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terapsina · 4 months ago

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Let's talk books. Sorted in threes by vibes.

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I Support Women's Wrongs (murder, slaughter and body horror galore).

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How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Django Wexler - A woman from Earth is dropped into a magical realm, meant to save the Kingdom from the FoRCes of DaRKneSSss... except, unfortunately that might have been a thousand years worth of time loops ago, so it's rather time to lose one's temper and decide to become the Dark Lord herself.

Main character -> basically Deadpool (measured in sanity, humor and levels of bisexual horniness)).

Someone You Can Build a Nest In ⭐⭐⭐⭐ by John Wiswell - Shesheshen, a shapechanging monster who's rudely interrupted during her hibernation by hunters. Manages to to eat one of them, unfortunately she also gets shot by an arrow and falls off a cliff. On the bright side she meets a lovely human woman she might end up falling in love with so much... she'll want to build a nest in her (it's possible there's some Cultural Differences that need to be worked through).

Hench ⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Natalie Zina Walschots - Anna's latest temp job for a villain (because even supervillains need office help) ends with her carelessly injured by a superhero, laid off and with injured mobility for the foreseeable future (because human bodies don't see much difference between getting hit by a truck and getting moved out of way by someone able to pick up a truck). Angry, disillusioned, and looking for some vengeful payback she starts compiling the statistics of exactly how much suffering gets left behind the heroes and in quick order finds a new job working for one of the worst supervillains in the neighborhood.

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Extremely Competent Women Show Up to Fix Everyone's Shit (with a whallop of romance which was actually sweet instead of irritating)

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The Witchwood Knot ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Olivia Atwater - Winifred Hall was invited to the Witchwood Manor under the pretense of being the governess for a very bratty kid, but when said boy suddenly turns into a very quiet and perfectly bland boy overnight it's very obvious her charge has been stolen by faeries (and it might have something to do with the actual reason she's there). Rescue however is complicated by some factors, one, there being something terribly dark and wrong about the house (normal houses don't have screaming faces in the walls), another, the faerie man posing as the manor's butler who would very much like to make her run screaming the way so many servants had before her (unfortunately for him, she's not even half as scared of him as she is the eyes of the father of her charge).

This one's about dealing with past trauma, and otherworldly terrors paling in comparison to mundane monsters, set in a very beautiful and dark and shiver-inducing Victorian time world where the Fair Folk are very real.

(Same world as her Regency Faerie Tales trilogy that Started with Half a Soul but it's not necessary to read that one first to enjoy this one)

Keeper of Enchanted Rooms ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Charlie N. Holmberg - Merritt Fernsby inherits a house only to be immediately taken hostage by what turns out to be a very stubborn and opinionated magical house. Hulda Larkin of the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms goes there to facilitate the relationship between the house and its new owner.

It's supposed to be a very simple job. Unfortunately there's a third POV character in this book (no, not the Whimbrel House, though I adore that house and *insert here the Rosa Diaz gif about her new puppy and how she would kill everyone in this room and then herself if anything were to happen to that dog*). Anyway, they're a bit... uhhh... let's go with Bad News.

Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Heather Fawcett - As one might expect from the title, Emily (a Cambridge scholar) wants to write the first ever encyclopedia of faeries. And she's brilliant enough to do it, what she's terrible at is people (*insert autistic character alert here*).

Someone else might then say it's lucky that a fellow scholar with a far easier time at charming people has stuck his toes in her reaserch trip into the Hidden Ones... that person however doesn't understand how irritating, frustrating and maddening her academic rival Wendell Bambleby actually is.

What follows is a story filled with winter snows, some terrible fae, some adorable fae, some not-very-secret fae, the goodest of good dogs, and lots and lots of squabbling. It's the best.

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Dark and Impactful Stories about Children Who Decide on Their Own Paths

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A Skinful of Shadows ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Frances Hardinge - Kate, an orphan and the illegitimate daughter of some stuffy (and evil) aristocrats runs away because being a bastard doesn't mean she didn't inherit the family magic that allows her to get possessed by the dead.

A dead bear ghost is one thing, a Get Out situation is something else entirely.

A Sorceress Comes to Call ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by T. Kingfisher - Cordelia isn't allowed friends or the privacy of closed doors, and whenever she's done something she shouldn't - a category too unpredictable to guard against - she's not allowed power over her own body.

Because her mother is an evil sorceress (think Regina and Cora... except somehow even worse). An evil sorceress that has found herself a Squire to lure into a marriage.

Hester is an old maid living with her brother, a Squire (well look at them coincidences), when said brother acquires a woman clearly set on his fortune. The plan is only to save her brother, except Hester can't help noticing how the woman's daughter keeps flinching in her mother's presence.

In The Lives of Puppets ⭐⭐⭐⭐ by TJ Klune - A family can be an android inventor, his human son (*homoromantic asexual alert*), a sadistic nurse droid, and a very emotional roomba.

And it can be a very happy family. Until one uncovers and wakes up an android that shares a very Skynet past with one's father, said father gets kidnapped, and one has to go on a journey to get him back.

(A book I like to call Sci-fi Reverse Pinocchio)

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Unraveling an Unjust System (and a hero that - on a scale from occasionally to constantly - hears a disembodied voice directly in their heads okay the connection between these three is a bit of a stretch but they're all great books so shut up)

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Hell for Hire ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ by Rachel Aaron - 5000 years ago Gilgamesh conquered the heavens, enslaved the demons and made it so that the only road to magic humanity had access, was through him.

Now, however a mercenary team made up of free demons gets hired by a Blackwood witch to protect him (and his familiar, the talking cat named Boston) while he puts down roots (literally) inside the new forest grove he's about to start so that he can stand up against the warlocks after him.

The witch quickly becomes the best client Bex and her crew have ever had (after all, warlocks under the rule of the Eternal King Gilgamesh are slavers of their kind, they are delighted at the chance to kill some).

Vespertine ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ by Margaret Rogerson - In a world where the veil between the living and the dead has been kinda broken Artemisia (*another autistic character alert*) is training to be a Gray Sister (magic nun).

Until her convent gets attacked by possessed soldiers and she has no choice but to pick up a Saint's Relic containing a malevolent revenant to protect it.

Problem. Only a Vespertine is supposed to do it. Another problem. The only one "alive" who can teach her to be a Vespertine is the revenant. Another another problem. The revenant cannot be trusted and if she loses control to it, the death toll will be counted in cities.

Terminal Alliance ⭐⭐⭐⭐¾ by Jim C. Hines - Post Zombie Apocalypse, where some aliens showed up, sort of cured the zombies and took the (mostly) cured zombies into their military.

Which leads us to Marion Adamopoulos, also known as Mops, the Leutenant in charge of Shipboard Hygene and Sanitation of the Earth Mercenary Corps Ship Pufferfish.

Right up until a bioweapon turns the entire crew except her crew back into zombies. Congratulations, she's the captain now.

(Space Janitors save the universe story).

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the-lonelybarricade · 5 months ago

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What Do You Know About Love? - (1/?)

Summary: When Elain discovers a centuries old love letter, written in secret and never sent, she decides that she's going to be the one to finally deliver it. Even if finding its intended recipient means going on a mission with Lucien Vanserra. Set post ACoSF.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 1: Fated!

Chapter 1 - The Tide of Destiny

Read on AO3

The sea was never particularly calming to Elain.

And in her bedroom in Velaris, no matter how desperately she tried, she couldn’t escape its call.

As a human, the distance between the docks and the river house would have rendered its sound indiscernible. But with her sensitive fae hearing, the sea leaked through her window—despite how firmly she’d shut it before going to bed. She’d woken to its sound, how it stirred something restless and uncertain inside her.

Now, engulfed in the darkness of her drawn bed curtains, she could hear the waves lapping against the seaside on the other side of the city. She knew that if she shut her eyes, if she tried to go back to sleep, it would be impossible to distinguish between her bedroom and the shore. Some nights she would hear the swelling tide and dart upwards with a gasp, convinced it would crash over the sheets and drag her into its dark, bottomless depths.

Some nights, like tonight, she convinced herself it was not the sea calling to her at all—it was the lapping waters of the Cauldron, intent on dragging her back into its icy shackles to strip and tear at her humanity again.

Madja had once suggested that when those fears became potent, Elain could try summoning pleasant memories of the sea, instead. And as Elain stayed up trembling in bed that night, she tried to muster happy memories. She did.

