her vision as her mind was pulled in a thousand different directions.

Someone spoke to her, the sound of the voice echoing in her head like so much agony, she flinched away from the sound and clenched her hands over her ears tighter.

“Breathe, you have to breathe, keep breathing.” She mumbled reminders to herself as she manually counted her breaths.

Thunder crashed far too close, the rain beating on the windows- against the walls, the clouds holding the city churning, the panicked blood flow of the guards and citizens,

Flood washing poor creatures away, areas of dead space that refused to be quenched, lighting striking the ocean in an electrified jolt, wind blowing far too quickly, the sun being blocked out. The world darkening.

Pain… so much pain.

She sobbed, feeling it all, begging it to end.

That voice again, more insistent, but just as painful. She shook her head and whimpered, it was too loud to hear.

She was only vaguely aware of the shadowed figure walking away from her quickly on hurried footsteps.

Her mind was beset by the suffering of those below, weak heartbeats, panicked breaths, last breaths, waters’ destruction. She couldn’t focus.

It hurt.

Help… She doesn’t know if it was said out loud or not. Someone please help me

“Some-ing…Done… this-ing t-.. kill her.” She couldn’t tell how close those words she heard were. She didn’t know who said them or what they were talking about. She couldn’t even focus before her mind was pulling her to look at the great western oceans, another storm violently being born.

“Stop… please…” she didn’t know who she was begging. “You’re hurting them.”

A twisting turret of water shot into the sky to connect to violently twisting clouds above, dragging life into it and breaking their bodies. Bèiké felt their violent, panicked end as she retched and gagged.

“Stop, you’re hurting them, stop.” Tears forming in her eyes, running down her face, staining her clothes… or was that blood? What was water?

Help me please, it hurts… she begged again.

“Shhh child, breathe.” Hands, somehow both warm and cold, comforting in their touch, caressed her face and settled over her ears, gently lifting her head towards the source of the voice. “Breathe now.”

She sucked in a breath as more tears fell from her eyes, her hands gripping the ones steadying her head.

Her eyes opened to reveal the Buddha, that smile ever present on his face. She was dimly aware of her mother, father and attendants standing behind him a ways.

She looked back up towards the Buddha, her breathing slowing enough to allowed some capability of speech.

“Somethings wrong with me. I can’t control it.” She choked out, her eyes blurred with her tears as she begged him to help her. “I’m being ripped apart.”

“Yes maiden of the waters, I know. I must apologize. I gave you a mortal heart so that you’d love the land. I never intended for your body to rebel so violently against mortality. You were never supposed to be mortal. I see now that even without it, you would’ve loved the land all the same.” His ever calm smile was apologetic, Bèiké found herself instantly forgiving him even though she didn’t fully understand his words in the moment.

“It hurts…” Bèiké sobbed, gripping his kasaya as she’s seen children do a hundred times to their mother’s skirts. “Please, end the pain, I can’t bear to feel their suffering any longer.”

She wanted to scream, but her voice was so damaged, her pleas were barely above a whisper.

But he heard her all the same. He waved his hand, and shooed all onlookers out. Which they did with varying degrees of hesitation, some being pulled out of the room, voices of concern rising.

“At ease child, I can’t end the storm, that’s something only you can do. But I can grant you the clarity to think your next choices through. For the next choices you will have to make are not to be easy.” He nodded and properly sat before her, still allowing her to cling to him in her pain. “I will take some of the blame for that, as it was my well intentioned gift that put you in this position in the first place. Water can never be mortal, I have learned that now, and I will not forget. Mortality only throws off its balance.”

He placed a hand over her eyes, his touch a golden glow. And with that glow…

Came silence.

Sweet, merciful silence.

Bèiké sobbed her relief.

“Oh you poor thing, you’ve been feeling it all, but chained and unable to be apart of it.” A pain pinched his features as he took on her burden to relieve her.

She fought to calm her breaths as relief washed over her. She tried to settle her mind. So much was broken, so much needed mending. “Can you break the chains? Can you revive my control” She looked to him, hoping for an answer.

His expression was one that made her chest tighten ever further as she felt dread hang above her like a damned sword of Damocles. “Alas, maiden of the waters, I cannot. And for that you have my eternal apologies. You have become too mortal… this body of yours… its yin and yang are too broken and out of balance. It will no longer support the job it’s been tasked with.” His voice was gentle even as his words were heartbreaking.

Still, Bèiké pushed forwards. After all, all problems had to have a solution… right? “If it’s the body that is broken, will it not do for me to just shed it and return to the waters?”

The Buddha shook his head. “You misunderstand me child, I speak not of this physical body, but your innermost core. The body of You…. It is not so easily shed.”

She tried to understand his words, what he was saying. And found she could not. “Auspicious One please, help me learn, I am dull-witted. What must I do? Innocents are dying because I’ve lost control.”

A sad look pinches the Buddha’s features. “Pitiful child, I wished there was a simple solution. In order to shed your core… to reclaim your identity as the Worldly waters… You must cease.”

She froze, it felt even as though her heart in her chest paused as a horrible understanding washed over her “…Cease?”

The Buddha looked said, but still he nodded. “Yes… cease. The Jade emperor is tasked with keeping balance, the core of the current imbalance resides in you… in order to quell the storms, to spare the land and break your chains, you must offer that core to him. And with its Oceanic Dharma, he can restore the world. But in doing so… you will cease.”

Her mind raced. It was an answer, a solution… but at what cost? Of course she’d pay it, it was one life compared to millions, the math was easy… but… “…. If I did that… mother’s heart would break….”

“Yes… it will.” He nodded solemnly once again.

The plans she had…. The people she met… “… I made friends, I made promises to those friends…. They would mourn me.”

“More people would mourn you than you realize sweet child, you have become beloved.” He gave her a sweet, sad smile. One that reassured her as much as it broke her heart.

“…. Doing this… choosing to cease… will that save them?” She had to be sure… because what was being asked of her…

She felt a breath of relief wash over her as the Buddha nodded once again, reassuring her worry. “It will restore the balance and bring about the gentle rain and revitalization of the world once more. They will be safe, they will be free to mourn you.”

She stared at him, biting her lip harshly as tears fell fresh, the choice made, her heart and mind settling to the decision she has made. “Then I will do this… for them.”

The Buddha was silent for a moment before he carefully place a hand on top of her head. “I’m sorry for putting this task on you child, please forgive me.”

“We didn’t know… we couldn’t have known. You’re not at fault Auspicious One. There’s no villain to defeat or to place blame on in this.” She offers a shaking smile at him, trying to be brave. “Just a duty to perform… correct?”

The great and merciful Buddha stared at her for a moment before he smiled and nodded, gently reaching to take her hand. “You are truly a Propitious and Filial Child. No matter the outcome, I shall ensure your sacrifice is immortalized. The gentle and tranquil Yìn Zhēnzhū gōngzhǔ, and her love for the land.”

Still trying to keep a brave face, but unable to stop the tears, she sat up straight and kowtowed before the great Buddha. Offering her thanks for both the merciful silence within her mind, and a solution to the great problem.

As the Buddha bid her to rise, she looked up at him, a new determination in her gaze.

“How much time do I have left?…. I…” her face fell again. “I must say goodbye.”

The Buddha nodded in understanding before he looked out the window and contemplated. “I can hold your storm back with my dharma for two days… forgive me child that’s all I can permit. Any more and your core will shatter, the oceanic Dharma housed within will be irreparably damaged and the balance will never be restored.”

Beike kowtowed again. “Thank you Auspicious One… I shall not dare waste even a second of it.”

He led her out of the room where her loved ones, her father, mother, her beloved attendants and loyal guard… even her dear cousin, Erlang Shen all of them were there.

She rushed to hug her mother first, and as she was held by her family, both her and the Buddha explained the situation.

It wasn’t easy…

Her mother had collapsed in grief, even her Sage of a father, the honorable and steadfast great Jade Emperor, let out a sob as he looked upon the two of them in horror.

“Auspicious One, I beseech you, there must be a way to spare my child. We haven’t even had a millennium with her.”

But upon receiving no such solution, He excused himself - after giving his daughter a hug and an order to come and see him tomorrow - to go and grieve in private for a bit with his beloved consort and wife.

The Buddha excused himself next to go and use his dharma to temporarily silence the storms.

Her attendants clung to her and her faithful guard bowed and wept. They asked to follow her and she was quick to forbid it. She needed them to aid in helping her mother. Because she knew her mother would be hit worst by this. They needed to stay alive to grieve her so that they would have her mother, and her royal mother would have them.

And her attendants would be well taken care of, and build their cultivation to become powerful ladies. They would become a force on their own so that they would never, Never need to serve another royal ever again. And her faithful guard would grow in strength, rise in rank, become a great general and never need to depend on her or another king ever again. She held their hands tightly as she made them promise.

It took convincing. But they agreed. Holding their chins high and putting on a brave face as they served their Lady dinner, prepared her room and vigilantly stood guard.

Her beloved people… she never did deserve them…

That left Erlang.

“Are you too going to convince me to try and find another way dear cousin.”

“…. No, the solution came from the Buddha himself, he wouldn’t have suggested it had there been another way…”

“Then what is that look for?”

“…..” He sat next to her and reached out to grip her hand. Fingers entwined, shoulder leaning against hers. “I can’t protect you… I am sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize Erlang,” she leaned her head against his, allowing him to support her weight. “Besides, my dear cousin, mayhaps one day you will find someone who you can protect, who will drive you crazy and be strong enough that you don’t allow those hovering instincts of yours to rule you… mayhaps one day you’ll have a couple kids, a charming family… a good life.”

She smiles and holds his hand tighter as she watches his face pinch in a pain that has no physical wound.

“And when that day comes, and you’re truly happy, and the sun is setting pink over an orange and purple sky, I hope you gather your children and sit them down under a weeping willow next to a gentle river, and you tell them tales of their silly Cousin-Aunt who would’ve loved and spoiled them so much.”

Tears weld in his eyes, the only thing refusing to let them fall is pride.

“That could’ve been us…”

“No…” She was quick to stop him in the trail of thought. “It couldn’t have been. We are too much alike… we would’ve fought and made each other miserable, you wouldn’t have been able to keep an eye on me the way you need to in order to settle your battle-mind, and I would’ve become odious of the way you hovered and restricted me in the name of safety… and deep down, I know you know this….”

