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amysteriousmessenger · 4 years ago

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‘Arcade Antics’ - Saeyoung Choi x Reader Drabble

My part of a trade with @dis-gorl who was kind enough to let me post it here!! I hope you guys like it! <3 <3 It’s an arcade date with Seven! Implied female reader but it doesn’t play a huge part in the story, it’s just fluffy and fun <3

Word Count: 3.5k Rating: SFW

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To say you were nervous would be an understatement. You’d never been on a date before. Of course, you were very excited to be there, but the butterflies in your stomach where threatening to fly up into your throat and suffocate you at any given moment. You’d gotten there early just to give yourself a chance to calm down, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect as it had just provided extra time for your mind to race. Why had Seven asked you out anyway? Could he see the private messages between you and Jaehee where you had subtly mentioned liking him? No, he couldn’t have. Actually, he probably could if he wanted to but Seven wouldn’t invade your privacy like that unless he absolutely had to. And yet, what if he did know? Is that why he had asked you out? Well, he hadn’t asked you Out out, the word ‘date’ had never been said explicitly, but he hadn’t denied it when Zen asked what his ‘intentions’ were. He didn’t say it was a date, but he also didn’t say it wasn’t a date, so what were you supposed to believe? As always, Seven loved to confuse people with his antics, almost to the point of difficulty, it seemed to thrill him somewhat. Regardless, it was your first time alone with the redhead and you were both excited and nervous about it.

You sipped at the little waterbottle in your hands, trying to look casual as you turned your head from side to side, anything to keep yourself distracted. You kept looking to see which direction he’d be coming from, since he really hadn’t given you any details aside from the general ‘You wanna meet me at 2pm to hang out?’ so you weren’t even sure if you were dressed for the right occasion. After a lot of deliberation, you’d chosen nice but comfy clothes, since you didn’t want to be overdressed.

You anxiously checked your phone, it was a few minutes past 2pm, but maybe he had just been caught up in traffic. There were several chatroom notifications popping up on your phone and it was rather apparent that Jumin and Zen had gotten into some sort of disagreement. Right as you were about to open the chatroom to see what the drama had been, a cherry red Ferrari pulled up beside you. Wow. You weren’t a car person, but you could tell that it looked expensive, far too expensive. Nothing you’d be able to afford, even if your wildest dreams. You were sure that the person who owned it must be an asshole or overcompensating for something to be driving around in such a flashy car. That’s why you were so surprised when an equally cherry-red sprout of hair popped out from the drivers seat and ushered you over with a goofy grin. Your heart raced at the sight of him.

‘Seven! Wait- this is your car?’ You knew he was a fan of cars, and pricey ones at that, but God. This was something else, especially given that it was Seven and he lived in the same clothes day in day out because he didn’t know how to use the washing machine.

‘Yep!’ He replied, stroking the roof and whistling slightly in awe at the car, ‘One of my babies, ain’t she a beauty?’

‘I mean, yeah, sure. It’s very nice but isn’t it expensive?’

Without even missing a beat, he replied ‘My babies are investments; you look after them! Not that I could ever part with them, anyway. Fancy a spin? It’ll be much quicker than walking.’ Seven asked, moving around the hood of the car to open the door for you, dramatically bowing and calling you ‘My Lady’. You laughed, tentatively climbing into the pristine car. It was much lower down that you were expecting, and you were terrified of getting even the slightest speck of dirt of the floor. Just for good measure, you tightened the lid on your waterbottle.

‘Where are we going?’ You asked, but he only grinned back at you before pulling his own seatbelt on and waiting for you to do the same.

‘Shhh, it’s a surprise. A true magician never reveals his tricks.’ Seven said proudly as he turned the car radio on and began pulling out of the parking space. You were impressed, he was a much safer driver than you had anticipated him to be, given his personality and general procrastinatory nature.

‘Oh, so you’re a magician now?’ You joked back.

‘Basically. I know how to make balloon animals.’ He said with all the confidence in the world, as though that was the only specification required to become a magician.

‘And where did you learn how to do that?’

‘That’s classified information! Although, since I am a kind and merciful God Seven, I’ll make you a balloon poodle.’

‘How kind.’ You said, half-heartedly rolling your eyes at him and looking out of the window, trying to figure out where he was taking you.

‘I’m always kind!’ He joked as he continued to drive. He wasn’t wrong. Seven was always kind to you, even when he wasn’t in the greatest of moods, he’d always tried to shoulder your own pain too and cheer you up. He had a good heart, anyone could see that, even if he couldn’t.

The car ride wasn’t particularly long, only around twenty or thirty minutes. You watched people as they stared at Seven’s car in shock and awe, and most definitely some jealously. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel like a bit of a celebrity sitting in such a fancy car, but it was something you didn’t feel like you could get used to. Being in Seven’s company, on the other hand, was something you could quickly melt in to. That anxiety you had felt before he’d arrived had quickly dissipated with his stupid jokes and cheesy grin, however the butterflies were most definitely there to stay.

He told you to close your eyes as you started to get closer and closer to the destination and insisted that you kept them closed even when the car stopped. Seven got out, walked around to the passenger side of the car and offered you his hand to help you up, since the car was very low down and you were unable to see. Perhaps it was the fact you couldn’t see that heightened your senses, but Seven’s hand was so warm and strong in your own that you almost gasped at his touch. He squeezed your hand slightly as he helped you out of his car, repeating once again that you were not allowed to open your eyes. There was something about his grip that felt so safe and secure that you missed his touch as soon as he released you.

‘Noooo peeking~’ He sang, turning you around as he did so. ‘I’m not looking!’ You replied, gesturing that your eyes were squeezed shut. ‘Okay, okay!! Just a few more steps and… We’re here! On the count of three, open your eyes. One!’ ‘Two…’ You added, someone tentatively. ‘Three!’ He piped up again, clearly overcome with his own excitement and being unable to wait any longer.

You opened your eyes, finding yourself standing before a huge arcade. He’d parked far away enough that you weren’t able to hear the sounds of the machines as they would have spoiled the surprise, but close enough that you could catch a glimpse of the colourful lights and flashing games. How on Earth had you lived this close to such a big arcade and never knew it was there, you couldn’t believe. You were so excited! You looked at Seven, who was matching your excitement. Of course he would have chosen a place like this, it was so fun and excitable, so him. So very, very Seven. Plus, he probably knew all of the cheats for different games, or at the very least, the skill to win at them effortlessly.

‘You like it?’ He asked, hoping that he had chosen the right location.

‘Yes! How did you find this place? I never knew something like this was so close!’

‘Let’s just say I have some connections~ Let’s go!’ He grabbed your hand tightly, pulling you alongside him in a childish glee. You were trying, desperately, to not let the blush rise to your face at the fact he grabbed your hand once again. The thoughts ran through your head at top speed, surely, he didn’t need to hold your hand again, so maybe it was a date? Maybe he did just want to hold your hand? Your heart was fluttering throughout your chest, almost to the point of light-headedness. No, no, you couldn’t think about that right now. You just wanted to enjoy the time with Seven regardless of whether he considered it a date or not.

‘After you, my lady~’ He opened the door for you, bowing slightly as he had done when he opened the cardoor. Laughing, you curtsied as you walked into the arcade before stopping almost dead in your tracks only a few steps in. You gasped and heard Seven chuckle in response. It was alive. So many colours and sounds and excitement all in one place. There were kids running around with coins and candy in hand, high off of whatever sugary snack they had won with their tickets. The sound of coin pushers and claw-machines whirred heavy in the air, making you feel just like a kid in a candy shop once again. Well, a kid in an arcade to be more precise. You weren’t sure what you wanted to go on first, but the choice was vast. You could understand why Seven chose it and you were grateful that he had.