Their family once lived at a charming manor by the sea. It should have been easy to think of just one moment of joy. She didn’t consider those years unhappy, though when raking her memory for anything relating to the sea itself, she could only recall one particularly unhappy day.

She remembered the smell of salty air, borne partially from the wind that blew off the harbor and stopped to tangle in her curls, but also from the tears wetting her cheeks. They worsened the longer she stared at the dockworkers hauling supply crates across the gangplank and onto The Asphodelos, her father’s merchant ship. It was the day he was leaving on a three month voyage to the continent.

Elain stood at the dockside, her favorite doll clutched tightly to her chest, and watched with wide, watery eyes as the crew raised one of the anchors at the bow of the ship. Summoned by the rattling chains, two dark claws raised from the inky surface as if a great creature had scooped at the bottom of the harbor to reveal a handful of dripping, oily sediment.

She wondered if the same creature didn’t reach into the depths of her chest, dredging up an emotion so thick and black it surely belonged at the bottom of the seabed.

In their father’s absence, Elain and her sisters would be handed to the company of their Grandmamma, governess, and nursemaids while their mother enjoyed her newfound liberties—as she called it—by making all number of visits to friends and distant relatives. During that time, Nesta would be swept away by their Grandmamma, who insisted on seizing the opportunity to offer her tutelage, and Feyre would be more inclined to run barefoot through the gardens than attend Elain’s tea parties.

Elain’s only true company would be in the form of her pink-cheeked, browned haired doll, which was a gift her father had brought from his last voyage to the continent. That was Elain’s only comfort as their family stood at the dockside to see him off—that in a matter of months, he might return with another friend from a faraway land and a fantastical story she would beg him to repeat until it was renewed during his next epic adventure.

So unlike Nesta, Elain wasn’t scowling towards their father’s back, furious with him for leaving. Nor was she like Feyre, squirming on the hip of their nursemaid, the elderly woman’s arms tightly locked around the youngest Archeron’s lithe frame to keep her from dashing down the docks and pitching over the side. Feyre was always far more interested in climbing atop places she shouldn’t than appreciating the sentiment of the occasion.

But Elain—she stared out with eyes fixed on her father and edged as close to the water as the frayed rope would allow. She clutched her doll against her chest in an attempt to soothe the ache building beneath it. Soon, their father would walk over and kiss each of them farewell, and Elain would watch his ship until its billowing sails faded into the horizon.

It was as they were waiting on a dock that a man lugging a barrel of sloshing liquid shouted at their family to move aside. Their mother grasped the sleeve of Elain’s dress, yanking her back with such force that the doll slipped from Elain’s grasp and plummeted into the dark water below.

Her tears were instantaneous—small, hiccuping sobs that surged into wails the second she registered that no one was moving to retrieve the doll. The crew continued loading the ship, oblivious or uncaring, while Elain’s mother scrunched her nose and nudged Elain toward the nursemaid holding Feyre.

The nursemaid gave a cooing noise and shifted Feyre on her hip so that she could extend one plump arm to Elain, drawing her closer with a soft hand at the back of her head. Elain clutched the skirts of her nursemaid's dress and barrelled forward to smother her tears against the fabric.

“What’s happened?”

Recognizing her father’s voice, Elain lifted her head with a weak sniffle.

“Wee thing’s lost her doll,” answered the nursemaid, rubbing a soothing circle into the center of Elain’s back. “Plopped straight into the water, it did.”

“Oh, my dear Elain.” Their father dropped to one knee, meeting Elain’s height so that he could carefully take one of her much smaller hands into his own. “Don’t fret,” he soothed, reaching to chase away a few of the tears rolling down her cheeks. “The things we lose are never truly gone. Have patience, and perhaps one day your doll will find its way back to you.”

Fortunately, Elain was a patient child. And she happened to excel at listening to her father. With her tears abated, she nodded and waited the many weeks of her father’s voyage. Upon his return, he brandished a beautiful doll from behind his back.

See, Elain? I found her on the continent. The tides must have carried her there, so that she could be reunited with you.

Elain’s doll had bright, clever brown eyes, much like her own. But the one she was handed from her father had eyes like a frozen lake, more like her sisters Nesta and Feyre. She noticed this, and frowned, but accepted the doll anyway.

She learned that sometimes lost things do come back, but not quite the same as they once were.

Now, sitting in the dark of her bedroom with nothing else to occupy her mind, Elain pulled at the aching threads of all the things she’d lost that would never come back. Her mother, her father, her human life.

Graysen.

The sting of that name lessened with time, but it was not so reduced that she didn’t hiss through her teeth as it clanged through her.

Deciding she would never get any sleep in this state of mind, Elain threw the blankets open and scrambled off the bed. The Inner Circle would likely still be awake. They’d all kept odd hours since Nyx was born and she often heard their laughter drifting through the floorbeds well past midnight. She knew that one member, in particular, rarely slept at all.

That thought nearly convinced her to stay inside her room. She didn’t wish to see any of them, not at the moment, and least of all…

Elain shrugged on a robe and hastily tied it around her waist, resolving that she was unlikely to encounter anyone on the way to the library. And in there, she could sit and read and sip tea until her exhaustion overpowered her agitation.

It was a good plan. It might have been effective, if she hadn’t been drawn short halfway down the hall by the sight of a tall male standing at the far end of the corridor, staring at a piece of fabric in his hand.

He lifted his head at her approach, and froze the moment he saw her. He was wearing his hair bound, all of it tied in a scarlet knot at the back of his head. She was used to seeing it down, spilling like ringlets of flame over his shoulders and always partially covering the brutal, slashing scar through his left eye. She didn’t know what to make of the sight of his face, completely unobstructed.

Every time Elain saw him, it was like being struck in the stomach. She couldn’t breathe—and if she did, it would mean inhaling his scent and making the whole ordeal of looking at him infinitely, insufferably worse.

“Elain,” he said. His eyes—one russet and one mechanical—scraped over her, scrutinizing every detail.

She hated how he said her name. Always on a breath, like he was being struck in the stomach at the sight of her, too.

The same emotions played out over his face that she felt waring deep in her chest—surprise, delight, uneasiness. She didn’t know he’d be here. Feyre usually warned her in advance of his visits, and even then it was odd for him to be here so late in the evening, when he had his own apartment to retire to.

Lucien cleared his throat, breaking both of them from their trance. “Having difficulty sleeping, Lady?”

There was an edge to his voice that caused Elain to shift onto her backfoot. She didn’t know why he was asking, when he would already know through whatever perverse magic tied them together. The same way she knew when he was sleeping. Or when he was extraordinarily happy, which was rare. And extraordinarily sad, which was often.

He would know in the same way she knew that in this very moment, though it perplexed her, Lucien Vanserra was seething with anger.

If not for the mating bond announcing his every extreme emotion, she still would have been able to read it plainly on his face. His red brows were pinched together, his teeth gritted, and the fabric in his hand, which he’d been staring at with alarming intensity before she’d gotten there, was gripped so tightly that each of his brown knuckles turned a soft pale color.

A dozen questions flitted through her mind. She wasn’t sure which to ask him, which he would answer. Questions were tedious. They could imply interest where there was none, or venture their conversation towards truths she was in no state to hear.

She settled with, “I didn’t know you were in Velaris.”

He crumpled the fabric in his hand until it was obscured entirely within his fist. “I winnowed in an hour ago.”

Elain’s pulse jumped in her throat. “Why so late?”

The last time Lucien had been summoned to Velaris with such urgency, it was after Feyre had nearly died in childbirth. If there was an emergency, surely someone would have come to wake her?

Lucien shifted, glancing at his closed fist as if waging some internal conflict. Then he released a long breath. “Rhysand wanted to meet at this hour—he requested discretion.”

Discretion from who? No one in the house would be asleep at this time. No one besides…

She chewed her lip, uncertain if she should be affronted. Did Rhysand think he was doing her a favor by summoning Lucien at this hour, so that they needn’t encounter each other? Or—and she knew in her heart it was more likely—Feyre and her husband were deliberately hiding something from her. If she asked Lucien, would he reveal it to her? Would she even want to know?

“If you’re trying to be discreet,” she asked, trying to make her voice sound light, “then why have I found you wandering around upstairs where anyone might find you?”

