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beatrice-otter · 2 years ago

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fic: Righteousness and Respectability

yuletide authors have been revealed, so I can post my fics here! I wrote two fics. One was a treat that I actually started last year; then it was going to be a New Year's Resolution; then the 2022 NYR collection was closed because Yuletide 2022 was starting and I checked and oh, happy day, that same person had the same prompt! So I could finish it for this year's Yuletide. And so I have. The premise was that Marianne in Sense and Sensibility is described as "brown", which just means that she's a little more olive-skinned and likely to tan than most English people are. But daisyninjagirl wanted an AU where no, actually, "the Dashwood sisters either have, or are assumed to have, African ancestry? How would that fit in with the intense Abolition politics of the time?" And that was a fascinating idea, and I had a great time figuring out what exactly the consequences of it would be. But, alas, because it would probably make John and Fanny think even worse of them than they do in canon, I couldn't think of a way for Elinor to even meet Edward. Title: Righteousness and Respectability Author: Beatrice Otter Fandom: Sense and Sensibility Characters: Marianne, Elinor, Willoughby, Brandon Rating: T Length: 10,506 words Written for: daisyninjagirl in Yuletide 2022 Betaed by: Kalee233 Summary: The Dashwood ladies are mixed race. Some things change, but others do not. At AO3. On Dreamwidth. On pillowfort. Mr. Henry Dashwood's first marriage had been a celebrated match, in its day. Both were from ancient, well-connected families of the middle gentry, long-established in Sussex; both were well educated, sensible people; and while they were not in love, neither of them had any expectation that such a feeling should be a pre-requisite for the married state. They liked one another, and when the first Mrs. Dashwood died, Mr. Henry Dashwood grieved her loss but was not overset by it. When his year of mourning was over, he looked around for a new bride. His son John, off at school, was too old to require a mother, but Henry missed the companionship his wife had provided. And, as he had his own small fortune, a life-interest in half of the first Mrs. Dashwood's fortune, and the prospect of inheriting his uncle's estate of Norland Park, he was quite an eligible figure, not only for the widows and spinsters of the community, but also for the girls newly out in society.

So it was a great surprise to all when his choice fell upon Miss Jones, the daughter of a retired Navy captain and his American wife. Miss Jones was a young lady of no great fortune and few connections, and there were some who did not care to dignify her with the name of lady, for she was a mulatto. A great many people tried to talk him out of it, with various specious and unpleasant arguments about the unsuitability of the match; but Henry Dashwood was determined, for he was in love as he had not been with his first wife. Indeed, so incensed was he at the slanders of his beloved that he ended a number of friendships of long standing over the matter.

The new Mrs. Dashwood was a sensitive woman of deep feeling and compassion, and though she rejoiced in her husband's support, she feared the day he might regret his choice, and worked to repair and strengthen what relationships she could. Mr. Dashwood respected her goodness, but saw too well the pain she suffered in so doing to think most such relationships worth the effort, and at last they settled into a social circle that suited them both: smaller than his had been, but of better humor and compassion.

One relationship they did work to maintain, however, was that with Henry Dashwood’s uncle, Mr. Dashwood of Norland Park. There was no chance he would leave the estate free and clear to Henry and his second wife; no, upon his death it would pass to his grand-nephew John. But, with suitable attentions, he was persuaded to allow Henry a life-interest in the estate, at least, and with reasonable economies and savings, that would provide for Mrs. Dashwood and the three Miss Dashwoods even after Mr. Henry Dashwood’s death.

Provided, that is, he lived long enough past his uncle to see such plans put into fruition, which proved not to be the case; scarce a twelve-month after his uncle’s death, Mr. Dashwood sickened, succumbed, and died.

It was not a long illness, but it was, fortunately, long enough to call his son John to attend him in his final hours. And, even more fortunately, long enough for him to extract a promise from John that his stepmother and half sisters would be provided for.

If the second Mrs. Dashwood had been more like the first—pale-skinned, of English descent with no other admixtures, accepted in any company including that of her husband’s family—perhaps Mr. Dashwood would have accepted his son’s verbal promise. But she was not; and Mr. Dashwood had seen too often the cruelties and ill-treatment of society to trust in mere words. The tenor of his relationship with his son since his remarriage only confirmed his suspicions. He had, accordingly, called a solicitor to his deathbed to draw up a contract obligating John Dashwood to give his half-sisters 1,000 pounds each and his step-mother a further 500. All that was required was for John to sign it.

"Father," said John as he perused the document, "you cannot imagine I would settle half so much on your daughters." He congratulated himself on his civility; certainly, in the depths of his indignation, he might have put it much differently. His later years at school had been filled with mockery for his father's choice, and John felt himself very ill-used in the matter. But he was a man of cold temper, by nature, and he did not wish to quarrel with his father when such disagreements would have no hope of mending.

"Please, John," his father said, struggling to lift himself up from his pillow.

John leaned forward to help the manservant lift his father's body and adjust the bedclothes. His father had never been a large man, but he had been possessed of a great dignity of manner that his son had always envied. Now he seemed half what he had been mere months earlier when they had last met. John was struck by the unwelcome realization that his father was, indeed, on his deathbed; this was no passing illness that might be mended in time.

"I have a duty to them," his father said.

"You have a duty to me and my son, too," John said, "for am I not your first born? Your only son and heir?" It was something John had long clung to, given his father's vociferous championing of his second family and the social disapproval that had brought.

"You are well provided for, always have been." His father stopped for breath, then forged on. "It's less than a year's income from Norland." He took a breath, and his whole body shook with the effort of it. "Less than a year's income from your mother's legacy." Another dreadful pause filled with wheezing. "It will be nothing to you, and everything to them."

Having spent his energy, Henry Dashwood sagged back against the pillows and coughed wetly.

John came to the distasteful recognition that, if he wished to spend what little time his father had left discussing anything other than his father's second family, the simplest (and, indeed, only) way to accomplish that would be to do as his father asked of him. And he had often made his way in life by choosing the easiest path and bowing to the wishes of those around him.

He eyed the document again. It was true that his father's second wife and her children had a pitiful legacy compared to his own. He owed them nothing, he was sure, but he wished to be a good son, and it would set his father's mind at ease.

Fanny, his wife, would be furious, of course, but he could present it to her as the cost of seeing them gone. She had charged him most faithfully to evict them as soon as might be possible, for she considered the connection the greatest embarrassment of her life. Indeed, she had almost refused her husband's proposal because of their existence, and accepted only on the assurance that she would never have to host them, or visit them, or acknowledge them in society. Yes, he thought, such a sum might be tolerable to her if presented as the price of cutting that connection forever.

And of course it was an act of charity, and duty to his father; yes, he would do it. He signed with a flourish, showed it to his father, and was able to spend his last hours with his father undisturbed by talk of the ladies he so resented.

…

Mrs. Dashwood’s grief was deep and profound, but she could not afford to indulge it. When her husband died, they would have to leave Norland as soon as was practical; and to accomplish that, they would need a house. Preferably far enough away from Norland that they need never meet with the younger Mrs. Dashwood. Accordingly, as her husband's health worsened, letters were sent out far and wide to her friends and relations, begging for word of any place they might know of that would be available for sufficiently easy terms.

By the time the letters began returning, Mr. Dashwood was dead.

"I do think that Sir John's offer is the most suitable," said her eldest daughter, Elinor, as they sorted through the post. Her eyes were red from weeping, and her skin paler than usual, but her voice was firm. Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters had gathered in her sitting room. Though the business was urgent, none of them had much heart for it.

Margaret, the youngest, lay on the floor before the fire playing with the cat. Mrs. Dashwood, in a newly-dyed black gown, rested her forearms on the table, and though there was a letter in her hands, her eyes scarcely knew what they looked at. Elinor sat at her right hand, and Marianne at her left.

"I should prefer a city," Marianne said, "if it can at all be managed." She was, of the three, closest to her mother in both temperament and in appearance. At sixteen, she had experienced some of the cruelty of the world, but her parents had succeeded in shielding her from much of it.

"There are as many unpleasant people in cities as in the country, my dear," Mrs. Dashwood said.

"Yes, but we would not be the only ones of our kind," Marianne said. They had always lived in the countryside, but her parents maintained an extensive correspondence with like-minded people, many of whom were of Mrs. Dashwood's race; and most of them lived in cities.

"I do not think we can afford to live in a city, at least not on short notice," Elinor said. "Everything is more expensive, not merely housing. We would need to find a suitable house for a very good price, and none so far have been." She gestured at some of the other letters scattered on the table. "And at Barton Cottage, we would be under the protection of our cousin, who is a man of considerable influence in the community."

"It has been too long since we have seen Sir John," Mrs. Dashwood said. "He is always very kind in his letters." She took Marianne's hand. "If it is intolerable, my dear, it need not be forever; but we must go somewhere, and soon."

"Cannot we wait another week to see if a more eligible offer presents itself? Not everyone you wrote to has responded," Marianne said. "Surely Mr. Dashwood—" for they all knew better than to call him their brother "—would not begrudge us a week, so soon after the death of our father."

"I had half expected him to turn us out the day after the funeral," Mrs. Dashwood said. This was only the second time she had met her husband's son, and neither meeting had been amicable. "No, the sooner we go, the better."

Elinor nodded soberly. Marianne sighed and slumped back in her chair.

"I shall write to Sir John to thank him for his kindness," Mrs. Dashwood said.

…

Not two days later, Marianne stormed into the sitting room where Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood were directing the servants in packing up the furniture and accoutrements that belonged to the Dashwoods and not to Norland itself. "Mama, what may I do to help prepare for the journey?"

Mrs. Dashwood raised her eyebrows, for this was quite a change; Marianne had spent the last two days avoiding the work her mother and sister were engaged in, in the vain hope that some suitable house in Brighton or Portsmouth or some city further afield might present itself. "Elinor, I have this room well enough in hand; you and your sister can go through the attics."

Elinor agreed and, with two manservants following, led Marianne up to the attics, where she immediately pointed out several chests which she knew to be their own. Once the men were engaged in carrying the chests downstairs, Elinor inquired as to her sister's mood, for she was as alert to the change in her sister's attentions as their mother.

"Do you know what the new Mr. Dashwood has done?" Marianne hissed. "He has sacked poor Robertson!"

"But why?" Elinor said, bewildered. "He has always been an exemplary butler."

"He's getting a glowing reference, of course, but they want to bring in their own man from their London residence," Marianne said. "But since their pick has never served in a country house, Robertson will have to train him. But that is not the worst of it."

Elinor sat down on a convenient stool. "Tell me," she said.

"The new butler," Marianne said grimly, "is a slave." Besides the obvious evil of the practice, Marianne was on fire with the personal insult to herself and her mother and sisters.

Elinor swallowed down the first three responses that came to mind; they were true, but would do no good to say, and besides it would set Marianne off. She did not think any of the servants would tell their new master, but she could not say for certain; and they could not afford to anger him before their departure. "Well," she said at last, "it seems the new master and mistress of Norland wish to make quite clear to everyone that they are different from the old ones in every way." She turned to the stairway at the clomp of feet. "We should return to our business. Perhaps we should have brought Margaret up here."

"She would not be much help," Marianne said, "for she is too young to remember the house we lived in before coming to Norland."

"True, but she would find rummaging around in the trunks fascinating," Elinor said, and they turned their attention to the various furnishings and other items as the footmen reappeared to take the next load.

Elinor noted that her sister was perhaps overly generous in which items she declared to be theirs, but upon reflection decided not to say anything. She had little respect and less affection for the new master and mistress of Norland Park, and the chances of their missing anything that was stored in the attic was small indeed.

…

Traveling in winter was difficult indeed, and though the weather was not bad that year, the Dashwoods were very grateful when they arrived at Barton Cottage. Although the sun was setting as their carriage arrived, there was a fire burning in the hearth and a candle in the window, and the manservant and maid they had sent on ahead had made everything quite cozy for them.

"This is a very small house, is it not, mama?" Margaret said over breakfast the next morning.

"Compared to Norland, certainly," Mrs. Dashwood said. "It well deserves the name cottage. It is about the same size as the house I lived in as a girl, but that was in a city." She scarcely knew what she said; Mrs. Dashwood had set her grief aside as much as possible to accomplish the move quickly and efficiently, but now they were safe in their new home at last and every feeling was making itself known at once. The house was respectable, and comfortable, and would be more so once their own things arrived; that was all she had the strength to notice.

It was a quiet day; none of the Dashwoods had the heart for serious exploration of their new home and its surroundings, nor for any work of arranging it to suit their tastes; rather they spent the morning each absorbed in their own thoughts, and adjusting to the dramatic changes that had so recently befallen them. Tears there certainly were, though all but Margaret tried to hide them to spare the others' pain.

Around tea-time, Marianne observed a gentleman riding a horse up the lane and reported this fact to her mother.

"It is Sir John," Mrs. Dashwood said.

"Oh!" Marianne cried, "could we not have a day's peace, at least!" She had only just emerged from her room after being reduced to tears by the sight of a book which had been her father's favorite, sitting on a new shelf in a house he had never seen. A half-hour earlier she would have borne the visit with perfect equanimity; a half-hour later she would have recovered enough to sit with composure. But now it was too much, too soon; and she retreated again into her chamber.

So it was that when Sir John Middleton came to greet them, there was only Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor to sit with him.

He waved off all apology that Marianne was not with them. "Nonsense, nonsense! You have all had a very great loss—for your father was all that a gentleman could be, a fine man—and you've been in black less than a fortnight. I know I was not fit for company after my father died; and I was not immediately thrown out of my home. I've not come to make merry, nor to press myself upon your grief; I am here to welcome you to Barton, to offer what consolation I can, and to assure you that here, at least, you will not suffer the likes of your half-brother. If anyone gives you trouble, send them to me."

Sir John was a good-humored man, of no great intellect but much warmth and generosity; and, as his father had been one of the few in the family that had not cut Captain White's acquaintance when he returned to England married to a Negress, he and Mrs. Dashwood had played together as children. Those happy memories had made him a staunch supporter of his cousin and her people, far more than his own parents had been. Abolition was the one political opinion he had of any weight, and though he was neither thoughtful nor perceptive, and prone to the sort of common, careless remarks which those of dark skin must endure in English society, he was kind and meant no harm.

He did not stay long that day, but warmly pressed them to come to dinner any day their spirits were up to it; promised them game and garden stuff from the park; offered to frank their letters and send down his newspaper daily for their enjoyment.

"There is one other thing," Mrs. Dashwood said, after a significant look from Elinor.

"Name it, and it shall be done," Sir John said.

"Our carriage and horses," Mrs. Dashwood said. "It is hard to live in the countryside without them, but I am afraid our current income is not up to their maintenance."

"Of course, of course!" Sir John said. "There are one or two fellows in the area looking for a handsome carriage or a trained team; I shall put the word around and see that you get a good price for them. Do not you worry about transportation, my dear Mrs. Dashwood, for on any day we have no prior need of ours, it's yours for the asking."

Mrs. Dashwood exclaimed over the generosity of this offer, to which Elinor added her thanks; Sir John waved this off. "Nonsense! Why should you not use it when otherwise it might sit idle? Besides, I am the most active host in this part of the country, and I've no doubt many of the engagements will be at Barton Park. In fair weather the young ladies may find it no hardship to scamper up to the Park, but I should hate to exclude you if you were not up for a walk that day."

The visit concluded soon after; Sir John left them with a promise to bring Lady Middleton down and introduce her, and to have them to dinner as soon as they felt up to it.

Two days later, Sir John brought Lady Middleton to visit the new tenants of Barton Park. She had felt some anxiety over them, which her husband had dismissed. Lady Middleton had no objection to abolition, but her opinion of the African race was based almost entirely on hearsay and cartoons. She was pleased to find the Dashwood women as elegantly dressed as full mourning permitted, capable of polite conversation, and willing to admire her children. This was everything she required in a neighbor. If the skin of Mrs. Dashwood and Miss Marianne was darker than she was used to, it was of less importance to her than their obvious gentility and their flattery of the young Middletons.

