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absolutebl · 8 months ago

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This Week in BL - Taiwan has one show, but that's all they need

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

April 2024 Wk 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) ep 4 of 10 - I don’t say this often but I LOVE this love triangle. The longing gazes = chef's kiss. I like that we are finally getting flashbacks to Tai’s side of the love affaire. This show remains highly engaging. So pleased for MaxNat.

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 5 of 8 - More lesbians! Yay! Meanwhile, when our leads make up they make out! (Yes I’m proud of myself.) I think this might be BLs first rooftop sex scene. We’ve reached new heights, BLabies. (Yes I’m proud of that too.) Anygay, basically a soap opera at this point, I'm not thrilled but I don’t mind.

"Do you apologize for being straight?"

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - It was lovely. Very well done celebrity leaving the closet ep. Nice ensemble work too. Next week is doom! As expected.

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 1 of 12 - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. It’s fine but overly very pulp feeling for something from GMMTV. I'm a little concerned.

1000 Years Old (Thurs iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - meh.

To Be Continued (Sat C3 Thailand grey) ep 7 of 8 - Never turned up on my usual sites. So will have to wait until next week.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues YouTube & Viki) ep 7 of 11 - Qian was, indeed, the one who couldn’t let go. This show is fucking fantastic. It's the best thing I'm watching right now by a mile.

Jazz for Two (Korea Gaga/grey) eps 3-8fin - The bully and the blue-haired drummer side pairing were great. I hated the father. Hated him so much. Our main tsundere seme was a bit too tsundere for me. I was v annoyed by the time he finally softened. I'm amused by all the ways they finagled boys kissin-but-not-kissing in the first half of this show. 2024's "pan around the back of the head" has now become a "dipping of the brolly." We did, however, eventually get an okay kiss.

Honestly?

This was basically what I wanted from Given and didn’t get. So I’m pleased. The music still wasn't great, but you can skip those bits. A solid enemies to lovers BL, where the sins of brothers' past haunts the present. Great optics, decent chemistry, and a tidy script even if tsundere characterization went a bit extreme in some cases. 8/10 RECOMMENDED trigger for suicide

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 5 of 6 - We got the past betrayal in detail and it was decently bad. Bitterness understood. Too soon to live together! The BL U-Haul strikes again. I do like their weird curry passive aggressive argument. This is an interesting show. Do I LOVE it? No. But I think I like it.

On a not-really-related note: adoption, including adult adoption, is actually pretty common in Japan (comparatively). It's often tied to business scionism.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 8fin - It all turned out to be a tragic GL in the end. Not BL = not my problem. No rating. I will forget its existence right about… now.

Love is like a Cat (Korea Mon Viki) eps 1-2 of 12 - Okay, weirdly kinky with the head scratching. Not much has happened and I’m not wild about what has.

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

We Are (Weds GMMTV iQIYI) ep 1 of 16 - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN but I need my other computer and I'm traveling as usual. So I'll get caught up next week and probably won't regularly be able to watch this one.

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) - It's too much for me to keep up with 2 minute verticals, I don't have that kind of TikTok endurance training.

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - Completed. Worth watching?

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) 6 eps - It’s so boring DNFed at 2.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) 6 - The problem with situational comedy BL is it must be situational, comedic and a BL. This show gets 1 of 3 claims correct. 33% is not a passing grade. Dropped at 3.

In the news

Takumi-kun Series 6: Nagai Nagai Monogatari is getting the undeserved honor of Furritsubs. Follow them for details. Tip 'em if you like 'em. (Will I watch it? Oh, probably. Damn it.)

Then Next Prince turned out to be a trailer only. Word on the webs is we will be lucky if we get it this year. It’s BL Princess Diaries. Jimmy has a new pairing (that boy from Night Dream) which is... interesting. All in all, this show does not look good. Pretty but not good.

Next Week Looks Like This:

4/11 Gray Shelter AKA Gray Currents (Korea ????) 4 eps - SooHyuk is only just surviving and reunites with YoonDae, an old friend. They end up living together. One of the leads is played by Choco of Choco Milk Shake.

4/12 Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - Kindly Ryota goes off to uni only to find his new roommate is his childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend and Ryota tries to help him figure out why, they fall in love along the way. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake.

Still to Come in April

4/18 At 25:00, in Alaska AKA 25 Ji, Akasaka de (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - Yuki lands his first starring role in a BL drama alongside superstar Asami (previously his senior at uni). Said superstar suggests they form a sham relationship until filming concludes. As they actually begin to fall in love, the spotlight begins to burn. I think I've seen this before (joke) and also the trailer doesn't inspire confidence.

4/26 My Stand-In (Thai iQIYI) 12 eps - adaptation of Chinese novel "Professional Body Double" by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of that show was the clashing directing styles). This one looks well complicated, lemme try: Joe is a stuntman for famous actor Tong. Joe falls in love with Ming but Ming sees Joe as nothing more than a Tong-replacement. After learning this horrible truth, Joe dies. Joe then wakes up in the body of another man also named Joe. He manages to rebuild the same life as before—with the same people eventually re-meeting Ming. Ming wants Joe back but Joe doesn't understand why. But Ming seems to know what's going on and wants to give him some kind of explanation.

I'm exhausted just trying to describe the plot.

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner) and Best, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

See City of Stars & Unknown.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

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catbread0 · 4 months ago

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Hi!! It's so rare to see someone writing for this obscure fandom, I have so many request ideas lol... May I request 2007 anime Kusuriuri with a fem or gender-neutral reader who likes to draw him? Like they have an entire sketchbook full of drawings of him. Thank you kindly!

Kusuriuri (2007) x Fem Reader

Thank you for the request! I hope this is to your liking. Forgive me if it's not and I apologize for any grammar mistakes.

Enjoy reading! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ♡

Words: 644

Pure fluff

Mononoke (2007) Masterlist

Emphasis

There you were, nose-deep focused on that sketchbook of yours, drawing your colleague once again. But could you blame yourself?

Your colleague was a peculiar person. When someone would ask what his name was, he would always respond with a calming tone.

“I’m just a medicine vendor.”

Many people refer to him as Kusuriuri, a Japanese word for medicine seller. As bewildering as it is not to have a name, the way he stands out with his outfit and his appearance.

You yourself don’t even know if it’s makeup or if it’s permanent, so many questions go unanswered because he doesn’t answer you directly.

It's no wonder why you would draw him, but it's also because it feels as if he added more coloring to your drawings after you met him.

Before you met him, you drew people's portraits, family portraits, samurais, and wedding portraits. It was the Edo period, and every time you drew or sketched, the traditional art felt as if they were a repeat of each other, even if it’s called rich culture.

However, when you saw Kusuriuri, you felt a change in your drawings. With him always looking incongruous, it added more emphasis. Your eyes would always look at him first in your drawing because of all the vibrant colors he is wearing.

That is how you saw it. Everyone looked normal and plain while Kusuriuri looked so dissimilar to the people around him.

As you were about to finish your sketch of Kusuriuri, you realized you had run out of ink. You were currently staying in an inn, and the vendors were nearby. It wouldn't hurt to be away to buy some more materials. You close your sketchbook and put it back in your box carrier.

“Kusuriuri-kun, I’m going to run some errands for a bit if that's all right with you.”

You saw Kusuriuri glance at you before he returned to continue what he was doing to his box carrier, most likely reorganizing his medicine.

“It’s all right, return before they close the inn. You wouldn’t want to sleep outside, right?”

Kusuriuri saw you nod before leaving your shared room. Once Kusuriuri knew you exited the inn, he decided to see what you were sketching.

You never showed him your drawings. Whenever he would try to get close to see, you would close it immediately and hold a tight grip onto it.

He opened your box carrier and started to look into your sketchbooks. He was stunned to see almost every single page with a drawing of him inside of it, including a few with Hyper, his alter form. He would look at every detail you put into each drawing. He felt a pinch of pride, knowing you make every page of your drawings with him in it.

He puts back where every sketchbook and paper goes, not wanting you to know just yet of his discovery.

You return to your shared room sometime later, and as you start to organize your box carrier with the new materials you recently bought.

“I’m honored to be your muse (Y/n)” Kusuriuri says with that monotone voice of his. It makes goosebumps crawl through your body, and you jolt a bit.

You were silent a bit from awkwardness, “...I apologize. If you feel uncomfortable with it, I will stop.”

Kusuriuri's lips curled upwards with his purple-painted lips, “No need to stop, continue with your drawings of me. After all, being an artist's muse isn’t easy to achieve.”

For the whole day, he would tease you about it, but he would now always look at how you would carefully draw, and you would no longer close the book.

Maybe one day you will draw a special portrait of him with you, a painting where it would feel like it's only you and him together, separated from the world around you.

~Lilly's

#mononoke 2007 #kusuriuri #x reader #character x reader #fluff #oneshot #x female reader #mononoke kusuriuri #medicine seller

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brabblesblog · 7 months ago

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 11: I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Preparations for the wedding begin.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art commissioned from the amazing @dafna-winchester

Astarion peered down at his hand, eyeing the ring now wrapped around his ring finger. A simple gold band, not too thick - lovely, if a little too plain, he mused. Beside him Ban admired her own ring, just as simple, much to his displeasure.

He’d allowed her to select the rings, allowed her pretty much free rein over organizing the wedding, content with watching her fulfill her dreams of being wed to him.

Married. Such an odd notion, especially for him. Over two centuries old and he’d never considered it would happen for him, especially after he’d turned. He’d dismissed it as a youthful dream, stolen away by his undeath. He’d never thought he’d find the person he was meant for, and even when he’d been confident it was her, there had been so many things that had threatened it.

He remembered the first hundred or so bodies he’d lain with. He’d dreaded feeling that certainty and devotion when he’d bedded them, terrified of finding his thiramin in a victim he would have no hope of saving. What would he have done if his heart had stirred for someone who was doomed by simply having met him? The loss would have likely driven him to madness; elves often went insane, many ended their lives, when they lost their thiramin. He had no illusions that Cazador would have allowed him a second death had that happened to him. He couldn’t imagine what he would have become.

But then the years had stretched on, endless and dreary, and none of them ever stirred him. He’d thought no one ever would. His heart had lain still, silent save for the slow, undead beats, and he’d resigned himself to an eternity of loneliness. Of being less than whole.

She had brought that dream back, though. She’d awakened his heart, made it long for more. And then she’d restored it. His heart, now beating, living. Hers.

He looked back down at the ring, feeling the cool metal with his fingers. Whatever style it would be, he knew he’d find it perfect. However…

“You could at least add a rock or two, Ban.” He looked over at her. “Rubies, to match my eyes. Diamonds, to match my skin…”

He gave her a gentle nudge and Ban playfully bumped her shoulder against his. He smirked, stepping behind her as if to admire the display from over her shoulder. His hands slowly slid down her back to grip her ass, squeezing through the thin fabric of her dress. He noted the lack of underwear, pleasantly surprised.

“It seems like there’s less… material here than usual,” he purred into her ear. She shivered as his hands traced the curve of her ass.

“I figured you’d want easier access if you chose to end our little game early.”

“Tempting, but that won’t work.” He pressed against her back, hands reaching over her, as if he were merely admiring the ring on her finger. He lifted her hand up so that it shone in the light; as he did, he surreptitiously ground his hips against her ass, cock nestling in the cleft.

She jerked hard, gasping in surprise, then pressed back against him. He allowed it for several deliciously torturous seconds, allowed himself this small moment of intense desire as he closed his eyes and imagined bending her over the stall, vendors be damned, the wares clattering to the ground as he spread her legs, sliding his cock deep inside her…

He forced his eyes open, drawing away, chuckling at the bereft whine that came out of her.

“Later? When we’re alone?” Ban pleaded, making no effort to hide the desperation in her voice. He gave her a small shake of the head.

“I’ve never wanted anything more, my love, but sadly I must decline. You won’t get out of it that easily; you ought to know that by now.” He nipped her neck playfully, enjoying her quiet groan, then nodded at the ring on her hand. “Better get back to ring shopping, love. Were I you I’d reconsider the choice of design. Vanity aside… stones would add a little more luxury to it.”

“If I got rocks, it would be woefully inconvenient. It would snag on things, and were we to get into a scrap, it would easily get damaged. Another thing to worry about.”

He thought about this for a moment.

“Engravings would not catch on clothing nor weapons,” he suggested. She’d chosen the rings from a selection the jeweler had presented them with, and she had picked these. He hadn’t complained, especially when she said she’d want them to match, but a tad more opulence never hurt.