Lucien looked at her then, with an understanding that made her want to shrivel inside herself. She thought he would say that he knew. That he’d felt her panic, and knew that she would be awake, wandering the halls to escape the waves roaring in her ear.

Instead he held up his fist, opening it to reveal a balled-up handkerchief. “I found this,” he said. “I presume it belongs to you.”

He extended it to her and Elain retrieved it warily, careful to only touch the fabric and not any part of his skin. The last time she’d accidentally brushed her fingers against his, it’d felt as if she’d plunged them into an open flame. It wasn’t a sensation she’d been able to forget.

Once it was safely in her possession, Elain smoothed her thumb across the fabric and studied the brocade pattern woven into the wine-colored silk. The embroidered E in the corner certainly seemed to suggest it belonged to her, but Elain didn’t own a handkerchief this color. Nor did she make a habit of embroidering her belongings. Its texture was not familiar to her, either—slightly rougher than silk, though smoother than any cotton she’d felt between her fingers before.

“Where did you find this?” She asked.

“So it is yours, then?”

He sounded angry again. Elain lifted her eyes to see that he was studying her, searching for the answer to some deeper question he didn’t dare voice.

A muscle feathered in this jaw. He glanced down the hall, ensuring they were alone, before he added in a low voice, “I found it outside the Shadowsinger’s bedroom.”

Aware that her reaction was being monitored carefully, and risked confirming the accusations already tangible in his words, Elain kept her expression perfectly neutral. She thumbed at the E in the corner, wondering if it was perhaps a gift from Azriel, and she was its intended recipient.

It would be odd if it was—Azriel had barely spoken to her since the Solstice. From what she’d gauged of the shadowsinger, his bouts of silence were not unusual, but whatever lingering glances had once existed between them seized the moment she returned the rose necklace to him.

No. Sooner than that.

This was a mistake.

Even now, months later, those words burned inside her. She folded the handkerchief and held it back towards him, deciding she didn’t care if it was a gift. Just like the necklace, she’d return it.

“It’s not mine,” she said. “You can put it back wherever you found it.”

Lucien arched his scar-slit brow. She knew he didn’t believe her, and that the evidence was certainly incriminating. There was no one else by that initial who lived in this house, not unless there was a new servant who happened to drop it.

It caused her to wonder if Azriel had planted the handkerchief intentionally. Either to get under Lucien’s skin, or in the hopes that Elain would find it, and it would lead to another clandestine meeting. Where she would knock on his door and be again swept into those deep hazel eyes, and perhaps would feel so consumed by his churning, unspoken anguish that she would forget his hurtful words.

Or perhaps… There was not a scheme afoot at all, and this was simply the souvenir of a new lover.

Lucien crossed his arms, making no move to retrieve the handkerchief. “And where exactly were you headed at this hour?”

He jerked his chin the direction she’d been heading, a passageway which forked two directions. On one end, to the library, and on the other… to Azriel’s room.

Elain’s cheeks burned in outrage. “I was going to the library.”

“In your nightgown?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she said. “You’re not my keeper. And I haven’t seen or heard from you in months.”

Lucien drew back, as if she’d struck him. His expressions hardened, then smoothed—the way a river could strip a rock of all of its jagged edges.

“You’re right, Lady.” That was his courtier’s voice, distant and detached from the emotion she knew was churning inside him. “My apologies. I’ll leave you to carry on to the library.”

His apology only stoked her anger, enough that she wanted to claw deeper. She drew the handkerchief to her chest and stepped past him with a clipped, “Thank you for returning this to me.”

The scent of woodsmoke and clove coiled around her as she darted past, a hidden snare that almost caught her, willing her to turn around and tell him the truth. She held her breath instead, glaring down the hall as though the Cauldron was sitting at its end, taunting her.

She could feel Lucien’s eyes trailing her until she disappeared behind the corridor. And the moment his scent faded, and she could no longer count the metronome of his heartbeat, the sea swept back in.

That was what sent Elain veering away from the library. Without thinking, or stopping to listen to the hushed voices as she passed Rhysand’s study, Elain stormed down the stairs and pushed out the door into the streets of Velaris. With only a coat shrugged over her nightgown, she was woefully underdressed, but she was desperate to go somewhere, anywhere, that would distract from all the scents and sounds and questions swirling in her mind.

Did Azriel know that Lucien would be coming? Did she care? It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Lucien angry with her. And given how they’d last parted, it was no surprise there would be tension between them.

As she strode through the empty marketplace, the memory of the icy words they last exchanged crept into the periphery of her thoughts, like the frost she spied climbing over the glass of the shop window in front of her.

In its reflection, a pink-cheeked female was taking great, huffing breaths. Her golden-brown curls were windswept from the cool breeze, the bite of which promised winter in the weeks to come. Altogether, she looked far more flustered and agitated than a composed lady ought to be.

It was just—It’d been so long since she’d last heard his voice and felt the onslaught of her body’s reaction to his presence. She’d been underprepared, and he’d pushed all the right buttons to prod her into an anger equal to his own. That was all.

Elain shook her head, forcibly pushing away the shards of memory that plagued her—present and past and future, blending together. Scarlet hair and sneering lips and the taste of fire scalding her tongue. With her cursed visions, she was used to cobwebs of would-bes and half-truths plaguing her mind, but the heated flashes of her mate were more difficult to dismiss. Especially when he was in Velaris, starting fights with her in the hallway.

With a deep breath, she practiced the grounding techniques she’d spoken about with Madja.

What was beneath her? The firm, cobbled street, glowing against the small bulbs of faelights strung from roof to roof.

What was above her? A dark, overcast sky—rare for Velaris, and likely another indication that the mild autumn weather was coming to its end. Though the red and amber leaves gilding the city’s landscape were pretty, she was happy to think they’d soon be swept away with the winter. The sight of them made her chest ache.

What was in front of her? Her own reflection, blinking through the window of a shop that—looking past her squinting image—appeared to sell an eccentric collection of trinkets. She spied a snow globe sitting upon a stack of books, which precariously supported a leaning portrait of an amphibian faerie in the nude, draped in jewels whilst being hand-fed a basket of red berries.

It was an odd painting to be advertising in the storefront window, but it was certainly effective in knocking Elain from her bad mood. She wandered to the shop’s entrance, and was delighted to see that a small desk light was lit inside and a sign hung over the entrance, stating: OPEN (to those who seek)

Seized with curiosity, Elain grabbed the silver handle and tested the knob, just to make sure it wasn’t locked.

The bell above the door frame trilled a high-pitched greeting, announcing her entrance to the shopkeeper sitting behind a large desk, piled high with odds and ends of which Elain could find no discernible pattern. The faerie was sorting through a box of ribbons all in various colors and stages of condition, so immersed in the task at hand that she didn’t seem to notice Elain’s entrance, despite being the only patron in the otherwise empty shop.

After providing what felt to be a polite amount of time to finish the task, Elain said, “Excuse me, is this store open?”

Not looking up from the two frayed ribbons she was untangling in her hands, one a vivid scarlet red and the other a vibrant yellow, the shopkeeper asked, “Have you found something lost or lost something found?”

Elain blinked. “Pardon?”

With a heavy sigh, the faerie dropped the ribbons back in the box. “This is a place of trade,” she said, gesturing with a purple hand towards the strange collection of items at her desk. “Not a shop.”

“And you trade… lost objects?”

The faerie nodded, causing a lock of the snow-white hair wreathed at the top of her head to fall over one of her slitted black eyes. She petulantly batted it behind her fin-shaped ear before pinning Elain with a wild, jagged-toothed smile, “Would you like to look at my wares?”

“I have nothing to trade,” Elain said, sweeping her eyes over the items nonetheless. There was a box of quills, most of which looked to be used, the feathers worn and bent. “How do you trade something you’ve already lost?”

“You don’t,” said the shopkeeper plainly. “You trade something you found. And if you’re looking for something you’ve lost, well, you might find it here.”

Most of the things Elain had lost recently couldn’t be traded in a shop. Even so, she wandered across the store, marveling at the shelves of children’s toys. Dolls and plush animals and spinning tops. She considered getting something to bring back for Nyx, but was deterred by the thought that the children these items once belonged to might return to the shop.

She asked, “How do you know if you’re trading something to its rightful owner?”

The shopkeeper hummed. “I always know.”