…

It being winter, many of the principal families of the area were in London or other cities for the season; those that remained took it in turn to visit when the weather allowed for evenings of merriment to drive away the winter's dark chill. As the Dashwoods were in mourning, they could not partake of such entertainment, nor did they wish to. But even the voracious hospitality of the Middletons could not fill every night with guests, and, when it was merely a family party, the carriage was often sent for the Dashwoods.

The food was excellent, but the conversation was insipid; Sir John had little conversation besides sporting events and recounting parlor games from previous parties, and Lady Middleton had none beyond fashion and her children.

Marianne, in particular, was disappointed, because she devoured the newspapers Sir John sent down every day. She had opinions on everything she read, for it was her largest window into the world outside the small rural communities she had been brought up in. But Sir John only glanced at the headlines and the first paragraph or two of each story, and Lady Middleton read only the society columns, which Marianne had little interest in.

Still, the evenings with the Middletons were at least a distraction and a change from the monotony of their daily lives.

…

"Do you think it will ever stop raining?" Margaret said drearily as she stared out the window one afternoon. She had done her sums and her French and her embroidery, mended the stockings she had torn the day before, practiced her scales, and read a chapter of the Bible and a chapter of Mr. Equiano's autobiography. In between all of that, she had played with her dolls, run up and down the stairs, and teased her older sisters. In short, she had done everything that a young girl might do indoors.

"Yes, of course it will," Elinor said shortly, not looking up from the worn patch she was darning. "It only feels like the rain is eternal." She might have been more comforting, if Margaret had not crashed into her and almost knocked her down earlier in the day. Elinor was a thoughtful young woman of good principles, sense, and compassion; but she was also tired of the rain. They all were. And lonely, and sad. She looked up at her sister, and noticed the carved wooden horse clutched in her hand. Elinor looked back down at her mending. It was the last present their father had given Margaret.

"I have cried until I have no more tears left," Marianne said. She was sitting at the desk writing something, but her pen had not moved in some time. "I think the sky is crying for us. Or perhaps this is merely the normal weather for this country, and we shall be trapped indoors until we drown."

"Rain, winter, and tears only seem to last forever," Elinor said. "I am sure that when the weather clears, and our grief is lessened, and we have made new friends, you will feel better."

Margaret sighed loudly. "Yes, but when will that be?"

"Spring has already begun, Margaret," their mother said. "Elinor is right. A little patience is all that is required, though I know it is hard." Mrs. Dashwood, of course, would still be in mourning for another six months at least; the girls, however, would be free to accept all Sir John's invitations by the time the weather had fully turned, and they badly needed the change. It had been a hard winter for all of them.

"What do you think of Sir John's friend, Colonel Brandon?" Elinor asked. He had been staying with the Middletons in the hopes of going shooting with Sir John, but the same weather that discouraged Margaret had prevented all hope of outdoor sports.

"He's not as wearing as Sir John can be," Marianne said. "I did appreciate that he didn't tease any of us even once. But he is very old and too quiet. No opinions on Blake or Goethe or Cowper, and no opinions on Sancho or Wilberforce, either."

"That's not fair, Marianne," Elinor said. "He approves of abolition; he is merely not very involved in it."

"Or knowledgeable about it," Marianne said. "And he is old."

Mrs. Dashwood laughed. "He is younger than I, my dear. And—" her thoughts turned, as they often did, to her dear late husband "—he is about the same age as your father was when we were married. No, I would not call him old."

"How old were you?" Margaret asked. To her, all people over fifteen were adults and anyone over twenty was positively ancient.

"I was three-and-twenty," Mrs. Dashwood said. "But four years older than your sister Elinor. He was very handsome, in a solid sort of way. Not dashing, but everything that was courteous and genteel. I was surprised when he sat across from me at a card party; half the unmarried ladies there would have been thrilled by the attention, and I was not considered eligible by most in attendance. But we played well together, and he came to call the next day, because of it." She had told this story many times before, but the dreary day seemed made for stories and the girls loved to hear about their father, and so she continued on.

…

Much to Margaret's surprise and joy, the weather did turn, and spring did come. After such a wet and dirty winter, spring seemed bursting with life and possibility. Sir John sponsored parties and picnics and musical evenings and card parties and dinners and any other entertainment he could dream up, as families returned to their estates for the spring planting, and the Dashwoods were invited to all of them. Mrs. Dashwood as chaperone, only, for she was still in mourning; but the Miss Dashwoods' time in black had passed with the dreary winter.

It was at one such event—a garden party where lawn bowls had been interrupted by a sudden shower—that they made the acquaintance of a young gentleman of uncommon handsomeness named Willoughby. In addition to a perfectly formed figure and face, Mr. Willoughby possessed style, elegance, taste, and wit in abundance. With outdoor games postponed, he volunteered to read to the assembled party instead. A volume of Shakespeare was produced, and he read Puck's monologue from Act III in such a way that the whole company roared with laughter. Much encouraged, he then turned to Jacques' monologue from As You Like It, and read it with pathos that brought a tear to many an eye, including Mrs. Dashwood.

"Encore, Encore!" cried Sir John when he had finished.

"Nay, I cannot be the whole day's entertainment," said Willoughby. "Surely there is someone else among our company who might oblige us with a reading?"

"I believe Miss Marianne is the most accomplished reader among us," Lady Middleton said.

So summoned, Marianne stood and took the book, and gave two monologues, glowing with pride and curtseying after each one. Then the book was handed around and various ladies and gentlemen tried their hands, after which Willoughby and Marianne were called on by popular acclaim to do a scene together; they chose the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, passing the book back and forth between them.

They might have done another scene, but the sun came out and the group tramped out of doors to see if the game might be salvageable. It was; but several of the ladies decided to sit out for fear of damp hems. Marianne, wearing a dark dress unlikely to stain, declared herself not so feeble, and returned to the field.

"Mr. Willoughby is very well-spoken," said Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Middleton.

"Oh! Yes, he is a very great favorite with everyone here," Lady Middleton said. "We do not see him often; his estate is in Somersetshire. He comes here every year to visit his aunt at Allenham Court, which he is to inherit." She proceeded with a description of his carriage and his style of dress, which proved nothing more than that he was a gentleman of taste and fashion, which Mrs. Dashwood could see for herself.

When another lady came to speak with Lady Middleton, Mrs. Dashwood excused herself and went to join a group of ladies seated on benches that the servants had brought back out for them. She was not quite friends with any of them; friendly acquaintances, perhaps; but their conversation would be livelier than any with Lady Middleton.

And it offered an excellent spot to watch the game. Marianne played with great spirit, matched only by Mr. Willoughby, such that the eye was constantly drawn to them both. He was watching Marianne, Mrs. Dashwood noted, and spoke to her more often than the game required. They made a very pleasing couple, Mrs. Dashwood thought, as she had thought when they read together; but, much though her romantic heart might wish to swell in fancy, she knew all too well that gentlemen were even more fickle with Negresses (even gently-born ones) than with their fairer counterparts.

And when, once home, Marianne was filled with fire at their new acquaintance's taste and genius, Mrs. Dashwood smiled and said nothing. If he proved uninterested or unworthy, they would discover it in due time; but for now, she would not dampen Marianne's spirits for all the world. Their spirits had been so low, since Mr. Dashwood's death; it was good to see Marianne smile.

Perhaps it would be well. She remembered the joy of her own courtship with Mr. Dashwood, and wished Marianne all the love in the world.

…

In addition to the purely social events the Middletons hosted and escorted them to, the Dashwoods began holding occasional meetings to discuss the question of slavery, and what might be done about it. Sir John rarely attended but always spoke well of them to others, and offered the use of his drawing room, for the parlor at Barton Cottage was too small to host such a gathering comfortably. They had, if nothing else, succeeded in introducing the Autobiography of Olaudah Equiano to the attention of their neighbors; but the level of ignorance was disheartening to Marianne in particular.

"'Tis no worse than Sussex was, when we moved," Mrs. Dashwood said philosophically after one such meeting as Sir John's carriage carried them home. "And we could not host meetings such as these without offending your great-uncle. Here, we have the support of Sir John, and at the very least his partisanship has made our detractors quieter than they otherwise would have been."

"I do not wish for people to be silent merely because they fear exclusion from Sir John's hunting parties and musical evenings!" Marianne cried. "I wish for them to know the evil in the world, and act to change it!"

"So do we all, Marianne," said her sister, linking arms with her. "But many do not want to know, or to act, and we cannot compel them to; and I personally prefer their silence to their open hostility."

"Is there any whose silence particularly distresses you?" Mrs. Dashwood asked.

"No," Marianne said. "Only, Willoughby said he would be at the meeting tonight, but was not. He was so passionate on the subject when he came to call, but then he did not show."

"Perhaps he had forgotten another engagement?" Elinor said.

"What other engagement could be half so important as our meeting?" Marianne cried. "What are hunting parties and morning calls to the suffering of so many?"

To this Elinor had no answer. Unlike her sister, she appreciated the ways in which the mechanisms of society might be used for their cause, and she understood that one cannot devote every waking breath to any cause, however worthy. But to profess support in the privacy of their sitting room, and then avoid the meeting where that support might have to be publicly given, was a painfully familiar pattern. Mr. Willoughby might indeed have a good reason for his absence from a promised engagement, but he would have to present his defense himself. Elinor would not do it for him.

"I thought Colonel Brandon had an interesting perspective," she said, changing the subject.

"Do not speak to me of the Colonel!" said Marianne. "His maunderings on the subject of British actions in India were only a distraction. There are no Negroes in India!"

"I found it quite pertinent," Mrs. Dashwood said. "We should not care only for the plight of our own people. The hand behind the suffering of our enslaved brothers and sisters is the same as the hand behind the subjugation and suffering of India. A desire for profit at any cost, combined with a willingness to see anyone not English as a mere brute: this is the root of the problem."

At this Marianne sat back, with a look of surprise on her face. Here was a perspective she had not considered, so caught up was she in her passion at the plight of those who shared her ancestry. But the fundamental logic of it was plain to her, once her mother laid it out.

By the next day, she was sufficiently convinced of it to condemn herself as a heartless wretch for never having thought of it before, and the actions of the British East India Company (and the British Army in India) were added to the list of things for which Marianne scanned the newspaper daily.

…

Willoughby presented himself mere days after the meeting with a pretty bouquet of flowers for Mrs. Dashwood and an account of his aunt's controlling nature and dislike of abolition.

"I am not her only relation, after all," Willoughby said, with a self-deprecating smile. "Though I am the only one who comes to visit her regularly, she might write me out and give Allenham and her fortune to a more distant cousin. She's threatened it before, and I do believe she'd do it if I gave her cause—and she would consider attending an anti-slavery meeting to be cause indeed."

"But you have Combe Magna, yours with no restrictions," Marianne insisted. "You have all the provision you need; why should her money be worth sacrificing your dignity and your principles?"

"Combe Magna is worth but seven hundred pounds a year," Willoughby said. "Enough to raise a family on, to be sure, but … not well. Not if there are many children to be provided for."

Marianne twitched and sat up straighter at the implication. Eleanor looked up from her sewing and caught her mother's eye across the room. Unmarried gentlemen did not speak of raising children unless they were contemplating matrimony. It was not a declaration of intention, but it raised the possibility that such a declaration might be forthcoming.

"And, of course, political and legal causes work much better when there are adequate funds," Willoughby went on.

Marianne was not fully convinced, but by the end of the interview she was at least no longer angry at him, and Willoughby went away with great hope of being admitted again to her favor within a very short time.

"Do you think it right, to feign beliefs you do not have, out of a desire for wealth?" Marianne asked, once he had left.

"I think it depends on a great many factors," Mrs. Dashwood said. "For example, if one has no other prospects, that is different than if one already has a comfortable security. And then one must consider how much one must feign. When we were waiting for your father to inherit Norland, we did not host antislavery meetings; your uncle was aware that we held those views, but we did not speak of them in front of him. And we had enough to live on, without your uncle's money, as long as your father lived; what we did not have was enough to support myself and you girls after your father's death. If your father had lived longer, we should have profited a great deal by our silence. As it was, in the end we gained little for it."

"I think it also matters how long the silence must be expected to continue," Eleanor said thoughtfully, "and whether mere silence is enough, or whether falsehoods are required. It is one thing to avoid infuriating an elderly, sick person who will not likely live many years. It would be quite another to say things one does not mean, and keep on saying them, over the course of many years."

"So, then, you both think Willoughby right in his silence?" Marianne demanded.

Mrs. Dashwood sighed. "I think it is a complicated situation, to which there are no good answers, and I do not know enough of the specifics—or the personalities involved—to judge his decisions."

This Marianne found quite unsatisfactory; she wanted clear answers, with heroes and villains; and if Willoughby's aunt Mrs. Smith was a veritable dragon of a villain, Willoughby himself had not managed to redeem himself enough in her eyes to seem a hero. Marianne had been too young to really be aware of the compromises her parents had made in pursuit of Norland Park, and she did not like hearing of them now; but while her father might be slightly tarnished in her memory by his willingness to descend to stratagems to ensure their fortune, his willingness to marry Mrs. Dashwood despite all the social and financial repercussions had distinguished him as the great romantic hero by which all others must be measured. Willoughby had made no such act of love and sacrifice, which Marianne felt very keenly. What were all the flowers and poetry readings in the world, without actions to back them up?

She did not know what to think of Willoughby, or what to feel; her heart pulled her in two directions at once. Certainly, in private, he was everything she could have wished; but she saw the gap between private assurances and public actions, and could not reconcile them.

…

Sir John's mother-in-law was due to arrive for a long visit to her daughter, and the Dashwoods were apprehensive about the change in their situation. While they had no doubts as to Sir John's steadfast support, his wife was another matter; and should her mother prove hostile to their race, their life here at Barton Cottage could be made a great deal less comfortable.

Happily, their fears proved largely unfounded in this instance. Mrs. Jennings was a merry, fat, elderly woman who loved jokes and, though rather vulgar, her teasing was dedicated to finding out whether they had left their hearts behind them in Sussex, or begun a flirtation here in Devonshire. Upon hearing from her son-in-law that Miss Marianne had captured the heart of Mr. Willoughby, she dedicated several minutes to asking teasing questions about parlor games they had played, and how frequently he called upon them at Barton Cottage.

Sensitive as she was, this common-place raillery would have vexed Marianne under the best of circumstances, but her confused feelings made it especially painful. Her face warmed, she stammered out answers; the complexity of her feelings and thoughts on the matter were such that she could only have spoken coherently of them to someone with far greater patience and tact than Mrs. Jennings possessed, even if she had trusted that lady with her confidences, which she emphatically did not.

After what seemed an eternity (but was only a few minutes), Mrs. Jennings turned her attention to Miss Dashwood, for, she said, there must surely be something there to ferret out, for what young lady would leave her sister all the lovers and have none for herself? "And it shall be all the easier," said Mrs. Jennings, "for unlike your sister, I shall see very easily when you blush." This was said as if it were a joke, and indeed it might be meant with no slight at all to Marianne, but still it made them wary.

But her attentions to Elinor were no more or less good-natured than those to Marianne had been, and when no attachments (or rumors of attachments) were pried out of her, Mrs. Jennings turned to speculating what sort of things she might be looking for in a husband. "For, you see, I take good pleasure in finding husbands for all the young ladies I know," she said. "Never fear! I do always succeed in the end, though some cases," her eye fell upon Colonel Brandon, "are harder than others."

After dinner, Marianne was called upon to sing for their small party, and then there was conversation until it was time for the carriage to be called for the Dashwood ladies.

Mrs. Jennings kept a sharp eye on Colonel Brandon throughout the evening. She had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon well married, ever since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; he was rich, kind, gentle, and dependable, and she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl. Brandon listened attentively to Miss Marianne's performance, but Mrs. Jennings suspected no attachment there; he was courteous, and the singing was very good, but Miss Marianne was not pretty enough for such a catch, and anyway she already had a lover.