She turned to the jeweler to discuss alterations. Astarion watched her, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The past few tendays had been a bustle of activity, the wedding planning having taken precedence over everything else. Tailors, florists, caterers, jewelers - the list had been almost endless, the palace almost never empty. Nights were the only quiet moments, even more so now that they were playing their game. Abstaining from sex wasn’t easy for either of them, but they’d been having fun with it, and the lack meant their nights were spent wrapped in each other’s arms, discussing anything and everything. He found he loved it, even when the conversation went to heavier topics, as it had the other night.

“Astarion,” she murmured, nuzzling against his neck. He gave a small hmm? in response, opening his eyes. He’d been drifting off, thoughts of tomorrow’s meeting with the florist and the frankly overwhelming choices of floral arrangements looming annoyingly large in his mind.

She traced a path downwards with her lips, ending at the hollow of his throat. “I still don’t know what to do with Adrien. I don’t think we’ll be able to convince my parents to reveal anything, much less help me see him.”

Ah. He’d been turning the idea over in his mind, considering possible methods to prise the information from Roderich.

“Would Adrien be amenable to meeting you in secret?”

She scoffed, her breath tickling his skin. “He would never dare defy them to such a degree. He’d… he’d tell me to ask them, or have the meeting with them present. I’m not even certain where he is, or how I can establish contact with him. He… he might even hate me for leaving, which I guess I deserve.”

“Hate you for leaving?” he asked, incredulous. “And since when has it become your problem that your sibling cannot stand up for himself?”

Ban pressed her head against the swell of his chest. He’d wrapped a comforting hand over her head, pressing her closer to his heart. “I was the older sister. I could… should have done more.”

“Did he ever stand up for you?”

She fell silent, merely shaking her head.

He sighed. “You’re not required to save everyone. You never were,” he added, irritation creeping into his voice. An old grievance - not that he minded her saving him and their companions, of course - but the fact that she always somehow thought it her responsibility to help out, even when it risked herself, irked him.

“Oh, I know,” she shrugged. “But it should be what I want to do. Or at least what a better person would want to do.”

He blinked, surprised. “I never mentioned it being something you should be doing, Ban. I merely assumed you, with your bleeding heart back then-”

She laughed, and he found himself even more confused, brow furrowing. He looked down at her as she peered from where she’d snuggled against his chest; to his shock she seemed mildly amused.

“Bleeding heart?” She shook her head. “Far from it, Astarion. Too far, even.”

“Then what of the tieflings? The gnomes? You had us save each and every one of them - a tiresome task, which I’m sure I’ve mentioned to you.” The confusion gave way to incredulity. “Are you saying you never really… cared?”

She splayed a hand over the dip in his chest, silent. He noticed she looked away, as if considering something; he felt her mind touch his and let her in.

He was holding a greatsword, effortlessly hefting its weight in both hands. Before him a tiefling spoke, begging for help. He could feel his lungs exhale in a sigh, a surge of irritation in his mind. He opened his mouth.

“Astarion! We need to help them. Can you come with me?”

He saw himself, clad in that drow’s armor, striding closer. “Must we?” His other self stood lackadaisically, hands on hips.

He felt fond amusement, bordering on giddy joy, and intense affection. His eyes couldn’t even seem to lock onto his other self, heart racing and cheeks flushing as he attempted to do so. His back straightened up and he spoke, eyes pointedly fixed at a spot above the other Astarion’s hair.

“They need help. So,” his hand rose, letting go of the massive sword long enough to beckon. The hand came into his view.

Her hand. Her memories. He’d known, of course, but it was still rather novel watching his past self glower as he approached her. It was far more amusing to feel her silly crush, a warmness seeping through her at his mere presence.

But beyond that, the feeling she wanted him to notice was there: an irritation with the tieflings, tamped down by a begrudging reminder that helping them would be the right thing to do.

The vision shifted, and he was her yet again, a man covered in soot before her. She felt the man’s ring in her pocket, tempted, for a split second, to walk away with it. They did need the gold, and for a fleeting moment she considered giving it to Astarion, then stopped herself. He’d consider it a stupid gesture.

She saw Astarion burst in through the broken doors beside her, scowling at the smoke; the color of the feelings immediately changed, turning into pleasant excitement and glee at having him near.

“Darling,” his past self drawled, “let’s just go. This place won’t do our clothes any favors.”

She sighed and made a decision, hand slipping into her pocket, fishing out the ring for the man. He saw his old self sigh.

Another memory, this one of Oskar Fevras. She’d convinced the Zhent to let him go, but…

He could feel her debating whether to give the man some coin. Her thoughts flitted from an outright no to a perhaps; she then turned to him.

“The pouch, please,” she said, all confident and unfazed when his past self inevitably grumbled, but inwardly hanging onto every word and move he made.

Again, the feeling was there, the annoyance at Oskar for bothering them, the urge to just let him leave penniless - it wasn’t my concern, she thought - and then a reluctant voice in her head told her to do better.

He finally pulled away from her mind, opening his eyes to see her still peering up at him. She averted her eyes the moment they met.

“Not… good,” she stated. “Never was, like I said.”

She had indeed said so before, but he hadn’t really believed her then. He huffed out a laugh, masking the sheer relief settling into him. Not good, indeed. How long had he tormented himself with the idea that he’d ruined her, that she’d corrupted herself by allowing his ascension? Not that he hadn’t, he mused - seven thousand dead was quite a few degrees worse than anything they’d ever done before or since - but the confirmation that she was no saint, not an angel whose wings he’d torn off and dragged to hell with him was a relief. He ruffled her hair again, a little rougher this time, amused by her snort of annoyance for messing it up.

“You’ve mentioned that, yes.” He clenched his jaw. “At the time I thought you meant the events of the rite.”

She bit her lip. He could almost taste the way she began to turn away, her expression closing off. But it lasted for mere seconds. Instead she exhaled heavily.

“No. I meant… always. Being good, or moral, I suppose, is work, work I constantly have to remind myself to do. I don’t want to be what they raised me to be, as natural as it feels.” Her eyes finally met his. “I want to be more, and…” she shrugged, “I’ve failed. Especially when it mattered most.”

“If you mean helping me at the rite…” he began, fingers stilling on the path they had been taking on her head.

“No. I mean with you. After.” She sat up, biting her lip. “You made mistakes. I made more. It just didn’t fix anything.” He watched her fingers twist and tangle as she continued. “When I first saw you, I saw that you were like me, that… being better isn’t in your nature, either.” She was interrupted by his rather humorless laugh.

“You could say that, yes.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation she felt a small smile ghost her lips. “I saw that… that you were like me. But you were also in so much pain. So much suffering in so beautiful a man, in so precious a soul.” She watched his eyes widen and squeezed his hand. “I saw you at night, saw how you sought solace in my arms when nightmares haunted you. Saw how you kept everyone else at arm’s length, even if at first I thought you actually were attracted to me.”

Astarion pressed his lips to the top of her head then, placing a short, intense kiss as an apology. She squeezed his bicep, sending a thought through. It’s alright.

“I forgave you that a long time ago. Probably would have forgiven you the second you did it. I can’t blame you, after all. I’m no great beauty.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I just saw all that sorrow, saw that you needed kindness. Needed care.” With every word she traced his cheekbone, then moved to his jawline.

“I wanted to be your rock, then. To protect you, to be where you could hide. Even if…” she swallowed, “even if I could not let you in. Not enough.”

He huffed, a sharp exhale of breath, and she looked up in surprise. Part of him wanted to assuage her concerns about her physical beauty, but he decided to tackle the more pertinent issues first. “I did not need a cave to shelter in, Ban. I needed a home.” She opened her mouth to apologize, but he continued. “Be that as it may, I was… not aware of it, at the time. What I needed and what I wanted were two entirely distinct things.”

“I’m sorry.”

His arms tightened around her. “Forgiven, as you know all too well. As for… what you really are, Ban. Why refuse me a glimpse of that? You knew we were alike; you had to have known I’d have wholeheartedly accepted you as you have done for me.”

“Thought I could be better. Thought… you needn’t carry that burden. That you deserved someone whole and good, someone you could give your suffering to, without worrying about theirs. Someone strong.” He watched her avert her eyes, hiding by skating kisses across the plane of his chest. He appreciated the honesty, particularly because it wasn’t the easiest thing for her.

“Ban,” Astarion admonished. It was a soft, gentle murmur, but one that told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted her full attention. He waited until she looked at him to continue. “I’d have loved to know all of you. Perhaps I would have pretended to be slightly miffed,” he joked, “to have to share your burdens, but I would have been secretly honored. Inside.”

“Deep inside,” Ban teased, poking his chest. He nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Astarion’s hand resumed stroking her hair. “So. Is this drive to do the right thing the reason why you’re so keen on saving your brother from your parents?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure; it’s an urge - to at the very least know how he’s doing. And the way my parents were acting… there’s definitely something hidden there. Something rotten.”

Astarion mulled this over, silent for several moments. “We could yet pry the information from Roderich, I think. A simple yet precise application of coin, some strings tugged on and favors called…”

“I’m listening,” Ban said, her curiosity obviously piqued.

“Focus your attentions on our wedding, love,” he assured her. “Let me handle this. All you need to worry about that day is being the beautiful,” he tugged her up so that they were eye to eye, “wonderful bride that you are.”

He noticed that she shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Would you indulge me, love? Never say you’re not attractive. I won’t stand for it. Is that understood?” There was a firmness in that last question, one reminiscent of the Ascendant.

“We should admit I’m not-”

“Conventionally attractive? As if convention or the opinion of the masses ever mattered to anyone, least of all me.” He tilted her chin to face him and kissed her deeply, roughly, sucking on her bottom lip. He let his hips buck, let her feel his cock press against her belly as he gripped the back of her head to deepen the kiss. She whimpered, and he groaned in response, throaty and deep, holding nothing back.

“See?” he breathed, pulling away from the kiss. “I do think you were made to ruin me, and as much as that was a silly line at the time… I mean it.” She laughed, and he savored the sound, pecking her cheek. “Besides, the Vampire Ascendant could not have had bad taste when he chose his consort, couldn’t he?” he teased.

“Fine,” she acquiesced. “I’ll agree that at least you find me cute.”

“Far more than that, darling, but I think we can settle on cute for now. I can show you how enthralling I find you after our…” he drifted a hand down, skating over her hips, “little game…” he pressed the heel of his palm over her mound, allowing her to grind him briefly, “...is over.”

“Scrolls, flowers, or some other design?” Ban asked, holding out the sample rings to him.

“Scrolls,” he answered, returning his focus to her.

She relayed his preference to the jeweler, turning to him once it was settled.

“You do seem to like scrollwork, considering the new mirror.” Yet another mirror, this one purchased from the master of the mirror-makers’ guild.

“It has a measure of sophistication, I suppose, one Roderich’s monstrosity rather… lacks.” He tilted his head to watch her, delighted to see her snort at his remark. It wasn’t that Roderich’s creation was horrible, he figured - but he did find it perhaps a touch ostentatious. He recalled Roderich calling the design dated and realized belatedly that the man had been right.

“It’s a lot prettier,” Ban agreed. “You’ll look wonderful reflected in it, once your suit arrives.”

His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Darling, I don’t need a mirror to know that.”

“I know,” she chuckled. “It’s still nice though, for you to be able to see yourself.”

Astarion froze for a moment, unsure what to say. Of course. “You’ll look lovely too, I’m quite certain. You already manage to enchant me every single day - no doubt you’ll be positively captivating in your dress.”

“Sure. I’ll have you show me, come the day.” She paused. “Perhaps I’ll ask Gale for a simulacrum. You could stand next to it and I could see how we both look in our finery.” She waved a hand at him, seemingly wanting to leave the conversation at that; the expression on her face, however, wasn’t hidden at all. Melancholy.

“You miss it, don’t you,” he murmured.

“I… do.” She shrugged. “But it’s not too big an issue. You can always show me what I look like, whether it be by linking minds or through your flattery.”

“Is that what I am now? Your poor husband, relegated to being a seeing glass?” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, mimicking woefulness.

Ban laughed. “You act like looking at me is such a hard task.”

“Oh, but it is. Grueling, in fact,” he leaned in, a hand pulling her flush to his side, “it’s extremely difficult, to look at you and not touch you,” he whispered, lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from hers, “to speak words of praise and not put my mouth on you, on every inch of you, taste you.”

He chuckled, pulling away the moment she tried to go for a kiss. “I wouldn’t consider the truth to be mere flattery, my love.”

She playfully swatted at him, then squeezed his hand, a small gesture of gratefulness and understanding.