Elain took that to mean the shopkeeper didn’t care, so long as she was receiving an item of equal value in exchange. But then… how did she make any profit? Her head spun trying to make sense of it, before she reminded herself that trying to make sense of the fae was a tedious and unrewarding task. Often, they made no rational sense at all, and that was just the way they preferred things.

“I don’t think there’s anything here for me,” she said. “I appreciate you letting me look.”

“Nonsense,” the shopkeeper said, now having moved on from the ribbons to arrange stacks of playing cards. “In all my centuries running this trading post, no one has ever wandered in without something to find. Keep looking.”

Elain was beginning to feel flustered, and wondered briefly if she was the lost thing. “Even if I did find something, I have nothing to trade.”

“Nonsense.”

Elain huffed, turning away from the shopkeeper. What if she didn’t want anything in this cursed little shop? Surely she wouldn’t be kept from leaving without buying something? If that was the case, Elain would certainly have words to share with Rhysand about how this shop was run.

She thought about sharing with the shopkeeper that she was the High Lady’s sister, when the sight of a porcelain doll caught her eye. Elain gasped.

“Find something?” The shopkeeper crooned.

It couldn’t be. The doll she’d lost as a little girl was drifting somewhere in the ocean. And even if it had been retrieved, it would not look like the one before her, all smooth, glistening ivory and perfectly clean golden-brown locks of hair. Elain carefully lifted the doll from the shelf, staring into those bright, clever brown eyes. Much like her own.

Was it a trick? A memory plucked from her mind? She glanced over at the shopkeeper, still tirelessly counting and arranging cards. There didn’t seem to be anything predatory about her knowing smile. But it was knowing.

Elain set the doll back on the shelf. It wasn’t hers, just one of the same make. That was the only explanation she could draw for how it ended up here. As she withdrew her hands, her fingers brushed the sides of a wooden box, and she jerked back when a soft, mechanical tink answered her touch.

The shopkeeper paused her counting.

“Sorry,” Elain breathed, pressing a hand to her chest to steady her thundering heart. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

An unimpressed raised brow was her only response. Elain turned back to the box, frowning. It was of simple, plain-looking make, the wood smooth and polished on all sides. She pushed up the top, and her breath hitched when a carving of a small female dancer sprung up from inside. Acting of their own volition, Elain’s fingers sought the underside of the box to find a winding mechanism, twisting the small knob there as if they knew precisely what this box was for, what it did.

The world seemed to still the moment Elain released her fingers, every sleeping doll and ancient tome in the small shop waking to listen as the small wooden dancer began twisting on a single posed foot. As she moved, the box began emitting a slow, mechanically plucked out melody.

Each note hung and lingered, carving its way through the air with a sharpness that demanded to be heard. Elain didn’t so much as breathe in fear of disturbing its song, allowing it to curl around her, tugging at the cusp of a memory. She swore she’d heard it before, though she struggled to place when or where. If she closed her eyes, it evoked an image of a summer garden, draped in moonlight. Her fingers tingled with the feeling of a warm hand, wrapped in hers. And her chest… her chest ached with a sorrow so heavy it could pull down the stars.

It was so at odds with the happy, smiling dancer who twirled and twirled without a care in the world. Though the box itself was light, its weight became more significant the longer the song played, as though it were carrying its grief in the bones of its wood. She could feel it calling to her, an echo to the song of lost love she had been carrying in her own chest.

“Interesting,” the shopkeeper said. “That box has sat untouched in my shop for nearly three centuries. I’ve always wondered who would come to claim it one day.”

“Oh—” Elain sniffed and hastily wiped at a tear slipping down her cheek. She didn’t know when she’d started crying. “This isn’t mine.”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “Sometimes we find lost things and sometimes lost things find us.”

“I can’t—”

“It called to you,” the shopkeeper insisted. “Which means it’s been found. So it’s no longer lost. And since this is a place for lost things, it can’t stay in the shop any longer. Either take it, or I’ll throw it out.”

For some reason, the thought of the box being thrown out was horrifying to Elain. Surely it must have meant a great deal to someone at some point. She said softly, “But I don’t have anything to trade in return.”

“No?” The shopkeeper cocked her head. “Nothing in your pockets?”

She was fishing for coin, no doubt, but Elain realized she did have something in her pockets. Something that was found.

Numbly, she withdrew the handkerchief she’d been given by Lucien.

The shopkeeper grinned ear-to-ear and pointed to a bin just behind Elain. “That will do perfectly. Add it to the box.”

Indeed, behind her shoulder was a box brimming with handkerchiefs.

Her head would only hurt trying to make sense of the logic. “The handkerchief doesn’t belong to me, either.”

“And that’s precisely why you should leave it here,” the shopkeeper reasoned. “It’s lost, and I’ll ensure it finds its rightful owner.”

Just as the jewelry box found its rightful owner, she thought dryly.

But three centuries was a long time to go unclaimed. After the war, there was no way of knowing if its original owner was still alive. And as for the handkerchief… she supposed leaving it here was preferable to what she was likely going to do with it, which was absolutely nothing. She would inevitably put off speaking to Azriel about it just as she avoided telling Lucien why she was really awake in the middle of the night.

It was one less burden off her hands, and she couldn’t say she was sorry to see it go as she dropped it into the box of multicolored fabrics.

#What Do You Know About Love #Elucien #elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain #elucienweek2024

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esther-dot · 1 year ago

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Pride & Prejudice AUs

You Look Like A Movie, You Sound Like A Song 2k @jonsastan

She had met Jon Targaryen there. It was a complete accident and at first, Sansa thought, a complete misfortune. He was drenched from an impromptu swim in his pond, and she was flustered, not wanting him to think she was vying for his attention. But as she had attempted to make her hurried escape, he had found her and invited her parents to stroll with him around the gardens. He had offered her kindness, and thoughtfulness, he had talked with her parents, discussed the present state of politics with her father and chatted knowledgeably about gardens with her mother.

A Certain Step Toward Falling in Love 2k by @comma-splice

Jon Snow returns North after departing abruptly one year ago.

The Bennet Sisters - a P&P AU comic by @melinaillustrations

P&P Gifset by @sardoniyx, P&P Gifset by @dcbicki, P&P Gifset by deactivated

Persuasion AUs

Who Loves Longest, Who loves Best 1k by @ladysaruka

After refusing him years ago, Sansa sees her cousin once again.

Persuasion edits one, two , three by @glueck

Mansfield Park AUs

Half Agony, Half Hope 10k, incomplete by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

After the death of his disgraced mother, Jon Snow is taken in by his uncle's family, the Starks of Winterfell. He grows up alongside his cousins, including the beautiful and kind-hearted Sansa, but knowing he can never truly be their equal, he fears he has little choice but to leave the place he's come to call home. corresponding moodboard

Catch Me If You Can 34k (P&P and Emma inspired too) by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

Set in the countryside of Regency England, Jon Snow has been in love with Sansa Stark for as long as he can remember. He wants her as his wife, but Sansa is not sure she wants to be a wife at all, and she knows she doesn’t want to marry the pragmatic and boring Jon. She’d rather help Theon Greyjoy come out of his shell and play matchmaker. But then Jaime Lannister comes to town and Jon finds he has some serious competition for Sansa…

Moments Like This (So Few and Far Between) 3k by @lydiamartenism

Mama and Papa left the house to go pick up Jon, the son of her father’s oldest friend. Three weeks ago, the phone rang and their parent’s announced that Jon would be coming to live with them since his mother passed away and had no one else to take care of him.

Northanger Abbey AUs

The Lady in White 7k by @kissed-by-circe

Dragonstone Manor had looked like it had woken only a few days earlier, after a slumber of several years, if not decades, and Sansa had felt like the heroine of a gothic novel, a mysterious, naive girl with a dark past or a dark secret, arriving at the opening scene of the most dramatic story of all times. Or Sansa as Katherine Morland in a Jane Eyre Setting.

Sense & Sensibility AUs

In Such Jocund Company 2k @maybetwice

It would be no matter at all for Captain Snow to return to the north after seven months’ absence, had Sansa’s heart not changed entirely in that time. A remix of Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility.