Mrs. Jennings saw no particular attentions to the elder and fairer sister either, and resolved to look further afield for her. To catch the master of an estate such as Delaford was too high to aim for a girl with such antecedents, unless the man in question was particularly smitten; but there were many men of less fortune who would do quite well for her.

…

The social whirl of Barton Park increased slightly further with Mrs. Jennings present, which Eleanor and Marianne thought quite a feat. But neither of them minded. Quite apart from the entertainment such lively gatherings provided, they were a respite from the teasing attentions of Mrs. Jennings. That lady must always have some young person about whose attentions and intentions she might make jokes about, and in a small family party, she made much of Marianne's conquest of Willoughby, and inquired minutely of Elinor's opinion of any gentleman who had crossed her path. But in a larger gathering, Mrs. Jennings turned her attentions to those she considered more eligible. The two Miss Dashwoods were not snubbed, but neither were they the center of attention.

And so, spring passed into summer. There were garden parties, and card parties, and picnics, and dinners, and musical evenings, and although nothing quite so formal as a ball took place the tables were frequently pushed back to allow for dancing, should anyone call for it.

At a garden party, Elinor was exchanging pleasantries with another young lady when Mrs. Jennings caught her eye.

"Well!" said Mrs. Jennings said once Elinor had presented herself. "Where has your sister got herself off to, do you know?"

"I do not, ma'am," Elinor said. She had seen Marianne return to the house some minutes earlier; but she might have come out again, and even if she were still within doors, Elinor did not know where in the house she might be. But wherever she was, she would not want Mrs. Jennings seeking her out.

"It seems she hasn't caught Mr. Willoughby after all," Mrs. Jennings said, "for I have just heard from Mrs. Clutterbuck that he is going back to Combe Magna directly after the party. Unless he has asked for her hand?"

"He has not," Elinor said. Marianne liked him, but was not sure of her own liking; his continued absences from their meetings was painful to her, and there had been many conversations at the cottage about his character. If he had declared himself, Marianne would not have concealed it.

"Well, I haven't seen him about for some minutes either, so perhaps he has pulled her aside for a private interview. Or perhaps his absence will be a short one and he'll be back soon to resume his courtship?" Mrs. Jennings shook her head. "But I shouldn't wonder if we don't see him again until next year. A flirtation is one thing, but I doubt her charms are enough to lure him into matrimony. A pity she takes after her mother in looks. Ah, well, we shall have to turn our thoughts to your prospects, my dear Miss Dashwood! The elder—and fairer—sister should by rights go first, and you are fully twice as beautiful as she is, so we should find you someone soon enough."

Elinor bore this speech with as much grace as she could, and endured some few minutes of talk before another girl came near enough for Mrs. Jennings to call out a teasing remark, and Elinor could escape without notice.

Leaving the party behind her, Elinor headed indoors. Marianne would want to hear this news, so that she could be prepared for the whispers that would follow. Willoughby's preference for Marianne had not been subtle.

The drawing rooms were empty, as were the sitting room and the billiard room and the dining room. But there were voices coming from the library, a room little used by the Middletons despite its handsome proportions and good light. Elinor stepped close and listened to see if Marianne was there, or if she should continue her search.

"Let go of me!"

"Marianne, be reasonable—!"

Elinor flung open the door. Marianne and Willoughby were standing in the middle of the library; Willoughby had a hand around her arm and Marianne was twisting it to try and break his hold.

"Mister Willoughby, what are you doing?" Elinor demanded.

"I was taking leave of your sister, but she has taken leave of her senses," Willoughby said, with a disdainful glance.

"I? I? You are the one who—" Marianne broke off, jaw working.

"You cannot possibly have thought—"

"Let go of me!"

"What is the meaning of this, Willoughby?"

Elinor turned to find Colonel Brandon standing behind her, staring at the tableau with a thunderous expression.

"Ow!"

She turned back to see Willoughby hopping on one foot, having let go of Marianne. Marianne had backed up several steps and was regarding him warily.

Willoughby called Marianne a shocking name.

"Me?" Marianne said incredulously. "You are the one who wanted—" she broke off, hand over her mouth. Eleanor came close and wrapped her arms around her sister.

Brandon darted forward to confront Willoughby, seeming to loom over him despite being two inches shorter. "Apologize to the lady." His voice was low and rough.

"Me? But you saw what she did," Willoughby said. He'd stopped hopping but was not standing straight; Marianne must have stamped on his foot, hard.

"Yes," Brandon said coolly, "and I saw what you did to deserve it. Apologize, and leave quietly, or I shall tell Sir John that you were harassing his dear cousin, and you shall never be welcome at Barton again."

Willoughby's mouth worked silently, but after a short while he straightened and bowed minutely in Marianne's general direction. "I apologize for having troubled you."

Brandon cleared his throat meaningfully.

"And for calling you a rude name," Willoughby said.

Marianne gave the slightest of nods.

Willoughby stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Marianne, are you alright?" Elinor asked.

Marianne collapsed into tears, which was, if nothing else, a reassuringly normal response to a distressing event. Elinor held her closer and made the sort of soothing noises that were usually appropriate. She led her sister over to a sofa and Marianne sagged gratefully onto it, clinging to Elinor as she did so.

"Did he hurt you, Miss Marianne?" Brandon asked, kneeling before them. "Was there a more serious insult given?"

"He—" she gulped "he said—that is, he wanted me to—I thought he loved me, but he only wanted me to—and when I wouldn't kiss him back, when I demanded that he stop, he said no gentleman would ever marry me and he knew my race was passionate, so what was the harm?"

Elinor felt heat rush to her face. If Willoughby were standing before her now, she could gladly run him through with a poker from the fireplace. "Vile," she said. "How awful! Oh, Marianne, I am sorry."

Brandon stood. "A villain in truth," he said. "He must answer for it."

Elinor grabbed his hand before he could leave. "No! Whatever he deserves, surely my sister's good name is more important still."

"I beg your pardon?" Brandon said.

"If you call him out, it will be known," Elinor said. "There will be talk. Marianne has done nothing wrong, but she will be blamed. Willoughby is well-known and well-liked, with one estate already and the prospect of inheriting another. At best, they will assume Marianne is a flirt who led him on. At worst…."

"I understand," Brandon said grimly. "Is that also your wish, Miss Marianne?"

"It is!" Marianne cried. "Oh, I do not want to have to see or think of him ever again, and when he is gone I want people to forget I ever looked at him!"

"I will do as you ask," Brandon said. "But if he gives you any more trouble, please do not hesitate to call on my services. I know how to handle men of his type."

"Do you think it likely?" Marianne asked. Elinor squeezed her hand.

"No." Brandon said. "Willoughby is a coward and a braggart. He will not like to think on how he was made to look a fool, and he will not wish to chance it again." He paused. "If he should make a nuisance of himself again, instead of stamping on his foot, you should kick him in the—that is, at the juncture of his thighs."

"Will that hurt him more?" Marianne asked.

"Oh yes, much more," Brandon said. "Men are very sensitive there."

Elinor was pleased that Marianne seemed less distressed. No doubt there would be more tears at home, for such a distressing incident could not pass unnoticed. But there were immediate concerns of practicality to be addressed. "If we wish this to pass unnoticed, you will need to be as calm as possible when we rejoin the party."

Marianne protested that this could not be, and they must leave immediately, she could not face the party and Willoughby and Mrs. Jennings, and they must leave at once.

"We shall have to face Mrs. Jennings some time or other, we cannot escape her," Elinor said. "If we leave now, with your eyes red from crying, the talk for the next month at least will be about how Willoughby broke your heart. If you can manage to go out, head held high, and laugh and talk as usual, there will be very little for unkind people to remark upon."

At Marianne's look of horror, Elinor patted her hand. "If you cannot, of course we will go; but if there is any way you can, we should try."

"There is also Willoughby to consider," Brandon said diffidently. "Why should he be able to stay and enjoy the party, and you leave in distress?"

Marianne looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "He is the one who should feel shame. He is the one who behaved in a manner unbefitting a gentleman." She paused, biting her lip.

Elinor rubbed her sister's arm, letting her take whatever time she needed to decide.

"I should like to think of myself like the heroine of a novel," Marianne said, "able to bear up under any insult. I do not want to flee before Willoughby. I do not want to give him that much power over me. But I do not know if I can bear the company of the party at this time."

"Would it help to joke and cheer you up?" Brandon asked.

"Perhaps," Marianne said.

"Well, then, let us see what we can do," Brandon said. His lips quirked. "There are several stories from Sir John and my time in the army that would bring laughter to a man on his deathbed, but none of them are suitable for ladies' ears."

"Do tell them, Colonel," Marianne said. "I will promise not to be corrupted by them, and in any case, they will at least divert my mind from Willoughby, which is all I ask."

Brandon told three stories in quick succession. By the end of the first, Marianne was smiling. By the end of the third, she was laughing so hard she cried, and she declared herself ready to face the crowd.

Brandon bowed and took his leave with Marianne and Elinor's grateful thanks.

"Does it look very obvious I have been crying?" Marianne asked Elinor.

"No," Elinor said. "To one who knows you, perhaps; if mother were here, she would see it in an instant. But Mrs. Jennings is not so perceptive."

Thus reassured, Marianne took her arm, and out they went.

They left the house by a side door, so that they might come upon the party as if they had merely been strolling about the grounds instead of closeted inside on such a lovely day.

A game of Battledore and Shuttlecock was being arranged as they rejoined the main party, and Marianne immediately volunteered both herself and Elinor to play. If Marianne was not quite her usual self, the exuberance of the game gave her cover.

Elinor kept an eye out for Willoughby, but it seemed he had heeded Brandon's words and left, not merely Marianne's presence, but the party itself. Elinor played a few rounds, before leaving the field to the more athletic (or, at least, the more enthusiastic) players.

"Willoughby took his leave, you know," Mrs. Jennings said. "I looked for your sister so that she might say her good-byes, give him a chance to come up to scratch, but she was nowhere to be found, and he wouldn't wait. Has anyone told her he's gone, do you think?"

"I did," Elinor said.

"Well, then," Mrs. Jennings said. "Not terribly distraught, is she? I am glad she hasn't got her heart broken too badly, but then, there was never a real chance she might get him."

Elinor made an inconsequential reply, and excused herself to talk to someone else.

Marianne held herself together tolerably well for the rest of the afternoon. They were not the first to leave; but neither did they remain long after that point.

…

Marianne was out of sorts for several days after the encounter with Willoughby, but Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood were both relieved that she did not seem deeply affected.

"Marianne feels everything so deeply," Mrs. Dashwood said, "but from your account it was a brief encounter, swiftly resolved. And she has the comfort of knowing she did exactly as she should."

"I think it is more the deception as to Willoughby's character that is likely to have long term effects," Elinor said.

Mrs. Dashwood agreed. "I would preserve her innocence for as long as possible, but the world is not a kind place. I hope that knowledge will not make her bitter."

Marianne was out in the garden with Margaret while this conversation took place. She drew near to the house and called in to them through the window. "Colonel Brandon is coming down the lane from Barton Park. He may be headed here."

"Oh! I am glad he is come, I have been wishing to give my heartfelt thanks," Mrs. Dashwood cried. She had already written him a note, and only strong arguments from Elinor had prevented her from going up to make her thanks in person. Mrs. Dashwood's serenity was greater than Marianne's, as befit a woman with two daughters grown. But it would not have been equal to placidity while thanking the man responsible for assisting her daughter in such a difficult hour, and after all Marianne's bravery on the day of the garden party, alerting Mrs. Jennings to something worthy of gossip now would be insupportable.

By the time the colonel reached the house, Mrs. Dashwood was seated in the parlor with Elinor and Marianne flanking her, and tea set out ready to pour. Margaret had been sent off to play, as the weather was fine and the coming interview might touch on subjects too delicate for young ears. (Margaret had been told the outline of the incident with Willoughby, but not the details.)

Upon his entrance, Colonel Brandon was greeted with effusive praise and thanks from the ladies of the house, which he received awkwardly. He enquired after Marianne's health, and was pleased to hear she was in tolerably good spirits. He announced that he was taking his leave, and would be returning to Delaford the next day, and thus would be absent from their meetings for a time. (Though, as he was a frequent visitor to Barton Park, this parting was not likely to be of long duration.) His imminent departure was greeted with dismay, and a discussion of his obligations at his own estate and elsewhere occupied the next several minutes of the call.

But the unhappy events of a few days previous were not far from any of their thoughts, and soon they had circled back to it.

"I do wonder," Marianne said, "if any of it were my fault."

"Not at all, Miss Marianne," Brandon said. "You acted entirely as you ought to have done."

Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood agreed.

"Not then," Marianne said. "Earlier in our acquaintance. If I gave him some sign that I might be open to such a liaison? It was quite unintentional, if so, but I cannot think where he might have formed that opinion of me."

Mrs. Dashwood shook her head. "No, my dear, no. You did nothing wrong. You gave him no cause to think you willing for anything other than a respectable courtship. Some men—not all, my dear, but sadly too many!—require no encouragement from the object of their lusts. Their own thoughts give them all the support they require to draw any conclusion that supports their wishes. And, sadly, this is even more true when the woman in question is a Negress. Of course a young lady should always take care to act with propriety, but your actions cannot change a man's character." Mrs. Dashwoods own experiences in her youth had taught her that respectability was a flimsy shield indeed for one of their race, but it was one of the few they had; it should not be relied upon, but neither should it be neglected, and she had tried to instill this knowledge in her daughters as best she could.

"Your fondness for Willoughby was apparent, but no more apparent than any other young lady with an attachment might be," Brandon said. "If he saw something lascivious in it, that is entirely due to his own character and no reflection on yours. You are a compassionate, honest, forthright person, Miss Marianne, and I would be heartily sorry if any undeserved self-reproach were to blight that."

"Thank you, Colonel," Marianne said. "Your honesty and integrity have been of great comfort to me of late." He had been a rock of support for her in a difficult time, and she would not forget it. Here was one who had immediately moved to help her in her greatest need, who had listened to her wishes even when they contradicted his own. If he did not look like the great heroes of literature, Marianne valued his character all the more for it.

He smiled. "Thank you, Miss Marianne, I hope I have been of service. Equally, I hope you will not need such services again. I have had a discreet word with Sir John. Willoughby will not be welcome at Barton Park in the future."

"Will excluding him stir gossip?" Mrs. Dashwood asked.

Brandon shrugged. "It is possible, but if so, I doubt it will be linked to any here. Willoughby only comes to visit his aunt once a year; no one will think anything of it if we see him no more until next summer, and by then memories of his having been partial to Miss Marianne will not be fresh in anyone's mind."

The conversation turned to lighter topics, then, and before long the Colonel went on his way. He left Barton Cottage that day with increased admiration for all the Dashwood ladies, but especially the one who had borne such hurt with such strength and resilience, Miss Marianne.

The next time Colonel Brandon visited Barton Park, his visible preference for Marianne was but little more than it had ever been, for he was not a demonstrative man and he had always appreciated her vivacity. She, on the other hand, was markedly more attentive to him, asking him to turn pages when she played the piano and partnering him at cards whenever the opportunity allowed. There was some talk, but as Mrs. Jennings had gone to visit her other daughter, it was not enough to seriously annoy either Marianne or Brandon.

Before many more months had passed, he asked, and was granted, permission to court her formally; and when at last he asked her to marry him, Marianne was delighted to say yes, for her heart had long since belonged whole-heartedly to him.

"Well, Miss Marianne has done very well for herself, I dare say," Mrs. Jennings told Elinor when next she came to visit. "All those years I have been trying to lure the good Colonel into picking this girl or that one, and in the end he chooses … well. We shall have to see about finding a husband for you next, my dear. You should have your new brother take you to London, for I know he has a house there."

"I am sure they will," Elinor said, for such a scheme had already been discussed, though no definite plan had been settled on.

The ladies of Barton Cottage went often to visit Marianne and the Colonel at Delaford, and when next the Colonel went to London, his wife and her relations went with him. But when Elinor married, it was not to a gentleman of an estate or a gentleman of fashion in London, but a quiet country solicitor who practiced not far from Delaford and was pleased to call her mother his own.