The thought, however, dwelled on his mind. It wasn’t as if he’d ever forgotten - all the commissioned art was for her to be able to see herself in some manner. He knew it wasn’t the same, but that had been the only way he’d thought of.

But the desire to give her some more permanent way to see herself, and Gale’s name, had tangled in his mind, eventually becoming the nebulous beginnings of an idea.

He followed her as she walked towards another stall, wrapping an arm around her waist. He searched for a topic to discuss, something to cheer her up.

“We’ve been invited to a party, a tenday after our wedding. The guildmaster Meiros’ daughter is to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.”

She considered this. “Meiros. You purchased the new mirror from him, yes?”

“Indeed I did. He used some newfangled method for it - apparently Barcus Wroot’s mining operation has proven more fruitful than we expected.”

“That was a good idea, suggesting Barcus go back and claim the Grymforge. Unfortunate that we didn’t introduce him to Meiros ourselves, but then again, we weren’t aiming to rub shoulders with mirror-makers then.” She inspected a silk scarf, looking thoughtful. “I was doing everything in my power to avoid approaching anything related to mirrors.”

“It makes little difference - I mentioned being well-acquainted with the gnome to Meiros. If he had his wits about him he picked up what I was alluding to.”

He groaned. “As for the party… I do so loathe that we have to go - it’s pointless mingling amongst whoever else his daughter’s invited, and I highly doubt hobnobbing with a gaggle of vapid young women is going to do us any good.”

“It’s the father you want, anyway,” Ban commented, her hands running over a selection of tanned hides, considering them for shoes for Astarion. She held one up, handing it to him to inspect. Astarion took it from her with deliberate slowness, allowing his fingers to drag across the back of her hand, pairing the caress with a dark, hungry look that made her shiver.

“Will you ever tell me what the plan is, regarding that?”

A smirk crossed his features. “As I previously mentioned, love, I will handle it while you concern yourself with the wedding planning. Don’t you trust me?” He selected the sample hide from the center of the set, a smooth calfskin.

“I do,” she answered without hesitation, “I’m merely curious.” She shot the hide he’d selected a suspicious glance. “That will scratch easily, you know. Especially in white.”

He grumbled and looked through the other samples, reconsidering. Purchasing the mirror was only the first step; a little more would be required for his plan.

“You’ll need a gift,” Ban said from beside him.

She tapped another sample. “Rothe-hide. Much tougher.”

“For the lucky debutante, you mean,” Astarion nodded.

He fingered the hide Ban pointed at, finding the texture thick but a little rough. “I can hardly imagine talking to one, let alone figuring out something one would want.”

She frowned. “A book, a satchel… a portrait. There are options.”

“Gifts,” he sighed. “Even now I can see the endless parade of them arriving at our doorstep, and I haven’t the foggiest what to do with them.”

“You say thank you, and you put them in storage.” She watched him finally settle for the rothe-hide.

“Some of them are rather useful. Halsin’s previous gift, for instance, was enlightening.”

“And in storage,” Ban reminded. She took a moment to admire the swell of his ass as he was turned away, engaged in conversation with the tanner. She moved in close, grabbing a handful before he could even notice.

Astarion yelped, then rounded on her. “Bad girl. Very, very naughty.” He set the hide sample down, slowly crowding her against the side of the stall in his sensual, predatory way. But she knew exactly what move he’d attempt and as he closed in she slipped away, laughing.

“Getting slow, old man.” She dodged yet another attempt to grab her wrist.

He stared at her for a moment, mouth agape. “Old. Old?” He clutched his chest. “You wound me so, my love.” He ambled up to her, watching her smirk widen as she held her ground. He leaned down, breath tickling her face. She could smell traces of the blood he’d had for breakfast on it. “You’ll have to take that back the moment our little game ends.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “I highly doubt that.” Astarion knew it was a lie - the way she shifted her hips, pressing her legs together, was more than enough indication. The smile grew wider.

“Then allow me to continue teasing you,” he whispered. “Let me keep tantalizing you. If these attempts are futile, then you will have won, and I shall stop. If you lose…” he kissed her lips for a fraction of a second, “then I shall redouble my efforts and make sure you can’t think of anything else other than your dear, old, husband.”

She stifled a giggle. “You can try, Astarion. We’ll see by tonight.” She changed the topic in an attempt to hide how flustered she was, though it was futile - he could still see the faint flush on her cheeks. “I’m sure we’ll find some use for every present, whether it be collecting dust or something actually useful.”

She was lying in bed when Astarion walked into the bedroom, a triumphant grin on his face. He was carrying a small, wooden box, rather dusty and vaguely familiar.

“Don’t bring that to bed, Astarion,” she warned. He paused, raised an eyebrow at her, and headed towards her anyways. She stood, quickly heading to the chaise.

“Really? We could have the sheets replaced. This,” he tapped the chaise as he sat, “is not so easily cleaned.”

She snorted. “Smartass.” She sat down, legs crossed, and he took the spot opposite her, box still in hand. She eyed it, trying to remember what it was.

“A gift? Or something else?”

He beamed at her, fingers unlatching the lock and lifting the lid.

Letters. From when I was in Waterdeep. She swallowed. “Where did you find this?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I stumbled into one of our storage rooms the other day and had a quick rummage.”

She eyed him carefully. “Part of… whatever plans you have for my father?”

“Perhaps.” He pushed the box towards her, eyes glinting with excitement.

“Astarion…” she hesitated, looking at the papers within. Did they really want to bring this up, that painful time apart? “Does this not…” she trailed off. Hurt you?

He sensed her question and the smile fell, replaced by a somber, if earnest, expression. He picked up some of the letters. “It should. I recall writing them, knowing it was a meager gesture, but they were the only way I could reach you then.” He bit his lip, considering his words as he unfolded one.

“You kept them. All of them.” He looked at her, eyes wide. “You arranged them according to when they arrived, saved them all in this box, and…” he smiled again, eyes crinkling, “you drafted answers on the backs.”

“I… did,” she nodded, picking one from the pile and turning it over. There it was, in her own neat, if rather childlike, handwriting. Big, circular letters that spelled out her feelings. That she did miss him, missed him so much it hurt, so much she could barely sleep. That she wanted him back, if only he’d try harder, meet her halfway. She sighed.

Astarion watched her every move. His hand gripped her knee. “You never told me any of this. Never… let me know you were miserable too, that you longed for me just as much as I did you.”

“I know. I’m sorry… you know why. I couldn’t, back then. Refused to show you anything resembling weakness.”

He nodded, taking the letter from her and reverently placed it back in the box. He closed it and put it down on the floor. The moment he straightened up she spread her arms, beckoning him to her. He tilted his head, a grin settling over his features when he realized what she was asking for. He obliged, settling into her embrace as she reclined, his head pillowed against her breasts, one of his legs slung over one of hers.

He took a small breath. “There is a silver lining to seeing those letters, I suppose.” She guessed that was why he seemed happy about finding them. She waited for him to continue.

“They tell me you cared. Even in the depths of our despair you yearned for me as well. Your heart reached for me, as mine reached for you,” he murmured into her skin. “You simply could not allow yourself to tell me. You were… hiding, just as I was.”

Her fingers tightened where they had settled in his curls, kneading the back of his head in a massage. He exhaled, breath hot against her skin. “Again, Astarion, I really am sor-”

A hand reached up, palm covering her mouth. He shook his head at her. “Enough. I choose to take what I unearthed as something… positive. Don’t ruin it.” He leaned up and his thigh pushed up against her mound, delightfully arousing in its simplicity. She swallowed heavily.

“You were hiding… and that is fine,” he whispered, leaning forwards to aim his words into her ear. “So was I. But that was then,” he ground his hips, rubbing his cock against her leg, pushing his thigh more firmly against her rapidly-dampening core. “And this is now.”

He didn’t remove his hand from her mouth, and when she tried to speak again he shushed her. “No more words from those pretty lips, my love. I don't want to hear you beg to touch me, because I have no intention of allowing it. There is no need to waste your breath.”

Astarion was merely tormenting them both, she assumed. He moaned as he rubbed himself on her thigh, smirking when her eyes widened at the sound.

He had been teasing her constantly all month. Light, deft touches, his fingertips ghosting over sensitive spots, speaking a little too close to her ear, sometimes breathy, sometimes growling. She’d loved it, even as her body had begged to be touched and taken each time.

He'd also gotten into the annoying habit of grinding into her ass when they spooned before bed. He’d do it once, twice, sometimes several times, then pull away, smirking all the while. He especially liked it when he managed to elicit a needy moan from her, and try as she might to keep them in - not wanting to give him the satisfaction - she almost always failed.

Oh, she knew he was suffering as well. She could feel the insistent, likely painful, throb of his cock every time he pressed against her, the heat of him even more than usual - almost fiery. She imagined that were she to wrap her hand around him, she'd merely have to stroke once and he’d come undone. One quick pass, one swipe of her thumb on his slit, or perhaps one lick against the underside of his cockhead, and-

“Ban.” He gasped her name against the shell of her ear. She blinked.

“Are you with me?” Astarion’s face changed from seductive to concerned. He lifted his hand from her mouth, easing his body off of hers. She paused, realizing this could be an opportunity to give him a little taste of his own medicine. Bracing herself, she grabbed his waist and twisted, aiming to pin him under her. She saw his eyes widen in surprise, and knew she had won.

…but not quite. She had him under her, but his hand was firmly around her neck.

Astarion laughed, tickled by her attempt. “Good try.”

“Had I twisted the other way,” Ban nodded towards the fireplace in front of them, “I could have rolled us off the chaise and onto the carpet, grabbed the poker, and staked you.” She simpered. “I win.”

“And I could have broken your neck whilst you were debating on which way to roll,” he countered, hand squeezing for a fraction of a second. “Strong as you are, my dear,” the fingers on her neck danced, tapping against her skin in a pattern only he knew, “dexterous hands are far likelier to succeed.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he swallowed her words with a fierce kiss. She fought the urge to grind against the thigh between her legs, failing miserably. The hand on her neck somehow managed to convey aggression and tenderness at the same time - something in the way his fingertips stroked her neck with such exquisite gentleness while his palm remained firm and controlled her movement - and she loved it. His breath was hot against her skin, his body deliciously warm beneath her. It was all she could do not to beg for more.

He parted from the kiss to let out a shuddery breath. “Gods,” he moaned in a whisper, “wouldn’t it be exquisite to have me inside you?” His hand roamed down her back to her ass, pressing down so she sat on his cock. “If I was sheathed inside you, my love… losing myself in you…” he purred, his hips rolling to accentuate his words. “Fingers dancing where you need them most... Lips… crying out for you.” He finished his little spiel with the smuggest of grins, knowing he had her - she was hopelessly wet and needy.

Ban exhaled, squeezing her eyes shut, then shifted off him. “You win,” she said meekly. “I cannot contest any of that.”

Astarion smirked, sitting up. She caught a quick glimpse of his cock straining against his pants before he crossed his legs; that made her smile. “At least I’m not the only one.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “As frustrating as it is, I promise you. It will be worth it.”

“I know.” Her eyes softened. “I know it’s important to you, and that’s all I need to make it worth suffering for.”

He snorted. “It’s hardly suffering-” he cut off as she rolled her eyes, holding his hands up. “Alright. It is torture. Still, a little exercise in patience never hurt anyone. Besides, it was your idea to make it the whole month, rather than merely a tenday.” She sat on the floor in front of the chaise; he leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

“I do thank you for indulging me, however. It means more than you know. Little remains of who I was before my life was taken from me. I am glad to have some small part of it returned to me, even if it is for something as admittedly silly as this.”

"I wouldn't say silly." She mused, her voice thoughtful. "It's part of your heritage, and my heart does not mind it in the slightest, even if other parts of me do." She smiled, leaning her head back against the plush cushion. Her eyes shut, and she felt his fingers ruffle her hair.

There were more plans to make, and their lives would inevitably be even busier as the wedding approached, so for now she savored the silence, indulging in the quiet companionship.

She felt him touch her mind as he laid on the chaise, his hand still on her head.

It was in these little moments, these little snippets of eternity - where she felt most at home.

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

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boundinparchment · 1 year ago

Text

Blasphemous Rumors - IV

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

That sentiment never left in the weeks of planning that followed.

Every time someone asked about your ring, you told them it was being resized and that neither of you were pleased with the clarity of the gems. Besides, you would say, you didn’t want to show it off before the wedding.