Emma & Clueless AUs

if i loved you less 2k by @ladystarks

Her father has, often and fondly, told Sansa that she and Mr. Snow bite at each other like wolves, but he hardly understood that their verbal sparring was as exhilarating as a sport well done, or a match coming together under Sansa’s skilled hands. corresponding artwork

Sansa: A NOVEL in Five Parts 15k by @imagineagreatadventure

Sansa Stark, handsome, clever, rich, hopes to establish herself as her town's foremost matchmaker. After seeing her governess Miss Shae married to the rich and clever Mr. Tyrion Lannister, she feels as though she deserves that title. Her dear friend and cousin, Jon Targaryen, heartily disagrees and is quite proven right when Sansa sets her sights on marrying off her newest and dearest friend Jeyne Poole to the vicar Mr. Baelish.

A Baldwin and a Betty 2k

Jon drives to the Valley to give Sansa a ride home.

Emma AU art by @dcvahkiin and Clueless art by wolvesofspring

Emma Gifset by @dcbicki

General Regency AUs

No Notion of Loving by Halves 2k @darkmagyk

The Stark cousin, Jon, goes home to discuss matters concerning the entail on Winterfell. In which Jon is a really good guy, and I flagrantly disregard how entails actually work.

Manners and Misunderstandings 114k, WIP by @x-winging-it

The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls. Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage. When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.

You Could Draw Me to the Gallows 2k by @azulaahai

After having eloped from home with and subsequently been abandoned by wealthy heir Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa Stark refuses to come home. Having caused a scandal that is sure to prevent her from ever marrying, she is adamant not to bring further shame to the family name by returning to Winterfell. Until, that is, a visitor comes to her - Jon Snow, an old family friend, determined to bring Sansa with him back north. He has a solution to offer her - a proposal with the potential to change both of their lives.

A Perilous Dance Indeed & fiercely, tenderly and eternally 27k by @amymel86

He should either look away or interrupt this improper little meeting, he knows. For some unfathomable reason, he does neither. The two look far too intimate for Jon’s liking, although he feels he should have come to expect it to be so. A romantic like Sansa – however proper she is – would simply adore overt flirtations and a secret tête-à-tête. Even from where he stands, Jon can see the way in which she has stars set in her eyes like precious cut stones. He only hopes the man for whom they shine is deserving of it. *** Cousin Jon is to inherit Winterfell Manor and its estate after the untimely death of his uncle leaves a widow and two daughters. Sansa is expectant of an imminent proposal from her dear beau, Harrold Hardyng and everything will be absolutely, stunningly, utterly fine.

Waiting for Your Slippered Feet 49k by @wintry-ritu

Lady Sansa Stark has always looked forward to her come-out season in London, the balls, the rides in Hyde Park, evenings at Vauxhall, the romance and wonder of it all. Never had she imagined that it would happen like this, with her parents gone and her younger siblings underfoot. Now, all Sansa wants is for it all to be over quickly so she can get back to Winterfell. She needs a kind, amiable man who will be brave enough to take on his wife's siblings. That should not be so hard to find in London, should it? And while she is most grateful for Jon Targaryen's help, why must her cousin be so distracting?

To Make You Love Me 16k incomplete and orphaned

When Ned Stark dies, he leaves behind his wife, two daughters, and his family’s estate at Winterfell. What follows is a series of unwanted marriage proposals, houseguests who far outstay their welcome, and Arya parading around in a comically large hat and an oil-paint mustache as she declares herself the new ‘Lord of Winterfell,’ in an attempt to dissuade her sister’s suitors. However, when Mr. Jon Snow — their distant cousin and Ned’s appointed heir to the estate — comes to call, an oil-paint mustache is hardly enough to deter him from courting Miss Sansa Stark. And she thinks, perhaps, that a man could marry her for love more than her claim, after all.

Mine for a Season 101k by @vivilove-jonsa

Colonel Jon Targaryen is a single man in possession of a good fortune who claims no interest in finding himself a wife. With his war wounds, he thinks no young lady would want him anyway for anything beyond the allure of his pocketbook. Fortunately and unbeknownst to him, Fate has chosen to find a wife for him and will even deliver her right to his doorstep. Taking on the responsibility of shepherding a young lady about for a Season in London is not at all what Jon had wished to do but he had accepted out of a sense of familial duty. However, once he meets Sansa again after only having met her years ago as a child, he may not consider it a duty so much as a torment.

a lady of winterfell 185k, WIP by @wandering-scavenger

She bit her lip and exhaled shakily, “If you are so sickened by the prospect of marrying me, we should be able to obtain an annulment easily enough with your father’s connections.” “I will do no such thing.” he snapped, refusing to look at her. Sansa had never felt more rejected than she did at that moment. Her past experiences of being humiliated at the hand of Joffrey did not feel as painful as this. Even so, she could not allow him to see the weakness in her, not now. “I will not be left out, Jon.” she said, tilting her chin up to look down at him. He grimaced. They were silent for longer than she cared to count, but each second that he did not speak chipped away at her resolve and her ability to withhold her tears. Jon did not want her, and she could not blame him. Who could ever want her? It should not have distressed her as much as it did. She was never his favourite sister, she who treated him as a stranger since she was old enough to understand what a bastard was. A tear slipped down to her face until she tasted the salt of it on her lips. “If we marry, we will remain so.” corresponding gifset

moth's wings 47k by @cellsshapedlikestars

Sansa was determined to convince her aunt to let Arya debut, which is how she finds herself in her current predicament. “Who is this secret gentleman who has asked for your hand?” Aunt Lysa asks, and Sansa knows from her tone that she does not believe. (She has every right not to believe, for it is not true.) And then Sansa does something very, very foolish. She says a name. “The Duke of Dragonstone!” Or, Sansa fakes an engagement so that Arya can debut and marry the man she loves. The only problem? Her fake fiance just so happens to be in the city when he was not supposed to be.

An Understanding 2k, WIP by @thewolvescalledmehome

At the start of Sansa Stark's third London Season, she decides it will be her last. She will secure a husband by the end of the final ball. Jon Snow is new to the London Season and high society. He never expected to inherit money or property from an unknown uncle. When they meet at a ball, Sansa gets an idea.

you're in my blood like holy wine 72k

Sansa finds it difficult to look at Jon’s face, with its weathered lines and cragginess. It is the face of the North and a face that northerners trust; the face of Sansa’s brothers and her father, who had been loved and respected by their tenants as their forefathers had been when they were kings. How can Sansa feel anything but resentment, looking into that face and knowing that all of her years of hard work will never earn her the respect that that profile engenders within seconds? But she does. It is a small, burning coal of something that must be smothered.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

#jonsa #jonsa fic #regency au #pride and prejudice au #emma au #northanger abbey au #mansfield park au #persuasion au #dot fic list #marriage of convenience au #arranged marriage au

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areyoudreaminof · 4 months ago

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Future Rust and Future Dust: Chapter 6

I'm back. Kind of.

I'd like to give my most heartfelt thanks and dedication to @secret-third-thing for reading this and giving me the boost I needed to post this.

Feyre,

By the time you read this, I’ll be heading for the continent.

I wish I had more time to explain everything to you and Nesta but time is running out. You should have all of Lucien’s reports on Beron and the human armies. Things are moving much faster and becoming much more dire than we thought. We need to get to the lake. I hope you’ll forgive me and understand that this was not a rash decision. Our human allies have procured us a ship, when we reach Rask safely, I will write to you again.

Please give Nyx a kiss every night from me. Please-

The pen stopped suddenly in Elain’s fingers, leaving a small pool of ink idling under the brass tip. No matter how many times she wrote it, the letters to her sisters sounded wrong, like she had something to hide. But she wasn’t hiding, she told herself, just keeping some things personal. Elain supposed it was a form of guilt that ate at her. After all, she did leave the house almost a year ago, in the middle of the night to come down to the manor. She hadn’t been up to Velaris since, but her sisters came down to visit once, Nyx on Feyre’s hip and a closed off expression on Nesta’s face.

She and Lucien had fallen in love with each other by then, and she had hoped her sisters would be happy for her. They assured her they were, but something unspoken hung in the air, something that none of the sisters could put into words. Elain hoped that by holding off on a mating ceremony until her sisters could be there would smooth things over. She was ready to accept the bond, but she felt another twinge of guilt at the idea of not having her sisters there for a ceremony. Ever the gentleman, Lucien assured her they could have a small ceremony in the spring with her sisters. With a sigh, Elain finished the letter as best as she could, quickly folding and sealing it as she threw it into the small stack of envelopes. With a stretch, Elain rose from the desk, her eyes drifting to the window.