‘Oh, wow. It’s wonderful. This is kind of what I imagine the inside of your head is like.’ You looked on in whimsy.

‘The mind of God Seven is a weird and wonderful place, you wouldn’t want to venture in too deep, who knows what you’ll find? Maybe something like this-‘ He started, before immediately running down one specific section of the arcade. Oh no, you could see where he was headed.

‘Seven! Come back!’ You called as the redhead ran down the Nerf gun aisle. This could only end so well, and by that, you meant not well at all. Not for you, at least. He was a much faster runner than you had anticipated, so by the time you caught up with him, Seven was already putting some coins into giant arcade game where you shot nerf bullets into clown faces, with the goal of knocking them down. While you initially tried to insist that you had no aim at all, Seven was already handing you the matching Nerf gun and assuring you that having no aim was part of the fun!

You picked up the gun, waiting for the countdown to end before a spray of foam bullets erupted from Seven’s Nerf gun, taking down the top row of clowns in quick succession. You barely even had time to comment on it before he was trying to shout over the game’s booming music to encourage you to keep trying to hit the clowns and that the goal wasn’t to aim perfectly, it was just to knock them down! You held down the trigger, trying to mimic the hacker’s actions and managed to, surprisingly, knock down a clown head or two yourself. Still, it was very obvious that Seven was doing far better as the tickets that spouted from his machine just kept pooling on the floor beside him. It was over in about a minute or two, and you were ever so slightly winded from the excitement, but you were too happy to really care. Seven walked to fetch a bucket that the two of you combined your arcade tickets in and carried it on his arm like a little picnic basket.

‘Okay! Where to next?’

‘Can we go on the claw-machines?’ You asked, rooting around in your pockets for some change.

‘Don’t worry, I can cover it. I didn’t tell you where we were going in the first place so I’m not expecting you to have much cash on you anyway. Besides, my last job paid me entirely in coins so I have plenty to spare.’

‘Are they allowed to do that?’ You threw a tentative side eye at him. You knew they didn’t particularly treat Seven very well, but you would have thought that they would at the very least pay him properly for all of the work that he did for them.

‘I mean… They’re allowed to do whatever they like, I guess. But let’s not get into that!’ He started and then shrugged, quickly finding means to change the conversation, ‘That one has a Shrek plushie!’

You raised your eyebrow, partially in disbelief, but turned to see where Seven was pointing ‘In the year 2021?’

‘Shrek is Love, Shrek is life, and most importantly, Shrek is timeless.’ He said, grabbing a handful of coins from his pocket and putting a few of them into the machine. The claw-grabber burst to life,

‘You can do it! Do it for Shrek!’ You yelled behind him.

‘I have to! Gah! This machine is such a cheat!’ He cried as the weak claw dropped Shrek onto his head. Immediately, Seven pushed several more coins into the slot, moving the claw once again and picking Shrek up by the ass. You waited with excited, but bated breath as you watched the plushie rise from the bed of his brethren into the air, slowly dangling over them as he moved closer and closer to the drop box. It fell, causing the winning buzzer to explode out of the machine.

‘Yes! You got him!’ You gave a little jump and a clap, congratulating Seven for his prize.

‘Shrek!’ Seven yelled as he bent down to reach into the drop-box. It was by no means an expensive looking plushie, he was definitely poorly made and a bit ugly in the face, but it was a handsome prize nonetheless. Seven certainly seemed happy with it. He grinned at it, before pulling out his phone and telling you to get into the selfie with him and Shrek to send to the RFA Chatroom. You smiled, putting up a peace sign so your hands didn’t look awkward as Seven took the picture. He clicked his phone a couple of times before proudly presenting you with the Shrek plushie, ‘as an offering.’

Oh god, were you blushing? Was it obvious? At first, you tried to tell Seven that he should keep his prize, since he was the one that won it in the first place, but he insisted that he won it for you. He handed you the stuffed toy, and you gave it a little squeeze.

‘Thank you��’ You said, looking up at him with a smile. His golden eyes widened slightly before he looked away, unusually embarrassed. He scratched the back of his head and laughed a little.

‘Ah-! What next? You wanna go on the coin pusher?’ He rushed out, ‘You can lead the way!’

Trying to focus your eyes between all the bright electric colours, what you couldn’t see was Seven glancing between you and the pictures he had taken on his phone, softly smiling to himself. He had constantly stolen glances at you all day, he’d trembled slightly when he had taken your hand outside, and then couldn’t stop himself from wanting to hold it a second time too. He’d chosen the arcade because you had mentioned wanting to feel like a kid again, just having a fun time with no worries. He’d wanted to tell you how cute you looked, but it was so different trying to compliment someone in person. He wanted to be the 707 that you spoke to so frequently over the phone and in the chatrooms, but he suddenly found himself a little bit shy. Saeyoung was much shyer than Seven, but that was just one thing out of the list of stuff he wanted to tell you but couldn’t.

Ahead, you found yourself at the coin pushers and selected one that had a little plastic car keychain right on the edge, so you wanted to win it for Seven as a thank you for the plushie than you had under your arm.

Seven disappeared for a few moments before promptly returning with some cotton candy on a stick that one of the food vendors had been selling. He wiped his hands with some antibacterial spray before pulling small tufts of pink cotton candy away from the stink and feeding them to you. You both laughed as he missed your lips completely, causing the pale strands to stick to your cheek before he finally managed to aim the treat properly. He fed some to himself, since your hands were preoccupied with the coin machine, and thought it was both intriguing and endearing that you were desperately attempting to cover his view with your jacket so that he could not see what you were trying to win for him.

Eventually, the car dropped. You told him he had to close his eyes and place one of his hands out in anticipation. It was only when Seven closed his eyes, that you realised how tired he looked. Sigh. You didn’t know much about his job, but they really did work Seven to the bone and then even more. Had he stayed up all night to finish his work just for this? You shook your head, not wanting to make yourself upset and worry him and end up ruining the day. You looked at him again. He was practically vibrating with excitement, you supposed that he probably did not receive gifts often. Or at all. You placed the little keychain in the palm of his hand.

‘Tada!~’ You sang.

‘OOOOOOO! I love it, this will make a fine addition to my car keys, 606!’ Seven played with the little car, thoroughly inspecting it with sparkles in his eyes. Yeah, he definitely didn’t receive gifts very often.

‘606?’

‘That’s my codename for you.’ He replied with the same cheesy grin you had seen earlier.

‘Okay! I’m 606 now.’ You joked, watching him hook the little car onto his keys. If it weren’t for the loud music, you would almost be certain that he would be able to hear your heart thudding against your ribcage. And yet, what you didn’t know was that he felt the exact same way.

‘Where do you wanna go nex- Ah!’ He had begun to ask, but suddenly something bumped into him. Someone. Well, two little ‘someones’ actually. Two brunette boys, twins probably, bounced off the side of Seven’s leg. Neither one was hurt, but they were worried that Seven would be angry with them. One started to cry a little bit, and the other stood in front of him to talk to Seven.

‘Wah! Sorry, mister!’ The bolder twin said, before helping the other one up.