Silence before a pained chuckle and Erlang used his free hand to pinch the corners of his eyes, holding his nose. “You would’ve been an awful wife.”

Beike makes an aghast sound in her throat. “How dare you. I would’ve made an amazing bride.”

“Just not to me?”

“Just not to you… but, I am happy we are family. And I’m happy I was given this time to say goodbye to you…” she leaned her head against his shoulder again. “You’re a good man Erlang. You have such a big heart. Don’t you dare let others take advantage of that okay? And when you do decide you want to take a partner, make sure you’re not blinded by your dedication and choose someone with a good heart, okay? Choose Someone who will love you back wildly and most ardently.”

He looked at her with red eyes for a bit before he nodded and leaned forward to kiss her. And though she tensed, she let him say goodbye.

When he pulled back, he gently caressed her cheek. “I vow to you that I will do as you say. I will carry your name… I will keep them safe.” He glances at her beloved attendants and guard.

Bèiké felt a tightness of worry in her chest loosen as she placed her hand over his. “Thank you Cousin… you have no idea how much that means to me.”

He nodded and stood up, going to take his leave before he stopped, and looked back. “You need to say goodbye to him…. His Birthday is in just a couple dawns. He needs to know, or he will carry that anger.”

Bèiké clenched her fists against her skirts, but loosened them as she sighed and nodded. “I can’t tell him when…. He will try and stop it…”

Erlang nodded then gave a shrug and a whistle. Calling his dog next to his side. “Then don’t tell him when… but he deserved to know as your brother.”

The Water Maiden gritted her teeth. “I hate it when you are correct…”

He smiled and left the room. The hound on his heels.

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

Beike had two days… two days to say goodbye.

She wanted to spend most of it with her family, and that first day… she did.

Her beloved attendants and guard stood by her side as she was prepared and escorted to her Royal mother and father.

Together, they wept, and held one another. Then spoke of stories and laughed and remembered. She sang for them and performed for them one last time. Served her mother and father tea. Did her filial duties as a daughter.

Bèiké was unable to stop her tears flowing again as her brothers and sisters arrived as well, coming to embrace her and love her and say their goodbyes. Sharing their own stories with her, singing and celebrating the time she had had with them, with her. Apologizing for past arguments and disagreements, and showing remorse for not accepting her right away.

The Maiden of the Waters listened to them all without interruption, forgave the ones who asked for it and embraced them. Wanting to spend this time as family with no drama’s or petty rivalries.

They all did their best to enjoy the moment without acknowledging too much the impending doom creeping ever closer.

It was everything Beike could’ve wanted as a last day with her family. Forever grateful that she’d been adopted into it.

And it was done too soon, Beike looked out and saw the world in that stage of blue that’s common as the sun sinks that certain level below the horizon…

Day one was done.

She bid farewell to her siblings, sharing her love with them once more. She went and hugged her parents and told them of her plans for tomorrow, how she knew she needed to say goodbye to her sworn brother.

And while her royal mother wanted to spend her last day with her, her father nodded and understood her need to bid farewell. Placating his wife and asking that she only return in the morning so that they may spend some time together before….

He couldn’t finish that sentence, but the Maiden nodded and understood. Giving her word.

With that, she spent the remainder of the night with her beloved attendants and guard, sharing stories and fragile time….

It was when the early morning came about that she got ready. The sun still far from breaching the horizon as she made her way out on her cloud pavilion, her body still chained from rejoining the waters.

She carried a delicately wrapped gift carefully in her lap. The wrappings gold, orange, purple and red and shimmering. Colors that had reminded her of a beautiful dawn, something she had always associated with her sworn brother and his bright personality.

As the great Mountain Huaguo came into view, she felt her chest tighten in nervousness.

Sun Wukong could be unpredictable at the best of times, and completely irrational at the worst. She knew not how he was going to handle this.

She carefully stepped into the water curtain cave and called out. Some monkey Guai she recognized as a general raising his brow at her from his lounging position on the roof. She smiled and gave a polite bow before holding up the gifts to show him.

The general rolled his eyes and disappeared into the palace, Sun Wukong appearing a handful of minutes later. His clothes were not pajamas, though also not his royal regalia. He smiled at her, though his eyes were curious.

“My my! What a wonderful sight! My sister come to visit this Old Sun! And with gifts, a generous woman you are!” He wrapped an arm around her and began to lead her inside. “I feared you were stern with me! Such storms have been beating my mountain! Why, the young ones have all needed to find shelter in high ground! But if you are here with gifts, that clearly mustn’t be so. Though you must satisfy my curiosity Young Pearl. The sun is still a long time in rising, what brings you by this odd hour?”

Bèiké smiled, her voice tight as she answered him and allowed herself to be led. “I will tell you everything, my dear brother. But first, invite me to your table, let us sit. I want to see your smiles as you accept these birthday gifts before I must regrettably darken the mood.”

Wukong paused and looked at her, his smile dropping. “Darken the mood? Pray tell, why must you do such a thing? Has someone dared to insult you? Tell this Wukong and I shall have them apologize.“

Beike shook her head, and patted his hand. “Let us sit first, i shall tell you then.”

Wukong scowled at her vagueness but led her to his dining hall all the same. Sitting them down and getting a pot of tea on the fire.

“There.” He stated. “We have sat, and the tea is brewing, I have done my hostly duty, now explain.”

Beike tried not to laugh, for this was no laughing matter, but she smiled as she handed him the gifts. “Will you not open them first?”

He waved her off as he bared his teeth at her. “You stall. I am impatient young Pearl, what is the bad news you bring?”

Beike sighed before she pulled the gifts back. Staring at her hands before she looked back up at her brother. “I wanted to celebrate with you before I shared the news. I didn’t mean to cause you worry brother. But there’s no easy way to say this.”

She sat up straighter and looked her Sworn brother in the eyes. “Wukong… I’ve lost control, my body has rejected me, my mortality has run up… I don’t know exactly how much time I have left, but.…” she gave a shaky smile. “It wasn’t fair to not come and say goodbye…”

Wukong froze as he took in her words, his eyes searching hers as he searched for a lie, a jest, a deception. “That can’t be…” his hand reached out to grip hers. “You are immortal, that cannot be.”

She gripped him back, her lips beginning to tremble and her sight beginning to blur as she nodded. “It is so… the Buddha himself confirmed it. The only reason the storms aren’t raging this very moment is because he is holding it back…. But dear brother, my mind is broken, my body has failed…”

She shook her head her tears falling. “I did not know how to tell you, but you deserved to know. You are family, I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye…”

“You hush.” Gritted words.

“I wanted so much to celebrate your birthday with you, and see your happy reaction as you open these gifts… I wanted to give you a chance make peace with this.”

“Be silent.”

“I have failed my duties and lives have been lost due to it… I can never make that right, but I need to try and fix this. However I want to still say goodbye. It’s not right to just disappear-“

“HUSH!” Sun Wukong roared as he pushed her down against the pillows, snapping his canines inches from her face. “YOU BE SILENT!”

He shook above her, his breathing harsh, his hands gripping her wrists to the point of bruising. He looked down at her with golden eyes blazing, using his sight to see the horrible truth of the Pearl maiden.

And of course he saw that she was speaking the truth. Her very core was failing, her body all out of balance, her mind being held together by only the Buddha’s Dharma. Oh he knew the feeling of that power intimately well, for he was trapped under it for 500 years. And even that was swiftly breaking under the force of a torrent storm that was only just barely being held back.

His younger sister holding a power within her that was far too large for her current body, and he could see it was quite literally ripping her apart. An awful sight.

“I….” His voice shook as he is mind quickly ran through a hundred different scenarios. “Yes, an idea, I have an idea! I could sneak back to the shadow kingdom, erase your name.”

“Wukong…”

“Lao Tzu has a hundred different medicines, I could go steal a couple again.”

“Brother-“

“The immortality peaches bloom in another handful of days, you could eat them. I could mend your core! I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard! The Buddha misses things all the time! There must be some loophole. You are immortal, there’s always a way ou-“

His words cut off as the maiden leaned up and buried her face against his neck, pulling her wrists uselessly against his grip.

He shuddered and let out a whine when he felt her tears dampen his fur.

“You… you are not supposed to leave… How are you to leave? Young as you are, the young pearl that has slammed this Wukong with your waters in play. The skinny little princess who has stood up to me more than any of those celestials who dare call themselves warriors… yet you can’t beat this? How dare you…”

“I am sorry brother… you must forgive this Bèiké.”

“I do not! How dare you, you can’t leave. How dare you.” His hands released her wrists only to wrap around her and drag her into a crushing hug.

She of course hugged him back, Sun Wukong had always been steadfast and strong, even when he was angry or stubborn or doing something reckless he always somehow made her feel safe. To feel him tremble against her made her chest tighten to a near painful degree.

“My impulsive brother… please, I need you to make peace with this.” She rubbed his back as she did her best to choke back her tears. “I don’t want to leave with regrets.”

He snarled against her throat but refused to look at her. “You dare ask me to be okay with this? You are selfish.”

She combed her fingers through his fur, desperately trying to comfort him in the way his people do. “Will you let me be selfish in this? I want us to spend the day together, I want to celebrate your birthday early. I want to enjoy my time with my sworn brother and leave with good memories and no regrets…”

Slowly he began to relax and his grip on her loosened. “You ask a lot of this Sun Wukong Bèiké.”

Bèiké blinked rapidly at hearing her brother say her name, but nodded even though she knew he didn’t see her. “I know… I want today to be a good day for both of us… let your little sister be selfish, please?”

Long moments passed before he finally nodded.

“Because I am a good and gracious King and brother… I will do this.”

“You are a wonderful and handsome king.”

“Your praises flatter me sister.”He leaned back and gave her a look. “I… do not like this…”

Beike gave him a shaky smile. “I am not fond of it either… would you rather I left?” She asked genuinely.

Sun Wukong was quick to shake his head. “I would not chase you away. I want to spend the day with you. But alas, it feels odd to pretend nothing is wrong, you sit before me so it feels odd to grieve, yet I see your core shattering…” he rests his forehead against hers. “Would you be stern with me if I hid you away in the mountain where I knew it was safe?”