Snow was falling outside, softly, almost silently. Only the wind whistled a lonely ballad, one of sorrow and change. Elain had seen the steel clouds on the horizon and had felt the bite of cold in the air, but she was so focused on packing clothes, writing letters, hoping that they could get onto a ship before morning that she had missed the first flakes falling. Quickly, she walked through the kitchen to the back door, sparing a glance at the clock. It was nearing sunset and Vassa would be home. They could finish packing and Jurian and Lucien would be ready with a carriage to take them to the coast, where a merchant ship with black sails waited, she reminded herself as she swung the back door open.

She reached up to touch the snowflakes that flurried and whirled around her as she stepped outside. Each flake kissed her fingertips and cheeks lightly, while her breath whirled in clouded puffs from her lips. Elain remembered her first snow, she supposed she must have been three or four years old. The naked rose bushes in the garden froze in the night, while snow dusted the twisting branches like white blooms. She was hypnotized by the beauty of it all, hardly looking away from the window as her governess wrapped her in mittens and scarves. Her next memory was being angry about how wet and filthy her shoes and stockings got after she came inside.

I suppose I’ll have to get used to wet stockings, she thought. The continent was colder and wetter this time of year, at least, if her old atlases were right. Visions of ice on the lake flickered through her memory as she breathed in the sharp and muddied air.

Blue light filtered in through the night sky, an echo of the full moon behind the clouds, though the manor grounds were cloaked in darkness. Only the warm glow of the kitchen illuminated Elain’s path, the copse of ash trees were a snarled shadow in the distance.

A wolf began to howl, far off into the tree line.

The pitch of the howl was wrong, too sharp for the wolves that prowled the wall line, too nasal. As the howl echoed through the limbs of ash trees, static fear crept through Elain’s throat. She couldn’t spot Vassa in the darkness, if the howling got a hold of her-

DONG! DONG!

The continental wooden clock in the kitchen announced the Vassa hour and the wolf howled again. Elain launched into the snow, her shoes sliding along the tightly packed ice, her breath sharpening with cold as she pumped her legs toward the soft firelight in the trees. The wolf-thing howled again, this time closer to the south, nearing the manor. Elain cut through the ash grove and into the clearing where Vassa usually landed, ignoring the hiss of ash branches along her skin as she ran.

She could not say the words, admit what she knew had finally come.

But she could run.

TAGLIST: @secret-third-thing @asnowfern @foundress0fnothing @born-to-riot @bunburyahoy @c-e-d-dreamer @cowboylament @cupiddoe @dawneternal @goghwilde @itsthedoodle @jamborina @kataravimes-of-the-shire @moonpatroclus @octobers-veryown @popjunkie42 @queercontrarian @rosanna-writer @separatist-apologist @sassyhobbits @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @velidewrites @witch-and-her-witcher @wilde-knight @xtaketwox @melting-houses-of-gold @reverie-tales @striving4mikey @iftheshoef1tz @chunkypossum @jamborina @fieldofdaisiies @crazy-ache @works-of-heart @luciensdefenseattorney @jules-writes-stories @acourtofladydeath @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers

#i took over a year off and cut you bitches some slack #tell a friend to tell a friend #she's baaaccckk #elucien #jassa #elain x lucien #jurian x vassa

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ohmotherwhereartthou-if · 3 months ago

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I have a weird but hopefully adorable ask!

RO reaction to receiving the news that they or MC is pregnant with Octuplets?

(For Elio, MC brings 8 kids home and says these are our kids now :)

Woof, Lord have mercy!

Cassandra: When the doctor reported that there was more than 4 heart beats in there... Girly was lightheaded for hours trying to contemplate. You can bet top dollar after this you both are not ever having any more kids, this is the first and last time.

Valeria: Laughs. Laughs in disbelief and wonder, she didn't even think that was humanly possible. I mean, she is a twin herself to having two or even three in one go was plausible but...8? Good Lord grant her patience, because you two can kiss sleep goodbye.

Tomás: Nah, my man definitely passed out for a few moments. Goddamn, 8?! That's insane, normally he would take majority of the 9 months wrapping his head around being a dad, but now he's gotta come to grips he is having 8 in one go? Yikes.

On the plus side however, he would prep like a mf. 8 hand-made cradles and adjustments were made to the dining table to he could fit all 8 of the little ones into makeshift high chairs. He is literally making a blueprint of the house and trying to figure out how he is going to fit them all into their respective rooms when they are older. He kinda wishes he had more money so he could afford to give them all their own rooms, he would low key debate asking his mom for some money but his pride ultimately would not allow it. He settles on separating them by gender for now, it would be funny af if he got 7 boys and one girl though. Heavens know that girl would be a such a daddy's princess.

Ludovica: I worry more on her health tbh, she would worry the whole pregnancy that she would miscarry. So by the end she is so happy they arrived safely and healthy, she honestly would be very overwhelmed by the number of them though. Vica would benefit greatly from having a small family but she would not complain to have all 8. She might make a case that you guys need to hire a few nannies though, she would be very involved with all 8 of her kids but it is all a bit too much for her though.

Aurelio: The best one out of all the RO's that is fit for this situation. He would still 100% throw up upon receiving the news however, goodbye freedom. He would shape up quick and allocate many of his spare rooms in his manor for his kids, no more overnight stays for any party guests that is for sure. He would hire one nanny, aka a governess, for the kids so that he can work comfortably and MC can have some help. His kids will all turn out 100% like him, read that one other RO as parent's ask to see what I mean by that. The havoc these kids will cause on the denizens of Romandi are unspeakable, however I feel like the home life would look a lot like 'The Sound Of Music' (my absolute favorite comfort movie btw) but how the family is at the end. Constant trips, fun games, and a huge loving family. The kids would also probably be similar to those kids from that movie. Putting frogs in people that they don't like clothes lol.

Elio: I mean... He would have questions as to why you suddenly decided that your shared apartment sized home should now be an orphanage. My mans would be shook but also not turn them out, he would at first want to find them all proper homes but I can see he would quickly get attached. He does 100% MC to find or have a job to support all of these kids properly, he would help (by being a house husband) but it would fall mainly on MC to figure out how are you both going to take proper care of these kids in the long term.

#omwat #ask #ludovica #elio #aurelio #tomas #cassandra #valeria #interactive fiction #if

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transbookoftheday · 1 year ago

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The Manor House Governess by C. A. Castle

This spirited debut pays homage to the British classics—with a genderfluid protagonist and 21st-century twist—perfect for fans of Emily M. Danforth, Torrey Peters, and Andrew Sean Greer.

Set against the rarefied backdrop of high society, this one-of-a-kind, queer novel features 5 stunning illustrations of modern-day Cambridge.

Orphaned young and raised with chilly indifference at an all-boys boarding school, Brontë Ellis has grown up stifled by rigid rules and social “norms,” forbidden from expressing his gender identity. His beloved novels and period films lend an escape, until a position as a live-in tutor provides him with a chance to leave St. Mary’s behind.

Greenwood Manor is the kind of elegant country house Bron has only read about, and amid lavish parties and cricket matches the Edwards family welcomes him into the household with true warmth. Mr. Edwards and the young Ada, Bron’s pupil, accept without question that Bron’s gender presentation is not traditionally masculine. Only Darcy, the eldest son, seems uncomfortable with Bron—the two of them couldn’t be more opposite.

When a tragic fire blazes through the estate’s idyllic peace, Bron begins to sense dark secrets smoldering beneath Greenwood Manor’s surface. Channeling the heroines of his cherished paperbacks, he begins to sift through the wreckage. Soon, he’s not sure what to believe, especially with his increasing attraction to Darcy clouding his vision.

Drawing energy and inspiration from Charlotte Brontë, Jane Austen, E.M. Forster, and more, while bowing to popular fiction such as Plain Bad Heroines and Red, White, and Royal Blue, The Manor House Governess is a smart, sublimely charming novel destined to become a modern classic.

#the manor house governess #c.a. castle #nonbinary #genderfluid #trans book of the day #trans books #queer books #bookblr #booklr

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jejebean · 1 month ago

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In a Crowd of Thousands

Gojo x F!Reader || A Bridgerton / Regency Era AU ♔

Inspired by this song from Anastasia

A displaced princess taking refuge in a foreign land, and a Duke with manners unbefitting his station. While one of you cannot afford to tempt scandal, the other relishes it. Your paths crossed on a fated Summer's day long ago. Forgotten in the whirlwind of time, yet haunted, by your smile, by his eyes.