‘It’s okay~ Watch where you’re going, you don’t want to bump into a meanie!’ Seven melted at the sight of the two boys, only around seven or eight in age. It made sense to you that Seven liked kids, since he was such a big kid himself, and you adored the warm smile he had for them. There was an emotion in his eyes that you weren’t quite sure you could explain, but it was definitely a sentimental one. ‘Actually, would the two of you like these? You could probably make better use for them than I would.’

The two boys looked into the bucket of machine tickets that Seven presented them with, crouching down slightly to talk to them. The shyer boy, who was now as equally excited as his brother shouted, ‘Woah! There are so many!

‘Are you sure, Mister?’ The first twin asked.

‘Yep! Here you go! Have fun, don’t stray too far from your parents!’ He ruffled his hands into their heads as he sent them on their way.

‘Thank you!’ The boys said in sync, holding the bucket between them as they waved goodbye to you and Seven. He stood back up, sheepishly apologising for giving away your ticket tokens.

‘You did a nice thing for them.’ You smiled, placing your hand on his arm. A blush erupted over his cheeks, to the point where they were almost the same colour as his hair.

‘A-ah! I should drop you back home before Zen threatens to break down my door or something, he’s been calling non-stop to make sure I haven’t kidnapped you.’ Seven rushed out each word in quick succession in a frantic tone, clearly flustered.

‘Thank you for arcade trip, Seven.’ You replied, a rush of affection falling over you. It was now or never. You had to do it. In a moment of uncharacteristic courage, you pressed a kiss against his warm cheek.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger x reader #saeyoung choi #saeyoung choi x reader #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger hcs #mystic messenger headcanon #mystic messenger self insert #mystic messenger reader insert #mystic messenger hc

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quickspinner · 4 years ago

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Haste to the Wedding

Here’s my fic for the @lukanette-exchange, for @misslenamooney! I hope you like it! The prompts were “Lukanette, happy Marinette, and if you’re feeling a bit salty, you can salt on Alya and Lila.“ I only have the faintest sprinkling of salt here, more like an echo of the past than anything else, but it was a convenient frame for the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! This will be up on AO3 later today.

Come haste to the wedding ye friends and ye neighbours The lovers their bliss can no longer delay. Forget all your sorrows your cares and your labors, And let every heart beat with rapture today. ~ Haste to the Wedding, traditional Gaelic jig.

“Oh, Marinette, it’s so perfect,” Alya breathed, bouncing slightly and then stilling before Marinette could reprimand her. The gown was lovely, the white lace making beautiful patterns against Alya’s darker skin where Marinette had left it open, and forming a more subtle texture in the areas where the dress was lined for modesty. It skimmed Alya’s body beautifully before flaring in a subtle trumpet shape towards the bottom, with just enough train in the back to form a nice shape on the ground behind her. All in all, Marinette felt very satisfied with it. Sophisticated and strong enough for the tough reporter, with a touch of the whimsy and fantasy that one expected in a wedding dress.

Alya was glowing with happiness, and Marinette smiled absently as she selected another pin from a cushion on her wrist. They’d grown apart a bit, going to different lycées and both traveling extensively for their careers, so they didn’t get to see each other often and sometimes didn’t speak directly for months at a time, but they were still good friends, and when Alya had called and asked Marinette to personally design her wedding dress, there was no question of saying no. Marinette had even hesitantly offered to work with Alya on the wedding planning, since she’d be in Paris much more than Alya over the coming months, but somewhat to her relief, Alya had dismissed her offer, telling her she’d run into another old friend who was starting up a wedding planning business and that she was taking care of everything. Marinette wasn’t sorry to be exempted from the planning (and also from bridesmaid duties, since Alya had decided to have only her sisters attend her).

Now she need only worry about the dress, which Alya of course insisted only Marinette could do. Alya had opted for a crisp white pantsuit look for the civil ceremony at City Hall, saving her wedding dress for the fancifully American-style wedding reception they had planned for the next day.

Despite her faith in her friend, Alya had been a bit nervous, Marinette could tell, about having most of their consultations long-distance, but Marinette was used to it, and she had treated Alya like any of her several high-profile clients that couldn’t always meet with her in person. Marinette’s professionalism and smooth process had seemed to soothe Alya’s worries, and they had managed a couple of in-person meetups for the most critical stages.

The only thing that had given Marinette pause was the idea of not having a final fitting until the day before the wedding, but it really couldn’t be helped. Marinette preferred to have multiple redundant contingency plans and plenty of time to implement them. She’d had several mini-meltdowns at the very idea of a huge last-minute problem, and had actually been in the middle of one when Alya walked in the door, fresh from the civil ceremony and glowing with happiness and excitement. The irrational panic that Alya wouldn’t like the dress had melted away as soon as Alya caught sight of it and let out a deafening squeal, and once the dress was on, it became apparent that Marinette’s assistant had been right in telling her to have more faith in her own skill. The dress was nearly perfect. No emergencies, no last minute creative fixes, no (or at least, no more than usual) stress. Marinette only had to pin the hem to the final length for Alya’s shoes and finish it that night, and it would be ready for tomorrow.

She just had to endure Alya’s teasing until then. “Marinette, come on, spill,” the bride urged. “I know something’s going on with you and Luka since he got back from his tour. I just want to know what it is!”

“So do I,” Marinette muttered, selecting another pin from the cushion on her wrist. “I don’t know, Alya, we’ve been flirting a lot and there’s been...I mean, he’s always been a touchy-feely person, so I don’t know if it means anything—”

“Girl, when it comes to you Luka has always meant something and you know it.”

Marinette blushed, but she couldn’t deny it. Luka had never pressed his admiration on her but he never hid it, either, and Marinette had never been unaffected by it. Busy as they were with their own careers, both made it a point to make time to see each other whenever the two of them were in the same city, and the meetings were always comfortable, enjoyable, brief, and just on the edge of flirtatious, charged with potential they never had time to explore. Since he’d come back from his tour and she’d actually managed to be in town for a few months consecutively, they’d met up a few times now (more than a few) and it was—it was so fun, and Luka was so sweet and smooth and it felt so good to be the center of someone’s attention, and they’d always had so much chemistry together, and she was really starting to think that maybe—

Focus, she thought, sticking some pins in her mouth as an excuse not to speak. Fortunately, Alya’s mind was too focused on the wedding to pester Marinette for long.

“We thought about asking if he could play the wedding, but I know it’s not normally his thing, and my friend said she had some other options, and boy, did she! And how amazing will it be to have Jagged Stone playing the reception? It’ll be huge for Nino, for people to know he has enough connections to get someone that big to play—Marinette? Are you okay?”

Marinette’s head had snapped up to stare wide-eyed at Alya, and she was completely frozen now, a sick feeling forming in her stomach. Slowly she took the pins out of her mouth, sitting back on her heels as she looked up at Alya. “Alya,” Marinette began hesitantly. “Jagged’s in Greece. He has three back to back shows scheduled over the next three nights, and two more shortly after. There’s no way he’s going to be in Paris tomorrow.”

Alya’s mouth dropped open slightly, and then she laughed. “That can’t be right, Marinette! He’s been booked for the wedding for six months!”

“Six months?” Marinette echoed, her brows coming together as that sick feeling got worse. “Alya, Jagged’s schedule is booked out for two years at least.”

“Well yeah, for normal people.” Alya flapped a hand dismissively. “But Lila said—” She paused and bit her lip. “I mean—for you know, people with connections…” but she trailed off as Marinette laid her pins aside and stood up.