Marianne and Elinor were both pleased with their husbands, and with being settled so close together. Once Margaret was married (to a merchant who lived in London), Mrs. Dashwood came to live at Delaford in the dower house there, and they were all very happy.

End notes:

I had a lot of fun figuring out what would change and what would stay the same. For example, can you imagine Fanny Dashwood's reaction to being related to Black people? That relationship would be much worse than canon. And also, Henry Dashwood's uncle would probably be less kind to his second family, so no legacy there, and no chance of inheriting the estate. But also, because of that Henry Dashwood would be less likely to just trust his son's bare word, so they might actually get some money instead of meaningless promises. And because Mrs. Dashwood and the girls wouldn't stay after John inherits the estate, Elinor wouldn't meet Edward Ferrars and fall in love.

Willoughby would be less interested in marriage and more interested in a tumble.

Marianne's passion would be at least partly directed towards racial justice, and not just romanticism.

Mrs. Jennings would pay less attention to them and focus more on the other girls, so Colonel Brandon's interest could slip in without being remarked upon.

All sorts of little things like that!

#dreamwidth #original post #fanfiction #fanfic #Fic #sense and sensibility #jane austen #racebending

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maddiesbookshelves · 3 years ago

Text

The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh (April 2022)

Deadly storms have ravaged Mina’s homeland for generations. Floods sweep away entire villages, while bloody wars are waged over the few remaining resources. Her people believe the Sea God, once their protector, now curses them with death and despair. In an attempt to appease him, each year a beautiful maiden is thrown into the sea to serve as the Sea God’s bride, in the hopes that one day the “true bride” will be chosen and end the suffering.

Many believe that Shim Cheong, the most beautiful girl in the village — and the beloved of Mina’s older brother Joon — may be the legendary true bride. But on the night Cheong is to be sacrificed, Joon follows Cheong out to sea, even knowing that to interfere is a death sentence. To save her brother, Mina throws herself into the water in Cheong’s stead.

Swept away to the Spirit Realm, a magical city of lesser gods and mythical beasts, Mina seeks out the Sea God, only to find him caught in an enchanted sleep. With the help of a mysterious young man named Shin — as well as a motley crew of demons, gods and spirits — Mina sets out to wake the Sea God and bring an end to the killer storms once and for all.

But she doesn’t have much time: a human cannot live long in the land of the spirits. And there are those who would do anything to keep the Sea God from waking…

Would I recommend it to anyone? Yes, it's a good book with a little romance and a nice plot.

Level of (dis)satisfaction based on the summary and my expectations? It was actually a nice surprise because I was expecting a basic plot with a basic romance but it ended up being better than I thought.

My thoughts on it? I really liked Mina's character, she's brave and her storyteller side was super cool. The secondary characters were very interesting, I'd love to know more about them, especially since the author confirmed on instagram that they were queer (which was kind of implied in the book), same with the Spirit World. I know that Axie Oh is Korean-American so I'm guessing a lot of elements were inspired by Korean mythology, but since I unfortunately know nothing about it, I couldn't tell for sure.

Some elements of the plot were a bit confused, especially the explanation of the Sea God's curse, but I'm willing to let it slide because the "how" wasn't really the most important.

I was a bit scared because the soul mates trope isn't necessarily something I'm going to like, it has to be done a specific way for me to get invested, but this case was slightly different so it was fine.

The book as a whole gave off Spirited Away vibes, especially the beginning when Mina gets to the Spirit World, it was amazing.

Also, I don't know what's going on with the editors but they should keep it up because their covers for Asian books are beautiful, DAMN. Iron Widow? A Magic Steeped in Poison? June Hur's books? This one? Seriously.

French version under the cut

Depuis des générations, des tempêtes destructrices ravagent le pays de Mina. Les inondations emportent des villages entiers tandis que des guerres sanglantes sont menée pour les quelques ressources restantes. Son peuple croit que leur protecteur, le Dieu de la Mer (Sea God), les a désormais maudits, condamnés au désespoir et à la mort. Chaque année pour l'apaiser, une belle jeune fille est jetée à la mer en tant que promise du Dieu de la Mer, dans l'espoir qu'un jour sa "véritable promise" sera choisie et mettra un terme à leurs souffrances.

Nombreux sont ceux à croire que Shim Cheong, la plus belle fille du village — et la bien-aimée de Joon, le frère ainé de Mina — pourrait bien être la véritable promise des légendes. Cependant, la nuit où Shim Cheong doit être sacrifiée, Joon la suit en mer, conscient que toute intervention entraînerait sa mort. Pour sauver son frère, Mina se jette à l'eau à la place de Cheong. Emportée dans le Monde des Esprits (Spirit World), une citée magique remplie de dieux mineurs et de créatures mythiques, Mina se met à la recherche du Dieu de la Mer et le retrouve plongé dans un sommeil enchanté. Avec l'aide d'un mystérieux jeune homme nommé Shin, ainsi qu'une équipe hétéroclite composée de démons, de dieux et d'esprits, Mina décide de trouver un moyen de réveiller le Dieu de la Mer, mettant enfin un terme aux tempêtes meurtrières. Seulement, elle n'a pas beaucoup de temps : une humaine ne peut pas survivre longtemps dans le monde des esprits. Et il y a ceux qui feraient tout pour empêcher le Dieu de la Mer de se réveiller...

Est-ce que tu le conseillerais à quelqu’un ? Oui, c’est un bon bouquin avec une petite romance et une intrigue sympa.

Niveau de déception/satisfaction par rapport au résumé et tes attentes ? J’ai été assez agréablement surprise parce que je m’attendais à avoir une intrigue un peu bateau avec une romance bateau mais au final c’était mieux que ce que je pensais.

Avis sans spoiler ? J’ai beaucoup aimé Mina, elle est courageuse et son côté conteuse était super cool. Les personnages secondaires étaient vraiment intéressants, j’aimerais bien en savoir plus sur eux, surtout que l’autrice a confirmé sur insta que deux d’entre eux était queer (ce qui était légèrement sous-etendu dans le livre), pareil pour le Spirit World. Je sais que Axie Oh est américano-coréenne donc j’imagine que beaucoup de choses étaient tirées de la mythologie coréenne mais malheureusement comme je n’y connais rien je saurais pas dire.

Certains éléments de l’intrigue étaient un peu flous, notamment l’explication de la malédiction du Sea God, mais je suis prête à passer outre parce que le “comment” n'était pas forcément le plus important.

J’avais un peu peur parce que les âmes sœurs c’est pas forcément quelque chose que je vais apprécier, il faut que ça soit fait d’une certaine façon pour que je sois vraiment investie, mais là c’était légèrement différent donc ça allait.

Pendant tout le bouquin j’avais des vibes du Voyage de Chihiro, c’était trop bien, surtout au début quand elle arrive dans le Spirit World.

Aussi, je sais pas ce que les éditeurs prennent mais qu’ils continuent avec les couvertures des livres asiatiques parce que DAMN elles sont magnifiques. Iron Widow ? A Magic Steeped in Poison ? les 3 June Hur ? Celui-là ? Sérieux.

#the girl who fell beneath the sea #axie oh #books #booklr #book recommendations #book recs #book review #book reviews #ya novel #ya books #asian literature #la fiancée du dieu de la mer

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itsany62 · 4 years ago

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SteveTony - Alternate Universe

Here are some Alternate Universe fics that I love. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!

Food for the Heart, by LagLemon, 14 k >, Cooking, No Powers.

After being introduced to a gourmet food on a budget blog by Pepper (a gift for her elderly, cheapskate mother) Tony starts cooking again. The recipes are good, but the blog owner is even better. Still, Tony isn't so sure Captain America, the guy who runs the blog, can compete with Hot Bagboy, the gorgeous blond who works at the grocery store.

"Free to Good Home" by Captain_Panda, 7 k > words, Alternate Universe - Animals.

"Oliver and Company" AU.

There's a great big world outside the box.

But it's a dog-eat-dog world, and Tony's just one cat. Then a stray dog comes along, looking for a friend.

A Day In Principal Stark's Office, by nannersmelo, 10 k > words, Steve Single Parent, Director Tony.

Tony Stark has his hands full with not only Stark Industries, but also his beloved mother's life project: The Maria Stark Academy, and as he enters his office in order to deal with a ferocious mother whose son was apparently assaulted by one of his brightest students, he was sure this day would culminate in nothing but a heinous headache. Little did he know - he was in for one hell of a surprise.

I Am the Night by gottalovev, 6 k > words, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire Tony Stark, Wizard Steve Rogers.

That's it. Tony is doomed. He rolls on his back, crosses his wings over his belly and closes his eyes. He'll await death here, misunderstood by the world to the bitter end.

C is for Calculus and Compromise, by heydoeydoey, 11 k>, Gifted AU, Post-Divorce, Angts with a Happy Ending.

Steve's just trying to give his prodigy daughter a normal childhood. Enter a meddling school administrator, Tony Stark, and too many lawyers.

tell you my love for you by jelliebean, 22 k > words, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Based on Love Simon.

A guy at Shield High comes out on tumblr, anonymously. Tony thought he was the only gay guy on campus--not out, because of Howard--and sends him an email.

“Hey, Flying. Same here. I’ve got a secret too, and it’s like I’m hiding who I am, every day. From everyone. All the closest people to me. But I just can’t tell them. I’m gay, too. It feels like I’m putting on this mask, this shell of who I think they want me to be. Even though I don’t think my friends would judge me. I don’t know why. I just. I’ve got a secret. –Shell”

The guy seems great--amazing, even, and then Hammer has to step in and ruin it all.

Mergers & Acquisitions by Robin_tCJ, 33 k > words, Angst, sex as currency.

Steve Rogers is the CEO of the Rogers Corporation, which he built from the ground up. When he learns that Hydra International is making a bid for a hostile takeover of Stark Industries, he decides he has to do what he can to stop Hydra from overtaking the market and becoming an unstoppable, unethical conglomerate. Tony Stark asks for something Steve isn’t sure he should give, but he does it anyway – and it completely changes everything. But when Hydra keeps coming, Steve and Tony realize there’s more to this than they’d realized.

Meeting the Monsters by itsallAvengers, 23 k > words, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters.

Tony's at public school with kids his age for the first time in seventeen years, and he is determined that this year is gonna be his year. He's going to make friends. He's going to be popular. People will like him.

Unsurprisngly, none of that actually happens.

He does sort-of-maybe fall in love with a vampire in his class that everyone is terrified of, though. So... there's that.

(I Want You To See) The Darkest Side Of Me by ann2who, 45 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Post-World War II.

In Monte Carlo, Steve meets the wealthy widower Anthony Stark. It’s love at first sight—at least for Steve—and he can’t believe his luck when Tony asks him to live at Stark Mansion, his large estate in Malibu. Never in his life had Steve thought something like this was possible… never had he been this happy. However, soon Steve realizes that Tony is still deeply troubled by the death of his first wife and haunted by the many ghosts she left behind. The longer Steve lives in her shadow, the more he understands that… He can never be what Tony’s wife had once been for him. And Tony might never truly love him.

Gift With Purchase Remix by sabrecmc, 43 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, hooker Steve, Sugar Daddy.

Gift With Purchase Remix wherein Steve actually is a hooker. But for a Really Sympathetic Reason.

The Little Glass Screwdriver by ann2who, 19 k > words, Cinderella AU.

When Prince Steven is forced to find himself a bride, true love gets in the way. As the night of the grand ball unfolds, the prince meets a mysterious knight who might just change his entire life in a way he could have never imagined.

**Cinderella AU**

Covered in Lines by royal_chandler, 3 k > words, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - College/University, Age Difference.

He can’t lose sight of pale, deft hands that gesture on transitive verbs, an ink-stained thumb edging underneath Tony’s ribcage with an affection that can only be called dangerous.

half-wild and glimmering by deathsweetqueen , 15 k > words, Alternate Universe - Western, Prostitution.

“Give me a drink, Tasha,” Tony sighs as he lands in front of the bar. “I’ve had one hell of a day.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Have you really?” she asks, loftily, sliding a tumbler of whiskey along the well-polished wood.

Tony lets his head hang, the sweat beading on the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to put myself through today,” he sighs, wearily.

“I would not know. You will not let me work the rooms,” Natasha retorts, her voice a little strained, busying her hands in a dirty glass.

“I don’t let you work the rooms ‘cause you’re liable to kill anyone who touches ya the wrong way and we can’t lose that much of our business,” Tony reminds her, wryly amused, sipping at his whiskey. He shakes his head at the burn. “We peddle flesh, darling, not death.”

peers, fears and holiday cheers by jacobby, 24 k > words, Parent Tony Stark.

“He’s only two years older than you,” Tony finally says when the silence becomes too much to bear.

“Dad, Teddy is turning twenty-seven next year.”

“I am not dating your husband—”

“I’m not implying you are. I just want you to be...aware that he’s practically the same age as my husband.”

AKA

Tony Stark's new boyfriend is only two years older than his adult sons. Telling them is one thing, introducing them is another. What Tony doesn't expect is that the past always has a way of catching up to him, of biting him in the ass when he least expects it. Well, at least they're all together for the Holidays. What more can he ask for?

A Higher Form of War by sabrecmc, 292 k > words, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Historical Romance.

Tony is a King with a surprising number of people out to kill him. Steve and the rest of the Avengers are fighting for Pierce's rebellion and end up with Tony as their prisoner. Oops.

you can call me babe for the weekend by complicationstoo, 10 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, actor Tony Stark.

Tony left his small town for Los Angeles after high school, leaving behind everything to pursue his dream. Ten years later, he comes back for the first time and finds that some things are impossible to let go of.

Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be by iam93percentstardust, 72 k > words, Alternate Universe - Theatre.

Famed director Phil Coulson brings Shakespeare’s beloved play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, to Broadway. This production though comes with a twist: a brief but passionate love affair between the faerie king, Oberon, and his attendant, Puck. In the roles of the two star-crossed lovers, Coulson casts America’s darling Steve Rogers, fresh off his third Academy Award, and Broadway royalty, Tony Stark. Steve quickly finds himself falling for the quick-witted and sarcastic actor but Tony is dating the stage manager. Unwilling to come between the seemingly happy couple, Steve steps back but all isn’t right behind the scenes and Tony may need him when everything falls apart.

and so we rebuild by raeldaza, 26 k > words, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Soulmates, Mutual Pining.

Sometimes, a voice whispers: you will never atone for your mistakes.

Tony believes that, believes it so strongly some days he drowns in it, but he still tries. Tries through Starfleet, tries through inventions, tries through missions. Then, one day, he meets his new Captain, and things change.

and teach this heart (how to beat with light), by starklystar, 40 k >, AU Hospital, Single parent Steve.

Eight years ago, at a funeral with a baby's cries ringing in his ears, Tony Stark decided to turn his life around. He's a genius, billionaire, philanthropist. What's so hard to adding 'doctor' to that list? And after that, it can't be that hard to add 'husband' and 'father' too, right? But the past has a way of haunting even the very best of us, and in any universe, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers have never had an easy love.

Featuring: drama, chaos, Peter's scheming, meddling friends, and doctors learning again that the heart can never be as simple as four chambers and four valves.

Catching Lightning in a Bottle by sabrecmc, 120 k > words, Alternate Universe - Sweet Home Alabama Fusion.

College student Tony meets janitor Steve at MIT and they fall blissfully in love, until Howard happens and things fall apart. One divorce paperwork snafu courtesy of the ever-helpful Jarvis, and ten years later, Tony has to get re-divorced from Steve.

This does not go as he imagines.

Or, the Sweet Home Alabama AU that no one--well, okay, a few of you--asked for.

The Night Shift by weethreequarter , 16 k > words, Alternate Universe - Hospital.

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Cake It Till You Make It by ChocolateCapCookie, 10 k > words, Kid Fic, Alternate Universe - Bakery.