Bèiké closed her eyes and similarly pressed her forehead against his. “I’d be sad, because I know it would not change anything. You know that too… But… Thank you for caring about me…”

A growl rumbled in his chest. “I am your brother, of course this Sun Wukong is going to care.” A grumpy statement, but one that made Bèiké give a wet laugh all the same.

“I am so lucky to have you as a brother Wukong… the Valiant Victorious Fighting Buddha, strongest in the world. Brave old Sun.”

“…I don’t want to let go…”

Bèiké nodded, but took a deep breath and leaned back to give him her bravest smile. “Come! Let me celebrate your birthday early. No more tears! Let’s smile and make merry.”

It took convincing, and he wasn’t nearly as festivious as he normally was, but he eventually began to smile and laugh as they ate and drank. Some of the denizens of Mount Huaguo joining in on the merrymaking. Loving any excuse to celebrate, why not start the games early?

His eyes glittered at the gifts she had given him, the storm summoning whistle and the abyssal armor. He danced around and showed them off.

As the day grew brighter, more people joined in.

It was… fun.

Music played, the food was good, the games were chaotic and creative, everyone was laughing and smiling. One could almost forget that the Princess had a time limit…

But Bèiké could see when Sun Wukong remembered, he would randomly grow quiet and his brow would furrow. His hand gripping hers as if afraid that if he let go, she would disappear.

Bèiké did her sisterly duty and tried to ease his mind and keep conversation topics away from anything that may remind him. Today was about celebrating, sharing stories and making merry. She had even pulled him out to dance a couple times, both of them clumsy from the wine and making them laugh all the more.

As the sun began to set once more, the maiden of the waters knew she had to return…

She wasn’t about to lie and say that the thought of getting him drunk to the point he passed out, so she could leave without him noticing wasn’t enticing… but she ultimately decided it would be cruel to not give him a chance to say goodbye. And Wukong, seeing the change in his little sister’s demeanor and the far away look in her eye, felt his throat tighten.

“Must you leave already? Ba and Liu are about to get on the drums.” His hands gripping hers tightly.

She smiled sadly and gripped his hands back. “Come to the balcony with me Wukong… come tell me goodbye. Send me off with a smile.”

He snarled, but did so. His mind once again beginning to race as he thought of ways to fix the issue, heal her core…

And Bèiké gently tugged his fur. “You are going to hurt yourself if you keep trying to mend what’s already breaking. You have to let it shatter.”

The gaze he leveled on her was equal parts stubbornness, pain and manic. “How can you ask me to do nothing? I am Sun Wukong!”

Her cloud pavilion materialized as she gently held her brother’s face. “Wukong… I am hurting. My mind has shattered and it’s causing me so much pain… it hurts, and I am so sorry I’m not strong enough to deal with it.” She feels her voice choke as she thinks about what the Buddha told her. Takes a deep breath before smiling at her brother. “Those storms that are so out of control are destroying what is precious, you have always fought to keep your precious people safe. But this time, I have to be the one to fix things… you have to let me do this so that the pain can end.”

He trembled, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a whine and crushed her in a tight hug.

“I swear to you… I will find a way to fix this. You must hold on young Pearl, promise me you will hold on.”

Bèiké bit her lip as she felt tears well up in her eyes once more… it would’ve been too easy to promise, to trust him, to let him shield her and depend on him…

But as she looked back behind him and saw the lives of the denizens of the mountain that were much more fragile, whom had already suffered and survived so much… whom she didn’t want to risk anymore than she inadvertently already had, she took a deep breath and settled her nerves. She raised her arms to hug him back. The monkey Guai who - from the start of his existence - didn’t know what it was to turn down a challenge.

“I trust in your strength Wukong… protect your people, I will never forgive myself if they come into harm when I am broken.”

He shook his head as he leaned back, giving her a hand as she settled onto her cloud pavilion. “I shall allow no harm to befall them, rest assured. You must focus on your own health. I will reach out to you soon.” He gave her hand one final squeeze before he released her and watched her float away.

Bèiké didn’t dare tell him that she wouldn’t be there to answer him come dawn, and she knew he would be angry at her for that. And she accepted that.

She knew in her heart that, should she ever be reincarnated, she would spend the next several lifetimes making up for the pain she would cause her dear brother when he found out.

She could only pray he would forgive her.

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

Bèiké would’ve liked to think she was being brave.

To sacrifice one’s life for the protection of others, especially including beloved friends and family should be an honorable act. And an act that one usually faced with their head held high.

But Bèiké couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t trembling.

The early morning consisted of the Princess spending her final peaceful moments with her family. They sat in silence, both having no words to say and too many to voice, and just holding each others hands.

As the sun began to rise, the Buddha had called upon them. Guiding them to a location in the heart of everything where the ceremony was to take place.

While the world was still calm, the Buddha and his monks set up the area, blessing it and preparing it for what the Jade Emperor and his ever attentive obligation demanded him to do.

The storms had broken free of the Buddha’s great Dharma moments ago, the world was dark even though it was meant to be the middle of the day.

Her beloved attendants had wanted to accompany her to her final destination, but she had forbidden it. Not wanting to risk them. Their goodbyes had been tearful and filled with vows and promises. Beike was unable to bring herself to look back as she walked away, knowing that if she did, she would’ve have the strength to do what needed to happen next.

She stood with her mother and father on an exposed piece of land in the middle of the ocean, they were in the heart of the storm. The honorable and noble dragon kings of the four cardinal directions risking their lives to hold back the storm, allowing the Jade Emperor and his family to stand in the eye of it.

Bèiké sat in the shallow water where the ocean met the sand as the weight of everything crashed upon her. The whisper-screams that the Buddha was still mercifully holding back slamming against the barrier of her mind, making her dizzy.

There was no specific sign or signal that indicated what exactly needed to be done, but it was like a shift in the wind. Her heart pounding in her chest.

She looked up at the black clouds as the monks around her began to chant and she felt her royal father’s strength and power begin to spread over the world and demand its submission. And she felt herself begin to respond to its demands, even as another part of her twisted in defiance and raged all the more.

It was a particularly painful thump that had her clenching her chest as Wukong’s words reverberated in her head.

“If I came up with nothing, had no pompous trickster cursed me, had no imperious scalawag tried to poison me somehow, I would simply assume it was an internal issue and I’d open myself up to take an intimate look.” …. “Take an intimate look….”

“In order to quell the storms, to spare the land and break your chains, you must offer that core to him. And with its Oceanic Dharma, he can restore the world. But in doing so… you will cease.” The Buddha’s words echoed as she realized truly what she had to do.

Her breath quickened as she forced herself to swallow down her fear. She closed her eyes as the faces of her family and friends flashed in her mind. The pain of those who had been lost to her lack of control, the faces of those who would be at risk if she didn’t do what she needed to do.

“I will cease… but they will survive…” She murmured as she felt her hand break past her fragile mortal shell of a body, easily finding her own core. “The sacrifice of one will preserve billions, the trade is worth it.”

She grit her teeth and prepared herself. “It is worth it.” She let out a pained cry as she gave a swift wrench and tore her core free. Hearing the horrified gasps and cries of her parents.

As she held her core out to her father, and begged him to save… everyone, she quickly felt her strength fade.

Despite his horror, the Jade Emperor kept his composure. His strength and power moving his body instinctively to do what needed to be done. He took her core, the blood staining his hands, and the oceanic dharma that flowed within responded to his dominant presence.

He glowed as the wind kicked up and the sky filled with magnificent colors. Energy plunged through the earth and oceans as the balance between land and sea reentered equilibrium. Everything going back to how it was supposed to be and the effect almost immediately becoming apparent.

No longer shackled by a mortal shell, the waters fell back into balance and the world began to heal.

And as the Jade Emperor did his honor-bound commitment, Bèiké felt her mind settle, and the whispers fade. There was a pull to rejoin the waters as was her nature, but the mortal shell she was bound to still held her. She could feel herself fading, her body dying while still desperately trying to survive.

Her heart beating, her blood flowing, her breathing erratic. She distantly wondered if this is what mortals went through, the mind realizing what was happening while the body continued to fight.

The sobbing voice of her beloved mother caught her attention as she found herself embraced in her mother’s arms.

She tried to raise a hand to hold her mother back but found her body was no longer responding. And as she tried to respond to her mother’s desperate Pleas to not leave her, Bèiké found that her voice no longer worked.

As her breathing slowed, the clouds above them finally parted, revealing a truly beautiful view. A dawn of pinks, purples and golds…

It looks like Wukong…. Ahhh… I’m going to miss his birthday…. His heart is… going to…. Break…

As her vision faded to black, she heard a wailing scream that pierced the void…

Her last thought was that it sounded like the purest heartbreak.

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

It had been sixty years since that day.

The world had long healed. The droughts had been banished, the floods dried up. The fishermen resumed their craft and taught the next generation and the next, and the dead had been buried and honored.

However, mortals still talked about the phenomenon that had been observed on the ocean those sixty years ago.

The magnificent lights and that feeling of protection and security followed by a great cry that shook the world. Most everyone cried that day after hearing that sound; mortals, beasts, Yaoguais and immortals alike wept.

But most memorable of all, was the utter lack of motion of the seas days after the great mourning.

Not a wave, not a breeze, not a current was seen or felt upon the ocean.

It was as though the entire ocean was dead.

It had taken around fourteen days for movement to circulate within and above the oceans again. And from there, life had returned to a relative normalcy.

However, it wasn’t so easy for everyone to simply move on.

The Victorious Fighting Buddha, Sun Wukong had stormed the heavenly palace in anger, demanding an explanation for the ocean’s state and to see his sister. It had taken the Lotus Prince, Nezha, and his lordship, Erlang Shen to placate and comfort the mourning Simian after the unfortunate news of her death had been shared.

The Stone simian had been leaving, intent on heading back to his mountain to grieve with his people, when he had been stopped by the still grieving Lady Mazu.

She had broken royal decorum and invited him over, offering for him to view her daughter’s memorial and offer some final words.

There had been no body, she had solemnly explained, for after her last breath, her body had melted and became water that fell through my hands… all that had remained were the pearls that had always adorned her, and I had collected as many as I could before they rolled and were lost to the water.

It was said that Wukong had broken down before the memorial of the Pearl Princess, though only the Lady Mazu would know for sure.

Though servants and attendants claimed to have seen the two afterwards sitting at a table and sharing stories. When Wukong had gotten up to leave, the goddess had gifted him a pearl that had belonged to the Maiden.