“You let Lila book the band for your wedding?” Marinette demanded, and then at Alya’s guilty look, she sucked in a horrified breath. “Lila is your old friend that’s in the wedding planning business?”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Alya sighed, twisting her hands together. “I know you guys never got along and I knew you’d be mad.”

“Mad isn’t the word I would use,” Marinette sighed, pacing the floor and pulling at her hair. “Alya, how much of the wedding did Lila book?”

“Almost all of it,” Alya shrugged. “My mom got us the venue and she’s doing the catering, and I insisted on having you do my dress, but Lila booked everything else.” She smiled dreamily. “It’s going to be beautiful, Marinette, she got so many incredible things and her budget was so reasonable. Her business is really going to take off after everybody sees how well she’s done. I was a little nervous, but I knew she could pull it off.”

Marinette just stared at her for a moment, her lips in a firm line, and then she pulled out her phone. “Just a minute, Alya,” she muttered, and dialed. It went to voicemail, as she expected. “Hey, Penny, this is Marinette. I was um, working on a project that I wanted Jagged to see, and since I hear he’s going to be in Paris tomorrow, I was hoping he could make some time for me. No pressure, just, if he’s available. Please let me know either way.”

She hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket, trying to keep her face neutral. “Alya,” she said quietly, “What did Lila book for you?”

Alya shrugged. “Everything except the dress, which of course had to be you, the food, which of course had to be my mom, and the venue, which we already had reserved through one of my mom’s contacts. Flowers—oh, you should have seen the pictures she sent me they were to die for—favors for the guests, the band obviously, the cake—she tried to get your parents but they were booked solid and we agreed we shouldn’t bother you about it—the makeup and hair and photographer, from all that modeling she’s done you know, and the decorations.”

Marinette took a deep breath and sat down in a chair, covering her mouth with her hands. This was going to be a disaster. Alya’s wedding was going to be a disaster. Oh, the important stuff was still there, at least no one would go hungry and they weren’t going to have hundreds of guests descend on some poor bewildered staff person demanding to be let in to a wedding that didn’t exist. Alya and Nino were already legally married and they could still—

“Lila doesn’t have the rings, right?” Marinette demanded, looking up sharply.

“No, Nino does,” Alya frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “Marinette, what is your problem?”

Marinette got up and swatted Alya’s hands away from the fabric irritably. “Don’t, you’ll soil it. My problem is that Lila has never delivered on a single thing she promised you. Have you actually talked to any of these people yourself?”

“No, but Lila and I have been talking every week and she sent me pictures and samples and she did all the consultations. I didn’t have to worry about a thing!”

Marinette moaned, tossing her head back. “You never confirmed anything she booked?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “She sent me invoices for all of them! I can show you the check stubs if you’re that upset about it.”

“You wrote checks?” Marinette gasped. Charges on a credit card they might have been able to dispute, but—okay, no, this was too much. She’d worry about that part later. “Did you sign a contract with her?”

Alya scoffed. “Of course not, we’re friends.”

Marinette pressed her lips together and folded her arms and reminded herself that Nino would be upset if she strangled his bride the night before the wedding. “We’re friends,” she pointed out tightly, gesturing between herself and Alya. “I still made you sign a contract.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve always been anal like that.”

“Anal like—” Marinette stopped, turning her back for a second to breathe, and before she could formulate a response her phone beeped with an incoming video message.

She set it to play on speaker. “Hi, Marinette,” Penny Rolling said, looking pristine as always despite the chaos behind her. “Always great to hear from you! Unfortunately it seems like there’s been some kind of misunderstanding? Jagged’s not scheduled to be in Paris again for two more months. I know he’d want to see what you’re working on, so text me later and we can work out a video call instead. So sorry for the mixup. Talk to you soon.”

Marinette looked up at Alya, who was doing a credible impression of a fish.

“That’s just—okay, so there was a misunderstanding, you’ve told me how Jagged is, I’m sure—maybe he forgot to tell Penny and she didn’t put it on his calendar, but it’s just one thing, there’s no need to—”

“Alya.” Marinette met her friend’s gaze steadily and Alya cut off, seeming to shrink a little. “This is your wedding. Do you really want to take the chance?”

Alya just stared at her.

“Call the florist first,” Marinette said calmly. Too calmly, she knew, but she also knew that Alya was finally listening, because the color drained from her face and she began fumbling for her phone.

Not bothering to wait for the outcome, Marinette pulled out her sketchbook and flipped to a fresh page, making a list down the page as she frantically thought about her options. In a few moments she had a plan sketched out and was dialing her own phone.

“Adrien,” Marinette bit out as soon as he picked up. “Did you know that Nino and Alya’s wedding planner was Lila?”

There was a good thirty seconds of silence on the other end of the line before Adrien breathed, “Oh no. No, I didn’t know, it never even occurred to me to…what are we going to do, Marinette?”

“We’re going to fix this disaster so our friends can have the wedding they deserve,” Marinette said as if it was simple. “You’re on photography and flowers. I know you hate trading on your name and your contacts but so help me, you better use every ounce of fame you have to get this done—”

“I’ll do it,” Adrien said quickly. “I’ll do it. And count on me to cover the cost of whatever else you need to get. Whatever premium you have to promise.”

“I’ll hold you do that,” Marinette told him, and then glanced over her shoulder. An increasingly panicked-looking Alya wasn’t even paying attention to her. “And call Nino and tell him he better get back here now. Thanks, chaton.”

“You can always count on me, my lady. So can Alya and Nino.”

“All right, I’ll call if I need anything else.” She hung up the phone and dialed again.

“Hi, boss,” a chipper voice greeted her.

“Sabrina,” Marinette sighed, unable to match her assistant’s cheerful tone. “Listen, there’s been a problem with Alya’s wedding and I need you to ransack the warehouse for decorations. Anything that we might use for a wedding photoshoot. And start calling any stylist and makeup artist who’s ever done well for us and get them on board to do wedding hair and makeup tomorrow. I know it’s short notice but we need somebody on board in a hurry. Money is no object. Adrien’s footing the bill so if you need a credit card or something, call him. He’ll be expecting you.”

“Colors?” Sabrina asked, and Marinette smiled at the brusque tone and lack of questioning. She’d been nervous when Sabrina had called her looking for a job, having been fired (again) by Chloe, but taking her on was going on Marinette’s list of best management decisions ever. Sabrina was a huge asset to Marinette’s successful and growing business, and the only assistant Marinette had ever hired that was detail-oriented and organized enough to keep up with her.

“Orange, mint, and forest green,” she replied, making a note on her list to text that to Adrien as well for the florist. “Just have the guys pile it all in the van and we’ll sort through it when we get there. Grab whatever you can find in the scrap fabrics, too. I’m not sure it’ll be much but we’ll work with whatever we can have.” She paused. “Sabrina, this is a personal favor, not a job, but I—”

“Got it, boss,” Sabrina chirped. “Text me the address and what time the venue opens, and I’ll meet you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Sabrina,” Marinette smiled, making a mark on her list.

Next, she called her mother, made Sabine put her on speaker so that Tom could hear, and begged shamelessly, using every “Papa’s little girl” trick she could think of to get them on board. Naturally, Tom couldn’t refuse. Marinette felt guilty for putting that much work on them but she’d find a way to make it up to them later.