Content Warning: Reader's traumatic past, anxiety, unhealthy coping mechanism, Gojo's rakish behaviour.

Prologue | Chapter 01

══════════════════

Your POV

Focus on your breathing.

In, out.

‘What’s the worst that could happen? The Queen’s court being stormed and everyone thrown out or slaughtered? What are the chances of it happening twice?’

The corner of your lips lifts ever so slightly at the morbid thought.

You admit that there must be a healthier way to deal with your anxiety. Whatever adversity you might face from now on would pale in comparison. You might argue that it has made you stronger, but in truth, you feel so paper-thin at times.

Adorned with fineries, your maid keeps saying that you are a sight to behold. However, you feel anything but. The weight of all the jewels, the gown, and even the feathers on your hair, are all crushing down on you.

Breathe.

You know the rules by heart. Remember, you were a princess once, albeit in a foreign court.

You glance at the looking glass, and a young lady looks back at you. A perfect little debutante. An epitome of elegance, in her intricately embroidered white silk gown and carefully braided hair. Ready to step into the light, into society.

“Are you ready, my lady?”

No. I’m not.

“Yes, I am. Thank you, Nobara.”

One step at a time, one foot in front of the other, you walk down the stairs into the grand hallway of the Kamo’s manor house. It is all new to you, as you’ve been hidden away in the country with your numerous tutors and governesses. You can see the two figures waiting for you. The Earl, and the Dowager Countess Kamo; a frail and quiet old lady with her white hair styled neatly in court fashion. She is going to present you to Her Majesty the Queen today. The Dowager keeps to herself most of the time and practically disappeared from society when her son, the late Earl passed just two years ago.

“You look exquisite, Lady Kamo.”

The man standing next to the Dowager, extended his hand to help you down the last couple of steps. Your dear cousin, the new Earl, Kamo Choso.

“Thank you, my lord.” You smile, as you accept his steady hand.

He has been your constant companion and confidante, almost like an elder brother.

It is a warm welcome to have him by your side as you step into the marriage mart. With his long black hair slicked back neatly, you can clearly see the dark circle adorning his eyes. He has worked tirelessly to fix the estate left in shambles by the late Earl. You wish for him to find someone that could help lift his spirits. Alas, he would laugh and say, ‘I have more important things to do. Let us focus on you first little duck.’ In his eyes, you’re still that trembling little girl.

“Are you ready?‘ His voice, low, as to not agitate your already frayed nerves. The only one genuinely concerned for your well-being. He knows you too well for you to hide your nature.

“Not really, but the show must go on.”

“Try to relax, little duck.” He teases.

“You don’t suppose I’ve transformed into a swan today?” You gesture at the white plumage on your head.

“You’ll always be little duck.” He chucked. “Also, that’s Ostrich feather, dear cousin.”

You rolled your eyes. Very unbecoming for a lady, but with Choso, it matters not; you’re as he says, just a little duck.

…

The morning has been a flurry of white silk satin, and feathers scrambling in the debutantes waiting room. Young ladies desperate for perfection, and their mamas fussing over every little detail. You are grateful that the Dowager Countess who’s presenting you is lost in her own thoughts. It allows you a moment of respite in the chaos of the day. You blink back the fog of trance, as the royal footman calls out your name.

“It’s our turn, dear.” The Dowager turns to you and offers a kind smile. You can detect a tinge of sympathy in her voice.

“So it seems. Thank you, Lady Kamo.” You smile back, grateful.

Waiting by the great white door, there is a sinking feeling in your chest. You’ve only heard rumours of the Queen. How Her Majesty’s opinion is all that matters in this society.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Time slows to a halt as the door opens and you hear the court presenter’s voice booms like crack of thunder down your spine. You steel your gaze, as you remember your lessons. Your senses drone out the whispers of the Queen’s court.

One step at a time.

Slowly, walk with pride.

Curtsy with all the grace you can muster.

You cast your eyes on the carpeted floor as you lower yourself gracefully.

“Rise, my dear.”

And there she is. Her Majesty the Queen, right in front of you.

With her discerning hawk-like eyes, she studies your face, your figure, and your mannerisms.

“I remember your mother. You look just like her.” She paused. ”I’d say, well done.”

You are unable to breathe for a second, as the air in the room has stilled. You couldn’t believe that you’ve somehow managed to gain the queen’s favour. Has she somehow mistaken the mask you put on over your anxious disposition for serenity and grace? You don’t know what to feel.

On one hand, it will help garner intrigue from suitors. On the other, you are now the common enemy of the young ladies vying for the eligible bachelors.

…

Ijichi’s POV

In the morning of the presentation, across town, a butler is trying fruitlessly, to remind a certain Duke of his responsibility.

“Your Grace, we cannot break from tradition.”

“It is a stupid tradition, and I can do what I want.”

Slender fingers deftly reach for an arrow, playfully aiming at the poor butler.

The young man pulls against the taut string of the bow and at the last second, flicks his aim away and unleashes the arrow. The butler flinches as it hits the tree next to him, dead centre.

“You are hosting the first ball of the season. You are obligated to attend!”

“No, my mother is hosting the first ball of the season. I, can do what I want, Ijichi.”

“Your Grace, you promised the Dowager Duchess to open the ball. It is a mark of a gentleman to honour his words.”

The Duke curses under his breath.

“Fine. I’ll dance at the ball.” He paused. “But I won’t open it. Give that job to someone else.”

Satoru grabs another arrow and quickly aims it at the same tree. Despite having grown up amongst the highest rank of nobility, he possesses none of the genteel mannerisms expected of the young Duke. The butler is only grateful, that at least the master will somewhat behaves appropriately when he has to make a public appearance.

Ijichi hoped that if by some miracle, a young lady might catch the Duke’s attention. And Gojo Satoru might even begin to start acting in a way that befits his station.

But as he watches the Duke unleash arrow after arrow on the unsuspecting tree, he ponders his retirement from service.

Your POV

It is finally time for the first ball of the season. Your nerves have recovered a little bit since the presentation. The rattling of the carriage against the cobblestone street is strangely soothing. As you look out into the night, the twinking of the city light seems most enchanting. You only wish for Choso to escort you to your first debutante ball. However, his work has kept him chained to his study and likely so for the next few days.

Your carriage pulls towards Gojo Manor, one of the grandest in town. The manor is a sight to behold. With ivy-covered walls, illuminated in the dark, took your breath away. You can see beautiful young ladies chatting away excitedly, entering the manor with their chaperones. You can’t help but feel a little giddy. The future is after all, full of possibilities.

Carefully, you stepped out of your carriage, helped by the manor’s footman. A soft gasp could be heard as you stepped into the light of the manor. You are wearing a shimmering light taupe gown, embroidered tastefully with delicate floral designs. But the eyes of the ton are locked onto your neck; adorned with diamonds and blood-red rubies, the trademark of the house of Kamo.

‘Fit for royalty’ Choso teased, as he escorted you to the carriage with an apologetic smile. ‘All eyes will be on you, little duck. I guarantee it.’

‘I wish you could be there with me. It would feel terribly lonely with just Lady Kamo.’

‘You won’t feel so lonely when you have all the bachelors in the ton filling up your dance card.’

‘I’ll try and do you proud, Cho.’

‘You already have.’

…

You know Choso means well, but the pin-prick of a thousand eyes keeps you on your toes. It might have been too much. You steady your breath, with head held high, just as you’ve been trained for your entire life. The very picture of grace and elegance, as you walk into the majestic ballroom. Gentlemen begin to step forward as the Dowager Countess, your chaperone, makes the introduction.

You smile graciously as one name after another makes it onto your dance card. Praying, that your heart will not betray you, as it pounds deafeningly loud underneath. The whispers have started again, as the ever so envious mamas of the ton poured venoms into the ears of the impressionable daughters. Who can blame them, you think to yourself, as a woman’s place in this society is dictated by the turn of the seasons.

The night seems never-ending as you spin from the arms of one gentleman to another. Choso was wrong in one regard. The many gentlemen who vy for your attention do nothing to dissuade the feeling of emptiness in your chest.

“Ah, it is good to see you back in society, dear Lady Kamo.”

“Splendid evening, Your Grace. You have certainly outdone yourself.”