Sun Wukong had not left his mountain much after that, the king remaining dedicated to his kingdom.

Though, there were rumors that drifted around about how he and the phoenix maiden, and sometimes Erlang Shen, would visit that island in the middle of the ocean once a year on the anniversary of the great mourning.

What they did on that island, it couldn’t be said, but those who dared to venture near swore they heard the most haunting melody and a whistle that always seemed to summon a storm.

————————————————

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

————————————————

What a curious thing life is… always finding a way to exist even in places where you would think life would be impossible.

Everything in life has a cycle, for some it’s life and death, for others it’s a constant journey of recycling.

Water is one of the latter, it’s always been here as long as life has existed on this wonderful world. And even before. There is no true death of water, for the water that exists today is the same water that existed billions of years ago.

Water is one of the true immortals, ever present, life bringing and ever flowing.

The ocean is old, timeless and ever shifting, No one truly knows exactly how old the Waters of the world are.

Deep within the depths, the waters churned and swirled in a circular motion, as if creating a cacoon. And as life shaped and formed within it, the beating of a heart reverberated through the ocean.

A light the shown down upon the churning waters, and a voiced ever familiar called out; “You have yet to finish forming, but allow me to be the first to greet you. Welcome back, Maiden of the Worldly Waters… you have been greatly missed.”

Upon hearing that voice, The Maiden of the Waters, for the first time in sixty years, opened her eyes and blinked up at the light above her.

She felt small and yet large, feared but loved, wild and free… and more so than before, she felt unshackled and eternal, endless and ever renewing.

She felt like water.

“Pray tell, Maiden of the Waters, do you know what you want to be?”

The Maiden felt her brow furrow as she thought, snippets of memory, some clear and some blurry filtering through her mind. A previous life, a mortal body… a broken mind.

She wasn’t that person anymore, part of her knew that. She wasn’t shackled by mortality, her mind wouldn’t break as that woman’s did.

Still…

“Maiden? My my, Do you remember who you are?”

The Maiden blinked back up at the light, and allowed her eyes to adjust, seeing the enlightened figure within.

She nodded as she answered.

“I am Bèiké, the Yín Zhēnzhū Gōngzhǔ, filial daughter, sworn sister, the deceptive Tranquil lady, The capricious and unpredictable waters… and I was loved.”

——————————————————————

ModPost;

AHHHHHHHHHH!!! We’ve finally reached the end! I’ve been working on this for two weeks!!!! All the art took me a while too. I hate doing backgrounds but it gave be a chance to test some water colored brushes I purchased and techniques for expressions and poses.

I hope you all enjoyed if you made it to the end! Let me know what you think.

I tried to proofread as I went along, but if I missed anything please forgive me.

[sissylittlefeather]

Bonded: Part 3

Surrender

A/N: I was able to write something! Here is a continuation of the vampire!reader series I started on Halloween 2023. Part 2 was the last day of my Kinktober challenge and this is Part 3.

If you need to catch up, here are the links:

Part 1

Part 2

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, there's the usual sex and smut, but also death and blood drinking

Word count: ~2.7k

"It's easy. You kill him."

“Kill him?!” You shriek and Mary smirks at you.

“You'll bring him back, of course. You have to turn him.” You look down at Elvis and he kisses your knuckles submissively. You're tempted to let him stay like this: all sweet and in love with you. But it won't work with who he is.

“I can't turn him. How do I make him a normal human again?” You look at Mary pleadingly and she scoffs.

“Not possible. Our actions have consequences, young one. You started a process that can only be finished.” She turns and walks from the foyer into the kitchen. “Follow me.”

You pull Elvis to his feet and he wraps his arms around you.

“If I'm a vampire, will you let me stay with you?” His eyes are so round and full of affection that it almost breaks your heart.

“Honey, if I make you a vampire, I'm not sure you'll want to.” He caresses your cheek gently and without thinking, you lean into his touch.

“Come on!” Mary calls from the other room, breaking you both out of the trance you seem to be in. You make your way into the kitchen with Elvis close behind you. “He needs to lay on the table.”

“How exactly does this work?” You ask as Elvis climbs onto the table cooperatively.

“You will completely drain him. Your venom will begin the process of turning him and when he wakes, he will feed from you first. That will complete the transformation and end the blood bond.” Mary speaks matter-of-factly, but for you and Elvis, this is a decision that impacts the very core of who you are. You look down at him laying on the table.

“I'm sorry, Elvis.” He smiles up at you, doe-eyed.

“Don't be. I've loved loving you.” You swallow the lump in your throat and turn to Mary, determined to do this right. You nod and let your fangs descend. He won't taste as good without an orgasm, but that's not your concern right now. He cocks his head a little to give you access to the place you've bitten twice at this point. You lean in and run your tongue over the spot. Then, you sink your teeth into him and begin to drink.

You were wrong. He tastes just as sweet as he did after sex. Something about him is absolutely intoxicating, but you can't let it go to your head. You need to focus.

Fifteen minutes later, you pull back and breathe, looking down at his ashen face. You're so full, but you have to keep going. He's almost there and he nods to you gently before his eyes close and he passes out. You try not to cry as you lean back down and keep drinking.

Finally, no more comes as you suck the spot on his neck. You look down and notice that he isn't breathing anymore and start to panic.

“Mary! He's not breathing!”

“Of course he's not. He's dead.” She answers you nonchalantly as she fiddles with something in the kitchen.

“Mary! Did I do it right? Oh God…” You start to think she's been lying to you and shake Elvis's shoulders as the tears stream down your cheeks But of course he doesn't rouse. You bury your face in his chest and cry. “Elvis! Please!”

It takes you a second to realize what's happening when you feel his hand on the back of your head. As soon as you do, you sit up and look at him. His blue eyes are sharp and clear and if it's possible he's gotten even more attractive.

“I'm okay, honey. But-” He opens his mouth and his fangs are prominent. “Starving.”

You nod frantically and crawl into his lap, straddling him as he sits up, his hand on your neck as he runs his tongue over a spot.

“Okay, you're going to want to bite savagely and cruelly, but don't. Make yourself be gentle.” You whisper. He nods and growls against your neck. You feel him drag the tips of his fangs against your skin and shiver. It shouldn't be sexy, but it is. His other hand holds your hip, pulling you in against his body.

“Male vampires can be quite dangerous. There's a reason we ended them. You need to keep him under control.” Mary speaks and you notice a nervous edge as she watches the scene in front of her. It's true that no one has seen a male vampire in decades. She's not sure what will become of Elvis.

“You can't control me.” Elvis whispers darkly into your neck and you start to think this was a huge mistake. Without any further warning, he sinks his teeth into your neck and starts to suck the blood out of you.

As soon as the blood hits his lips, he's addicted to the way it tastes. He drinks from you eagerly and intensely and you feel yourself start to get lightheaded.

“Elvis…” You whimper. “Stop…”

Mary notices how pale and weak you are becoming and tries to pull him off of you. He easily pushes her to the side and grabs you with both arms, burying his lips in your neck as he sucks on you. He's lost in a haze of blood lust and actual lust and if it wasn't for Mary, he'd lay you down and take you right there in the kitchen. It's only when he feels your hands in his hair that he stops for a bit and pulls back to look at you. You blink slowly, trying to focus on his face with the blue eyes and soft lips, as blood drips down his chin.

“Elvis…” You plead as a tear slides down the side of your face, your head flopping as he holds you.

“Oh God, baby. I'm sorry. Baby?” He shakes you and tries to revive you.

“Hmm?” You answer, loopy from blood loss. He licks the spot where the puncture wounds were and they begin to heal quickly. He starts to panic a little that he's drained you too much. Without thinking, he offers you his arm. You lean forward with your fangs extended and before Mary can stop you, you bite him and begin to suckle.

“No! No! Don't do that!” Mary frantically pulls you off of his arm and you groan. He tastes so good and you need more. “Stop! You'll end up bonded again and this time it won't be breakable no matter what you do.”

You dive back into his arm and he pulls you in close to him and Mary starts to panic. She rips you apart and slaps you across the face, hard. Elvis hisses at her and pushes her backwards, holding you protectively. Without another thought, he pulls your lips to his and all of a sudden you're both a tangle of tongues and blood and fangs and combined moans as you kiss deeply. He holds your body as you roll against him and it looks like there's going to be no stopping the two of you when Mary grabs a pitcher of water and throws it on you both.

Finally, this wakes you both up as you cough and splutter and look around confused. Mary sighs deeply and falls backwards into a chair.

“What happened to us?” You look at Elvis and then at Mary.

“You almost soul-bonded.”

“We what?” Elvis asks, his eyes wide. Mary gives him an exasperated look.

“Soul-bonded! You almost bound yourselves to each other for eternity!” You crawl off of Elvis sheepishly and stand up and he tries to adjust so that his erection is less noticeable. He looks at you with his eyes wide and round, but the look of pure devotion is gone. Some part of you misses it.

“Now begins his existence as a vampire. You will have to teach him. Can you do that?” You look at Mary as she speaks and nod slowly. “Do not feed from him again.”

“I won't.”

******

You spend the next few nights teaching Elvis everything he needs to know about being a vampire. He learns to feed, to compel, and to clean up his messes before a girl wakes up. Overall, he's a good student, eager to learn and do what he's told, but sometimes you have a hard time pulling him off before he drains a girl completely. You really can't control him.

It scares you to send him off alone, but he has to go back to Germany. You keep in touch and he seems to be doing well, but your chest aches with missing him. He took a part of you when you turned him and now it feels like there's a hole in your heart. He sees you one last time before he leaves for home in 1960.

“Thank you for doing what I asked.” He speaks sullenly, like he's not exactly grateful.

“Elvis, I tried to warn you. This life isn't easy.” You look up at him and he cups your cheek gently.

“It's okay. I asked for it. It's my burden to bear.” The way he talks makes you want to cry. He didn't deserve this. You look down at your shoes to try to hide the tears.

“I'm so sorry.” He tips your chin up so that you're looking into his face.

“Hey. I asked for this. I'll be okay. You just… take care of yourself, alright?” You nod and desperately wish he wasn't leaving. It's stupid and impractical but you're not ready to be without him completely. Something about what you went through together has you wanting to cling to him like your non-life depends on it. He kisses your lips softly one last time and then turns and walks out the door.

But you don't even have time to cry before he's back through the door, his arms around you and his mouth pressed to yours.