Looking at the next item on her list, she hesitated. She set her phone down and pressed her hands to her face, and then looked back down at the list, feeling her face heat. She knew what she needed to do—she knew who she needed to call, but…

She glanced up at Alya, who was sitting motionless in her chair, the phone in her lap, staring into space with a blank expression that was...bad. On Alya, it was really bad.

Marinette took a deep breath and dialed the phone. She put a hand over her racing heart and pressed as if that would stop the fluttering.

“Hey, beautiful,” a warm, deep voice said, and Marinette smiled in spite of herself. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you today. Figured you’d be busy.”

“H-hey, Luka,” she said, and swallowed, hating the stutter. “I—well, I am busy, but I—that is, I mean—argh.” She groaned, and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. God, she hated to do this. “I need a favor,” she said through gritted teeth, and then sighed. “A big one. Huge. A really big, I-have-no-right-to-ask-you-this-sized favor.”

“I’m listening,” Luka said, unruffled as always, a touch of amusement in his voice.

“So, the wedding,” Marinette took a breath and blew it out. “Well, long story short, the band fell through. A lot of things fell through, actually, and we’re really scrambling to fix everything and I know this is super, super short notice and I won’t blame you one bit if you tell me to jump ship, but—but this is really important to me, Luka, and I...I…”

“You want me to find you a band in less than twenty-four hours?” Luka asked incredulously.

“W-well,” Marinette cringed, fisting the fabric of her skirt in her hand. “I was sort of hoping you’d be the band? Not that I don’t trust you, I’m sure anybody you could get would be great, but you’re amazing, and I really need amazing for this. This—I can’t explain everything but this is not going to be the wedding Nino and Alya had counted on and I really, really need it to be the best we can possibly give them, and you’re definitely the best, so—please, Luka, I’m begging, I’ll do anything, Adrien’s covering all the expenses and we’ll come up with a number to make it worth it for you and anyone you can bring with you, and I’m sure there’s going to be industry contacts there because of Nino, and I just—”

“Marinette,” Luka said firmly, and she shut her mouth abruptly.

“Yes?” she ventured, when Luka didn’t say anything more.

“What time do you need me to be there?” he asked, and she could hear his smile. “I’m not sure if I can get the rest of the guys, or even subs, it might just be me—”

“You’re more than enough,” Marinette assured him, and then blushed. “I mean. Well. You are. Anyway, I, um...I’ll text you the details and you let me know how it turns out with the others.”

“Yeah, sure. Be sure and send me anything they wanted as far as the set list. First dance and all that.” He chuckled. “I haven’t played many weddings but I remember that much at least.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, glancing aside as the door opened and Nino came through, expression worried. “I’ll probably have Nino get in touch with you directly about that stuff. I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Luka, I...I feel like I’m taking advantage…”

“Marinette,” Luka’s voice was velvety, rich and alluring, and despite the situation it sent a shiver down her spine. “You can take advantage of me any time you want.”

Mairnette scrunched her shoulders as a fierce blush spread over her face. “Luka,” she whined, and he laughed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her, still in that voice. “Save a dance for me.”

The call cut off and Marinette dropped the phone in her lap, dropped her head in her hands, and squealed softly.

Okay. Plenty of time later to think about her complicated relationship with the guitarist and how much she’d been wondering lately if kissing him stupid would uncomplicate it or make it worse. For now, Alya was coming out of her catatonic state, Marinette’s phone was already blowing up with texts from Adrien and Sabrina and her mother, and she had a disaster to mitigate.

At least that was something she was good at. She picked up her notebook and marched over to Alya and Nino.

***

It could have been worse, Marinette reflected with satisfaction as she looked around the party hall. Sabrina was a miracle worker, and that was a fact. Resourceful and much more ruthless than her (current) employer, she knew how to use her contacts and how to trade on Adrien’s name and wealth to get things done. Marinette only hoped they hadn’t screwed anyone over too badly.

“You know it’s bad form to outshine the bride at her wedding,” said a deep voice in her ear, and Marinette jumped and whirled to smack Luka in the shoulder as he laughed. She pouted and shook her finger in his face. “No flirting until after your set.”

“All right,” he chuckled, catching her hand and bringing it down gently as he smiled at her. “You’re the boss today.” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand in a way that made his words a lie. “Where should we set up?”

“We?” Marinette blinked, her mouth dropping open slightly as she finally tore her eyes from Luka to look over his shoulder, where three other people stood with instrument cases and bored expressions.

“I called in some favors,” he grinned. “I’ll probably be playing dive bars and who knows what else for weeks to pay this back, but...anything for you, Marinette.”

She should have scolded him for flirting again, but she couldn’t because she knew that he meant it. He was only laying it on so thick now because she’d been flirting back and encouraging him over the last few weeks, and when he looked at her like that, well...she had a hard time being sorry.

Luka raised his eyebrows slightly and she realized he was still waiting for an answer to his question. He was still rubbing her hand with his thumb, though, too, and Marinette whipped her hand away and turned on her heel, calling “Follow me.”

“Anywhere,” he said softly behind her, and she bit her lip, trying not to giggle like a teenager.

Once she had led him to the stage and the sound system, he sobered a bit, clearly settling into professional mode as he gave his bandmates instructions for setting up. Marinette hovered while he checked the stage lights and asked for some adjustments. The venue staff accommodated him with admirable speed. Marinette was called away for a bit to consult with the frazzled, tired-but-triumphant florist and figure out how best to distribute what they had managed to acquire. She was surprised at how much there was. A lot of it was white but it was tastefully mixed with the orange and pale green blossoms. It would do, distributed correctly.

When she returned, the band was set up and tuning up for their sound check. Marinette checked the time nervously.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be ready,” Luka’s normally soft voice boomed through the sound system, and she jumped slightly. She looked up to find him at the microphone, guitar slung across his shoulders, and as he tossed back his hair and smiled at her, she was reminded of the boy from the boat, Juleka’s brother, the boy who gave her rides on his bike and smiled at her with soft eyes and played songs that resonated in her heart.

Almost as if he could hear her, his hands went to the strings, but it wasn’t her heart that he played this time. She recognized the intro to Alya and Nino’s first dance song, though it sounded more vibrant with Luka’s distinctive rock edge. It would be perfect for them, she noted absently. Luka’s eyes found her again and he smirked. Marinette was barely aware of the drums picking up the rhythm and the bass coming in a bit late as Luka took a breath and sang, low and smooth, his eyes on her.

“What would I do without your smart mouth, drawing me in and you kicking me out, you’ve got my head spinning, no kidding, I can’t pin you down. What’s going on in that beautiful mind? I’m on your magical mystery ride, and I’m so dizzy, don’t know what hit me, but I’ll be all right.”

He dropped his eyes, and Marinette thought he might be blushing as he launched into the chorus. She put a hand over her heart and sighed at the way it beat against her hand as she closed her eyes to listen to him singing All of me loves all of you…

It gave her goosebumps. Luka wasn’t Jagged Stone, and he didn’t try to be. His voice was so rich and full it seemed to fill the space and make everything sound closer and more intimate.

He cut off abruptly and stepped back, motioning his bandmates to cut off. “Okay, can we bring the bass up just a little bit?” The guy working the sound waved an acknowledgement, and they played the lead-in again. This time Luka nodded in satisfaction, and then turned back to ask his bandmates something Marinette couldn’t hear.

They ran through parts of a few other of the more important songs, and Marinette was more and more impressed at the way Luka managed to fit the songs to his own style, without changing the substance.

When he was satisfied with the way everything sounded, they all put the instruments in their stands and came down off the stage.