Ah. This must be the Duchess. She cut the most breathtaking figure in the room. Her hair was decorated with sapphires and white roses, the symbol of her house. You hurried over towards your chaperone, hoping to pay your respect to the hostess.

“Have you met my ward, the young Lady Kamo.” The Dowager gestured towards you as you curtsy. “And this, my dear, is our most illustrious hostess of the ton.”

“You flatter me, Lady Kamo.” The Duchess regards you with a warm smile. ”I see you have taken the Kamo name for yourself.”

“Your Grace, I am most grateful to be allowed the honour of your invitation to this marvelous ball.” You curtsy, as perfectly as you can.

“Nonsense, my dear. Do enjoy yourself.” The Duchess seems amused by how formal you are behaving. Quiet the opposite of her unruly son, she thought to herself.

“Tell me, Your Grace, is the Duke present at tonight’s ball?”

A slight twitch on the corner of the Duchess’s lips would have been missed if you were not so vigilant. Looks like the young Duke is a sore spot for her.

“Ah yes, the Duke is attending. Though presently, I cannot tell you of his whereabouts.”

The two ladies, you have learned, were old friends. As they catch up on the latest gossip, you shift awkwardly, wishing you could sink into the walls, away from it all.

“Oh, don’t mind us, my dear, do go and enjoy yourself.”

You take the dismissal as an opportunity to slip away. Just for a moment, you want to get away from the ever-judging gaze of the ton. You look around and your eyes are set upon a small bench in the garden, against what seems like a hedge maze and topiary display. It is clearly visible from the ballroom’s balcony, and not too far out. Surely, it is not too improper.

A moment of respite is all you need. Just a moment, and not a second more.

You wander out into the night with haste. As the sweet scent of the garden bloom fills your lungs, your spirit lifts. You can see one of the manor’s footmen is keeping a watchful eye on you as you sit down on the cool marble bench by your lonesome. Thankful for the precaution, you feel more at ease that the Duchess seems to genuinely care about the participants of her ball. You close your eyes letting your senses immerse in your surroundings. The cold marble seat, the sweet scent of roses, the rustling of the hedge wall tickling your back, and the gasps and moans of-

Your eyes shoot open. Surely, You must be mistaken? Try as you might to deny it, the voices are getting louder by the second. Your heart starts to pound in your chest. You contemplate your next course of action. You should rush back in right now, else you might be engulfed in the most shocking scandal of the century.

Who on earth-

No, that’s not important right now. You have to go back in.

You should. You must!

You will yourself to move, but it seems your knees have other plan. In a moment of haste, your world comes crashing down. The footman keeping watch on you makes his way over to assist you. A sudden thought flashes in your mind. If he comes closer, surely he’ll also notice the voices behind the hedge.

“I’m fine. Truly!” You call out. “Oh, how silly of me. Seems the hem of dress was caught on my heels.”

The footman stops on his track, and gives you a nod, as you try to wave him away.

‘Why exactly?’

You sit back on the garden bench as you try to compose yourself.

Why did you try to stop him? Why are you trying to cover for the people you know nothing about?

As you try to calm your heart, you notice that there is silence.

‘Good. Seems like they heard me and ran off. Now I can have my peace.’

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

You freezes.

The silky voice coming from behind you has chained you in place.

“You know, I’d expect this behaviour from a kitchen wench, but not a highborn lady such as yourself.”

‘Can he see me? It can’t be. No, there is still a hedge wall separating the two of you.’

You gather what courage you have left and answer.

“How would you know that I’m a Lady? Perhaps you are mistaken, sir.”

“‘Your Grace’, I believe, is the appropriate title.”

Ah, it all makes sense now.

”And I know the Duchess’s ball is tonight. No servants would be allowed to wander the ground needlessly.”

“And what perchance is this behaviour you speak of, Your Grace?”

“I won’t insult your intelligence. But you know full well that eavesdropping on someone else’s…activities, so to speak is beneath you.”

“You would do well not to assume-”

“I do suppose I have to thank you for your discretion, at the very least.”

“Ah yes, but you mean to insult me first with your accusations.”

You keep your eyes forward in a steady gaze, as the man seems tongue tied. You recall the Duchess’s behaviour from earlier when old Lady Kamo mentioned her son. The footmen being overly vigilant on the ball’s attendants. It is all because of this man. The Duke. Even from his voice, you can tell that he is a very proud man. Acting as he pleases, and brandishing his title and superiority.

“I believe the Duchess is looking for you, Your Grace. Now I must take my leave before I catch a chill —or worse.”

“What is your name?” He sounds a tad calmer this time, devoid of the smugness from earlier.

“I do not think it wise for me to reveal myself.” You stand up carefully this time. ”Let us forget this exchange, and I’ll spare you your blushes, Your Grace.”

“I do not believe it is fair since now know who I am. Tell me your name.”

“I apologize Your Grace, but you might recall that it was you who chose to reveal who you are without me needing to ask. Besides, I can’t just introduce myself to a Duke without someone to facilitate an introduction. You see, it is not proper.” You added the last bit just to get a rise out of him.

“Hah! You know full well that nothing about this is proper, you insolent girl.”

“I bid you Adieu, Your Grace.”

“Hold on-”

Feeling like you’ve made an enemy of the man, you quickly walk towards the safety of the ballroom. You hope that you’ll be allowed to slip away home early. You might be able to make up a cold, and that should allow you to dodge a couple more balls until Choso is able to escort you.

…

After hurrying to the powder room to pick off the bits of grass from your gown, you are now back in the lavish ballroom with your chaperone. The Dowager seems to be enjoying herself being back in society after a long mourning period. You feel slightly guilty for trying to convince her to cut the evening short.

“What’s wrong my dear, you seem a bit flushed.”

“Lady Kamo, I-”

“There you are! Lady Kamo, may I introduce to you, my son, the Duke, Gojo Satoru.”

Your head whips around towards the Duchess so fast, you are almost sure you snapped something in your neck.

And there he is, the Duke, finally in front of you. A beautiful man with silvery hair, and blue eyes so dazzling they —Those eyes. You draw a sharp breath upon seeing the Duke, and his mother must have heard it.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“Yes. I’m perfectly fine, Your Grace.” You reply, with a timid voice, cautious. You don’t want the Duke to realise who you are.

You sneak a glance at the man, before fixing your gaze on his midnight blue lapel. Thankfully, the Duke seems disinterested. For now, at least.

“Pardon us, Your Graces, it seems that the young lady caught a chill in the garden.”

Oh.

Before you manage to utter a single word, the Duke steps forward towards you like a bolt of lightning with a mischievous glint in his eyes and takes your hand in his.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance my lady?”

He whisks you away to the dancefloor, without awaiting your response to the surprise of everyone around you.

“So, Lady Kamo is it?” He smiles at you, as he holds you close to him with a steady hand on your back, as if to prevent you from fleeing again.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m glad that we finally get the chance to meet. Properly.”

“I suppose there is no avoiding it now.” You sigh.

“You are a strange one. Young ladies usually turn to putty in my hands.”

“Maybe I would, Your Grace, had I not discovered your recent activities.”

“Careful girl. I enjoy our banter in the garden, but my patience has its limit.” He is now staring at you intensely. You can’t help but look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Apologies, Your Grace.”

There is a lull as you both dance, dazzling the ball’s attendant with a beautifully performed waltz. You can tell that the Duke is at a loss on what to say, now that you know his secret. His charms, you think, are superficial. They are merely a facade to cover up his deficient manners, and he is also protected by his title and rank in society.

Up close, he is quite handsome to be sure. But is that truly all there is to it? A pleasant face and a title. Is that all that matters in a suitor?

“Beautiful necklace. The ruby is the symbol of your house, is it not?”

“Your Grace is very knowledgeable.”

“Cut the formality. Don’t make this boring.” He hisses. “I owe you a great debt for not ratting me out to my mother. I’m just trying to make a normal conversation.”

“Well, you started it. Commenting on my necklace is a step away from talking about the weather.”

“You are something else.” He chuckles, as he guides you expertly through the end of the waltz.

“This season might not be so boring after all.”

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Thank you for reading!

A/N: Omg…Gojo is going to be hard for me to write. Also, poor Ijichi is just trying his best.

See you in the next one! ♡

Tag: @sonotpattismith

#gojo x reader #gojo x f!reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #reader insert #my fanfic #bridgerton AU #regency era AU #In a Crowd of Thousands

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