“I can't leave.” He murmurs as he kisses down your neck, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“You have to go.” You whimper and pull his hips into yours desperately.

“After.” He whispers, scooping you up bridal style and carrying you through your apartment to the bedroom.

When he gets there, he lays you down surprisingly gently and kicks his boots off. You spread your legs as he crawls on top of you, kissing the supple skin of your breasts. He opens your robe to reveal your bra and panties and moans softly when he sees you.

“You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” He leans down and kisses the valley between your breasts. Your back arches without your control as he continues to press kisses down your stomach to your thighs. A whimper escapes your lips when you feel his fangs graze against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Can I?”

“Fuck. Yes, please.” You try to remember what Mary’s warning was, but at this moment you don't really care. He smiles against your skin and licks a spot just inches from your center.

“Good girl.” He murmurs against you and then sinks his fangs into your thigh. You gasp and moan loudly as he begins to suckle from your leg. “Tastes so good, baby.”

You almost cum just from the sensation of him drinking from you, but he pushes you over the edge when he slips first one and then two fingers up inside you as he sucks. He barely gets his thumb on your clit before you shudder and pulse around his fingers, your orgasm ripping through you like a tsunami. After a few seconds, he licks the puncture wounds and then moves to your clit. You can still feel his fangs as he begins to lick over and around you fervently.

“I already came…” You whisper, your clit swollen and sensitive.

“I know. I want you to do it again.” The vibration of his voice against you makes you want to scream. Instead, you writhe and whimper as he drags his tongue over and around your sensitive bud. The pleasure is overwhelming and you feel another climax gather in your center.

“Oh God, Elvis!” You moan loudly and run your hand in the front of his hair. He groans and keeps licking you like he has nothing left to lose. “Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!”

Your whole body relaxes as your release rushes through you and you cum hard in his mouth. He carries you through it with his tongue and then kisses your clit softly. As he moves back up your body, your hands begin to tear at his clothing and it doesn't take long for you both to be naked, pressing your sweat and skin against the other. You roll him onto his back and settle with a knee on either side of his hips. He reaches up and holds your face in his hand. There aren't any words, but both of you know what's being said. When you sink down onto his cock, his eyes roll back and he grunts loudly.

“Fuck, baby.” He whispers through gritted teeth as you start to roll your hips against him, pushing him deeper and deeper inside you. Your head drops back and you feel his hands on your breasts as you fuck him, slowly at first but picking up speed with each thrust. Before too long, you're bouncing as hard as you can, slamming yourself down on top of him as he guides your hips with his hands. Eventually, you lean over and kiss his neck and he wraps both arms around you, fucking into you from underneath. You graze your fangs over his skin and he stops.

“No. Mary said not to feed from me or we'll end up bonded again.” You pull back and sit up.

“Oh.” You whisper breathlessly.

“Not that I don’t- I mean-”

“No, it's okay.” Your eyes search his for a bit before you lean over again to hide the tears that have gathered in yours. He curses under his breath and looks up at the ceiling. Is it so terrible if you're bonded?

Without warning, and without pulling out, he rolls over on top of you and slowly rolls his hips forward to meet yours.

“You'll always have a part of me.” He whispers as he fucks into you. “Please believe that.”

You nod and hold onto his shoulders, still trying not to cry.

“I have to cum baby.” You nod, unable to speak. He's kicking himself for not letting you feed from him, but it's too late. His hips stutter into you and he grunts, filling you with his release. When he finishes, he pulls back and looks into your eyes, moving a piece of hair out of your face. “I won't ever forget you.”

You bite your bottom lip to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth. I love you.

What you don't know, what you'll never know, is he's doing the exact same thing. He lays on your chest for a bit as you stroke his hair before he drags himself away and gets dressed.

In what feels like a few seconds, he's back at your front door, desperately searching for a reason to stay. But you've held back the words, knowing he has to go. He kisses your forehead and your lips one last time.

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I'm sorry. I-” Your eyes flick up to his quickly. “I'll miss you. Goodbye, baby.”

You nod and he walks through the door. This time he doesn't come back.

You watch on TV the next day as he waves and smiles and leaves Europe for good. You give yourself three days to mourn, but you're never quite the same after Elvis.

And he's definitely not the same after you.

******

December 1970

“I know I'm asking for a miracle here, but I need you to find her.”

“Boss, why do you need a dancer from the Moulin Rouge?” Elvis runs his hand through his hair and scowls. Most of his bodyguards know what he is, but he still can't admit to why he needs to see you.

“I just do. Now, can you do this, or do I need to ask someone else?” Elvis fiddles with the rings on his left hand nervously.

“I'll make it happen. We'll find her.” Sonny turns and walks from the room, leaving Elvis alone in the TV room at Graceland.

He prays desperately that they'll find you. You're his only hope.

******

To be continued...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

[abigailywrites]

dress. [din djarin x reader]

part three of indebted.

ao3 / ko-fi rating: t word count: 4.1k warnings: none

There’s a hole in your jacket near the elbow where one of the patches is coming loose. It’s the first day of your break, and there’s no way you’re spending your hard-earned nothing-salary on scrap fabric. So, the fabric for the patch comes from the leg of your pants. That’s fine. It’s not the first time you’ve done it. Pants that used to come down to your ankles now hit about mid-calf, that’s all.

As you’re getting ready to sew the patch on, Karga bursts into your room without knocking. “I got something for you,” he tells you.

Slowly, you look up from your work and blink. “I thought this was my day off.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Karga questions. “I said I have something for you. It’s a gift.”

No employer has ever given you a gift before. Even if they did, you have very specific rules for what you’re meant to do with gifts: sell them immediately and put the money toward your debt. Nevertheless, you stand to follow him to the living room.

Draped across the sofa is a dress. A burgundy, knee-length thing with a deep neck, no sleeves, and a subtle golden pattern on the hem. The fabric is light but sturdy— perfect for the Nevarro climate. And there’s no doubt that it’s nicer than anything you’ve ever worn in your life. 

You look down at the patchwork jacket in your hand. Most of the patches are faded, blue variants or some kind of brown. But you can’t tell what the original color was anymore, and strings are hanging off of it where the hem has frayed and been stitched back and frayed again. It’s dusty, too. You haven’t had the chance to wash it all week. It’s not much, but it’s completely yours. It’s the only thing that’s completely yours.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Karga asks, picking the dress up off the sofa and holding it up to you.

“Sure,” you agree with a shrug.  

Karga gives you an exasperated look. “Sure?” he echoes. “It is. You should wear it next time you go to the cantina.”

“Oh,” you say. “So, it’s not a gift. It’s a work uniform.”

“Would you just put it on?”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch up the dress and drag it back to your room. It feels funny on your skin when you put it on, but it does technically fit.

Karga seems to think so anyway. He smiles when you walk out in it and says, “Ah, there we are! Give it a spin, let me see.”

You turn in a lazy, disinterested circle. “This is ridiculous,” you huff as you face him again.

“It’s only ridiculous if it doesn’t work.”

You look down at the dress and back to Karga. “What exactly is it supposed to do?”

Karga folds his arms over his chest and sighs. “Listen, I don’t know how you did it,” he sighs. “But somehow, you got Mando to change his mind. There’s something about you he must like. And if we can play that to our advantage…”

“To your advantage, you mean,” you correct him.

He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands firmly on his hips. “No, to our advantage,” he insists. “There’s a bounty I need him to take. Hardly any of my hunters have dared to go after it, and the few that have… Well, there have been unfortunate endings. I need Mando to take it, but the problem is this isn’t the kind of thing he usually goes for. Direct commission work. If you can convince him to take it, I’ll take another five percent off.”

Those few words flip a switch in your brain, and you hate it. Suddenly, something you’re terrified to even try becomes something you’re desperate to accomplish. The dress still seems excessive, but if it helps, then why not? And you still have no idea what you could have possibly said to Mando to get him to take four pucks, but you could figure it out. Over all of these thoughts echoes the constant chorus, “another year of my life, another year of my life, two whole years of my life.”

“Okay,” you agree after only a moment’s hesitation and next to no thought. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”  

In the next couple of hours, Karga hatches the beginnings of a strategy. He debates himself on the best way for you to get the job done. You interrupt him only a few times with some pertinent questions. 

 “Isn’t it going to be difficult to gauge his reaction?” you ask at one point. “Should I ask him to take his helmet off?”

This earns you a stern look from Karga. “That’s a joke, right? Tell me that’s a joke.”

It very much is not. Still, you scoff. “Oh, come on,” you say. “Of course, it’s a joke.” That’s the end of your questions for a while. 

Eventually, Karga decides that you have as much of a plan as you need for the moment. “Besides,” he says. “Mando won’t be coming back for months. We don’t have to worry about this until then.”

You don’t know anything different, so you don’t argue, figuring that anything you need to know can be learned later. But it’s time you don’t have. It’s only a month later when Karga hurries over to your usual seat at the booth. “I got a page from the shipyard master,” he tells you. “Mando’s Razor Crest is landing.”

“What?” you question.

“I know, I didn’t expect this either,” Karga says. “Just get out there, and stick to the plan.” 

“But we never finished the plan,” you remind him in a half-whisper, half-shout. “You said we wouldn’t have to worry about it for months. It’s only been one month.”

Karga isn’t hearing it. In fact, he’s practically pushing you out of the booth. “Just do whatever you did last time.”

“I don’t know what I did last time!”

“Would you just go?”

At this, you stand and smooth out the skirt of your dress. You’re still not entirely used to it. It’s been difficult to see it as anything other than a uniform. A tool. Not yours. Now is the time to put it to the test. How effective is an errand girl in a dress against a hardened warrior? It feels more absurd than ever. “Alright, fine,” you mutter as you walk away.

You make it to the shipyard as fast as you can, and the shipyard master hands you a holopad and directs you to Mando’s Razor Crest. The ramp is still up when you get there, but you’re gripping the holopad like it’s the only floating thing on a planet of ocean. But when the ramp begins to lower and you see him standing right there? That’s when you have to remind yourself not to break the thing.

When Mando sees you, he stops halfway down the ramp. The moment of silence that passes is nearly unbearable until he says, “What is this?”

You look down at yourself and back up to him, eyebrows furrowed. “Um… a dress?”

“No,” he says, continuing down the ramp until he’s standing over you. “You. What are you doing here?”