The wedding date was settled by a Segment (Omega, you were certain, for he was the closest to the actual Doctor in personality) unceremoniously dropping a calendar on your desk. You closed your eyes, placed your finger somewhere and landed on a weekend towards the later half of the month.

Omega then had the gall to take a paperclip from your tiny dish that held them and twist one into a ring before he left without another word.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

The timeline was short. Six weeks. Even your coworkers who dabbled in event planning for the annual ball and other celebrations balked at the small window of time. A wedding of this magnitude required at least a year, someone said, and you wished their gaze hadn’t dropped to your lower half so blatantly.

When you weren’t working and trying to keep your eyes and ears about you to pass along information, you were trying to meet and correspond with vendors and come up with a vision of an event that, quite frankly, would suit neither of you if the matter of rank didn’t come into play. It kept you so busy that you toyed with the idea of a kamera to save you time but even those in Snezhnaya were not slim nor inconspicuous. But they were expensive to maintain. You couldn’t afford to add another item to your paper-thin personal budget.

You ran through your itinerary in your head again as you made your way down from the Palace and into town, thankful the weather was at least holding out a bit. Post office, bank, and an appointment with a seamstress that wasn’t on Regrator’s list of preferred vendors.

All of the dresses you saw and tried were simply…too much. Tried too hard. Beautiful in their work but felt like another layer of paint rather than an organic addition to the whole affair.

As far as you knew, the Harbinger had a personal tailor in the Palace anyway and going off of the suggested list was bound to produce some results. You were determined to find vendors who could use the support and might be overlooked otherwise.

Bad enough you had to go to Northland; you didn’t need wedding vendors working against you either.

The post office was packed, as usual, and you eagerly handed over the last remnants of your copied ledgers and notes. They might as well have been burning holes in your cloak pocket all morning. Your room and your office was now free of damning evidence. Privacy was almost non-existent now and it would vanish entirely soon enough. If you wrote to your parents more frequently, you could still keep up the habit established and not raise suspicion.

A break in a usual routine would be seen as unusual, you reminded yourself.

Amid the other envelopes was a thicker one, your reluctant communication to your parents about the change of circumstance. They deserved to know and understand that it changed nothing (if they were different people, you would not have told them at all). Traveling to the city was out of the question for them between the cost and your father’s health, let alone the added layer of your boss being thrown into that mix.

Lord Dottore’s proposal and your agreement already put you in a spotlight you never wanted to be in. You didn’t need Pantalone knowing exactly how bad of a position your parents’ bankruptcy had put them, and you, in.

Funny how you feared the Second Harbinger far less despite his gruesome acts, you mused after you thanked the clerk and made your way to Northland’s prominent facade. At least he wouldn’t care one way or the other so long as nothing interfered with his work. He never made it personal.

Until now, in a way.

Your cheek strung for a brief moment as your skin remembered the cold metal of your letter opener. The closest thing to a kiss you two shared.

Northland’s home branch was a source of tourism as much as it was an actual bank. Vaulted ceilings soared high overhead and marble pillars provided support that, for the briefest moments, made the building feel as much of a chapel as it was a bank. The guided tours helped.

Compared to the latest branch in Liyue Harbor, it was surprisingly austere in its plainness. Pantalone’s office suite and several of the other rooms outside of the lobby of tellers were far more opulent; much like its owner, the bank presented one image to the public and another to its closest confidants. The coffered ceilings casted shadows as intricate as the dealings on the floor below.

You waited in line, as everyone did. Most of the staff knew you, at least by loose association, and you were under no impression that anything was ever truly hidden.

Your family situation wasn’t the secret you needed to keep, after all. As far away as you tried to keep it, part of you knew that your boss was likely aware you sent most of your pay home. That you worked at the Palace as a sacrifice for the poor choices of others. And that he was likely at fault, although you doubted he would ever claim as such.

The source of the money was a different story, of course.

A bridge to cross another day.

As you filled out the respective slips for deposit and withdrawal, the clerk’s head snapped up out of your peripheral vision with an audible gasp.

“My lady, why didn’t you say you would be accompanied by your fiancé, the Lord Harbinger?” She whispered, a tinge of fear tainting her words. “We would have prepared a private office for you both to take care of your business.”

“I—”

Out of the corner of your eye to your left, you caught a tall figure with hair the color of a spring morning sky and a shining earring that gave off its own glow. The white cloak with its black fur collar filled in the gaps. Around you, it felt as if the very air around you had been sucked out. Chattering had all but ceased and you heard the shuffle of people changing their posture, dedicating their attention to the notion that a Harbinger was among them.

Would you ever get used to that? Likely not. When it was just the two of you, things were different; it was you and him meeting blow for verbal blow. You did your best to keep your composure and just as you were about to politely smile and tell the clerk that you handled affairs separately, a voice to your left interjected.

“Such accommodations won’t be necessary. We are not staying long enough to require them,” Lord Dottore remarked, not even turning his head in your direction.

Your face felt hot as you thanked the clerk for their assistance and handed over the account slips. A presence lingered at your side and you didn’t have to look to see that it was Dottore; he had already finished whatever his errand was but for him to leave would look bizarre, you rationalized. You tried to ignore the biting thought that he was sticking around to ensure you didn’t bumble your way through the transaction now that the cat was out of the bag.

“Just a deposit then, My Lady?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, as usual. Will the funds be accessible later today?”

“Immediately, ma’am. The account holder should have no issue.”

If you timed it right, the morning post would arrive in time for your mother to reach the bank and take care of other affairs before the end of the day. Bills were already paid. But groceries and medicine were constant necessities and your parents couldn’t stockpile like they used to.

Next to you, Lord Dottore seemed to prickle with a question that he knew wasn’t appropriate. Hearing his fiancé was giving money away when she was, supposedly, so good at it herself, was a variable never discussed.

A lot of things weren’t discussed though. This might as well have been an elopement save for the actual, well, act of running away.

Once everything was finished, Dottore escorted you out of the bank, extending his elbow in silent regard. Right. Anything else would be too informal. You tried your best not to look uncomfortable with his proximity or at the looks and whispers from staff and client alike as you looped your hand underneath to hold the crook of his arm.

“Not an outcome I anticipated but one I will take advantage of nonetheless,” Dottore muttered, only loud enough for you to hear. “I need to borrow your hand.”

You looked up at him, face contorted in confusion. The proposal was unusual enough on its own. Did he mean your actual hand, and if so, attached or detached? Was your life now going to be filled with bizarre requests?

“What?” you hissed, baffled.

Several heads turned as you walked through the snowy street. The tilt of his head told you he was glaring at you for drawing such attention.

“You need a ring, do you not, my dear? I might be the best scholar in several centuries but even I am aware that ring sizes are best left to proper measurement devices.”

Oh. Of course. Your ring.

“I thought you were busy for the next several weeks, sir,” you emphasized your correction more for those who might overhear than the man you were speaking with. “Unless you are, in fact, not the Doctor?”

“As if I would leave such a personal matter to a segment.”

He spat the words, insulted. Whether by the insinuation he’d doled out the task or your seeming inability to tell him apart from his counterparts, you couldn’t quite tell.

You could tell them apart. Lord Dottore knew that.

But he also knew how important it would be to make this appear right.

Lord Dottore didn’t wait for you to reply and continued. “It will not take long and then you can be on your way. Where else are you off to, anyway?”

“I have an appointment with a seamstress. Plenty of well-known vendors extended their offerings but they were…” you gestured with your free hand, finding yourself at a loss for words other than, “rather unremarkable.”

The chuckle that wrenched from his lips made your blood run cold and your heart jump.

“You’re certainly playing your part, Accountant,” he teased.

Of course you were. What did he expect, to marry you in your uniform? You bit your tongue for a second to think on your words.

“As I said when last we spoke, I don’t wish to misrepresent you. That goes for your rank as well as who you are, or at least the image you project. But everything I was presented with was just not right.”

You walked in silence for three steps before Lord Dottore said, “Elaborate.”

That was like asking you to explain why you balanced numbers the way you did or why you preferred to sleep on your right rather than your left side. You just did.

“They’re beautiful but they feel almost…like I’m competing with the Tsaritsa. Like I’m just a doll to wear the dress rather than the dress being a reflection of…well, me.”

You cast a glance up at Lord Dottore as he gave a hum and found his head angled towards you in such a way that prevented you from seeing beneath his mask. A part of you was curious, of course, about what he looked like. You weren’t alone in that regard but it was never acted upon except by the young, giddy acolytes who had yet to find their place as a Fatuus, enamored with the prospect rather than the work.

Even as a spouse, you doubted you would be privy to his face. Why would you be? You were to be an equal on paper, nothing more.

“I trust your judgment, Accountant. The ceremony is long and the reception is longer; it would be better to have something that you feel comfortable in. I don’t rightly care, as you well know, but expectations must be met for this to be believable.”

Before you could speak again, you were led into a shop with glass counters and carefully placed lights. The encased jewelry and the glass itself didn’t so much sparkle as glow and you were careful to tap out your boots so as to not soak the plush carpet.

Lord Dottore didn’t so much as shake out his cloak’s hem as he addressed the shopkeeper. You tried to keep your expression neutral as you looked around, each case organized by the type of stone. Everything in here had to be worth at least ten times your salary in total and it churned your stomach to even try to calculate that amount. You tore your gaze away and returned to Dottore’s side.

Sizing was, in fact, just as quick as he said it would be. The process was just a matter of using the jeweler's equivalent to a set of keys, each sizing ring marked with the appropriate measurement. You tried on a few before settling on a number that was snug enough not to slip over your knuckle easily and came off with a bit of a struggle.

“There, matter settled,” Dottore murmured as the jeweler jotted down notes.

And you didn’t even lose a hand, you thought. Yet.

If you were alone, you might have made the joke aloud.

He was closer than you expected, his eyes seemingly glued to the case the entire time you went back and forth with the jeweler on the sizing. He’d only chimed in once in the whole process, to take your hand and try the sizer himself, as if gauging the difficulty of getting the ring over your knuckle. You tensed instantly before reminding yourself to relax.

You would need to get used to being in his presence and he would have to put your band on your finger publicly, after all.

Something in his face shifted and you got the distinct feeling you’d failed whatever he was trying to benchmark. You’d been slipping. First the bank, now this. His finger traced the faint line across your cheek as he brushed his lips over your forehead.

“You should get going if you don’t want to be late, my dear.”

“Of course,” you replied, tilting your head and daring to lean ever so slightly into the gesture.

Two could play that game.

You thanked the jeweler for their time and left the shop, hoping the cold would stave off the burning sensation on your cheek.

The seamstress appointment was better, but only just. At the mere mention of the timeline and the passing look between the shopkeeper and the assistant, you knew they connected the dots as to which upcoming wedding this was for.

“We would have come to you, my lady,” the seamstress said.

You could feel any sense of control over the situation slipping away to propriety again.

“Please, I’m not—”

“A Harbinger’s fiancé, and the Second’s at that, shouldn’t have to come down into town. We would have gladly made the trip up to the Palace.”

Was it a faux part on your part or was it fear? Her face was so hard to read. Running any kind of business was difficult enough. Harder still to contend with public courtesy and unwritten rules. Fontaine had it worst of all, you recalled, but even here in Snezhnaya, rank and social standing ruled with a golden hand.

It only went so far, though, and that Pantalone didn’t work directly with the shop spoke volumes to you. You overheard so many conversations when you were in the backroom, balancing the books and triple-checking the tax levies. Those who respected your father’s time were the ones he was always willing to work with, no matter the situation.

“I want whoever I work with to be in the best environment for them. You have everything here, after all; it makes far more sense for me to come to you,” you replied evenly.

Hopefully, in the event someone decided to speak and spread whatever they saw, you passed as humble and self-aware.

After all, that was the point.

You eventually found yourself swaddled in lace and tulle, watching as the two craftspeople worked together to find the perfect color and the perfect patterns. A very soft silvery-blue, rather than a strict white, laid a shimmering foundation upon which the lace and tulle were overlaid; the bodice and sleeves would be lace and the pattern would fade until the hem and the train. It was difficult to visualize at first until you looked at another dress, already made, and they described the changes in volume and cut with a sketch that made you wish you did have a kamera after all.

What beauty, wasted on the likes of Il Dottore, you thought as you looked in the mirror and watched as the material reflected light as though it were water. Such a moment would make any ordinary bride happy but you had never felt more alone in the entire endeavor thus far.

Neither truly balked at the six week time frame when you began discussing deadlines and cost. Instead, you were reassured that you would have a dress that would keep the rest of the nation talking for years to come. A grandiose exaggeration, spoken with all the levity one might read a law, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

When you stepped out into the cold again, you were greeted by a familiar mask and cloak; Lord Dottore was standing outside like a large menacing hound, waiting for you.