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark have a lot in common. They're single parents, they own rival bakeries at the center of town... and they both hate each other's guts.

When a mix-up at Peter and Morgan's school has both fathers scrambling to prove they're the better baker, they do the mature, adult thing and compete in a bake-off. Between the mixing and the creaming, the baking and the icing, Steve and Tony find that hate is actually not that far from love.

Looking for Heaven by foxxcub, 31 k > words, Alternate Universe - Regency, Marriage of Convenience.

When young Lord Anthony Stark learns Steven Rogers has enlisted in the army, he thinks he's seen the last of his tiny, headstrong, haughty stable boy. But four years later, Lord Stark gets an unexpected visit from Steve, whose mother has fallen gravely ill and into financial ruin. Even more unexpected, Steve agrees to a shocking proposal: they will marry, giving Steve the necessary funds to save his mother, and Tony the much-needed reprieve from harassing would-be suitors. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. But as time goes on and circumstances arise, Tony begins to learn that keeping his heart away from his husband is easier said than done.

just a guy, standing in front of another guy by theappleppielifestyle, 12 k > words.

“It’s not real,” Tony says, still smiling, jaw twitching with effort. “The fame. It’s - I’m just a guy."

(Or, Notting Hill AU, with a twist.)

Mother of Exiles (A Titanic AU) by BladeoftheNebula, 21 k > words, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion.

“You’ll never guess what just happened!” Steve said, taking a deep breath to try and calm his breathing. “I met someone. A guy from first class.”

Dublin 1912: Steve Rogers is barely making ends meet, living in the tenement slums of Dublin. But a stroke of good luck gives him and his best friend the chance to change their fortune. Two tickets to America on board the RMS Titanic.

The Devil You Know by shetlandowl, 17 k > words, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Author/Novelist.

Best selling author Tony Stark revives the bodice ripper genre for a modern audience. From frisky gay cowboys to ravenous lesbian pirate queens, he consistently delivers riveting thrillers full of romance, drama, and the filthy, unapologetically kinky sex that has become his trademark specialty.

Tony has everything a man could dream of - horny, adoring fans, and boatloads of money. Or that's what he thought, until Detective Steve Rogers walks into his life and turns it all upside down.

Bears and Mountains and Lumberjacks Oh My! by justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday), 24 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Lumberjack Steve Rogers.

It was supposed to be easy--go meet the reclusive artist and buy some art. And then came the broken down car. And the snowstorm. And the lumberjack with a face like a greek god. So yea, Tony is stuck in a cabin in the woods with a hot lumberjack till the storm clears. Could be worse.

Series: A Furious Vexation by Annie D (scaramouche), 18 k > words, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse.

A Steve/Tony post-apocalypse AU that exists pretty much just for the smut.

That Feline Beat by Tito11, 5 k > words, Alternate Universe - Animals.

Presenting Steve and Tony in the Aristocats!AU

Tony and his three kittens have been kidnapped from their fancy Upper East Side apartment while their owners are away and deposited on the mean streets of Harlem. Unsure of where they are or how to get back home, they'll have to rely on street cat Steve to guide them. Will they get home safely? Will Tony's fear of abandonment cause him to drive away the best tomcat he's ever known? Only time will tell.

do you fondue? by calciseptine, 16 k > words, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting.

Tony has done crazy things in the name of food, but falling in love with Steve Rogers really takes the cake.

a glimpse of heaven's love by parkrstark, 13 k> words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Terminal Illnesses.

The child begins to empty his pockets. He starts to count coins on the counter. Tony huffs a little impatiently as he realizes most of them are pennies.

The cashier actually humors the kid and counts along with him. They reach 3 dollars and 54 cents before he shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, kid. There's not enough here."

The kid sounds close to crying. "I need these paints for my Papa. It's Christmas Eve and these...he doesn't have any. The doctors said he doesn't have long. I want him to have these. In case he meets Jesus tonight, I want him to paint one more time. Please."

Tony takes a step forward, arms still full of toys he's buying just because. He can cover this child's gift for his dying father. Money. Money is what he's good for.

"I'll buy them."

Or, the Christmas Shoes AU no one but me asked for.

If you survive first impressions, you're good to go by itsallAvengers, 3 k > words, Parent Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - No Powers.

The first time Peter Parker-Stark sees Steve Rogers, he may or may not be standing in direct path of the man's motorcycle.

His daddy is really not going to be happy about that one.

A Rat-ional Conclusion by BladeoftheNebula, 6 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Parent Tony Stark.

He had a strong flurry of patients throughout the morning and by the time it rolled around to noon, he was just about worn out.

He walked out into the reception, stretching until he felt a satisfying pop. “Are we done?”

Bucky checked the screen. “Just about. One more before lunch - a rat, singular.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully straight forward then. “Great, let me know when they-”

He was interrupted by the bell over the door and looked up to see a little girl cradling a small animal carrier, being shepherded through the door by easily one of the hottest men he’d ever seen in real life.

Oh wow.

Tidal Pull by sabrecmc, 97 k > words, Octopus Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Shipwrecked.

After the American Civil War, Union soldier Steve Rogers takes a chance on an opportunity to sail with the Stark Trading Company down in the Caribbean. During a terrible storm, his ship is lost. To his surprise, he survives, and ends up stranded on an island that isn't quite as deserted as he first thinks.

Or, a reverse Little Mermaid tale where Steve has to fall for the fish-man.

Twelve Days by elysianprince, 22 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Ghosts.

In which Tony finds himself in a town that looks like it crawled out of a Hallmark Christmas movie, trying to sell an inn he didn't know he owned, all while dealing with Steve Rogers, the resident ghost who has returned to haunt the inn each December during the twelve days of Christmas for the past seventy years. Tony has only one logical solution that benefits them both: break the curse that binds him - but falling for a man almost a century old wasn't among his plans.

She kissed me by S_Horne, 1 k > words, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting.

“Your mom kissed me.”

Steve blinked awake and lifted his head from his pillow to look over at the silhouette in the doorway. “What?”

“Your mom,” Tony reiterated. “She kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Steve said simply, “she does that.”

#stevetony #stony #fic rec #tony stark #steve rogers #my recs

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 3 years ago

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Hi ! 10 and 20 (and maybe 1 except for the newest one) ?

give short descriptions of all your current WIPs. my beloved internet acquaintance, most of this is just smut. i don't know how i feel about this either and if i'd planned this out a little better i would have siloed that off from this particular internet persona, where i put up selfies and where some of you know my government name and PO box address but! it all happened so fast!

blow a kiss, fire a gun: fallout new vegas/the good the bad and the ugly crossover. lots of Pining and Implications but everything happens offscreen

noir au of the above bc it gives me an excuse to write short snippets dripping in genre. no smut in this one

silk tie tourniquet: the widow/the bride from the big gundown (1966). this one is just smut

sharp and romantically forbidding: johnny guitar/vienna/dancin' kid from johnny guitar (1954). this one is also just smut

(the newest one is an interconnected series of original short cowboy stories that will link together in a very silly way. yes this is also smut)

which patterns keep popping up in your projects/characters?

really crunchy post-apocalyptic worldbuilding. thinking a lot about water filtration these days

a certain certainty of feelings. either yes we are together and i've known instantly or i know for SURE for sure there ARE feelings here but i'm too afraid to risk what we have now

problems that can be solved with violence. they don't have to be but that sure is an option

ladies that were poorly utilized by their source material, where i've gone "that's ridiculous she's absolutely got some Schemes going"

people who will go to extremes to protect their loved ones, both understandable extremes and less understandable extremes

where do you begin a WIP? ex: a mood, a scene, a certain character dynamic, etc. does this differ per project?

a character dynamic is certainly where most of it starts, either because i'm captivated by it or i wanted it to be different.

more importantly, do i have a very strong idea of what comes next after that initial spark of an idea? if i don't, it's probably going to stay as an unconnected snippet forever

i don't think i've ever started with an idea that i've later moved to the middle of a piece, i think i've almost always had a really clear idea of the opening

#answered #ty!!!#these were some real good ones and there are probably more patterns if i think more

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shandy-otp · 5 years ago

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Viking AU scenario?

There is a tale of a terrifying captain that led his band of murderous sailors to ports and coastal towns in the dead of night. He was known only as Shadow— Demon of the Waves. He would take all their food and treasured goods and never left a man alive. He would allow the women and children to run for the hills, but not before letting his men make a sport out of attempting to catch them. He seemed soulless; a machine built for wars no one asked for.

After decimating the population of a small, underdeveloped coastal village, most villagers ran away desperately with their families as The Demon commanded for the chase to begin. It wasn’t long before he began to hear the desperate wails and screams of the gutted.

But these wails sounded very... familiar. He recognized the cries of his own crew. One after the other, scream after scream followed by eerie silence.

When he reached the base of the hill the cries had come from, he stopped, almost tripping over his own feet. At the top of the smoking hill lay the bodies of a large portion of his crew and standing over them was a mystical sight. A maiden of fair frame, caked in the blood of Shadow’s men and shakily holding herself up by the hilt of his right-hand man’s sword— which almost dwarfed her in stature. Her posture and trembling of the sword gave her a deceitful air of weakness, but her bright, piercing eyes were full of otherworldly wrath.

Quickly getting over his superstitious assumption that only a goddess of war could carry out such a horrific feat on her own, Shadow seethed and stepped closer to the creature, his anger over his fallen brothers getting the better of his judgement. War goddess or not, she would pay for what she had taken from him. She already appeared worn out from the battles prior. This would be an easy revenge, he likely thought as his red-tinged quills stiffened in fury.

As he ascended the hill, their furious eyes were locked onto one another, unblinking. The demon captain raised his broadsword over his head without a second thought and swung his blade down towards her skull. As fast as Shadow had swung, the maiden dropped to her knees and parried his attack by getting under his fallen comrade’s blade and using it to fling his own sword down the hill and out of sight. Though he was momentarily surprised, the maiden failed her attempt to fight back as she stood up too fast and teetered, falling harmlessly into Shadow’s arms.

In those few seconds, he noticed the way her blood-soaked dress clung to her lithe figure. Her tail, which usually helped her impeccable balance, was weighted down with so much blood and mud that she could hardly stand. He felt her tremble with fury as she continued to venomously stare at him, her olive green eyes shining in an almost bewitching manner despite the overcast sky. Before she could right herself and try again, he had already locked her head between the crook of his elbow and the side of his breastplate. He reached for the dagger at the side of his belt and heard her breath quicken.

“Tell me, small maiden. Do you expect me to believe that you took my men down all by yourself?” he spat, holding the dagger’s hilt firmly against her jugular.

“Ask those who remain, though I’m certain they won’t want to admit it. But maybe one will,” she smirked in defiance. “Try it, it will be good to find an honest man to replace your right-hand.”

The demon captain bristled in anger and began to press the blade against her pelt.

“So be it. My husband awaits in Valhalla,” she muttered.

He paused at her words. Not a maiden, but a widow? Her small frame deceived her age. It was only now that he noticed the simple wedding band on her finger. A jagged line akin to a bolt of lightning graced the center of the band all around. Shadow’s curiosity was a mighty flaw of his.

“Your husband taught you to fight, no doubt.”

“Haha… I taught him,” she grinned widely, enjoying the captain’s struggle to accept being outsmarted by this woman. “You took him from me. It was only fair trade to take your finest. Let me rest and leave with your useless treasure.”

Shadow’s brow furrowed. His pride refused to allow her to cross over with a victorious smile on her face. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t keep you for myself? I collect the finest treasures from around the world.” he said as he loosened his grip around her head. He shifted the dagger in his hand so that his thumb and index finger were free to hold up her chin and meet his gaze. “So what, pray tell, could be a grander treasure than a powerful, woman warrior? Nay, a valkyrie in the flesh?”

“You flatter me, but I was never much for poetry,” the young widow deadpanned, trying to shake herself away from this much gentler grip. But as she tried, she felt his digits tighten against her jaw.

“I wonder what it’s like,” he smiled deviously “…to taste the lips of a goddess.”

For the first time, the woman’s bravado fell. She began to shrink against his breastplate, her knees giving way to her weight. The captain took pleasure in her revulsion, seeing her face redden at the humiliating thought of being kissed by anyone but her beloved. Shadow chuckled, finally discovering how to flaunt his power over her, and continued to press his luck by inching closer to her face. But by placing all of his force on the back of her head to keep her from escaping, he did not expect her to throw her head forward into a mighty headbutt.

The two fell to the ground at the force of the impact, Shadow stabbing his dagger into the dirt to keep from rolling down the hill. The young widow sat up, her eyes giving away the plan formulating in her mind. He followed her line of sight to his sword at the bottom of the hill and saw her preparing to slide down after it. Before she could crawl far enough, he found his footing and tackled her back down. The weight of his armor coupled with her exhaustion was too much to bear.

“A treasure indeed,” he chuckled.

“End it,” she demanded.

“Never. I have decided. You will be my bride.”

“That is not a decision for one unit to make,” she said after spitting at him right between the eyes. “I am Sandra Électro. And I will remain as such for the rest of my days!”

“Sandra… that’s a strong name. How much stronger could it be, coupled with my own? You haven’t experienced my true power yet. Much less my influence.”

Before Sandra could speak her retort, the sound of men crying out for regroup broke her focus. The remaining crew was getting closer. If she was struggling against a single man now, surely her chances to fight back were finally over. She felt nauseous, now struck with the realization that her honorable death would be tarnished by being forced into bedding this scoundrel. Her world spun out of control. She felt her body go weightless for a moment as the captain hoisted her over his shoulder. All she could see now was the backside of the captain’s armor and the disturbed, bloodied ground he stood upon.

Shadow faced his incoming crew. “Report,” he said curtly, breaking the sailor’s trance upon seeing so many of his crewmates dead.

“W-we are loaded, Captain,” the sailor said, a pup looking not much older than 18 years of age.

A cayuga duck came up behind him and smiled sinisterly at the girl in Shadow’s arms. “Ah-hah, I see the Captain’s bringing some entertainment for us during the voyage!” Sandra swallowed hard. She could not see him, but there was no mistaking that drunken slur. Her skin crawled at the thought of his eyes ogling her body as she was unable to move.

“She is not for the taking,” Shadow suddenly barked, his naturally gravelly voice becoming more guttural. “No one is to lay a finger on this woman. She is mine. Get yourselves down there to load.”

“Yes, Captain,” the two soldiers cried out and marched towards the ships, not wanting to incur the powerful hedgehog’s wrath.

“As for you,” Shadow said, shifting Sandra on his shoulder. “I am not to lay a finger on you as well. Treasure like you should not be defiled. I trust you’ll see the error of your ways when I show you the luxuries you’ll be privileged to obtain.”

She laughed. “Is that supposed to impress me into marriage?”

Shadow smirked. Though he could not see her face at the moment, he could perfectly picture that smug, defiant look on her face. It’s a look he looked forward to getting used to, no matter the struggle.

If all else failed, she’d be a decent replacement for the right-hand man she felled.

#holy crap I went absolutely overboard here #I don't know what came over me #it's like I reverted back to 16 year old me and my fanficking ways #anyway i hope anon likes it #viking au #shadow the hedgehog #sandy cheeks #shadow and sandy #shandy #mild standy #tw: blood #tw: violence

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monsoonceroom · 6 years ago

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AU Ideas #4 & 5

As stated in my previous post, I developed a slight obsession with The Haunted Mansion, which caused me to stalk the wiki & various tumblr tags. It’ll probably end soon, though, as my sister & I plan on binge watching Aggretsuko season 2 today. That means I need to get this out ASAP!

Anyways, with the replacement of who fans have called Emily with Constance & the return of Hattie, I think I read that it was speculated that Hattie was one of the murdered husbands. Or at the very least some unspecified victim of Constance. Then there’s this whole debate on whether or not the 2 brides were the same or not because of concept art & merch featuring Constance with a heart. As usual, I brainstormed the info I could find & came up with 2 scenarios; one for the single bride theory & one for the double bride theory.