You hold the holopad closer to yourself. “Karga sent me to take inventory,” you tell him.

“He sent you to the shipyard… in a dress.”

You shrug. “It’s just an outfit.”

“It’s impractical. You look uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my idea,” you tell him, growing frustrated. “Karga thought you might—”

“Might what?”

The way he’s staring at you, you get the impression that he already knows but wants to hear you say it anyway.  “Might…” you huff, your face going warm. “Might appreciate… it.”

“Appreciate you in it? Is that what you mean?”

You fold your arms over your chest, holding the holopad tight against you as a barrier. Maker, you wish you had your jacket. Wish you had some fabric on your arms. “Yes, I guess, that was the plan,” you answer.  “Like I said, it wasn’t my idea.”

“What does Karga want?” he questions. 

You shake your head and shrug. You could lie, but if there’s one thing you remember from the last time you negotiated with Mando, it’s that he doesn’t mind brazen honesty. “It’s some kind of direct commission bounty he wants you to pick up,” you explain. “He said it was high-dollar but not your usual gig.”

“And Karga wants you to convince me to do it?”

You tilt your head to the side, but you don’t look him in the eye… visor… whatever. “Offered me another five percent if I could. Anyway, I managed it last time, didn’t I?” 

That silences him for a moment. “Let me be clear,” he begins, finally. “I saw four good jobs, and I took them. I don’t do anything because someone begs me to.”

The way your spine goes stiff and your throat tightens is almost immediate. First, he calls you a slave, now this. On your planet, no one would have dreamed of calling— of implying—  “I’m not a beggar,” you tell him, your voice low, and your gaze snapping onto him. “Don’t call me a beggar.”

“Then what are you?”

“I already told you. I’m a servant. An indentured servant. That’s all. Not a beggar, not a slave.”

“If you’re not a slave, why not leave?” he questions. “It’s your grandfather’s debt, not yours.” 

“Because,” you tell him. “My grandfather and my father died paying it off, and I’d rather die than disrespect that. This is the custom where I’m from. It’s shameful to be indebted like this, but it’s worse not to bear it gracefully. So, you give everything you have to the one who holds your debt, and you work for them for as long as you have to. The last thing you give is the clothes on your back, and you do not try to run from it.”

It isn’t the first time you’ve had to explain this to someone, but it’s never any less tiring. A brutal reminder of all the life that has been lost in the wake of a debt you’ve carried with you as long as you can remember only ever serves to exhaust you. But it does nothing for your present self. So, you sigh and straighten your shoulders. “I’m not here to explain all this to you,” you eventually decide. “Karga’s waiting, and I’m just here to take inventory.”

That seems to be enough for Mando. He stalks away without a word.

You’re sure you just fucked up that entire encounter. It’s definitely not what Karga had in mind, anyway. But what else were you supposed to do? Just stand there and take insults from a— a walking, talking suit of armor? 

You can almost hear your father’s voice reminding you that not upsetting your employer also means not upsetting your employer’s friends. Then it’s your grandfather’s voice reminding you that there’s nothing that upsets people more than hearing about other people’s difficulties. And then, of course, it’s your own voice. “Stupid,” you whisper to yourself through gritted teeth. “Fucking stupid.”

That’s about when the actual shipyard crew to take inventory comes to take over, and that reminds you that all you were supposed to do was stand there in a dress and look pretty. And you failed at that so spectacularly you almost want to laugh. The dress was never going to work, anyway. It’s time you finished patching up your jacket.

✦✦✦

He knows exactly what Karga’s trying to do by setting you up just outside his ship. You’re supposed to be the first thing he sees. There’s no way he’s going to believe that the same girl who didn’t know how to open his profile last month is suddenly in charge of taking inventory. You’re a strategic pawn. Meant to either soften him up or break him down. What he doesn’t like to admit even to himself is that neither option is impossible. 

You’ve been on his mind lately. Most of his thoughts consist of what the hell is Karga thinking by keeping an indentured servant? But the fact that you keep showing up in his thoughts at all… The fact that your name has been stuck on repeat in his head ever since Karga said it… 

No, he knows what the hell Karga is thinking. Now that he’s seen you again, he knows exactly what’s going on. Karga isn’t stupid. Karga knows he took twice as many pucks as usual and why. And Karga’s counting on it working a second time.

He’s hyper-aware of the fact as he enters the cantina and approaches Karga’s table. The bastard is leaning back like he’s not on the edge of his seat waiting to see if his scheme paid off.

“Ah, that was fast,” Karga remarks. “Did you catch them all?”

He responds by tossing all four fobs on the table.

Karga looks over the fobs and nods. “Good, I’ll begin the offload.” 

Karga barks instructions in Huttese to someone nearby while he unclasps his rifle, sets it down on the table in front of him, and sits. Karga spends too long rifling around in his satchel until he produces payment and sets it down in front of him.

“These are Imperial credits,” he says.

“They still spend,” Karga points out.

“I don’t know if you heard, but the Empire is gone.” 

Karga leans back in his seat. “It’s all I’ve got.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He grabs up the fobs and begins to stand. 

Karga reaches for the fobs. “Save the theatrics!” he says. “Fine. I’ll… I can do Calamari Flan. But I can only pay half.”

Another of Karga’s games. Paying him what he would’ve gotten for just his two usual fobs anyway, but he's not in the mood to fight it. “Fine,” he agrees, taking the Flan. “I want my next job.” 

“Of course,” Karga agrees, reaching for the unclaimed pucks. “Hmm… I have a bail jumper. A bail jumper, another bail jumper, a wanted smuggler.”

That’s four. That’s what he’s got to start taking from now on if he wants to keep the heat of speculation off. “I’ll take them all.”

“No, hold on. There are other members of the guild, and this is all I have.”

“Why so slow?”

“It’s not slow at all, actually. Very busy. They just don’t want to pay Guild rates. They don’t mind if things get sloppy.”

He can sense where Karga is trying to lead the conversation, but he can’t avoid it. So, he grits his teeth and asks, “What’s your highest bounty?”

“Not much. Five thousand.”

“That won’t even cover fuel these days.”

To his credit, Karga doesn’t immediately jump on that. He takes a second. Hums. Raises his brows in thought. “There is one job.”

There it is. No way Karga was going to trust the entire thing to you. He’s had this orchestrated for a while now, probably even beyond what you know. “Let’s see the puck,” he decides.

“No puck. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.”

“Underworld?”

“All I know is no chain code. Do you want the chit or not?” Karga holds it up.

It’s a second before he makes up his mind and takes the chit. Holds it for a second before standing to leave. It’s a year of someone’s life, after all. Anyway, it is the highest-paying bounty.

✦✦✦

There’s enough time for you to run back to the house and grab your jacket before returning right back to the shipyard. The final piece of Karga’s grand, pointless puzzle is in place. You were the first thing Mando saw when he arrived. Now, you’re supposed to be the last thing he sees before he leaves. Karga’s purpose in this meticulous staging is still a mystery, but never let it be said you don’t follow orders. You simply refuse to twiddle your thumbs while you wait for Mando to get back.

So, you find a crate to sit on and get busy finishing up the patch that you didn’t have the chance to almost a full month ago. It feels good to have your jacket in your hands again. Patching the bulky, heavy, rough thing is doing a spectacular job of keeping your mind off of the fact that Mando is going to be back soon. Probably no more convinced than he was a couple of hours ago. Probably still pissed. 

Keep it out of your mind. Keep working on the jacket. Why stop at a patch? You could fix the hem that’s coming loose, too. 

You feel it when he enters the shipyard, and you can’t explain that at all. All you know is that the hair stands up on the back of your neck suddenly. A shiver passes through you, and when you look up, he’s walking towards you. 

There’s a new beskar pauldron on his shoulder that wouldn’t look as impressive on anyone else. It adds something that you can’t describe in words but makes you keep staring as he approaches instead of shrinking away from even looking at him.

“So, did you take the puck?” you hear the sound of your voice asking before you have time to make yourself nervous about it. 

He doesn’t answer which tells you that he doesn’t want you to know. Which you’re pretty sure means he definitely took it. 

“Well,” you sigh, going back to your hemming. “Good luck.”

He’s still standing there, and some part of you is bracing for a lecture. A warning. Some kind of confrontation dealing with the attitude you took with him a few hours ago. But his next words are so unexpected that it stops your hands from working. “I realize I offended you,” he says instead. “I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.”

That’s… surprising. There’s no face when you look up at him, of course. Just the helmet, tilted down to look back at you. But if you squint, you think you can almost make out an expression. Something genuine in the way he’s holding himself.

You blink through the shock and give him a half-hearted, close-lipped smile in return. “Hey,” you say. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I was begging. You were right.”

“No,” he says. “You were doing your job, and I was ignorant and disrespectful. It won’t happen again.”

Nothing about this encounter is what you expected. No one has ever apologized to you like this before. No one has ever felt the need. You’re just a servant, after all. Unsure how else to respond, you shake your head. “Um… it’s alright,” you tell him. “Indentured servitude where I come from… it’s like the antithesis of religion. Instead of dedicating your life to getting closer to something immaterial, you dedicate it to getting away from something material. But I know that’s not normal, and you couldn’t have known anything about it. It was an overreaction, and I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t respond. Good. You’re not sure how you would handle a response. You’re still reeling from the fact that this is coming from the silent, stoic Mandalorian. The silence seems to be the natural thing, and it suits you fine.

“What are you doing?” 

You look down at your work and back up to him. “Fixing the hem of my jacket. It’s time I got rid of this dress. Karga kinda threw it on me.”

“He does that.”

You shrug. “Evidently.”

By all means, that should be the end of the conversation. It’s here you would absolutely expect Mando to walk away, fly off, and not speak to you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks over his shoulder and back at you. Takes a step closer. “What if he couldn’t anymore?” he says.

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You could tell me what Karga’s planning before I’m even on-planet.”

You stare at him a moment, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Why would I do that?” you eventually sputter.

“It would save you the work of convincing me to take a job.”

Good point. It takes a second of utter confusion to think of a counter. “It could also screw up my so far amazing track record that’s taken two years off my debt so far.”

“I’d compensate you.”

“Like an inside job?”

“Like an inside job.”

You drop the needle on your lap, plant your hands firmly on the edge of the crate, and lean back. “I don’t know,” you grumble. “It’s a good idea, but how would I even do it? Karga monitors my personal frequency. He’d catch on before long.”