He said nothing and began to walk away as you pulled your cloak tighter around you to seal away your warmth. It took you a moment to realize he was walking in the direction of the Palace.

“If you’re finished, my lord, it would be more expedient to take a carriage back,” you advised. “The snow makes for poor footfalls and the sky might open any minute again.”

Dottore turned his head to gaze over his shoulder at you, his mouth thin. In turn, you raised your eyebrows, expectant. It was the same look you gave him when you needed an explanation during an audit.

“I walked down from the Palace,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and the biggest inconvenience to admit.

“So did I. But the people have seen us together and it would not be fitting for us to be seen trekking back up to the Palace. We don’t have to be a wholly united front but even you know that the optics of that, in addition to my empty finger, don’t bode well. Don’t want to be accused of not caring, do you?”

Dottore clicked his tongue as a puff of hot breath streamed from his nose and for a moment, he looked every bit like an angry dragon as he turned and flagged down a nearby coach. You didn’t miss the smug smirk and sardonic bite when he said, “After you,” and helped you into the closed carriage.

Silence dominated the ride out of town and back up the hill the Palace sat on. Your feet ached and now that you were sitting down, you realized how much the day had taken out of you for errands that, normally, wouldn’t have bothered you. Granted, you hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was well into the afternoon, which didn’t exactly help. You went through your mental checklist of things to be done as you gazed out the coach window; your thoughts were interrupted by a tap of your shoe from the man across from you. He withdrew his leg, as much as he could within the confines of the space and extended his hand, which held a tiny box.

Your eyes flicked from the box to his hidden face just once, finding his expression unreadable as always, before you took it from him.

Perched within were two rings of gold so brilliant it looked almost pink, woven into a vine pattern. The first ring held a sizeable light blue stone so clear it looked as if it could have been carved from ice, flanked by a smaller stone on either side that appeared more purple than blue, iridescent in the way it refracted light. The setting was dotted with tiny blue stones of the same color and clarity as the centerpiece, resulting in a diamond-shaped cluster. Beneath it, the accompanying wedding band mimicked the setting, woven vines housing tiny ice droplets, the shape lining up with the other ring exactly so the two nested together.

The sensation from earlier in the dress shop came flooding back. Such craftsmanship and time went into making such a beautiful piece. On their own, the rings were stunning, but there was thought in this choice; it matched many of the motifs the man himself used and was known for and it would act as a reminder whenever she wore it.

Something tugged at your stomach before you reminded yourself that this was all for a show, that it didn’t matter. You blinked away tears faster than they could form. No. He didn’t deserve such a thing from you.

But you couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been in that shop looking for something capable of such impact.

“It should keep Pantalone quiet. Not that anything will ever silence that man’s prattling, especially if he knew how many arms I had to twist to find something suitable.”

Briefly, you recalled the rings on Lord Pantalone’s fingers and how often they were swapped out, save the globus cruciger. It was not uncommon to hear him remark about the clarity of a stone or the difficulty in obtaining it; the bragging point was often the price and you always refrained from retching every time you heard a figure higher than the last.

You removed your gloves and slipped on the first ring. It fit perfectly; not that you expected anything less.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, handing him back the box with the wedding band. “I wasn’t expecting anything quite so…”

“As we’ve agreed, Accountant, this needs to be well beyond believable,” Dottore replied, tucking the box away in his cloak. “It would have been easy to give you any ring and have this be passable on the surface. No one questions a diamond ring in high social circles, only how big the diamond is, after all. However, we have the added thread of plausibility and both of us are aware Regrator scrutinizes everything. Aquamarine and tanzanite, with reinforced rose gold, in the event one should ask.”

When you’d managed to bring yourself to make the trip down to his workshops, you didn’t expect much from that conversation other than at least a piece of jewelry that would stop all of the lingering stares and whispers. He’d thrown your expectations out the window.

That was quintessentially him, though, wasn’t it? To take something and run with it, to push an idea well beyond the expectations and thoughts of others.

Lord Dottore knew it, too, for he adjusted his posture ever so slightly. Just like he did when he knew you had no other recourse but to give in to his budget requests.

“I’ve held up my end as requested, Accountant. But I find myself curious: what were you doing at Northland?”

A question you knew he’d been dying to ask ever since he overheard the transaction at the bank. And you were no longer in a position to deny him the answer, not when he’d not only fulfilled your request but did so well beyond the expectations you held.

Bastard.

He didn’t need to know much, you reasoned. And you were in no position to not answer. Defensiveness here would raise too many alarm bells.

“I…send money to my parents back home. Most of my pay goes to them to cover bills and expenses. My father no longer works; my mother spreads herself too thin caring for him and trying to earn a pittance when she can,” you replied.

The words almost choked you to admit them outloud. No one else, not even your coworkers, knew; Lord Pantalone probably did, at least to some extent. But it seemed like an unspoken responsibility shouldered by those within the administration spheres and on the field. The way food was shared during lunch after an admission of missing a meal or the crowd-funding of a night out to raise spirits seemed so contrary to what you expected. You had chipped in all for the sake of appearances only to be given the same respect in kind. It wasn’t foreign to you, per se, but after the bankruptcy, it was difficult to find those willing to help your family when all they saw was negligence and bad decisions.

It was nothing to be ashamed about.

To clear the air, you continued.

“They’ve asked for nothing more and I fully intend to only use my wages for such things.”

Lord Dottore tilted his head before he looked away, his gaze seemingly set on the landscaping passing by. The answer bored him, clearly, as you expected it to.

“I care little for what you do beyond your role but be sure not to neglect yourself for the sake of others.”

Icy rain fell in sheets, pelting the ground in soft plinks as you arrived back at the Palace. You parted ways without another word and you wished the metal on your finger was as cold as the rain and the man who gave it to you.

Her visit to Haeresys was quite unexpected, to say the least. Not many people ventured down into the bowels of the Palace unless they absolutely had to. But for her to not would otherwise lend itself poorly, wouldn’t it?

After all, she was never afraid to speak her mind before. More than once she has left my ego bruised and my pride singed when she laid out points I’d pushed aside in previous considerations. Said points were not neglected but rather only issues if they were encountered; when she provided context, more often than not, there was little option but to compromise. When all is said and done, she too considers the bigger picture, just from a different angle. No two artists paint the same image even when given the same set of references. It is one of the few areas of the human experience that is, perhaps, at least intriguing.

Sohreh, for all her fawning, was similar. At least the Accountant did not blush every time she laid eyes on me.

Such things were what drove my desire to create the prostheses, after all.

The pageantry of all of this…utterly ridiculous. All of this for the sake of a bet, a gamble; a ladder for Pantalone to get off of my back at the cost of time I will never regain.

How do others pursue this for the sake of emotion? This is truly joyous for some? Or is it social convention that dictates one must go this route, to celebrate so widely when so few truly know those exchanging nuptials?

Does one even need emotion, that worthless thing of love, to make these arrangements work?

The historical argument would hold that no, emotion doesn’t matter. Without that, perhaps something stronger still is erected to replace fleeting desire and heart palpitations and whimsical dreams. This farce can be plausible without such trivial things.

And Regrator will be proved wrong, as all others before him have been.

Even if it means playing by the convention he expects us to follow.

Us.

Strange to use that in reference to…an existence outside of my own.

Other than her late night gallivanting to demand a ring, I have seen little of her. Omega has dutifully managed what needed my input and that has allowed me to prioritize.

The Tsaritsa has already insisted on sending me away and offered up a choice of properties to boot. A lack of a honeymoon would be forgivable given my position and I would rather stay here and focus on what must be done. Too much progress has already been made. But I am in no position to deny Her Majesty’s will and I must also consider the Accountant’s position. She was already questioned about a ring; I would never hear the end of it from Regrator and it would put her in an even worse position, surely, if we didn’t at least leave the Palace.

Annoying. Worrying about another’s quality of life. Their actions. The impact they’ll have.

I had not expected running into her at the bank, of all places, although I cannot place why. After all, she’s an accountant and financial assistant. At the very least, she would be running an errand for work, if not for herself. That was a normal occurrence for most people.

She’d avoided eye contact with me. Even looked annoyed when the clerk mentioned transaction details, perhaps under the assumption I would be aware of them.

Not helped by her surprise when I provided my reasoning for needing her company. What did she think, that I would be severing her body? I am aware of the fear about me that spreads rumors like a plague but she should give me a little more credit than that. After all, short of the reports given to the Tsaritsa, the Accountant is one of the few who at least can put a value to the work I do.

Worse still, she looked stiff and uncomfortable during the ring sizing. The jeweler is one of Regrator’s contacts but to work with anyone else would result in another earful I didn’t want to hear. Anything detrimental would make its way back to the banker in no time. But what better way to prove solidarity than throw it right in Regrator’s face? Acting distant would do us no credit.

I had specifically chosen her for the bite she could give back and in public settings, she was proving to be less reliable than I hypothesized.

How would she react to public affection, gestures that few would think twice about? Her skin was still cold from outside when I leaned in. She hid the dark circles beneath her eyes well enough and by now, the cut on her cheek had healed, leaving behind only a thin line noticeable in the right light. The scent of parchment and ink clung to her, mingled with whatever floral scent her soap was infused with.

Disgusting. How could anyone ever find the smell of flowers pleasant?

And then she had the gall to tilt her head and look up at me through her lashes. A lesser individual might have bought such behavior.

Not me.

She left for her dress appointment and the nagging thought of my own attire came to mind. Omega was seeing to that. White with tails, blue and gold accents, all the while bearing the feathery mantle I’ve grown quite fond of. Why not have a bit of a dramatic flair, after all, if I must go through with all of this?

I should have left the ring to Omega, in hindsight. He would have come to the same conclusion I did. All the colors before me were nothing more than structural compounds of specific minerals and a mix of circumstances. No stone was special when it was broken down into its most basic components.

The deep reds and brilliant rubies were, to the jeweler’s credit, remarkable enough for what they were. If this were different, perhaps these would have been suitable…

But she has never seen my eyes. And she likely never will.

Diamonds would be appropriate, if nothing else.

Rare, resilient.

Cliche.

Aquamarine, however…would be a reflection of her homeland, among other things. Symbolically, it was impossible to go wrong or be misinterpreted.

But the stones nearby, iridescent purple ranging in various shades, were far more unique. I’d encountered such stones before, in the depths of the desert when taking apart Deshret’s Primal Constructs to reinforce my boots and weaponry during my exile. Deshret had failed in his attempt to save the people; his legacy meant little to me.

Two colors, then.

The jeweler was quick to accommodate, finding a matching band in no time, but it paled in comparison to the main ring when the stones were properly set. I had little doubt he would hesitate to inform Pantalone the moment I left. Paying extra would do little but delay the information anyway.

I found the notion of a band for myself wasteful. I’d never wear the thing. It would only get in the way.

But the Accountant was dedicated to portraying the image needed…

Platinum would, at least, survive.

The Accountant finished her appointment not long after I’d tucked both boxes in my pocket and found the shop she’d mentioned. It was impossible to see the back of the shop from the windows in front, even if I had been curious about her plans and wanted to know.

Which I didn’t.

I just wanted to be done with this entire affair so I could focus on other things. Usually, I enjoy the process of the experiment; ever since the words left my mouth weeks ago, however…

Perhaps she was feeling something similar. The look on her face when she stepped out of the shop was not unlike the one from when she first began working in the Palace, when she’d had no choice but to summon me in place of the Segments. Her smile was strained, her eyes looking at him but clearly elsewhere.

And yet she still managed to dig her heels in about a carriage, of all things.

She’d walked down herself–she wasn’t the type to take an easy route or method anywhere. The cold was, despite my Delusion, still bitter and dry for me and yet I didn’t think twice about taking the trip on-foot. Few bothered me and I could go at my own pace.

I should have left her behind. Why had I gone to the shop to wait for her, anyway?

Other than her protest for a carriage, she was quiet. Not that I minded. But her earlier behavior continued to nag, like an irritating fabric in cloying heat. Was she like the rest after all?

When she took the box and opened it, her pragmatism won out. It unsettled me that she did not, as most might, gush over the rings, but it sickened me all the more to wish she did.

What use was her praise?

None of this mattered.

The thanks from her lips were genuine enough but something in her face was harder to pin down. Her eyes were a little watery though and the flush of her cheeks was not just from the brisk wind outside. I’ll take what reactions I can get out of her…I need to document something, after all.