Scenario 1: A young Constance had many a suitor come a courting. However, the one who stole her heart was an older man of low status (possibly a coachman). Unhappy with this development, a few of the jilted suitors came up with a plan to get rid of him. The end result was the decapitation of the poor man & his head placed into a hatbox. With the suitor’s high statuses, they faced minimal justice. Constance was livid & vowed to get her own revenge. One by one, she married the suitors involved & made them suffer the same fate as her beloved. The added wealth was definitely a perk & at some point, that’s all she killed for.

Scenario 2: Hattie & Constance were a deadly serial killer couple. Although the two were married to each other, they often posed as either siblings or cousins. Constance did her part in marrying & murdering her husbands while Hattie hid evidence & provided alibi’s. Afterwards, the two would partake in their newfound wealth. Several years after the last murder, a distant relative of Constance, Emily, came over to stay awhile. Constance had a neutral stance on the girl, but Hattie had developed a quick friendship with her. The friendship turned romantic & the two were swept into an illicit love affair. One night, they were to meet in the attic. As Emily waited for Hattie, she found Constance’s wedding dress & decided to surprise him by putting it on. He was captivated by her, however, their meeting was cut short as Constance caught them. The enraged widow had her ax in hand & with one fellow swoop cut off her husband’s head which fell into an empty hatbox. Emily was in shock at seeing her lover decapitated. It was too much & her heart gave out, killing her. The three still haunt the attic. Hattie stays to see Emily again while Constance is there to chase her away. Emily is rarely seen due to her fear of Constance, but she’s still heard as her heart’s last beats echo throughout the attic.

Originally, scenario 2 was another one bride scenario. Instead of an affair, they had an argument resulting in Hattie’s death. I ended up thinking of the affair last night & decided I liked it more.

Bonus: Ghost Host.

Ghost Host was a previous owner of the mansion. Due to a string of bad luck, he lost his fortune, forcing him to sell his beloved mansion. The new owners pitied him & allowed him to stay as the Chief Steward, a position he was delighted to have & took it very seriously. For reasons unknown, he ended up killing another servant with a hatchet. Afraid he might lose his position & be forced to leave, he hung himself so he would never have to depart from his treasured home.

#haunted mansion #AU Ideas #au 4 & 5 #constance hatchaway #hatbox ghost #emily #ghost host #I forgot to mention this but Constance tossed her ring out in scenario 2 #She stepped on it every now & then #I don't know about scenario 1 though #Just make up your own thing I guess #I forgot 2 & 3 were together so I I had to edit this

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chalantness · 8 years ago

Text

fic: Meet Me Under the Spotlight

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: ~3200 Characters: Steve/Natasha, mentions of the ensemble Summary: The celebrity social media au no one asked for.

A/N: This started off as just an article I was writing that was supposed to be a snippet in a fic I’ve wanted to write for a while, but I had so much fun that I expanded upon it. I’ve always been a fan of those social media edits circulating Tumblr, and after I’d read a few fics that incorporated texting and social media, I’ve always wanted to try it out. So, here it is! You can also consider it a preview for the celebrity au I’m probably still planning to write.

(Also, this is very raw; as in, I sort of skimmed it for errors, because I'm leaving in a bit. But I'll come back to it for editing when I can take my time.)

Read On: [ ao3 ]

‘Marvelous’ Cast Talks Shocking Season Finale and What Next Season Could Hold

June 1, 2017. 11:32 AM PST

It’s been a week since the Season 3 finale of ‘Marvelous’ aired and fans are still in hysterics over the state of their beloved heroes.

(Spoiler alerts below!)

Season 3′s Episode 22, “How the Mighty Fall” left Scarlet Witch held captive and under experimentation at the hands of a mysterious scientist, with Winter Soldier and Falcon quite literally at each other’s throats on how to find her. Hulk has disappeared, Thor’s powers have been seemingly sealed away for good. And just as the Captain has come to realize that Black Widow’s betrayal had ultimately been for his protection, he’s too late: Hawkeye is in a coma, and Widow’s memories have been erased.

And you’ll have to wait three whole months to see what happens next.

Upset? Yeah, so are we.

And we made sure that ‘Marvelous’ co-stars Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff were aware of this when Access Entertainment! caught up with them in the AE! lounge.

“He cried [when we did the table read],” Natasha had dished about Steve, who didn’t try to downplay the claim as he almost doubled over in laughter at the recollection. “We all did,” Natasha went on to admit with a laugh of her own. “With ‘Marvelous’ being supernatural, you just never know anyone’s fate and it’s fun. Fun and scary. And it’s as emotional to us as it is the fans. When we read the scene where Wanda [Maximoff, playing Scarlet Witch] is experimented on, it was already a lot to handle. Then to see her crying on the floor like that? It was tough. Such a good performance, though.”

“Wanda blows us away every day,” agreed Steve with a fond smile. Steve has always been quick to praise the talent of Wanda, whom he starred alongside in the romantic comedy Brother of the Bride that premiered the same day Wanda received the news about being cast in ‘Marvelous’. Wanda had shared with AE! before that Steve had been a big reason for her auditioning for the role in the first place. The fact that landing it could mean working alongside Natasha, one of her childhood idols, also helped.

(Related: Wanda Maximoff Posts a #TBT with Steve Rogers to Announce Being Cast as Scarlet Witch on ‘Marvelous’)

After the emotional turmoil that the season finale put us through, it seems like they’re setting up Season 4 to be bigger and better than ever! But if the cast has a clue as to what is happening next, they’re keeping it under lock and key.

“He wants us all dead,” Natasha had joked when asked if the show’s writer/producer Nick Fury had shared some insight on where he wants to take Season 4. “No, seriously. We’re all so close and we all have a lot of fun, and yeah, we get the work done. But there’s some serious teeth-pulling and bribing on Nick’s part to get us to behave. If he had hair, he would’ve torn it all out. So he’d just kill us all off as punishment, one by one.”

“I think he’d spare you,” Steve had said in response to Natasha’s teasing. “She’s his favorite. Which isn’t an issue, because she’s everyone’s favorite!”

The Official Twitter of Access Entertainment @accessentertainment -- May 31 Steve Rogers and his shrinking shirts. You’re welcome, Twitter... pic.twitter.com/sGR1mW...

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- May 31 @stevefrombrooklyn can’t blame Marvelous Wardrobe anymore. you suck at doing laundry and @accessentertainment has the proof

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat you mean they’re not supposed to be skin tight? then what does Captain America draw his power from?

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- May 31 @stevefrombrooklyn those big baby blues... seriously rogers, who’d you sell your soul to?

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat aww thanks nat, i always knew you loved my eyes

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat you’re still in trouble for eating my pudding, though

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- May 31 @stevefrombrooklyn oh god, get over that, grumpy old man. i’ll buy you another one. geez

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- May 31 @therussianprincessnat thanks love :)

Just In: ‘Marvelous’ co-Stars Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff send fans into a frenzy over flirty banter on Twitter during AE! visit; fellow co-star Sam Wilson laughs over the reception, shares “that’s just how they’ve always been” (June 2, 2017)

‘Marvelous’ Cast Talks Shocking Season Finale ... (continued)

June 1, 2017. 11:32 AM PST

Speaking of sparing the Widow... with her memories gone, fans are already speculating on what Captain’s next move is going to be.

“It’s a funny one, you know? It’s a funny situation,” Steve shared when asked about how he thinks Captain and Black Widow’s dynamic will progress in the next season. “He’s always been the first person to vouch for her. He knows what she’s done, what she’s had to do, and he trusts her anyway. He’s always valued her where others haven’t. What’s funny -- well, in a bittersweet kind of way, what’s funny is that he’s also the first person to take her for granted. He doesn’t realize how much she’s come to mean to him until she can’t remember who he is, and I’m sure it’s going to be a real hard hit to be around her when she’s like this. He’ll raise hell to get her memories back.”

That’s how Steve thinks it will go, at least. And we’re sure that fans will be totally on board for that.

As for Widow? We've come to realize that maybe her lack of memories could be for the best. Sort of. “Nick and I talked about it early on,” Natasha confessed. “Widow is who she is, and acts how she acts, because of her past. She doesn’t want to get involved with anyone because she’s scared. But with Captain, she’s also curious. She feels that connection, and what’s stopping her is herself, and ultimately that’s what’s stopping him, too. Because he can read her in a way that no one else ever could, and so of course he senses her hesitation and he steps back like the gentleman he is. So without her memories, she’s going to see him frantic and desperate to help her and that’s going to open her up in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if she’d still had her memories. So that’ll be fun to play off of. It’ll, hopefully, become a ‘blessing in disguise’ sort of thing for them.”

“They need it,” Steve added as he nudged Natasha’s shoulder. “They’re both stubborn, and it’s been a long time coming.”

Yeah, we know, Steve.

Captain and Black Widow have captured the hearts of fans since Day One, and that probably has a lot to do with the natural chemistry between these co-stars off-screen. Though Steve and Natasha had yet to have worked together before both being cast in ‘Marvelous’, they’ve always acknowledged each other’s talent. Steve has said on multiple occasions that he’s been a fan of Natasha since her acting debut in The Russian Princess, and often posted his praise and support for her on social media following the premieres of her movies. When Steve landed his first leading role on HBO’s historical fiction drama “Howling Commandos”, Natasha had posted a glowing review of the show’s pilot on Instagram and paid particular attention to Steve, saying that she looked forward to seeing him “take Hollywood by storm.” Though the show came to an early conclusion just three seasons in, Steve hadn’t had any trouble getting back on his feet.

(Related: ‘Marvelous’ Announces Breakout Actor Peter Parker to be Newest Hero to Join the Fray)

WATCH: ‘Marvelous’ Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff Get Cozy on Social Media During Flight to Hawaii

AE! News - Published on June 5, 2017 - 140,401 views

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 5 Christmas pajamas in June? #trendsetters @stevefrombrooklyn pic.twitter.com/cA4sBW...

[Image Caption: Steve and Natasha seated together in first class, wearing matching gingerbread men pajamas and Rudolph socks.]

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 5 @stevefrombrooklyn but let’s get this straight, mine are cuter and I wear them better

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 5 @therussianprincessnat you’re right, I don’t think I can top those Rudolph socks. you must really love whoever bought them for you

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 5 @stevefrombrooklyn you bought yourself the matching pair, you ass

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 5 write this down: the quickest way to @therussianprincessnat’s heart is through fuzzy socks #shelovesmeforthem

Just In: Steve and Natasha are all cuddles on Instagram during flight to Hawaii; fellow ‘Marvelous’ co-star Clint Barton snuffs dating rumors... or not? “It was supposed to be a cast vacation, but it didn’t pan out. But it’s fine. They won’t even notice that we’re gone.” (June 6, 2017)

‘Marvelous’ Spoilers: Cast Teases Fans With Finale on Instagram

May 19, 2017. 9:45 AM PST

[Image Caption: A candid photo of the cast and crew of ‘Marvelous’ drinking hot chocolate, eating cupcakes, and chatting while taking a break from filming.]

Last night’s episodes left fans reeling, wondering how things could get darker and more dangerous than ever in next week’s season finale. The icing on the heartache cake? This morning, the cast and crew teased fans on Instagram with photos of their on-set shenanigans while filming the finale. While it was nice to see some silliness and smiles after all of the arguing and tears from last night’s episode, fans were quick to catch on some of the ominous implications of these pictures. Such as: Tony Stark (Iron Man) decked out in fake blood and gore; the strange and daunting backdrop of a laboratory, not unlike the lab that Quicksilver had been tortured in the second half of season 2; fake ligature marks on Wanda Maximoff’s (Scarlet Witch) wrists, which can be seen as she poses with her arms around Jane Foster (head costume designer) and Darcy Lewis (head makeup artist); and Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) in a hospital gown, laughing with Steve Rogers (Captain) as he wipes away staged tears.

[Image Caption: Tony Stark, bloodied and bruised, carrying Pepper Potts on his back while she wears his prototype Iron Man helmet.]

[Image Caption: Clint Barton taking a nap in the Tower infirmary set, while Sharon Carter and Maria Hill hook him to the medical machine props.]

[Image Caption: Wanda Maximoff, Jane Foster, and Darcy Lewis hugging in front of a laboratory set.]

[Image Caption: Natasha Romanoff sporting a hospital gown and fake stitches while laughing with Steve Rogers and Nick Fury between takes.]

Nick Fury also tweeted for the first time since teasingly responding to a few fans’ reactions to the Season 3 mid-season finale back in December. After the cast made a Twitter and Instagram account in Nick’s name at the beginning of filming the first season, Nick Fury became infamous for his cryptic responses and vague tweets that end up tying to major plot points and revelations in later episodes. This morning had been another opportunity to strike:

(screen captures from Nick Fury’s official Twitter account)

Nick Fury @nickfurry -- May 19 @therussianprincessnat @stevefrombrooklyn I’ll never forget how exhausting you two are to work with pic.twitter.com/bW13sCA...

[Image Caption: Nick Fury giving direction to Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers while filming a scene in the Tower infirmary set. Natasha is laying on a bed in a hospital gown while Steve holds her close.]

Nick Fury @nickfurry -- May 19 @iambuckybarnes @snapwilson friendly fire pic.twitter.com/wS17jB...

[Image Caption: Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson in costume while filming a fight scene in the snowy mountains. They have their hands around each other’s throats as fight choreographer Helen Cho gives them direction.]

Nick Fury @nickfurry -- May 19 @littlewandamaximoff @theothermaximoff that’s one way to help your sister out pic.twitter.com/qS0sW...

[Image Caption: Wanda Maximoff laughing as Pietro Maximoff helps her drink from a bottled water with a silly straw. They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Wanda’s hands seemingly bound together and tied to something out of frame.]

Fans are already scrambling to figure out what surprises are in store for us in the finale. Caught something that we haven’t? Don’t forget to share it with your fellow Marvels in a comment below.

WATCH: ‘Marvelous’ Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff Recap Latest Episode and Discuss Black Widow’s Shocking Betrayal

Marvelous Cast Wraps Up Filming for the Season

Marvelous Cast Plan Summer Trip to Hawaii During Livestream

[Image Caption: Natasha in a bikini, stretched out on a beach towel, smiling at the camera with half of her face hidden behind a straw hat.]

412,016 likes

stevenrogers apparently this is what “terrible” is supposed to look like

View all 920 comments

JUNE 7 2017

[Image Caption: Photo of a Polaroid of Steve and Natasha taken at a luau, the two of them laughing as he places a flower crown on her head.]

421,610 likes

nataliaromanov the “get lei’d” joke i made while this was taken was a hit

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JUNE 7 2017

[Image Caption: Natasha sitting on a lounge chair with a plate of breakfast in her lap, peering over her sunglasses at the camera as she sips orange juice.]

514,017 likes

stevenrogers apparently noon is too early for her to get up for breakfast

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JUNE 8 2017

[Image Caption: Steve sitting with his back to the camera, busied with his sketching, with the sun setting over the ocean in the horizon.]

526,041 likes

nataliaromanov where else can you get a view like this?

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JUNE 8 2017

Spotted: ‘Marvelous’ Co-Stars Practically Glowing During Hawaiian Vacation

June 9, 2017. 1:16 PM PST

[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff laying close together on the sand, both smiling at each other as they talk.]

It seems like these stars are following in their characters’ footsteps!

Well, if you don’t count the superpowers.

Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff landed in Hawaii on Tuesday for a well deserved break after filming finished for their most intense season yet. After plans for the whole cast to vacation together fell through the cracks, Steve and Natasha -- in true Steve and Natasha fashion -- decided to do their own thing and go anyway.

Fans will probably already know that this isn’t the first time that the two ever have vacationed together. After they wrapped up a spectacular first season together, the pair joined fellow co-stars Tony Stark and Pepper Potts on a cruise along the Mediterranean, which both Tony and Pepper later revealed to have been a “spur of the moment” trip, and were pleasantly surprised when the pair agreed. Steve and Natasha then came back to the States, where Natasha would spend a week in Brooklyn with Steve to visit his parents and other fellow co-star Bucky Barnes, who has been best friends with Steve since childhood.