He pauses for just a moment. Then he reaches for his utility belt, pulls out a comlink, and tosses it in your lap. “Karga can’t monitor that,” he tells you.

Slowly, you reach for the comlink and turn it over in your hand. “Holy kriff, you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The way he says it makes you believe he thinks you’re wasting his time with pointless questions. But in all fairness, it seems unlikely.

And yet, you can’t think of any reason to refuse. “I…” you start, trying to make something up. Karga would be pissed but after the humiliating dress debacle? That’s more of a perk, and nothing else comes to mind. “Could you do an advance?”

Mando nods and retrieves a piece of Flan. A whole piece of Flan. Two months of pay for you. Slowly, you reach for it and squish the coin between your fingers. 

“Get back to Karga,” Mando instructs you as you examine the gelatinous currency. “Contact me as soon as you know what he’s planning.”

When you look up to face him again, he’s already walking away. You have no idea what almost compels you to call after him. Gratitude, you guess. But gratitude doesn’t usually feel like your insides are being wrung out. No, that’s what fear feels like, but you’re not afraid either.

Hesitantly, you stand and start walking back to the house. Back to your room, with your jacket slung over your shoulder, the comlink you hid in the pocket making it heavy. By the time you get there, it’s dusk. From your window, you can see the shape of Mando’s Razor Crest taking off. That wringing, twisting feeling is still there. It’s taking over your whole body, making you numb in your limbs.

It doesn’t help when Karga bursts into your room without knocking… again. 

“Oh, he’s taking off, huh?” Karga asks, walking to stand next to you in front of the window.

You shrug your shoulders and wrap your arms around yourself. “He took the puck, right?” you ask him, after a while.

“He took the job,” Karga confirms. “I could give you the five percent for it, but I’m not sure if it was you that convinced him or me.”

You don’t bother arguing or even reacting. All you do is face him and pull out the piece of Flan. “I got this from Mando. I’d like it to go towards my debt, please.”

He takes the piece and examines it. “How did you get this?” he eventually questions.

“I agreed to things,” you answer, purposefully vague. You’re almost positive Karga is going to take it the entirely wrong way. Good. He doesn’t need the context.

Karga exhales slowly as he pockets the Flan. “Well, congratulations,” he says like it’s physically painful to do so. “Five percent it is.”

You exhale with the weight of another year’s worth of debt coming off of your shoulders, but you find that you’re not as light as you were the first time it happened. Once again, you fix your eyes on the Razor Crest fading from view. Once the ship is out of sight, you turn back to Karga. “What happened to the hunters who went after this thing?”

“You mean the few that actually dared?” he asks. Then he shrugs. “All killed. But I wouldn’t worry about it. If anyone’s got a shot at this thing, it’s Mando.”

“But he could die,” you point out. “I helped you convince him to go on a hunt where he could very well die.”

“What are you so worked up over? It’s not like you’re the one pulling the trigger. You did good,” Karga says as he pats your shoulder and walks past you.

You should be happy, you know that. In the brief amount of time you’ve been on Nevarro, you’ve accomplished the impossible twice. Ten percent of your debt is gone within the span of a couple of months. But that suffocating feeling you used to get when the Mandalorian was around is coming to you as he’s leaving, and the fear that it might never change is keeping you underwater.

You sigh and turn to walk back to the house. One month down. Eighteen years to go.

[carmenberzattosgf]

i don’t like spanking too much but…you mentioned belt?

lip is all for it. he’s literally 😏😁 super stoked. tells you flat out that he’ll do it, hey, right now even? you’re not busy, right? he’s definitely the type to tease, drag the belt gently over your ass before snapping it against you. is willing to be rough, groans at the sight of your tears. obviously does a quick check in, cooing at you softly and pecking your face before he’s satisfied that you’re okay and wanna continue. makes you cum twice afterward and cuddles you close, praising you and making sure you did actually like it. bro bullies you the next day when you can’t sit comfortably (might as well sit in his lap now, right? maybe even higher up? he can be your chair, let him make up for it <3)

carmen? immediate 😳🤨 no. he doesn’t mind spanking, but a belt seems so…unkind. but he’s down to try anything once, especially when you beg so nicely. plans it meticulously. is far more gentle—you have to ask for him to go a bit harder. he rubs over the mark to soothe the sting, soft hands and soft kisses, mutters of ‘you okay? color?’ Very Often. ends up liking it more than he thought and lowkey feels ashamed until you assure him it’s okay. makes you cum as many times as you can afterwards to make up for being so ‘mean’. has cream on DECK and is so gentle in the aftercare -💫

Okay because you’re so right and I wanna talk about it.

I’ve always felt like Lip leans more to the side of mean dom. It just—fits him. So when you bring up the belt…he’s instantly down for it.

After getting all the boundaries and safe words in place, he has you drape yourself over the bed, lying on your stomach. He lets you keep your shirt on, not wanting you to feel too exposed. Your ass is completely bare to him, though.

You shudder when you hear the sound of Lip undoing his belt, and jolt when he makes the leather slap together. He runs the cold metal of the belt buckle over your ass, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “You still wanna do this?” he asks, voice soft and gentle.

“Mhm.”

“I need words, baby. Gotta hear your words.”

“Want it, Lip—please,” you beg. Lip responds by bringing the leather of his belt down hard on your ass. A sharp whimper leaves your mouth at the sting. Another spank from the belt comes down a moment later with just as much strength as the first one. The feeling makes a warm heat grow in your belly.

“Can see you squeezing your thighs together—should have known you’d like something like this,” Lip remarks with a chuckle. The next couple hits from the leather are lighter in comparison, giving you a moment of a break. The red welts appearing on your skin give Lip a raging hard on. He has to palm himself to relieve some pressure inbetween spanks.

It doesn’t take very long for tears to start running down your face. The pain from the belt sets fire to your skin, and to your core. “Lip—“

He pauses for a moment, leaning down over your body to trail kisses from your neck to behind your ear. “M’here—you’re so fucking gorgeous like this—fuck.” He resumes kissing all over your face, praises pouring from his lips. “J’st a couple more. You can be a good girl and take a few more for me, okay?”

Once he’s finished with the belt, Lip flips your over and sinks to his knees to eat you out. He’s not satisfied until you’ve cummed all over his face at least twice. He only stops when you physically push his face away.

He’s so soft with you afterwards, cleaning you up and treating your skin. Lip likes to hold you in his arms after something like this to make sure you’re completely okay. In all honesty, he has you cockwarm him afterwards. It’s not about getting off for him, he just wants to be as close to you as possible.

Now sweetie Carmy is a MAJOR soft/pleasure dom. He enjoys a giving you a spank every once and awhile with his hand, but he’s scared as hell to try a belt. You have to beg for him to agree to it.

He’s so gentle, not having the heart to put any force behind the belt when it makes contact with your ass. “H-harder, Carm—please.”

He obliges, finally putting effort behind the leather, and you whimper loudly at the strike. Instantly, Carmy takes his hand and rubs softly at the skin. He leans down to press kisses to your cheek. “Sweetheart? You still okay? Can you tell me your color?”

“Green—green. Please. Want more,” you whine desperately.

Afterwards… Carmy makes you cum so many times you fall into sub space from overstimulation. You’re vaguely aware of him cleaning you up and applying cream and ointment on the fresh welts on your backside. He lays you on his chest so you can fall asleep without putting pressure on your ass.

[xiao-zhen]

Words Better Left Unread, or Is It? ~ Part IV ☆

Part I

Part II

Part III

“I’m sorry.”

Macaque stood frozen, his heart pounding in disbelief. The words hung in the air, heavy and charged with meaning. Did Wukong truly apologize to him? For a fleeting moment, he questioned whether his six ears had deceived him, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case. Sun Wukong—legendary Monkey King, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven—had spoken those words. Just as he had said them quickly, they lingered in Macaque’s mind, echoing with unforeseen weight.

Macaque wrestled with the moment, recalling everything that had led them here. The battles fought, the grievances exchanged, and the fleeting moments of camaraderie all tumbled through his thoughts like a chaotic storm. Wukong, with his fiery spirit and unrelenting pride, had rarely backed down or offered such vulnerability. And yet here he was, in an unexpected display of humility, reaching across the vast expanse of their tumultuous history.

Macque’s heart fluttered, teetering between skepticism and a flicker of hope. Could this really be a turning point? Could forgiveness pave the way for something new? There, in the tension of that quiet moment, a fragile possibility began to unfold before him, hinting at a future neither of them had dared to imagine.

“What?” That was the only thing Macaque could say. Wukong was scared and nervous, and he said that so suddenly that he didn't even think of it. Wukong himself was still processing that he said he was sorry so quickly. But Wukong repeated the very same words, not one but three times.

“I am sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've never struck you; I'm sorry.” Sun Wukong seemed like he would break into a frantic ramble as Macaque saw how Wukong was shaking. “The crown was even tightening, and I didn't stop. I didn't feel it; rage came over me, and I did something that haunts me to this day. I'm sorry I'm-” Macaque heard enough.

“Stop.”

Wukong froze, finally looking back at Macaque and what he saw; he felt like his heart stopped. Macaque took off his glamor. Wukong felt like he deserved it. Of course, Macaque would do this, but if it were what was needed to earn forgiveness, even if he didn't deserve it, then he would. But what he heard next from Macaque confused him.

“Take off your glamor. I know you have them. Don't hide it from me.”

Wukong hesitated but reluctantly took off his glamours, his red eyes and golden iris showing through the dark dojo. Then Macaque spoke.

“We both went through things. We both made mistakes. Yes, I lost my life, and yes, I hated you for that. I don't know if I can fully forgive you yet, I lost sight that I could never regain. But so did you. I can still see Louzi's furnace and the way it affected you. I can still see what that dumb monk did to you.” Macaque paused before he continued, although he was partially shaking, just as Wukong was. “But that's why I tried to hurt them, the pilgrims. They were hurting you, that dumb monk was hurting you, and you promised you wouldn't leave. So I thought I could find a way to help you out. I misunderstood. But you didn't talk. I lost my life over something so-”

Wukong cut him off. “You didn't just lose your life; I took it! Macaque, I didn't even. I didn't even stop. I was so blinded by rage that I took my own best friend's life. I never forgave myself, but I don't understand what you're saying that I also went through things. Macaque, you lost your life! You went to the Diyu because of me!”