Luka opened his mouth to say something but Marinette raised up on her toes, took his face in her hands and kissed him briefly on the mouth. “Thank you so much for doing this,” she told him. “You’re really my hero today.”

He licked his lips, and made a visible effort to drag his gaze from her mouth to her eyes, but they flicked right back again when Marinette bit her lip again to keep in another fit of giggles that wanted to burst from her. He always had that effect on her. She patted his cheek. “I have to go check on Alya, but I’ll catch up with you in a bit, okay?”

“Sure,” he managed finally, and cleared his throat as she turned away. She got a few steps away before he called her name and she turned back.

“You really do look beautiful,” he said simply, and Marinette blushed, hands going automatically to smooth her simple pink and mint cocktail dress.

“Thanks, Luka,” she said, watching his eyes follow the slight shrug of her bare shoulders. “You look really good too. I like your usual look, but you clean up nicely too.” She winked at him. “Don’t forget you promised me a dance after your set.”

Luka’s mouth dropped open slightly and he looked a bit as if he’d been hit in the back of the head with a board. Marinette tossed her hair and blew him a kiss, and if she put a little extra sway in her hips as she walked away, it was just for the sake of making her skirt swish that little bit more.

Behind her, Luka put a hand to his heart and pretended to faint into his bandmate’s arms. “She’s gonna kill me,” he muttered with a happy sigh.

“So long as I get paid first, mate,” his drummer grunted, heaving him off.

***

Alya cried when she saw the hall, despite all the ladies in the group converging on her and begging her not to make her eyes puffy on her big day. In all honesty her eyes were already puffy from the hopeless weeping that had followed her denial and disbelief, but the makeup artist Sabrina found did a masterful job hiding it, and the glow of Alya’s happiness and relief did anything else that was wanted.

It maybe wasn’t the decorations Alya had picked out, or the hairstyle Alya had decided on, or exactly the shade of eyeshadow she had planned on, but it all came together just fine. No one would ever know the disaster the wedding had almost been. Marinette spared a moment to viciously wish that Lila might see the social media pictures of just how lovely it had all turned out in spite of her, before putting the horrible woman out of her mind entirely.

“You’re a miracle worker as always,” Adrien sighed as they paused for a congratulatory fist bump.

“Sabrina gets most of the credit,” Marinette observed. “She did a lot of the legwork, and we for sure wouldn’t have been able to do as much without you backing us. It sure would be nice if I could find the money to put a bonus in her next paycheck.”

Adrien nodded. “How about you overcharge me for a custom suit for the charity ball I have to attend next month?”

“That should do it,” Marinette agreed. “Have your assistant call Sabrina, we’ll set something up.”

“Still,” Adrien said, nudging Marinette with a cat-like grin spreading across his face. “Somehow I doubt Sabrina had much to do with the music for tonight.”

“No, that was Nino,” Marinette replied airily. “He called in a favor with a DJ friend of his that was on the guest list anyway.”

“Uh-huh. And the live music?” Adrien nudged her a little harder and Marinette shoved him off so hard he nearly fell.

“I’m going to check on the cake,” she announced, though she knew her parents had delivered it to Mme Césare’s staff earlier and that they surely knew what they were doing.

The ring ceremony went off without a hitch, with Alya’s sisters at her side and Adrien and Noel at Nino’s, without any hint of the drama that had been going on behind the scenes since yesterday.

And the dress, Marinette noted with satisfaction, looked perfect.

Then Alya and Nino took the dance floor, and Luka took over the mic, and then he was singing again, in that voice that gave her goosebumps. It had been quite a while since she had seen him perform live, and she hadn’t exactly forgotten the way he could command a room, but it still gave her the shivers. She drifted closer and closer to the stage as she moved through the crowd, and then suddenly she was looking up at Luka, and he was looking down at her, and Marinette might have felt self-conscious except that everyone else was locked on Alya and Nino. No one had any attention to notice the way they were looking at each other as Luka sang, “You’re my downfall, you’re my muse, my worst distraction, my rhythm and blues. I can’t stop singing, it’s ringing in my head for you.”

Really, to Marinette, it felt like all those other people weren’t even there.

***

She was looking for him, once the band had wrapped up and the DJ had taken over, and he still managed to come up from behind and surprise her.

“Is now a good time for that dance?”

“Luka, stop sneaking up on me,” Marinette scolded, turning to find him grinning down at her once again.

“I’m not even sorry,” he told her, chuckling as he held out his hand. “May I?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but she was grinning as she put her hand in his and let him guide her onto the dance floor, where his broad, warm hands settled on her waist as her own delicate hands joined behind his neck.

“You did an awesome job up there,” Marinette told him as they swayed. “Really. Jagged Stone himself couldn’t have done better.”

Luka snorted. “As if Jagged could ever contain himself enough to play a wedding. He’d be upstaging the bride every chance that he got.”

“That...is probably true,” Marinette admitted. She loved the rock star, but she was by no means blind to his faults, which included being extremely self-absorbed and a natural attention magnet. It really was better that he hadn’t been here.

She sighed. “I still can’t believe Alya thought Lila could actually deliver on all those promises. I thought after everything—but she did eventually manage to lie her way into some real connections, so I guess maybe she had just enough authenticity to sound credible this time.”

“Don’t think about her,” Luka said softly, whisking her into a turn. “I don’t like the faces you make when you do,” he teased, lifting one hand to stroke the deep crease between her brows. “You pulled it off, Marinette. Look at Alya and Nino. They couldn’t be any happier, so just dance with me and forget about all that mess. What’s on the big calendar for this week, hm? Or should I even ask?”

“Actually, I was wondering if maybe I could take you to dinner,” Marinette said as lightly as she could manage. “As a thank you.”

Luka looked away for a second. “I think you already know I’d love to go out with you, Marinette,” Luka said, his voice serious even though he was still smiling when he looked back at her. “But I’d rather it not be out of pity, or even gratitude. I want you on your own terms.”

Of course he did. That was just...so Luka. Marinette took a deep breath and shifted a little closer to him, letting her fingers drift up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated, the eyes that had gone half-lidded at her touch snapping open.

“Okay,” Marinette confirmed. “Here’s my terms. I work a lot. My business is very deadline driven and I’m very hands-on with a lot of people as part of the fitting process. It’s entirely professional, entirely necessary, and you have to be okay with it.”

“I can handle that,” Luka agreed, looking as cool as ever, but they were now moving ever so slightly off-beat with the music, so she knew he was rattled.

“I can’t always be home to cook dinner. I might not even be home to eat dinner. I’ve worked really hard to get where I am and in a couple more years I might be able to bring on more staff, but that’s not a guarantee.”

“I’d never ask you to stop pursuing your passion, Marinette,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “But if you’re not taking care of yourself, if you’re not eating and sleeping enough to at least function, I’m gonna ask you to slow down.”

“Fair,” Marinette acknowledged. “I travel a lot. I’ll be in other cities a lot, on my own, with a lot of clients and models. The tabloids like to stir up trouble and it’s only a matter of time before they have me shacking up with somebody. I expect you to talk to me before you jump to any conclusions.”

“Of course,” he said so simply that she believed him.

Marinette took a deep breath. “Sometimes I have to be places that I can’t explain,” she said softly, no longer looking him in the eye. “I don’t want to have to lie and come up with excuses, so...I need you to just trust me. And if it gets to be too much...I need you to tell me that too, so we can stay friends when we split up.”