She kept her main ring and returned the box with the other band inside. The red leather was still warm when I tucked it away again.

I couldn’t help myself, however, as the moment from the bank came to mind again. Perhaps she would be pliable, now that I’d played along? What was the worst that could happen?

Right. Most still have a family. Living for centuries desensitizes you to all of those notions.

Sending money back home is not uncommon, especially among the lower ranks and the administrative branches. She cared for others. Not a sentiment I can understand.

But I do know what it means to rise to every occasion, to come from nothing and fight for every scrap along the way. As unconventional as it had been, the Akademiya saw to it that I would, in one way or another, find what I wanted out of life.

Her earnestness is unsettling. Hard work pays off but only when you have something to prove. At least she knows her boundaries, I suppose. That should make it all the quicker to find them myself, see how they might break…

That this is nothing more than transactional should make that all the easier.

I left the carriage as soon as the horses pulled to a stop. She’d managed to shake the doubts instilled in me with nothing more than a few words and a conviction that ran deeper than the icecaps not far from the Palace.

She was the right choice for this little experiment after all.

#fic: blasphemous rumors #il dottore #dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore/reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #female reader #marriage of convenience

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 5 months ago

Text

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Twenty-Two

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.5k

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The ship docks at Hotaru Island, the air thick with the scent of lavender and the distant hum of fireflies waiting to start their nightly dance. You step onto the gangplank, your simple dress fluttering in the warm breeze. Everyone had their own tasks to complete before meeting up at the local tavern for dinner. Everyone but you. You hadn't really decided who you wanted to accompany, but at least you did know one thing: You need space from Shanks, yet again.

Your eyes scan the men, and land on Hongo, who sits on a crate, scribbling in his notebook. His brow is furrowed, lost in concentration.

You approach him quietly, standing close enough to see the list of medical supplies he’s noting down.

“What’s on the agenda today, Doc?”

Hongo looks up, surprised but not displeased. You had been off, yet again, because of your arguments with Shanks. It would be good to get you away from the ship. “Aria. I’m making a list of things we need to restock the infirmary. Care to join me?”

You nod eagerly. “Sure. I’d like that.”

He stands, tucking the notebook into his pocket. Together, you navigate through the market streets, stalls bursting with colors and scents. The vendors call out their wares, but Hongo seems focused, knowing exactly where to go.

“Do you always know what you need off the top of your head?” you ask as you weave through a throng of people.

Hongo chuckles. “Years of practice. Plus, I like to keep my supplies well-organized. You know how OCD Benn is, he'd mutiny if the medical supplies aren't in order.”

You stop at a stall selling herbs and medicinal plants. Hongo inspects them with practiced hands, picking out a few bundles and exchanging some Berries with the vendor.

“These are for antiseptics,” he explains as he hands them to you.

You cradle the herbs carefully, feeling their rough texture against your fingers. The simple task makes you feel useful.

Next, Hongo leads you to an apothecary’s shop filled with glass jars and vials. The air inside is heavy with the smell of spices and tinctures. He greets the shopkeeper warmly before discussing various remedies and ointments.

“Grab that bottle of iodine,” Hongo instructs, pointing to a shelf above your head.

You reach up on tiptoes, fingers brushing against the cool glass before securing it in your hand. You hand it over to Hongo who adds it to his growing collection of supplies.

As you leave the shop, arms laden with packages and bundles, you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. “Thanks for letting me tag along,” you say.

Hongo smiles warmly at you. “It’s good to have company. And extra hands. But something tells me that you needed an excuse to get away from the ship…”

You take a deep breath, adjusting the bundles in your arms. “It’s Shanks. Things have been…tense between us lately.”

Hongo nods, waiting for you to continue. Everyone had been noticing the off and on tension between you and captain.

“It’s about me staying on the ship,” you say, the words spilling out faster now. “Shanks doesn’t want me to feel trapped or like I’m missing out on exploring the world because of him. But I just want to be happy, and right now, being with him and all of you makes me happy.”

Hongo listens intently, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds complicated. Have you told Shanks how you feel?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. “I’ve tried, but every time we talk about it, we end up arguing. He thinks he’s doing what’s best for me by pushing me away, but it just makes things harder.”

Hongo stops at another stall to pick up a few more supplies, his movements deliberate as he considers your words.

“He cares about you a lot,” Hongo says finally. “Maybe he just needs time to understand that your happiness is tied to being with him.”

You nod, appreciating his perspective but still feeling the weight of uncertainty.

As you near the edge of the market, you see the tavern where the rest of the crew is supposed to meet up later. Hongo turns to you with a gentle smile.

“Why don’t I take these supplies back to the ship?” he offers.

“No,” you interrupt quickly, shaking your head for emphasis. “I’ll take them back myself. You go ahead and get us a table at the tavern. I could use some time alone to think.”

Hongo studies your face for a moment before nodding in agreement. You needed to sort your relationship problems out by yourself. “Alright then. But don’t hesitate to come find us if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Hongo,” you say softly.

You make your way back to the ship, lost in thought as you navigate through the bustling streets of the port town. The weight of the supplies in your arms serves as a reminder of your place among the pirates, but your mind is preoccupied with your unraveling relationship with Shanks.

As you approach the pier, you see the massive shape of the Red Force towering over the water. The sight of it brings a mix of emotions: happiness from being a home, but also sadness as you're reminded of the tension between you and the captain. You climb aboard, greeted by the familiar scent of salt and wood.

You carry the supplies to the medical room, each step echoing your mixed emotions. The room is cool and smells faintly of antiseptics and herbs. Carefully, you place the bundles of medicinal plants on the counter and start sorting through the vials and bottles Hongo had chosen. Each item finds its place on the shelves, lined up in a precise order that you’ve come to understand from watching Hongo.

Each shelf has a metal cover that gets closed in between uses so the bottles don't fall from the shelf and break. When you place the last bottle on the shelf, you pull down the metal cover and lock it in place before turning to the various packages of suture needles, i.v.’s, and other assorted sharps.

You kneel to check the crates, making sure they’re secure and won’t tip over during the next voyage. Your fingers run along the rough wood, tightening the lids and securing the latches. It seems secure enough.

As you stand and dust off your hands, you turn around and freeze. Shanks leans against the door jamb, one foot crossed over the other. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of frustration and longing swirling in their depths.

“Aria,” he starts, his voice low but steady.

Your heart skips a beat at his tone. “Shanks.”

He pushes off from the door frame and takes a step into the room. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms, more for comfort than defiance. “About what?”

“About us.” His eyes search yours for understanding. “I know things have been rough between us lately.” The again went left unsaid.

“You think?” The sarcasm slips out before you can stop it. "I am beginning to think I should just move my ass to the crew quarters!"

“Watch your language,” Shanks warns, his voice a growl that vibrates through the room. "And I’ll continue to pretend you haven't been getting lessons on how to curse."

You can’t help the smirk that tugs at your lips and raised an elegant eyebrow. “What are you going to do, captain? Spank me?”

The challenge in your voice hangs in the air between you two. For a moment, he stands still, eyes darkening with a mix of frustration and something else entirely. Before you can react, he strides forward, closing the distance between you in two long steps. His hand grips your arm, spinning you around so fast that your breath catches in your throat.

He pushes you against a stack of crates, the wood cool against your flushed skin. You feel his breath hot on your neck as his fingers grasp at the skirt of your dress and rake it up to your hip. Then without pause, his hand comes down on your backside with a sharp smack. The sting sends a shockwave through your body, making you yelp.

“You think this is a game?” His voice is low, dangerously controlled.

You barely have time to process his words before his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear. With one swift motion, he yanks them down to your knees. The sudden exposure makes your heart race even faster and your fingers dig into the wood you are pressed against.

Before you can utter a word, he positions himself behind you. The sound of his belt buckle clinking open and the rustle of fabric are the only warnings you get before he thrusts into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. A whine tears itself from your throat and your head drops back against Shanks' shoulder.

Shanks thrusts into you with a raw, unyielding force that leaves you breathless. Each movement sends shivers up your spine, your fingers digging into the rough wood of the crates for support. His right hand grips your hip tightly, pulling you back against him with every stroke forward.

The intensity of his movements leaves no room for words, only gasps and moans escaping your lips. The sounds of your bodies colliding echo in the small, enclosed space, mingling with the creaks of the ship around you.

Your mind races, caught between the overwhelming sensation and the flood of emotions coursing through you. The tension that had been building between you two finds its release in this raw, primal connection.

Shanks' breath is hot against your neck as he leans in closer, his grip on your hip tightening. You can feel the power in his movements, the pent-up frustration and desire pouring out with every thrust.

You push back against him, meeting his rhythm with equal fervor. The pleasure builds rapidly, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Your nails dig into the crates as you fight to keep yourself upright.

Shanks' voice is a low growl in your ear. "Is this what you wanted?" His words are punctuated by a particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out.

You nod frantically, unable to form coherent words. The intensity of the moment consumes you both, leaving no room for anything but this raw connection.

The heat between you builds to a fever pitch, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Your body trembles under his relentless pace, each thrust driving you closer to release.

Finally, with a strangled cry, you feel yourself shatter around him. Your muscles tighten and convulse as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your legs tremble and shake beneath you, lasting ripples of your orgasm washing through every part of your body. When you suck in a deep breath, trying to calm your breathing, Shanks lips find your neck and begins to place elongated kisses there.

Shanks’ lips trail down your neck, his kisses deliberate and lingering. Each touch of his mouth sends electric jolts through your body, making you squirm against him. Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as his hand holds you firmly in place, preventing any escape from the intoxicating sensations he’s eliciting.

You can’t take it any longer. The need to feel his lips on yours overwhelms you. With a sudden burst of energy, you turn around to face him, your eyes locking onto his with a fiery intensity.

Before he can react, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him toward you. Your lips crash together in a fierce kiss, all the pent-up emotions and desire pouring out in that single moment. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you even closer as the kiss deepens.

You kiss Shanks with a fervor that borders on desperation, mouths open and tongues tangling in a dance of raw need. The taste of him consumes you, a heady mix of salt and something uniquely Shanks. His favorite whiskey perhaps? Your fingers clutch at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer as his hand finds the small of your back, pressing you against the crates behind you.

Without breaking the kiss, Shanks' lifts you effortlessly and you feel yourself being placed on the crates. The feel of his muscles flexing beneath your hands makes you moan in appreciation. His hand soon moves with purpose, shoving your skirt aside with a sense of urgency that matches your own. The cool air hits your wet, exposed skin, heightening every sensation as his fingers trace a path up your inner thigh.

Then he’s there, filling you again with a force that makes you moan against his mouth and arch your back. The rhythm he sets is relentless, each thrust driving deeper than the last. Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding on as waves of pleasure roll through you.

The crates creak beneath you with each movement, the sound mingling with your breathless moans and the raw grunts escaping Shanks' lips. Every stroke sends sparks of electricity coursing through your veins, your body responding to him in ways you’ve never experienced before. Not even with him. It's just not enough, you'll never have enough if him to be fully satisfied. Some part of your body will always long for his touch.

Shanks thrusts into you with a relentless rhythm, each movement driving you closer to the edge once more. The intensity of his pace leaves you breathless, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you as the pleasure builds.

“Shanks,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He responds with a low growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you even closer. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is hot and demanding, a perfect mirror of the fervor between your bodies.

The pleasure mounts rapidly, each stroke pushing you higher and higher until it feels like you might burst from the intensity of it all. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks as you cling to him.

You feel the coil of heat in your cunt tighten to an almost unbearable degree. Shanks seems to sense it too, his movements becoming even more focused, each thrust aimed at driving you over the edge.

With one final, powerful stroke, the coil snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, every muscle in your body tensing and convulsing with the force of it. You throw your head back against the crates and scream out his name as pleasure rips through every part of your being.

Shanks continues to move within you, drawing out every last tremor of your climax until you're left trembling and breathless beneath him. His own breathing is ragged, and you can feel his heart pounding against your chest once again.

As the last waves of pleasure ebb away, you're left feeling utterly spent but profoundly satisfied. Once again you have fucked out all your frustrations. But simply expelling these emotions will not solve the problem existing between you. Your cheek drops to his shoulder as you tiredly close your eyes. The raw passion that exists between you is undeniable, but it can't erase the reality of your circumstances.

Date Published: 6/28/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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#shanks x you #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #one piece shanks #shanks #one piece #opla shanks

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bengiyo · 5 months ago

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4 and 18 for the Asian ql ask game :)

4. Who is your ultimate Asian ql blorbo?

If I ever answer this with something other than Shiro, know that something is deeply wrong with me. Being gay was never easy for me. I worked hard to reach a place of peace that I'm at now, and I understand that in Shiro so much. Very few characters come close to his importance to me.