“I'm saying we both made mistakes! And I was bitter. I wanted to get back at you for what you did, but that kid made me realize some things. Yes, I can't fully forgive you yet. . .but I will allow us to try. To give you time to earn my forgiveness.”

Wukong had slight tears in his eyes, just as Macaque did. He was sad that he had not earned Macaque's forgiveness well fully at least, but he was glad to gain some at least and to be allowed to try and earn it.

Wukong took a breather before he decided to take up the guts to ask. “Macaque. You said that I can try and earn your forgiveness. Can you stay on Flower Fruit Mountain like before, you know. . .th-the monkeys miss you and it would help with the forg-forgiveness bit and-”

Macaque stopped him understanding, a little scared but he nodded agreeing. Then Wukong decided to at least try to uplift the moment. “Th-that's good. Unless you'd rather stay in a crappy neighborhood like this.” Macaque gave a light half-hearted chuckle. “Maybe you're right but I get to come here whenever I want.”

Wukogn couldn't help it but some tears fell as Macaque only gave a small smile. Just enough to tell Wukong, we'll get there eventually. As Wukong opened the door Mk was crying emotionally. “It's about time you guys are trying to gain your friendship back. I have to call Mei to tell her you guys are trying to get along.” Macaque and Wukong chuckled. Macaque through his slight tears as Wukong was through small tears down his cheeks.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I just realized that you are my oldest mutual, interesting huh?

ANYWAY!

Do you think Nightmare has more psychological control over Killer than any other form? I think Killer can fight back (no thought if he would win or not) but the mental power that Nightmare has over him immobilizes him.

Maybe that's why Nightmare chose Killer: he had already been subjected to so much, controlled by someone as cruel and sadistic as Nightmare. It was too tempting to just ignore such a perfect pawn.

Yay I get to be the oldest mutual ✨ 🎉

And yes absolutely. I do think physical abuse is still very much a staple in their relationship (nightmare has canonically choked killer unconscious before and left him limp on the floor), but I do believe a lot of it was massively during the first few weeks of Killer’s captivity. Before he was ever sent out in the field—because Nightmare needed to get through Stage 3, to beat Killer into submission. Like..horrifically breaking in a horse.

However, I don’t think physical abuse really works much as a punishment or deterrent for Stage 2—he’s shown to be very much able to just uh..dissociate from any emotions attached to the memories of Stages 1 and 3. And he himself is very desensitized to violence, and enjoys pain, doesn’t seem to have any limits on what he enjoys.

So unless Nightmare can find a way to remove Stage 2’s framing of pain as “fun” and “enjoyable,” then he’s not going to get anywhere using that as a punishment.

It’ll be a mix of everything of course, and Killer is still being physically abused when in Stage 2 and threatened, but that’s only when Nightmare is annoyed and lashing out—trying to put Killer back in his place or to make him shut up, like a little stress doll he can use. It won’t work as an effective punishment when he’s like that.

It will, however, work on Stage 1. I’d imagine that any time Killer has another situation like in the Stage 4 comics—being triggered into Stage 1 and compromising Nightmare’s goals—then he will be brutally punished in any way that’s possible.

It’d depend on Nightmare’s preferred methods, but I still doubt he’d be anywhere near gentle even if the physical abuse isn’t the “worse” part of the punishment.

Stage 3, I feel, would physically fight for the longest—and anytime Killer’s overpowered or forced back into another Stage, he’d take to trying to run and hide away instead the next time he’s in stage 3.

I’d imagine that Nightmare doesn’t allow Killer to remain in Stage 3 around him for very long—and the more Killer starts falling back into submission or is beaten into it, flop response to wait until it’s over as soon as he’s triggered back into a lower Stage, the less Nightmare seems to have to “deal with” Stage 3–as Killer starts falling back into learned helplessness.

I’d imagine Nightmare has been bitten by Stage 3 many times before lmao.

And I’d imagine that Killer likely doesn’t know if those moments are real or not, and perhaps Nightmare thinks he doesn’t remember them very clearly until Stage 3 starts cropping back up, so it’s very easy to convince him he has no power or choice.

Leave a door open to his cage and he won’t leave because what if it’s a trap, what if it’s a test. What if something worse is out there. What if he’s caught. Stage 2 won’t even spare the door a second glance, but he would in Stage 1 —and he’d be held back by how helpless and trapped he feels to risk it.

[amethystfairy1]

Okay, but can we talk about how *poetic* it is that Whumptober ended with Grian and Scar making amends?

Like, you have to remember that Traveling Thieves started because of Whumptober last year- a silly little prompt that spirled into a silly little (Big. Very big.) Au.

TT started with Grian, Scar, and Mumbo's story beginning. And now, having whumptober end with what feels like an actual ending itself- not a goodbye, but rather a "See You Later"- almost a season finale esque "ending" specifically for Grian & Scar & Mumbo's story is. Well, I mean it's just fucking peak idk what else to say.

Breaking mindsets, relapsing, trusting for the first time in at least seven years, only for everything to crumple in a few HOURS. quite LITERALLY EVERYTHING. In probably not EVEN an hour. For everything to be so tense for the past couple months our time.. and weeks their time.. all build-up for this specific moment. This moment that means so much more to these characters than I think most people realize. This is genuinely heart-breaking in the best way possible.

I'm getting a little off track here opps- but my point is to having whumptober end not only with the conclusion of a major plot point in the story, but also one that means so much in so many different ways, is genuinely one of the best things I've seen seen in a long time. Whether it was intentional or not.

I definitely got sidetracked and lost some of my initial points, but, I regret nothing. Whumptober (im starting to feel like a broken record lol) was amazing, I will actually never be the same, this has changed me forever. Congratulations to finishing on time as well!! And congrats to on working with KhoirKid!!! This was amazing, but I think I need to stop talking before I never stop lol! <3

Oh my STARS Thank you for this! I love all of this and how you've read into it, it makes me SOOOO happy when people do this with my stories! There's themes! There's PARALLELS! And there's so much build up and work and that people have been enjoying all of that just makes me so so so so happy! Thank you so much for sharing how you feel about the ending to Whumptober! I absolutely love it!

[lafaiette]

Gods I feel you I'm only 10 hours in after having received the game as a gift and I REALLY try to like it but it just ... doesn't feel like Dragon Age. Characters know stuff they shouldn't know about, the game keeps talking down to me, nothing I did in the previous games mattered, the tone is completely different, the mature storytelling of the previous games seems to be missing so far & what I heard so far of how the lore and the characters from previous games have been handled is honestly the worst part and breaks my heart. idk even if i wanna finish the game at this point anymore, I'm just kinda ... sad.

I'm so sad and disappointed, too, I remember our conversations, fics, and headcanons about DA! We were so excited and happy, because Inquisition, DA2, and DAO were genuinely well-made and aimed at pleasing the fans, despite their faults.

DATV is a good action game, no doubt about that. The combat is fun, there is a lot to explore and discover, and many locations are beautiful, even though some are terrible to navigate (Dock Town's structure makes no sense). But that's it - it's a good action game with the name "Dragon Age" pasted on it. It doesn't feel like it's part of the series, it constantly treats the player like an idiot, some references to past games and characters are literally hidden in the brief descriptions of the mementos, and there is even a Glossary to make sure the new players don't get frustrated.

Everything is safe and aseptic, cleaned of every deep piece of lore that could have scared new fans into buying or continuing the game. Even the banters lack the depth of the previous games.

A good game company should lure new players in not by rejecting their past entries, but by making them look even more interesting with their sequels.

Bioware wasn't afraid of offering piece of lore after piece of lore in Inquisition - it was a game set in a precise moment, whose prologue was directly tied to the events of the previous game, and new players had to accept this if they decided to buy it and play it. If they liked that premise, all that information and those details, then they were more than welcome - they were encouraged! - to go back, try the older games, and see how it had all started. It was a game made for the fans the company had already managed to win over, not for possible fans who may or may not bring new money in.

In DATV the new players can jump right in after quickly learning who Solas is and what he's trying to do, and old fans are left with an empty shell, with minor references that are supposed to make us feel happy and accomplished peppered here and there, while all our past choices and our favorite characters are forgotten or brought back with a terrible case of amnesia. It's lazy, infuriating, and very sad, and it smells of reboot, because the new devs probably realized they couldn't keep up with the amount of lore and choices the series contain, and they needed to start anew.

[hurtmemoreplease]

So, abandonment, right? I'm trying to put into words why that's such a dominant fear for me (and a pretty common fear for people like me!). I think a lot of it comes down to low self-worth. That if I'm abandoned, then it doesn't mean I lost a friend, it meant I was never deserving of having one in the first place, right? All of the emotions of the relationship sour; any praise I receive must have been a lie. All the vulnerability and sincerity I showed was embarrassing, they must have been laughing at me the whole time. I think its a common reaction to try to self-sabotage, once that way of thinking is ingrained. I'm talking about "I'm breaking up with you for your own good," types of behavior. There's an instinct on meeting someone new to present all of the ugliest parts of yourself, in the worst possible light, isn't there? If they can't handle your shit, then its better to find out early, right?

Except the truth is that that doesn't even work, does it? Because there's this ironclad certainty that they're wrong. Maybe they don't believe you, or don't get it. Or, or maybe there's just some other character trait or facet of your appearance that would turn them off as soon as they see it. And so there's this reservation. This constant waiting for the other shoe to drop. A kind of... "I'm telling you all that I'm not worth your time, so why won't you get it over with and leave me already???"

I don't know how to fix these thought patterns. Sorry. I'm not even sure it's possible to fix. This way of thinking doesn't happen on its on. And if you see yourself in this post, I'm very, very sorry. We'll get better. I promise you. We can. We will.

So, what if you see these behaviors in someone you love? I beg you, please be patient with them. You will have to soothe them time and time again. You will have to reassure them that you love them. And then you'll have to do it again, and again, and again. Please cut them as much slack as you can. Communicate. Let them know that it hurts you to see them act like this, but that you're willing to do it whenever they need. Give them evidence that you love them. Every day. Every time they get stressed, or afraid, or self-destructive. Be there for them. It will pay off. They will learn. Self-soothing is a skill, and it needs to be practiced and reinforced. They may always be a bit afraid of you leaving, but trust can be built, okay?