“Okay,” Luka said, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Is that all?”

Marinette shrugged and tried to smile. “Mostly, yeah.”

“All right then,” Luka grinned, twirling her around. “I accept your terms. Are you ready to hear mine?”

“O-okay,” Marinette stammered.

“We’re in the same boat on the travel. I work a lot of odd jobs and weird hours,” Luka began. “My schedule’s never the same from week to week. I work a lot of late nights and I hate mornings.”

“Me too,” Marinette giggled. “I think I can live with that. What else?”

“I get hit on kind of a lot,” he said, looking away slightly as a faint hint of red colored his cheeks. “When I play a gig. And this tour was—it was crazy, even though we were just the opening act. Some people get a little handsy. I don’t like it, I don’t ask for it, and it’s got nothing to do with things between us—no matter what it looks like when you walk up. So, same courtesy? Talk to me before you freak out?”

“I don’t freak out as easily as I used to,” Marinette mumbled, blushing herself. “But yeah, I got it. Okay. I don’t really like that people are touching you when you don’t want them to, though. I can’t promise I won’t bend a thumb or two if they’re where they don’t belong.”

“Hmm, we’ll negotiate on that,” Luka chuckled, pinching her waist lightly. “I don’t personally mind but I don’t want my girlfriend getting kicked out of every club in Paris.” He gave her a soft look. “And you would be my girlfriend. I’m not interested in dating around if being with you is an option.”

Marinette blushed harder, but put her nose in the air and pretended to consider. “Hm. That sounds reasonable. Besides, I don’t mind making time for you, but otherwise I’m way too busy to date.” She held her “Chloe face” for another moment and then broke down in giggles, and Luka laughed too, and they collapsed against each other for a moment, Luka’s forehead coming down to rest on hers as they snickered. Marinette closed her eyes, breathing in the peace and contentment she always felt with him, and wondered why they hadn’t had this talk sooner. It felt so...right.

Reluctantly, Marinette pushed him back after a moment, pulling him back into the dance.

“I don’t want to steal Alya’s spotlight,” she murmured, glancing at her glowing friend, floating around the room on her new husband’s arm. “She’s already going to be mad enough we stole her song.”

“Did we?” Luka chuckled, and Marinette grinned.

“I think we did. It sure felt like it to me.”

“Yeah, it did,” Luka sighed. “I should probably be sorry about that. Hopefully everyone else was focused on the bride and groom. But seriously, I think you’ve already kind of stolen the show here. You say you didn’t do much but I was talking to Adrien a bit before.” He shook his head. “You’re amazing. Anyone else would have just patted her back and left her to figure it out on her own.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Marinette sighed. “I just happened to have the resources to make it happen.”

“Because you’re amazing,” Luka chuckled.

Marinette’s lips twitched as she tried not to smile too broadly, pretending to dust something off his shoulder as an excuse not to look at him for a moment. “Maybe. It did turn out pretty nicely, after all. I guess I deserve some credit for that.” She glanced up at his face, half-afraid he’d be put off by her lack of modesty, but he just squeezed her waist lightly and nodded.

“Absolutely. The business you’ve built at your age, it’s incredible. You’re so dedicated and driven and passionate, it blows my mind. Makes me feel like I’m really slacking. If I had your dedication I’d be on my third album by now.”

“You would be,” Marinette chided, squeezing his arm. “If you’d accepted Jagged’s help.”

Luka sighed and looked away. “That’s complicated, Marinette.”

“I know,” Marinette said, giving him a sympathetic look. “And you’re doing great on your own. Are the final numbers in from the tour yet? I know you were waiting to hear.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Luka’s mouth. “Yeah. They’re, um...they’re pretty good. Really good, actually. Nothing’s certain yet, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to pick up our option for the next album.”

“Really?” Marinette screeched in a whisper, bouncing on her toes. “Luka, that’s amazing!” She popped up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Her eyes went round when she realized what she’d just done, but Luka’s went heavy-lidded and dark.

Suddenly he made a sharp turn and pulled her into an alcove they’d been about to pass, shielded from the rest of the party by a draping of fabric that some professional corner of Marinette’s brain recognized as leftovers from her spring collection. Then Luka’s hand was cradling the back of her neck and his lips were pressed firmly, though gently, to hers, and she was pulling him down into her, pressing up on her toes to deepen the kiss while Luka’s other hand found the small of her back and pulled her closer.

“Marinette,” Adrien’s amused voice was low, and when Marinette gasped and looked behind her, she saw Adrien was standing casually (or what passed for casually when one was an internationally famous model) with his back to the entrance of their little alcove. “They’re about to round up all the single ladies, and Alya’s going to come looking for you.”

“Right,” Marinette gasped, reaching up to touch her face. “Do I—”

“You’re fine. Me?” Luka smiled at her with so much happiness that Marinette almost didn’t register his question.

When she did, she reached up and wiped away a smear beneath his lower lip with her thumb. “I think that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Luka sighed. “We’ll have to do better next time.” He laughed when Marinette gasped and smacked him in the chest before flouncing out of the alcove to punch a snickering Adrien in the arm.

“So violent,” Adrien moaned, rubbing his arm. “Do you know how much money that arm is worth?”

“You’re insured,” Marinette huffed, eyes narrowed as she got in his face and flexed her own arm. “And we both know I can take you so don’t be giving me shit, Agreste.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and turned to Luka. “Are you seriously signing up for this, Couffaine?”

“Hell yeah,” Luka sighed, clapping a friendly hand on Adrien’s shoulder and shoving him away from Marinette. “That was hot,” Luka grinned, putting his arm around Marinette’s shoulders as Adrien jokingly pretended to stagger into a drink cart.

Marinette giggled. “I think growing up with your mom warped your personality.”

“Almost definitely,” Luka chuckled, his arm slipping down to squeeze her waist, but before he could say anything else, the DJ was calling all the single women to the floor.

Marinette tried to hang back but Adrien was blocking her exit, so any attempt she might have made to hide was thwarted, and then Alya grabbed the microphone and yelled into it, “Get your ass up here, Marinette, front and center!”

“Favoritism!” someone yelled, and Alya just laughed.

Marinette reluctantly wandered over and let herself be pushed to the front. She tried not to feel self-conscious as she stood with the other single ladies, all of whom were quite a bit taller than she was. Stupid Alya and her tall genes and her tallish friends. She exchanged a look with Nora, who looked bored and was clearly only participating because her mother had ordered her to be for the sake of having all the sisters in the pictures.

It was a stupid, meaningless tradition anyway. She’d much rather still be basking in Luka’s calm yet electrifying presence. Marinette pasted on a smile and prepared herself to make the minimum effort necessary to look good in the pictures

“Ready?” Alya called, turning her back to the group. “One...two…”

Suddenly a pair of hands wrapped around her waist and a familiar voice softly murmured, “Jump” in her ear. She obeyed without thought just as Alya yelled, “THREE!” and flung the bouquet back over her head. For a moment Marinette felt weightless as she was lifted up high—very high—high enough to snatch the bundle of flowers out of the air. She looked over her shoulder and found Luka grinning up at her as he lowered her to the floor.

“That was cheating,” Ella pouted, and Marinette very maturely stuck out her tongue at the younger girl. She giggled and leaned back into Luka’s chest, his chuckle rumbling against her back before they made their way back off the dance floor as guests began to trickle back onto it.

Marinette grinned down at the fragrant bundle in her hands, feeling a little flutter as Luka, still behind her, leaned his face down beside hers.