18. You get to pick a side character from two different qls to put in a show as a main pairing--who are you choosing and what kind of story is it?

Okay, hear me out.

I want Karl's uncle Cris Anthony Almasen aka "Santi" from Like in the Movies to visit Thailand for a gay wedding...

...and run into Q's uncle Man from 21 Days Theory.

I want to see them in a story where they're friends of both grooms and end up tasked with organizing a bunch of shit. I want them to not exactly know each other at first and be really polite, but end up growing closer as they solve big problems for the wedding. We need them to see each other differently from the small ways they take care of things that culminates in a big moment where they both tell a rude vendor to fuck off.

Their friends get to have their big moment, and they're helping with cleanup before finally releasing their own tension. I want them to end the mini-series or movie on them wanting to make it work, but Cris has to go back to Manila for now.

I just really want to see a show where lonely gay uncles find the love they've been missing.

Asian QL Ask Game

#answered #ask game #asian ql ask game #kinou nani tabeta #what did you eat yesterday?#like in the movies #gaya sa pelikula #21 days theory #Sarawut Siriphet #Franco Ramos

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meret118 · 1 month ago

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It keeps racking up wins at the Supreme Court: It’s the Alliance Defending Freedom, and it may be the country’s most sinister advocacy group that people have never heard of.

. . .

The organization has already made great strides in implementing its far-right agenda through its work on behalf of Christian fundamentalist, anti-LGBTQ+, and anti-abortion plaintiffs. It was integral to the Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade in 2022, and now it’s waging war against protections based on sexual orientation and gender identity. The group’s CEO, Kristen Waggoner, has said she believes that the 2015 marriage equality ruling should be overturned as well.

. . .

ADF has also faced scrutiny for apparently manufacturing lawsuits involving Christian wedding vendors who object to same-sex marriage; one such case involving a website designer succeeded at the court in 2023 even though the plaintiff, Lorie Smith, had never designed wedding websites and a potential customer who contacted her turned out to be straight. ADF also seems to have invented a group from scratch to be the plaintiff in an ongoing case about an abortion drug.

. . .

By bringing lawsuits before friendly judges, ADF can shape American society to match its vision for the nation. The group’s individual cases may not appear all that connected, but when taken together, they paint a very clear picture. As Gillian Branstetter, a communications strategist at the ACLU, put it, ADF “is using the state to uphold the heterosexual, patriarchal nuclear family as the primary—if not the only—way of living one’s life.”

-----

Their goals are to ban abortion, ban birth control, ban same sex marriage, ban trans rights, ban queer sex, ban IVF, ban the separation of the evangelical church and state,and end DEI and the civil rights act.

#Gop #2024

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sweetmariihs2 · 7 months ago

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Cedric Masterlist update - and the search for the STF magazines 💫🎂

I have like. A whole notes file full of links I've been collecting to add to the Cedric masterlist, and at the same time I've bought and scanned around what, 7 stf magazines? That I own.

That's a part of the notes file that I have, there are more links (some of the links are from some of you guy's blogs, it's an honor to have them in my masterlist)

I want to add these links to my masterlist BUT I need to add the links to the magazines first, since we can't know for sure how many links a Tumblr post can support

That's A LIE since my masterlist has more than 100 links counted and they all still work

So since I'm prioritizing the links to the magazines I'm still going to put on Google drive (and the (money to buy) and hours I spent scanning each one of them), I can't add the links that I have collected my notes app because I don't know what's the link limit

Since not all the magazines that I bought has Cedric in them, some of them logically would be cut out of the masterlist, which would make things really messy cuz the most organized option would be to have all of them in the same place

So I'm thinking about making them a separate post and add a link to it in the Cedric masterlist instead.

BUT I CAN'T DO THAT YET

All of the magazines in brazillian portuguese that I found to buy on Google... I... already bought them... (they were three) and they're already scanned and in my hands muahaha

So the best places to search for the rest are, obviously, on the internet, and SHOCKINGLY, in person.

Because I live in a small brazillian town, I go to magazine stands since I was a little girl. In my town there were some, and you could find those official and unofficial magazines quarterly made, themed around characters such as Monster High, Strawberry Shortcake, Disney Princesses and of course Sofia The First

In that small town that I live in, unfortunately all the magazine stands changed a lot and they don't sell that stuff like they did some time ago. Now many are just street vendors. There were like, three of them in my town? When I tell you it's small, IT'S BECAUSE IT IS

And because it is small, when we (me and people from my town) want to go to better hospitals, consult with doctors, even shopping with a major variety of shops, we go to the neighboring town that's a little bit bigger than ours

AND SURPRISINGLY THE MAGAZINE STANDS THERE ARE STILL ALIVE AND SELLING REAL MAGAZINES

I guess a huge reason behind it is the interest that people are having in buying japanese mangas, and I'm seeing a lot of manga there, and because that town has a little more movement than mine, people are constantly passing through and buying, keeping those sellers' shops and the culture of reading on paper still alive

Whenever I go there, it's because I need to see a doctor, dentist, or rent dresses for a party or wedding, I never go just "to go". I'm autistic so I don't usually leave my town without one of my parents, I'm a little scared actually (help, I can't get used to my age) but I'm thinking about taking courage and trying at least once to being able to shop, without having to follow my parents everywhere they go or hearing complaints about them wanting to go home already. Because when I go with my parents to do something specific there, we can never go to places that I want to visit, like stores for example, except when they are on the way to the place we're going to, and it needs to be fast or else they're gonna start to rush me

The last time I went there, for an eye exam, there was a magazine stand near the doctor I went and I managed to find two STF magazines in the short 10 minutes I was there, with my eyes dilated with eye drops, that is, without seeing almost anything. There are five magazine stands there (I just looked through google maps) that I've never visited, even the one I went to and I couldn't look for the magazines properly because of my parents rushing me and my blurred vision. I actually made a post about my visit there and the magazines that I bought.

Furthermore, a friend of mine visited some stationery stores there and brought me as a gift a card of STF stickers, which I use in my sketchbook, and told me that she went to 5 stores and all of them had STF stuff, including more cards of stickers. I got a card that had some Sofias and a Fauna sticker on it, my friend told me that there are other cards with Flora and Merryweather that complete the set, the same with Amber, but she only brought me one as a gift she knew I would like. I really want to look at these stationery stores too, and find her other sisters to add them to my sketchbook 🥺

But yeah, going back to the subject, I still belive I didn't found all the available STF magazines in my region yet. As shocking as it may be, it's easier for me to find them in person than on the Internet, I'm lucky enough that my region has things like this, magazine stands that sell some really old stuff simply because no one bought them in 2015, and they are still there waiting to be bought.

As soon as I go there and FINALLY look everywhere I can (I'm 100% sure I'll find more magazine issues), and finally scan them, to finally make a post listing them, then I'll be able to add the link to the blog in my Cedric masterlist.

But I can't because I have to wait for a day when one of my parents has to go there, OR MAYBE, have a conversation with them and prepare myself to leave the city alone for the first time, and it would have to be on a day when I don't have classes to go to, plus I want to call a friend so I won't have to go completely alone. WAIT THIS WEEK I HAVE IT, IT'S TOMORROW, SHOULD I?

I think it's very close and I won't be able to prepare properly, plus I would have to talk to my parents first and schedule everything with my friend. I don't think it will happen tomorrow. I think the best thing to do is wait for my parents to have something or work to do there, and take a few minutes out of their visit to go to some magazine stands and stationery stores. I can go alone but I never did this before HELP it's one hour away 😭

I'll ask if my mother if she would like to go there just to do some shopping and spend some time together, she sometimes likes to go and buy some things there, we'll see

Telling you all this may make this masterlist and magazine thing seem like a lot of work, but I actually love doing it, it's therapeutic

live laugh love hyperfocus ❤️

Edit: I forgot to add something to this post so I made a part two.

#sofia the first #cedric the sorcerer #sofia the fandom #cedric the great #cedric the sensational #stf magazine #stf merch

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foundtherightwords · 1 year ago

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All Our Yesterdays - Chapter 1

Pairing: Ralph (Timewasters) x OFC

Summary: Thu, a museum archivist, only wants to escape her dull life in 21st-century Hanoi. The last thing she expects is to end up in 1929 Indochina via a time-traveling elevator and cross paths with Ralph, an Englishman on the run from the French Foreign Legion. Romance blossoms between them, but in a colonized country, unrest is always looming on the horizon, and Thu must decide if she wants to stay with Ralph in the past or return to the safety of the future.

A/N: In the show, Ralph ends up somewhere in Morocco or Algeria (judging by this photo - thank you, @quinnkeerys, for doing the Lord's work), but I'm more familiar with French Indochina, and a Legion regiment was stationed there at the time, so I transferred him there to make the research easier for me.

A few notes on the Vietnamese names/pronunciation:

- Thu is pronounced like "too", but with a softer "t" sound. - The "D/d" letter in Vietnamese is pronounced as "z", so for example, "áo dài" (long tunic, the national costume of Vietnam) is pronounced like "ao zai". "Đ/đ" is pronounced as "d". It's confusing, I know. - For easier reading, I left the diacritics out of the characters' names (Hoang instead of Hoàng, Phuong instead of Phương, Lien instead of Liên.) The place names and other nouns are kept intact though. If they are difficult to read or mess up the format, let me know and I'll take them out.

Also, I only watched the first 2 episodes of "Timewasters" (the ones featuring Ralph), so I had no idea what is canon about the time machine.

Warnings: outdated/period-typical attitudes, mentions of war, mentions of pregnancy and abortion (involving a supporting character), some angst (it's mostly fluff but you know me, I can't do without angst altogether), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warnings: outdated attitudes about women/marriage

Chapter word count: 3.3k

Chapter 1

"Thu, are you even listening to me?" Hoang's irritated voice brought Thu out of her reverie. With difficulty, she turned her eyes away from the vendor selling tofu pudding—tào phớ—outside. The vendor's hand was moving in a blur, scooping silky tofu from the big container into smaller cups and pouring sugar water on top. She was remembering how, in her childhood, such vendors would use a big mussel shell as a scoop instead of the ubiquitous aluminum ones now, and how the tào phớ of childhood seemed to taste sweeter, fresher. Now she was struck by a sudden craving. It was the first of September, but summer was still holding on stubbornly, and the air-conditioned interior of the coffee shop felt close, stuffy. A bowl of cool, slightly sweet, jasmine-infused tào phớ would just hit the spot.

"You want some tào phớ?" she asked Hoang.

"What?" Her boyfriend stared blankly back. She nodded toward the vendor, and Hoang made a face. "No. And you shouldn't either. It's not sanitary, you know. I wish the city would just ban all street vendors. So untidy."

Thu rolled her eyes. "But they're such an integral part of Hanoi!" she protested. "It's been that way for hundreds of years and will continue to be."

"I doubt it," Hoang said callously. "Already there are fewer of them after the pandemic. People's buying and eating habits are changing. Soon they'll be gone, just you wait."

Thu sat back, chagrined. They had had this argument often enough for her to know it was a losing battle. She shouldn't have said anything at all.

"Anyway," Hoang continued, "we're good for this Saturday?"

"What's happening Saturday?"

"My parents coming to talk to yours."

"About what?"

"About the wedding, what else? Have you not listened to a word I said at all?"

The truth was that she had tuned out the moment Hoang mentioned his mother had been to see a fortune-teller. It was exhausting, the way his mother always consulted fortune-tellers before doing anything, so after a while, Thu stopped listening. But now, the mention of "wedding" sent a chill through her, as she realized what it could mean.

"Wedding?" she repeated, trying to hide her rising panic.

Hoang let an exasperated breath out through his nose. "Yes, our wedding. Mom is determined to have it before the Lunar New Year."

"Before the Lunar New Year..." Thu did some mental calculations. "But that's only five months away!"

"So what? Plenty of time to plan a wedding."

"But why the rush?"

"Because you're turning twenty-six next year, and it's not an auspicious age to get married," Hoang explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So let's wait until I turn twenty-seven then! Or twenty-nine!"

"Come on, we are going to get married anyway, what's the difference a year or two going to make?"

It makes all the difference in the world! Thu wanted to shout, before stopping herself in time. She and Hoang had been together for four years, and it had always been understood that they would eventually get married, though they had never officially discussed it. And now, when Hoang finally brought it up, she realized, with horror, that she did not want to get married. Not yet. Perhaps even not at all. There was so much she wanted to do.