Though scheduling conflicts prevented the pair from spending the following summer together, it seems like they’re back at it again this year. And they seem cozier than ever! In addition to posting their personal photos together on their social media, pictures have been circulating of the two seen out and about around the Hawaiian islands, looking friendlier than ever. Which has always been the case, considering the explosive chemistry we’ve seen between them on and off screen since the beginning. But is it just us, or do things seem to be far more personal between them than before? They certainly seem to have the “honeymoon phase” glow, and lately the pair has noticeably avoided or outright ignored inquiries about a romantic relationship between them as of late. Though, that could just because they’re tired of repeating themselves. It’s been three years now.

Either way, it’s always heartwarming to see these two having so much fun whenever they’re together! Hopefully it’s forever.

[Image Caption: Natasha feeding Steve a spoonful of shaved ice at a cafe along the beach.]

[Image Caption: Steve and Natasha standing close together in the aisle of a supermarket, Steve smiling as Natasha whispers into his ear.]

[Image Caption: Steve with his arms around Natasha, the both of them laughing as he tries to drag her deeper into the ocean.]

Just In: ‘Marvelous’ cast barraged with questions on the relationship status between Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff as their vacation get cozier; Wanda giggles when shown the photos during Phil Coulson radio interview, but simply responds with “it’s cute” when asked her opinion. (June 10, 2017)

‘Marvelous’ Cast Talks Shocking Season Finale ... (continued)

June 1, 2017. 11:32 AM PST

Nick Fury will have one direction he’ll want to take Captain and Widow in the next season, and fans will want a dozen others. But what do Steve and Natasha hope the future will have in store for their characters?

“Wherever they are, however things may be, I hope they just stay together,” Natasha shared. “They have such a beautiful thing going on because they’ve been the one constant piece to each other amidst the chaos. And they’ve come to really depend on each other for comfort and supports, even just company. I would hate for anything to happen to that. And I personally don’t believe that anything exists for Widow that would be more important to her than remaining right by the Captain’s side. That feeling, I feel, will resonate with her even with her memories gone. She’s so tied to him that her body and her heart are going to remember what her mind can’t. That’s my prediction.”

“I agree,” Steve added. “I think that’s why Cap was just so devastated when he thought Black Widow betrayed him. It hurt him down to his very core and she knew that it would, which is why she said the things she said. To make sure he was so blindsided that he wouldn’t go near her and then wouldn’t end up in the crossfire. And that’s what makes it another huge punch to the gut when he figures out the truth. Because I think he had to have known deep down inside that Widow was looking out for him, just as she’s always been, and he held onto that sliver of hope. So I really hope this teaches him that life is too damn short and you’ve got to fight for what you love. You’ve got to.”

Now if that didn’t move you to a few tears, we don’t know what would.

And we feel a little better knowing that Natasha and Steve are hopeful for their characters’ future, as well as the future of all our beloved heroes. Nick Fury has always taken his cast and crew’s opinion into consideration before taking these characters into the next chapter, and it makes the show bigger and better than ever.

What do you hope to see in the next season? Share it with your fellow Marvels in a comment below!

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 12 @therussianprincessnat are you going to tell them or should i? pic.twitter.com/nAR4o1...

[Image Caption: Natasha cuddled with Steve on a beach towel, hiding her face in his chest as he kisses her hair.]

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- June 12 @stevefrombrooklyn you impatient ass. you’re lucky you’re cute

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- June 12 @therussianprincessnat thanks love (:

#romanogers #romanogersday #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #seriously tho i had to much fun writing this sjfhak #marvelous 'verse

89 notes · View notes

whoinwhoville · 8 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, The Master (Simm) Additional Tags: Crack, Purple Prose, melodramatic bodice ripper, bodice ripper, bodice ripper au, threat of bodice ripper non-con, ten really has a gob on him, purple prose challenge Series: Part 13 of I love AUs Summary:

He comes to her by moonlight, and they rendezvous in secret, away from the all-seeing eyes of her fiancé.

The stiff sturdy stems of the stalwart thistles stood as proud sentinels against the murky night on the moor, their prickly purple flowers shimmering silver under the inky midnight mantle sprinkled with sparkling stars. Just like those brave and beautiful, but painfully prickly blooms which found their way to survive amongst the craggy, angry-looking rocks, withstanding wind, gale, snow, and ice, the Lady Rose would have to find her own way to survive within the walls of the black, looming castle perched high atop the bleak mountain of rock.

Had she not been a virtual prisoner, she would have been a shining beacon of light, a pink and yellow blossom, a bloom of dewy youth and vitality living within the ancient decaying walls of Archangel Castle, the ancient home of the old and venerable Saxon family.

But instead, her beautiful, sweet, inner light -- her golden glow of joy -- was on the cusp of being snuffed, for she was the intended, the promised bride of a Lord of this small kingdom.

But it was a not a marriage of choice. It was an agreement born of necessity, an act of sacrifice and selflessness. For her mother was the widow of the late and tragically deceased landed Baron Peter Tyler, but he had left neither money for which to pay for the grand home, nor jewels. Nor silver nor art nor French furniture. Baron Tyler had left his family only a too-large home, and long-neglected, but rich farmland. And he had sired no son who would have cared for his beloved wife and daughter in their desperate time of need.

And so, in exchange for promises of financial security, physical safety, and a modicum of social stature, the Lady Rose had agreed to the proposals of marriage from the venerable Lord Harold of Saxon in a transaction which would transfer ownership of her family home and lands, and guarantee that her own dear mother would retain her title of Baroness, which would entitle her to be addressed as Lady within society circles.

Lord Saxon’s visage and figure were not displeasing to look upon. Decidedly less handsome men had sought to court the fair English Rose. Tall and proud he stood, back straight, a specimen of manhood emanating power and pride. Slender and sleek. Pearly white, straight teeth. Clothed in the finest broadcloth and silk, the latest London fashion. He wore tall boots atop his tight breeches that gave no small hint that his manhood would be more than able to sire a male heir. His handsome waistcoats and cravats -- she'd never seen him wear the same accoutrements twice -- spoke of his wealth beyond comprehension as gold and silver threads wove through the finest silks and satin from exotic locales beyond the reach of even the most well-travelled and brave explorer. His hair was the colour of wheat ready to be threshed. His eyes, a deep brown framed by well-sculpted brows that were neither too heavy nor too lean.

But there was a distinctive lack of life, love, and kindness within the proud Lord's murky brown orbs. They were cold and hard. The turn of his mouth was devoid of merriment when he did smile. In fact, when his lips turned upward, there was a feral look to his visage. He had a coldness of manner which sent shudders of fear straight up Rose's corseted back when he would aim his smile in Rose's direction, more a weapon than a communication of joy.

Day by day, Rose's regrets had grown. She would pace the luxuriously appointed apartments that she shared with her dear mother. While they lived in the castle, their rooms were far from the man whom she feared the most of all men whom she had ever encountered. Thankfully, the only time she had to suffer his presence was on those rare occasions when she was summoned to dinner in the sumptuous formal dining hall. Along with his written summons that was always delivered by a tall, grey-haired, gaunt butler, the proud man sent a new gown of the finest silk and lace, each progressively more revealing than the next. And this evening, the scarlet gown had been the most blush-inducing garment, more fit for a harlot offering sensual services that only the most-debauched members of the French court would deem pleasurable. Her fine décolleté was pushed painfully upwards, as if her bosom was being served up to her fiancé on a scarlet platter. She feared to breathe lest her pink treasures, pearls of pleasure and future motherhood, should unwillingly escape from the silk and lace corseted prison.

Her ivory breast trembled as she wept in regret, the despised ruby gown immediately cast aside as soon as she had fled from the too-rich dinner. She chose to cover herself in a simple muslin chemise that she had donned in a feeble attempt to cover her feminine attributes from her own eyes, vainly hoping to forget the act of infidelity to her one true love that she feared she would be compelled to commit on the night of her wedding to this man that she did not love.

She regretted her inability to support her dear mother, for a young lady of her social standing had no other direction to turn but marriage to ensure financial security and safety. She regretted her decision to marry Lord Harold of Saxon.

She regretted being convinced by well-meaning, distant relatives, that she had no other choice but to agree to the unholy marriage of convenience, not love.

But most of all, she regretted breaking her promises of love and fidelity to the love of her life, her promises that her rosy, pink, plump lips would remain untouched by all other lips but his. The promise she had made to surrender her maidenhood to him alone on the night of their own holy marriage -- that when they finally came together as one flesh in that pinnacle moment of rapturous bliss, she would be as pure and untouched as the fresh snow alighting upon the downy wing of a white swan.

All of those promises would be broken on the morrow. For tomorrow was her wedding day. And after that would be the wedding feast. And from them on, at his will and pleasure, she would be forced to kiss those thin, meagre, loveless lips of the dastardly demon.

And then, the climactic culmination of her pain and despair would loom before her: the marriage bed that she would be forced to share with a man for whom she held neither love nor affection, nor even a hint of admiration. The bed would be her coffin, the flowers scattered around, petals of pain and despair scattered over the grave, the headboard of the bed looming as a tombstone, for she already felt dead inside. Tomorrow, she would be surrendering her life along with her chastity to a man for whom she held no love within her breast.

There was a knock at her door. The double-rap was followed by the sound of fine paper sliding over cold, wood flooring. She looked down. A letter. And it was sealed. And the sight of that seal caused her to suck in a breath. The air seared her guilty lungs. She wailed in despair as she clung to the letter, pressed it to her chest. Terrified to read the words within for the unbearable pain they would bring to her already tortured heart.

She didn't deserve to breathe the same air that was shared by the man who had written the words still hidden from her eyes. The blue wax seal imprinted with the mark of her lover, the man whom she had at one time believed with every beat of her now-broken heart would be the man with whom she would share her body, her joys, sorrows, her very life. The man to whom she had already given her soul and her heart and her forever.

Her beloved Rogue of the Moors, a man whose true name she did not know even after their numerous rendezvous. But she did not need to know his name. Theirs was a love beyond mere words or names. They did not require such trivial things to speak their love to one another.

He was her Rogue, and she was his Rose.

Their chaste but passionate affair of the heart had started one day whilst on a morning stroll through the modest park on the property of her home, Powell Manor. She had fled her home to escape the heavy, tension-charged atmosphere within the Tudor-styled walls. Her parents were having a heated disagreement over whether or not her father would accept an invitation to become an esteemed member of the London Society of Scientific Advancement, which required a sizable financial investment. Her mother wished for the money to be invested in the farming of the estate, whilst her father believed the future was not in farming, but in scientific advancement and steam-powered invention.

It was the hottest morning of the summer thus far. She had shed her straw sunhat, setting her long golden tresses free of their headache-inducing coif. She had loosened the cording of her tightly-laced bodice so that the top three rows of criss-crossed strings allowed for a modicum of air to kiss the glistening skin of her exposed-to-the sun chest.

She had heard the faintest rustle of leaves even though the air was still and heavy.

"Who's there? My escort is within the sound of my screams for help should you come any closer."

"My good lady, I am not here to ravish you, although you are as luscious as a ripe peach. I am only here to relieve you of your fine jewellery and any other valuable items which you may have on your person."

"I have very little to surrender unless you would like my straw hat."

His laugh had been hearty and full of joy. "I assure you that your chapeau is safe from my thieving hands."

"Thank you, kind thief. I am quite attached to that hat," still not having taken in the face from which the rich and comely voice had emanated.

"Do not turn around, fair Rose Tyler. For if you see my face, I might have to whisk you away for fear that you will reveal my identity to the magistrate. And I would hate to lose my head, for my neck is far too handsome to end up on the chopping block."

Rose had laughed in spite of herself.

"Do you find something humorous, gentle lady?" he had said with melodic mirth in his voice.

"You act the rogue, yet you do not threaten me. Your voice is far too kind, and your hand upon my shoulder is gentle and tender. And you know my name..."

"Of course I know your name, milady. You are the Lady Rose Tyler of the Powell Estate, and I only commit crimes against those who have the least to lose. I would never steal from the poor, for I am a kindhearted and good man. Now close your eyes," he had commanded, and she had complied, and then he had spun her around and had stolen a kiss, but not just any kiss.

The Rogue draped her over his arm, and captured her lips with passion and fire. "Keep your eyes closed," he husked into her mouth before he had sought and was granted permission to lave her mouth with his strong and commanding and plundering yet somehow still gentle tongue.

And with that one kiss, Rose knew she was ruined for anyone else. Forever. His lips had set her body aflame with desires she had never before felt. And she had believed with her whole heart that she would never allow her lips to willingly kiss another pair of lips ever again. Unless they were his lips.

Acting purely upon instinct, moments after he had touched his lips to hers, she had moaned into his mouth and arched her back, still safely draped and cradled by his strong, manly arms. She offered him the soft treasures of her ample, heaving bosom whilst keeping hidden the sensitive twin apexes of her womanly treasures. But oh! She had so desperately and wantonly desired in her lust-addled state for him to unlace the bodice that separated her flesh from his precious lips. She almost begged him, but then he withdrew his affections from her lips, climbed onto his steed, and rode off into the wood. Her hand flew to her neck. Missing was her one precious piece of jewellery, a single gold rosebud on a fine gold chain that had been cradled between her breasts.

Rose's tears now came in earnest as she recalled each and every of their secret trysts — one-by-one - since that passionate day a year before.

The second time that they had met was also by chance. It was sunset when Rose was surprised by the Rogue. She had been standing on a grassy hill above her home, lost in painful and tear-drenched reverie. The tears on her face were lit by the peach, pink, orange, red, and violet-hued sky, which was transforming itself from day to night. Her thoughts were tumbling. Her father was dead. Killed the week before in an accident whilst riding his horse. She felt lost. Alone. Her mother was locked in her room, and refused to speak to anyone except the housekeeper who dutifully brought her tea and toast.

She had felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I heard you crying. But please. Don’t turn around. I must protect you from my identity.”

“Is that you, Rogue?” she’d asked.

“Yes, milady. It is I. I could not bear the thought of you in such mourning. I heard of your father’s tragic death. I have been hoping to find you to tell you just how sorry I am. To offer you any comfort that I am able to provide. Just tell me. Do you and your mother lack for anything? I know that your family is not as wealthy as some may believe.”

“We need nothing!” she’d proudly proclaimed.

“I’m sorry if I offended you, dearest Rose,” he had said with a voice as quiet and gentle as the breeze that steals the down of a dandelion, sending it into the sky.

“Oh, Rogue, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so cruel to you. I feel so… lost. And alone.”

“But you aren’t alone. You have me. If you want.”

“Please, Rogue, may I see your face? I must know that your eyes as are gentle as your voice and your touch.”

“No. Not yet. But soon…”

And once again, he had escaped her eyes, riding off into the sunset.

The first time she saw his face, she had refused his requests to not look upon him. “I must, Rogue! I must see the man who has kissed my very life away! I can no longer simply stand by, with my eyes closed, as you steal my very breath, and light my body on fire!”

She had whirled around, her fine satin skirts swishing richly. “Oh! Rogue! You are… the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Please kiss me. And this time, I am keeping my eyes open.”

“My wish is your command, milady.”

Each time they had met thereafter was by appointment, no longer by chance. Always under the dark of night. Always in secret. And their stolen moments were filled with kisses and heated touches and moans and sighs. But he remained a gentleman. He would never steal the virtue of his English Rose without a binding covenant of marriage. She was too precious. He would kiss her down the well of her throat, peppering all of her exposed skin with his soft, warm lips. Laving and nipping her, burying his nose into the cleavage between the swells of her soft, quivering breasts.

If the Lord Harold of Saxon could be called handsome, her Rogue demanded to be called exquisite. For not only were his features beautiful -- a noble nose; full lips; a strong, tall, lean physique; hair the colour of the shell of ripe chestnuts; brown eyes that were so deep and rich that they seemed to hold the secrets of eternity within their depths — and how was it possible that his eyes could simultaneously burn with passion, yet glow with compassion? strong arms; lithe legs; a towering stature that shadowed her petite yet curvaceous frame, making her feel safe and protected and shielded from all danger or harm; a smile which outshone the very sun; and a twinkle in his eyes which surpassed the brightest star in the inky blue sky of midnight.