"I want to get my Master's first," she said.

"You can do that after we're married," Hoang replied breezily.

Easier said than done. After they got married, there would be kids (When are you going to have a baby?), responsibilities, and more kids (Two is always better than one, you know!), and before she knew it, her life would settle into monotonous drudgery, rushing home after work to put dinner on the table, dropping off squalling kids at daycare and picking them up again, arguing about what primary school to enroll them in, and on and on and on. Try as she might, she could picture none of the marital bliss people often boasted about. She shuddered and reached for her pendant, twisting it between her fingers as she always did whenever she was nervous.

"Actually... my parents might have... plans this Saturday," she said, trying to stall.

"Really?" Hoang raised an eyebrow. "But when my mom called, your mom said it was all good."

Thu's stomach churned in anger. Her mother always did that, deciding what was best for her without asking what she wanted. "Looks like they got it all under control," she said coldly.

Hoang didn't hear, or pretended that he didn't hear the frosty note in her voice. He leaned back and took a sip of his iced coffee. "Yep, I figured, moms have a lot more experience in this kind of thing, so why not let them take charge? They're happy, we don't have to worry about all the trivial details; it's a win-win."

Thu clamped down a bitter retort. It wasn't that Hoang didn't make an effort in their relationship; he remembered her birthday and their anniversary and other important dates, but he was always very matter-of-fact about them. His gifts were the practical kind, and he never got her flowers, saying there was no point since they were going to die anyway. Anything else would just be a "trivial detail" to him. She appreciated his pragmatism, but once in a while, she wished they could have been a little more spontaneous. It was like Hoang was afraid of being seen as sappy. She knew if he had it his way, he wouldn't even have a wedding at all. They would just go to the city hall and sign the marriage certificate and that would be that.

"Where are we going to live, after we get married?" she asked.

"With my parents," Hoang said, the "of course" plain in his tone even though he didn't actually say it out loud.

"You know I don't like it when so many generations live under the same roof," Thu said. Hoang lived with his parents and grandparents. She knew it was still the norm, but the very idea set her teeth on edge.

"What's the big deal?" Hoang shrugged. "In your own words, it's been like that for hundreds of years, and it's much more convenient. You know, for someone who loves history, you sure are picky about which part of it you love."

His words stung. "Just because I love something, doesn't mean that I'm blind about it!" she snapped, then gathered up her things and stormed out of the coffee house before Hoang could say another word. A bit of an overreaction, perhaps, but she was looking for any excuse to escape further discussion of the wedding. She wasn't brave enough to tell him that she didn't want it, and even if she did tell him, she wasn't even sure if she could get through to him.

That evening, over dinner at home, Thu tried to broach the subject with her parents first. If she could get them on her side, then maybe she could convince Hoang to push the wedding back a few years.

Her mom wasn't having any of it.

"But you two are going to get married anyway," she said, maddeningly echoing Hoang's words. "I don't see why you'd want to wait."

"We don't have our own place yet," Thu said. In this, she knew her parents would support her. No parents want their daughter to have to live with the in-laws. "And I want to get a Master," she added hopefully.

"What's the point? It's not going to raise your salary at the museum, is it?"

"It'll allow me to get a teaching position at the university."

Her mom snorted. "And their salary is better, I suppose? Your dad and I can lend you the money to buy your own place."

Thu turned to her dad in dismay. "Dad?"

"Mom's right," her dad said, his face hidden behind his phone. "We won't charge you interest."

"If you don't want to be in debt, then take that job with Cousin Minh," her mom continued. "He's been calling again. He says they can really use someone with your English skills, and they pay very well. You'll save enough for an apartment in no time."

"Mom, he sells illegal IDs!"

"Nonsense. He runs a visa agency."

"Yes, which includes selling illegal IDs. He's lucky he's not getting arrested. I am not going to work for him."

"Ooh, if you're getting married and moving out, can I have your room?" her younger brother, Tung, piped up.

Thu dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, frustrated. There would be no help from this quarter.

"Look," her mom said in a softer voice, "we just want you to settle down. Hoang is a nice boy. He has a good job. It's the right time to get married. If you wait longer, something else may come up."

Settle down. Get a job. Get married. Have kids. The same path as everybody else. Deviate from that, and you'd risk disapproval and pity. What will happen to you? Who will take care of your parents in their old age? Who will take care of you in the future? And of course, that was the sting. Hoang might be dull, but he was safe, stable, predictable. She could imagine a future with him, even if that future was not particularly bright.

Thu went into her room and took refuge in her history books. At least with them, she knew how the stories all turned out; it didn't matter if the endings were good or bad. Perhaps that was why she loved history so much. There was none of this worrying about the future in history.

***

Those gnawing thoughts were still going around her head the next day at work, grating on her nerves and making her snappish with everybody. It was a slow day. Usually, she relished days like this, when she could settle into the backrooms of the museum, going over the archives, or walking through the echoing halls, looking at the artifacts, pretending to be a visitor, but today, the quietness of the museum felt stifling, its familiarity stale. It probably didn't help that she was stuck doing paperwork, cataloging the findings of a recent dig just outside of Hanoi. Sometimes, this job felt futile, like there was nothing else they could discover about the past. Vietnam's history is a bewildering patchwork of myths and half-preserved facts, destroyed by centuries of war and natural disasters and just plain old bad weather, impossible to make sense of, and Thu had never felt the futility of that task more acutely than she did that day, while logging broken pieces of roof tiles and ceramics into the computer. She was glad when, near the end of the day, her supervisor asked her to leave off the work and deliver some invitations for the museum's upcoming seminar to the nearby Institute of French Culture.

Leaving her motorbike at the museum, Thu walked the short distance from behind the Grand Opera House down Tràng Tiền Street. It was rush hour; by the time she got her bike out of the museum's parking lot and found a parking space near the Institute, she would've already gotten there on foot. The concrete pavement still retained some of the day's heat, and the currents of roaring cars and bikes and their constant honking only added to the warmth, but already, there was a slight crispness to the air that whispered of autumn, of moon cakes and green rice, of lantern processions. As Thu wove her way through the traffic, she imagined herself as an office girl from the French School of the Far East, which used to be in the same building as her museum, walking to the IDEO Printing House, where the Institute now stood, on some errand...

Her phone buzzed, cutting off her daydreaming. She glanced at the screen and groaned inwardly. A text from Hoang:

Confirmed with my mom, we're coming to your house 10 AM Saturday. Prepare lunch. Something not too heavy.

The bossy tone of the text pricked at her. He couldn't even say "please" at the end! Was this a taste of how their marriage was going to be, with Hoang dictating the terms and Thu following obediently? To hell with that. And if Hoang and her mother refused to listen, then she would find a way to make them listen...

Without stopping to think, Thu logged into her mother's account, still remembering the password from when she set it up for her. She scrolled through until she found the string of messages between her mother and Hoang's, and fired up a text:

I'm very sorry, but we're going to have to cancel the plan on Saturday. There's an emergency.

Would that be enough? No. Better make it clear. She added, Also, to be honest, we can't afford a January wedding. It's too soon.

Better make it double clear then. And I think Thu and Hoang can benefit from having more time to think. They're both too young to—

No. She deleted the last sentence. It would be too obvious. Of course, it would become obvious who sent the text if Hoang's mother decided to call hers, but she was hoping, if nothing else, this would at least get their attention and allow her a chance to really talk about what she wanted.

Thu went into the Institute and dropped the invitations off at the main office on the fifth floor. Her head throbbed from the heat and the stress. While waiting for the elevator, she reached for her stash of emergency M&Ms in her backpack. She just popped a handful into her mouth when her phone rang, shrilly, accusingly. She glanced at the watch on her phone. Her subterfuge lasted a total of eight minutes.

"Hi, Mom," she answered, resigning herself to a dressing-down.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Her mom sounded furious. "You sent a message to Hoang's mother to cancel the plan on Saturday, didn't you?"

"I did, yes."

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want to get married, Mom. Not yet. I've been trying to say this but nobody—"

"Do you have any idea how humiliated I was? I couldn't tell her that I didn't send that message! I had to say there was a misunderstanding and reschedule for Sunday."

"Mom—"

"That's final! I'm done discussing this with you!"

Her mom hung up. Thu sighed. Why won't they just listen?!

The elevator arrived. The door slid open. There was already a man inside, a Westerner. Thu eyed him curiously. He looked to be in his sixties and was terribly unkempt. Despite the heat, he was dressed in a long, dark coat. His pale, straggly hair stuck out from under a woolen hat, and he had a scruffy white beard. If she didn't know better, she would've said he was homeless, but she had seen plenty of backpackers looking far worse on the streets of Hanoi.

"Going down?" she asked in English, indicating with her hand.

The man grinned, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth. Thu recoiled slightly. But it was getting late, and she was exhausted. She just wanted to go home, avoid her mother, have a long, cool shower, and curl up in bed with her books. So she shrugged and stepped into the elevator, carefully reaching around the man to press "1".

As she stepped back, Thu noticed him eyeing her bag of M&Ms hungrily, practically bending down to sniff it.

"Would you, uh, like some?" she asked.

The man gave her another rotten-toothed grin and snatched the whole bag out of her hand.

Before Thu could even protest, the phone rang again. Hoang this time. "Did your mom just reschedule our meeting for Sunday?" he asked.

Thu wondered how he managed to make it sound so formal, like a business meeting. But she was in no mood for arguing. "I tried to cancel it, but she didn't want to," she said in a defeated voice.

"You did what—what the hell?"

"We're too young to get married! I'm only twenty-five and you're only twenty-seven, for Heaven's sake! Why is everybody in such a rush for us to get married? Is there an old relative about to die? Are you about to die?"

"Don't joke about that!"

"I'm not joking!"

She heard Hoang take a deep breath. "I don't understand your hang-up about the age thing," he said. "It's a perfectly reasonable age to get married. You know people got married in their teens back in the day—"

Thu wanted to scream. The fact that he thought this was about "the age thing" proved, all too clearly, that he didn't understand her doubt and her fear at all. "Stop talking about 'back in the day'," she hissed. "You have no idea what it was like 'back in the day'! If I could, I would go live 'back in the day' just to get away from all of you!"

"If this is how you insist on behaving, then maybe we should just call the whole thing off!"

"Good!"

"Did you hear me? I'm not just talking about our wedding, I'm talking about us! If you do this, it's over!"

"That's the best news I heard all day!"

She hung up, and, for good measure, turned the phone off and threw it into the depth of her backpack. She didn't want to give Hoang a chance to tell her that he didn't mean it, that it was just a heat of a moment thing...

Next to her, the homeless-looking man was munching on the M&Ms—her M&Ms!—and fumbling with the keypad. Then he turned and handed her a folded piece of paper.

Thu opened the paper and saw a few lines of Vietnamese scrawled on it:

RULES FOR TIME TRAVELERS

Don't kill anyone

Don't impregnate or get impregnated

Don't touch any animals

Try to blend in, and have fun!

Mystified, she looked up, but the man was gone. Before she could even wonder about his disappearance, a persistent beeping coming from the keypad caught her attention. The elevator was shaking.

Great. Just great. The elevator was breaking down, and now she was going to get stuck in it. Just the cherry on top of an already perfect day.

The shaking intensified. A flashing light made her look up, and she couldn't believe her eyes.

The elevator was not breaking down.

It was breaking up.

As in disintegrating. Above her and all around her. The debris was getting sucked into some terrifying vortex of dark clouds laced with lightning, while the beeping continued, piercing in her ears, and all the numbers on the keypad started flickering in a dizzying sequence. Thu had a horrible sensation, similar to when she was little and had a high fever, of being stretched long, as long as possible without snapping, while at the same time getting compressed into something tiny, tinier than she could ever imagine. She sank to her knees, wrapped her arms around her head, and screamed.

Then, as abruptly as it started, everything stopped. The elevator dinged and came to a halt.

Thu cautiously opened her eyes. She was still in one piece. She was still in the elevator, which was in one piece as well.

Perhaps it had all been in her imagination. There had been something wrong with the elevator, certainly, but in her stress and fatigue, she had imagined it to be something much worse. And the man... he must have gotten out when she wasn't looking.

Letting out a breath of relief, she fixed the straps of her backpack more firmly on her shoulders and exited the elevator.

And immediately realized that something wasn't right.

Chapter 2

A/N: This first chapter is just a setup, so please bear with me. Ralph will appear in the next chapter, which is coming tomorrow! Also, as usual, if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know.

#ralph penbury #ralph penbury fic #ralph timewasters #ralph x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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