His hands were strong yet tender, with lean, nimble fingers that had the dexterity of the finest clockmaker's tools. His lips were strong — able to massage her breath away — and as soft as a butterfly kissing her bare shoulder, and as plump and pink as the flesh of a ripe, sweet, dripping with juice strawberry.

And in her most intimate moments alone at night in her bed, hidden from eyes and ears, she dreamed of a time when those those fingers would touch her, skimming her pearly skin in places that he had dared not touch protecting her virtue. Just the single graze of his fingertip had the power to set her on fire, whether it was a caress of her blushing cheek, a stroke of her hair, or the gentlest and chaste but bordering on scandalous trace of the scalloped, lacy edge of the bodice of her gown, barely skimming her heaving bosom. And she dreamed of his lips mapping the swells and curves of her body, exploring each and every hidden place, quenching the yet-unfulfilled burning desire that she was keeping for him alone. And in her most private of private moments, she dreamed of his hands and his mouth working in tandem, doing things that she didn’t really know had ever been done before, but she wanted to be done to her.

The memories of her fleeting moments of pure joy with the Rogue had carried her through her darkest hours after the death of her father.

And then she had sold herself to the evil Lord Saxon.

Finally, one week ago tonight, she had bade farewell to her beloved Rogue, to his beautiful face, to his strong and talented lips, his gentle and tactile touch which had brought her to the brink of ecstasy whilst preserving her maidenly virtue.

With quivering hand, she held the letter from her lover. With a shaking fingertip and anticipation threatening to rend her heart in two, she slipped her finger under the wax. Achingly slow, afraid to read the words written in his manly and familiar scrawl, she unfolded the fine paper, one layer at a time...

But then she heard angry footfall out in the hallway. And then a pounding on her door. "Rose! Open this door immediately!"

Rose froze in place, her satin slippers stuck in the mire of the thick, luxurious silk of the Oriental rug.

"I'm... I'm not dressed, Lord Saxon. It is nearly the eleventh hour, and I am about to retire."

"My dearest fiancée, you will open this door without further protestation, or I shall break it down with my bare hands!"

"But my Lord, is it not bad luck to see the bride on the night before the wedding?" Rose said in a moderated, sweet voice, attempting to persuade him with honey rather than vinegar.

"I demand to see my future wife. I wish to sample your sweet treats before I consume the entire feast."

Rose drew in a squeak, but calmed herself. "You saw me not one hour ago at dinner. I know you... You are anticipating... Tomorrow night, but... But you must be patient, my Lord. It... It will be worth... Worth the wait."

Rose heard the shuffling of his boots, and then a foul curse, and finally the sound of glass shattering.

She released the breath she did not even know she had been holding, and collapsed to the floor boneless, the weight of the world heavy on her back, pushing her into the plush carpet.

And then her hand remembered that her shaking fingers were grasping the precious words written by her Rogue. This time, she finished unfolding the paper in haste.

My Fairest Rose, Keeper of the Key to My Heart, tonight my heart is broken. But you have the power to repair it. While I know you have not, nor would you ever willingly give your heart to another, I can not abide with the knowledge that your heart will forever be mine, but that our hearts will never beat as one, that we will forever be separated by a wall of stone and the schemes of such an evil man as Lord Harold of Saxon.

So I have come up with a plan. Tonight. Midnight. Meet me at our own special place, the heart-shaped stone on the cliff above the bay, where you first saw my face, where I first laid my eyes upon you and drank in your beauty with no mask to hide the flushing of my cheeks from the heat building in my heart at the sight of my one and only true love. Bring only what you need for one day and one night. And we will take flight. I will rescue you my love, save you from this fate, and then we will as one.

My dearest love, do not worry about your mother's safety, for I have ensured that she will be safely delivered from her golden cage to a place of safety and comfort. It will not be the place of fashion and sumptuous living to which she is accustomed, but it will be comfortable and warm, and most important, she will be away from the vengeful talons of the wicked Lord Saxon. You must believe me, and I know that you do, for you have never doubted me, not even when you knew not my face, when I say that I have full confidence in the gallant Captain Jack Harkness. On many occasions I have trusted him with my life, and he has never failed me. So too, I entrust the life of your mother in his most capable hands.

Make haste my darling, for tonight we fly to our rapture.

Your Most Ardent and Passionate Lover, Your Rogue

Rose clasped her hands to her breast and sighed, a heavy, deep groaning sigh, from deep down near her heart. "Oh my love, my darling Rogue, I will come to you. I will never marry the evil Lord Harold of Saxon!" she whispered as she looked out the leaded glass window of her boudoir, four stories above the rocky ground.

She knew not the exact time, and she had no timepiece to which she could refer without flying down the hallway and alighting the stairs to the grand entry, in which the grand clock stood. So she looked out the window and saw that the sliver moon had risen to the place that told her it was nigh midnight. The Rogue had taught her how to read the phases of the moon, as well as how to determine the time only using its placement in the sky. She had realised that her precious Rogue was a man of letters, and often pondered why he had turned to a life of secrets and danger in the dead of night, instead of living as a man of the law, the cloth, at a university, or of medicine.

"It is nearing the hour! I must hasten!" She slipped on a simple, yet sumptuous gown of the darkest blue silk, and draped her matching satin travelling cloak over her shoulders, draping the hood over her head, and fastening the gold clasp at her neck, to hide her glowing golden tresses, which she had already loosened from her dinner coiffure, in preparation to retire for what would have been an undoubtedly sleepless night, the night before the dreaded wedding. With a simple Parisian carpet bag filled with just barest of essentials, a silk chemise of the finest, sheerest Parisian silk trimmed with pink satin ribbons and Belgian lace, her silver brush and hand mirror to keep her silken hair soft and shining, the painted cameo of her beloved father, and her favourite gown of rose pink satin, a gown which she had brought from her own home, a gown which was not a gift from the Lord Saxon, Rose fled the castle, slipping past the drunken Lord as he lay collapsed against the wall outside of the door to her boudoir, bottle in hand, and a second in shards on the floor.

As soon as her slippered feet hit the moors, she flew, her satin cloak trailing behind her like the unfurled sail of a corvette of his Majesty's Royal Navy. With only the silver sliver of moonlight to illuminate her path, Rose hastened like a She-Wolf searching for her lupine soul mate.

She saw the love of her life silhouetted against the inky midnight sky, standing on the edge of the cliff, legs firmly planted, head proud, waiting for her. Her legs gained speed, she dropped her bag and held open her arms. He too took to his feet, arms welcoming, running full tilt towards her.

But then she heard a voice biting at her heels. "You dare run away from me? Do you really believe you could escape me? You foolish, foolish girl. And you really believe that I want to marry you for you for your paltry country estate and barren farm? You, with no dowry? No connections? No, Rose Tyler. I don't want you at all for any purpose other than to ruin you for him! To kill his heart! I want him! Your lover! He is my quarry, lovely Rose, not you. You are simply the bait."

Lord Harold of Saxon grasped her from behind!

Rose screamed!

He wrapped his arm around her neck, and dragged her closer to her beloved Rogue, so that she was in full view of the sworn enemy of Lord Harold of Saxon. But still, he remained in the shadows, stopping just short of being able to touch his lover and watching helplessly as his English Rose fruitlessly tugged, and struggled against her assaulter. Her breaths were now coming from shallow within her throat, strangled and laboured.

"My… love…!” she managed weakly, but with all of her might, still kicking and dropping as dead weight within the choking hold of Lord Harold of Saxon’s arm.

"Unhand her, Harry," called a calm but firm voice from out of the darkness. And then a tall, thin man with an unruly, yet luxuriant thatch of hair that defied all scientific laws of nature emerged from the shadows and into full view, dressed in all black, from his long, sweeping black leather coat, down further still to his tight and well-fitted breeches, and finally down to his tall, shiny, fine, black leather boots.

"Hello, John. It has been a long time since we have seen each other face to face."

"Give my Rose to me, Harry. This is a private matter, ours and ours alone, and I will not allow any harm to come to my Rose."

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, friend. She is no longer yours. She is mine. Just tonight, I married her. You see, my beautiful and fine English Rose, before you fled in your fruitless attempt to rendezvous with your lover, I executed my Lordly rights, and signed the marital contract in front of the magistrate. The laws of this land stipulate that you need not be present. So you are mine. My chattel. To do with as I please. And after I dispatch your lover, you will come willingly to my bed, although I do hope you put up a bit of a fight before you come to the realization that you have lost your freedom, happiness, and true love, all in one night with the whip of the quill in my hand, and ink to the parchment.”

“No!” she choked out. “I refuse! I refuse! You will never have me. NEVER!”

Lord Harold of Saxon laughed wickedly, his head thrown back, his feral teeth flashing in the crescent moonlight. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! What a tragic ending for a man so fond of drama! No Greek tragedy rivals this turn of events! This is a play of your own creation… your highness!” he sneered. “You always did love a good dramatic presentation when we were in school, didn't you? Shakespeare, Marlowe, Dickens, Sophocles, Lucius Accius. It didn’t matter who had penned the play. You wanted to be the bright and shining star, the center of the stage, to have the footlights shine up, illuminating your handsome face. Tell me. Do you still love strutting like a vain peacock?”

“I promise, it isn’t vanity that drives my desire for the stage. Only talent, which you obviously still don’t have.” The Rogue smiled with a wry, superior grin, unafraid of his longtime rival for the stage, academic achievement, and other powerful positions of which he was no yet ready to reveal to his precious Rose.

“And still! Here you are! Fanning your fine feathers in a vain attempt to intimidate me with your words. Playing the Rogue is just as dramatic! Still a part, for you know that is not your true self. You are no more a highwayman than I am the mere Lord Harold of Saxon living in a dark, dank castle.”

“Oh, that dreary prison of a house is exactly where you belong, Harry. In fact, you deserve to rot in the bowels of your castle, to wail helplessly and no one will come to your aid, dying in a pit of despair below!”

“Your words wound me, friend. What did I ever do to you?” Harry matched the Rogue’s proud grin with his own evil, tooth-baring, but as always, cold and threatening smile. “I have more than foolish words in my arsenal, John Smith, I have a pistol!"

Faster than a cheetah on the savanna, all of the anger and hatred and sadness and fear of the past months rallied from a place deep down and dark within Rose's soul. With a mighty howl, she bit down on Lord Harold of Saxon’s arm, eliciting a primal scream of pain and anger. And then she kicked him in his most manly of parts, that dreaded member that she was now relieved she would never ever have to see. He released her, and she flung herself into her beloved’s arms as Lord Harold of Saxon bent in half, wounded to the core. And then the defeated man stumbled backwards, his arms flapping for purchase, finding nothing but the salt air blowing up from the churning waters of the bay far below.

Rose buried her face into her Rogue’s black shirt, unable to bring herself to look over the cliff's edge to the rocky crags below, where she knew the man who had tormented her now lay, mangled and hideous beyond recognition, dead.

"I wish you had heard my true name for the first time from my own lips," the Rogue said wistfully.

Rose drew back just slightly, only enough so that she could gaze into his eyes, but still remain firmly engulfed within his safe, encircling arms.

“He called you your highness. And John. Who are you? Really? Tell me?“ she asked. A single tear trailed down her moonlit face.

“Rose Tyler. I am the long lost Prince John of Gallifrey, future king and rightful heir to the Bounteous Benevolent Throne of the Seven Kingdoms. Harry and I were friends once. Long ago. But that friendship died when he became the instrument of my disappearance. He was given riches beyond comprehension in exchange for me. The plot was hatched, and the kidnapping was executed. It happened when we were only fifteen. I lived for fifteen long years in a prison on an unknown island somewhere off of the coast of the southern lands. Alone. Without companionship. And then one blessed day, I was rescued by Captain Jack Harkness. He was a pirate, but a noble man. But a pirate nonetheless. We became friends, and he taught me the tricks of his trade -- how to be a noble thief, a highwayman who did no harm. And with that plan firmly in place, I reinvented myself. And I became the Rogue."

From his pocket, the handsome prince cum thief pulled a golden chain, from the end of which dangled that tiny, fine gold rosebud, which had one blessed day in the wood been stolen from between Rose’s perfect mounds of feminine, yet innocent, loveliness.

"Rose Tyler, I may have stolen your necklace from over your heart, but that day, you stole my heart. I wish to return this to you, my dearest Rose. But for a price."

"And that price would be?" Rose asked breathlessly, her two hands evenly spaced, each on opposite sides of the hard plane of his chest.

"Now that my evil foe has been vanquished, I am free to reclaim my rightful title as crown prince of my home. But I want you there with me, ruling by my side. You are now a widow. No longer matrimonially tied to that demon. Please. Be my wife? Be the princess of my throne, and queen of my heart? Tomorrow we will marry. I wish to wait no longer, for my heart beats only for you..."

"Yes! Oh, a thousand times yes, I will marry you, my Rogue! But on one condition. That you return all of the treasures and goods that you stole while you were the Rogue."

"Oh, my dearest Rose, only your heart would be so soft as to make this your first request as my future wife. Yes, I will. Threefold. But only on one condition. That you call me Rogue whenever possible. Of course, you will have to call me John from time to time, but I want to always remain your Rogue."

"Of course my Rogue. But I, too, have one condition. That you wear your roguish mask from time to time. I think it might be to your benefit that you do. When you wear your mask, my heart skips a beat, and my body begins to feel things that I feel at no other time, and although I have no experience with the physical act of passion, I do believe that only you will be able to quench the burning desire that burns deep in my core when you take me in your arms whilst wearing that mask, and then you kiss me until my breath is gone, and I must pull away for fear of expiring.”

"Your wish is my command, my Lovely Rose. My horse is around the bend. Away with me. To be my wife. To come to my bed. To leave this horrid place of darkness and desolation behind."

And so the Rogue stretched out his manly, strong hand, and she took it into her own delicate one, entwining their fingers together. He lifted her by the waist on his horse, and then he leapt onto his handsome steed.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her soft, warm, heaving bosom against his back, and breathed words of love, devotion, thanks, and hints of the passion to come into his ear as they flew across the dark, rocky moors, riding until first light. When his castle, perched high above a beautiful blue lake, fully lit and adorned with blue, silver, gold, and white bunting and flags, welcoming the long lost prince and his bride came into view, only then did he pull back on the reigns.

“Whoa, boy…” he said kindly to his faithful beast. “Rose, there's our home.”

“Oh! It’s beautiful! I love it!”

“It has been far too long since I have seen your face illuminated and glowing from the rays of the golden orb that brings light and life to the cold ground of our northern land. I want to kiss your sun-warmed face. I want to bask in your glorious golden glow, my visions of you no longer obscured by the mantel of night. And so I have sent word ahead that, if you are so agreeable, the priest awaits us in the chapel — a glorious holy place bathed in the light of day — so that we can marry without any further ado. And no wedding luncheon or cake or dancing or other merriments shall be had until this evening. I have reserved the precious daylight hours for you, and you alone, and we will go to the hidden park, and throw off our dark raiment of the past, and then we will come together, naked, beautiful, alone, and make glorious, passionate love on a bed of soft, green grass, not a black rock in sight.”

“Oh, my Rogue. It is as if you read my mind. I do not wish to wear anything other than this blue gown, for this is the silk that was against my burning skin when you rescued me tonight, when I heard your name for the first time, when I learned the truth of your past. Now make this horse go faster, my love, or I shall take over the reigns myself. We've been on this horse for nigh five hours, and believe me, I am ready to get off, and if we don’t marry immediately, I daresay I shall no longer be a maiden when we exchange our vows.“

"You're not the only one ready to get off, Rose Tyler."

#ten x rose #i wrote this #crack #purple prose challenge #bodice ripper au #pretty tame though #why did i write this?

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