“So I know we only just became official and everything, but I’m just saying, you know, whenever you’re ready—”

“Luka!” Marinette laughed, turning in his arms to look up at him. He grinned and shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he teased. “I’m not saying I won’t wait for you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but I wouldn’t be sad if I didn’t have to anymore.”

“Mm-hmm,” Marinette grinned wickedly, and then pulled her phone out of the hidden pocket of her dress. “Hold that thought.” She dialed and brought the phone to her ear. “Hi, Sabrina, sorry to bother you but hopefully this will be quick. I know this is short notice, but you know that flight for Vegas I have booked for Monday morning?” Marinette continued, watching Luka’s eyes go wide and his mouth drop open. Oh, that was fun, taking him off guard for once. “I need another ticket. Mm-hmm. Great! Let me know when it’s booked.” She hung up and slipped her phone back in the pocket. “You should know by now that I don’t hesitate anymore,” she teased, looking up into his shocked expression with a grin. “So if you were bluffing you better speak up now, Luka Couffaine.”

“You know I wasn’t,” he breathed, voice low and serious. “So don’t mess with me here, Marinette.”

Marinette shrugged slightly, blushing as she picked at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “You’ve always been more honest with your feelings with most people, so...yeah. I didn’t think you were.” It was an effort to meet his eyes, but she managed it, though it brought the heat to her face again. “Neither am I.”

A single beat.

“Well all right then,” Luka grinned, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. “But we probably should stop by City Hall on our way to the airport just to make sure.”

“You know I like to be thorough,” Marinette agreed, and then squeezed his hand hard. “But if you let a word of this slip before then I’ll kill you. I’m not upstaging Alya’s wedding after all the work I put into saving it.”

“That would be a shame,” Luka agreed. “Also a crappy thing to do to a friend, so.” He tugged her hand lightly. “You know the sooner we get out of here the less we can give away.”

“I like the way you think,” Marinette giggled. “Let’s see if I can keep it together enough to say goodbye.”

Fiction Master Post

I hope you enjoyed it! Here’s the cover I had in mind when Luka played the wedding song.

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#quickspins #lukanette-exchange #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fics #prompt fic #lukanette exchange 2020

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theflashdriver · 4 years ago

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Waves of Fate (A Silvaze Modern/Soulmate AU)

Beaches were supposed to be happy places, books always described them that way at least. People came to the beach to have fun, to play games and relax. It was supposed place of joy, where smiles supposedly reigned supreme and you could count on the sun parting the clouds to grant a blue sky.

A grey sky hung over the pale white sands of the secluded, manmade, beach the belonged to the Sol estate. A family made wealthy through inheritance and investment; the sole monarchs of the estate had built themselves a high castle, separate from the common rabble, to settle and grow. Unfortunately for them however, perhaps due to their greed, the pair’s first and only child had arrived with a certain abnormality. That grey sky also hung over that very child, the twelve-year-old Blaze the cat, as she stared down at her workbook.

It was peculiar for her to take lessons by the beachside but, with some effort from her tutor to convince the feline’s parents, a bizarre and impromptu lesson had been quickly organised. Sat atop a thick picnic blanket, wearing a smile so caring that the young girl could practically feel it, was the in-house tutor for the estate, Vanilla. Contrary to the scowl Blaze wore as she carefully considered what to write next, the youngster didn’t dislike the rabbit. She had in fact, even at this young age, come to truly appreciate the role the tutor filled. The feline’s parents were always either distracted or busy, she couldn’t particularly tell or care which, but Vanilla, a mother herself, always found time to listen and care. Even in situations like this… even when the young girl claimed that she wanted nothing more than to be alone.

“How’s it going Blaze? Are you stuck?” Stubborn as ever, trying not to listen, the kitten bit her tongue, “You don’t need to write too much, just think of this as practice writing letters.”

Attempting to make a show of it, the feline (dressed in dungarees rather than her school uniform) silently continued her cursive work until she harshly dotted the end of a sentence, “I’m fine Vanilla,” As she looked up and caught the rabbit’s eyes, Blaze realised that, though she had technically answered the question, something further had been revealed. Of the people she knew, Vanilla was the only one who could peer into her heart and see the truth. The child’s eyes returned to the page, “I’m writing fine I just… you know…”

“I know you don’t believe in this and you think it’s foolish but that’s fine. A hint of whimsy is just what you need right now. Just think of it as a break from boring maths questions and everything else,” It was fortunate that the words everything else were cut off by a certain rummaging sound and a bread triangle entering the corner of her vision, “Gardon made these while I was talking with your parents, would you like to partake?”

Unable to resist her gentle charm any longer, regardless of how arduous today had been, Blaze set her book aside and claimed the wrapped meal with a muted, “Thank you.”

“It’s not the best day for a picnic, but it’s far from the worst,” Vanilla mused, claiming a sandwich of her own, “Not too windy and the forecast doesn’t call for rain, it’ll be smooth sailing for your letter.”

“Assuming it doesn’t just wash back onto the beach,” She glumly shrugged, undoing the wrapping and taking her first bite. Salmon, probably fresh from this morning. Once she’d swallowed, Blaze couldn’t help but look up to her tutor again, “Is it really cold? Are you okay?”

“Oh, no, dear. It’s not that cold, just a little chilly. I’ll be fine, honestly,” Blaze met her smile with an incredulous stare. The rabbit’s face somehow grew even softer, “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind just a little warming up,” Without even hesitating, the tutor reached across again; this time an empty hand was extended.

Blaze took the comparatively large hand in her own and, trying her hardest to be gentle, allowed a few small flames to build on the back of her knuckles. The heat immediately began to radiate, even though the flames were stagnant in terms of both position and size. Absentmindedly, ears drooping without their owner’s consent, she spoke, “It’s not hard to control them when I’m comfortable. It’s easier when it’s just you and me.”

“I know dear but, one day, it’ll be easy all the time. I’m certain of it,” Vanilla promised, drawing back her hand and pressing it to her cheeks, “That was lovely of you, thank you.”

A half mile behind them, in the estate’s main building, cindered remains were likely still being swept up. An attempt to set up a playdate with the children of another wealthy family hadn’t gone over well, but the issue wasn’t as mundane as that. To say Blaze didn’t get along with the other children was certainly an understatement, the feline’s very first encounter with those infants had ended in tears and a ball of fire. Today, when her parents refused to see reason, a similar explosive display had ignited the living room couch before spreading to the wallpaper. Of course, plans were in place for this sort of occurrence, the house’s sprinkler system had gone off, but it hadn’t cooled her parent’s scorn. She’d scarcely been able to dry herself and change before Vanilla had plucked her from the house.

“You’re welcome,” Was all she could manage to mumble.

“And whoever gets this letter will surely love you for your gift,” A seriousness lingered in the rabbit’s tone, despite the multiple layers of foolishness behind her claim, “Not despite it.”

Blaze scoffed before quickly finishing her sandwich, not yet returning to her work, “Who even thought this superstition up? I know I’ve read about it before but never like this…”

“This one in particular was thought up by the wives and children of widow sailors, as tragic as that is,” The bunny half cringed, “As I’ve told you, when a destined pair send messages out to sea, they’ll receive a sign of their connection. The ocean will take you letter and, just and only this once, deliver it to your soulmate as long as it meets the right conditions.”

“It has to be fully written by one person, it can’t include that person’s name, physical description, hints to find that person or to try and organise a meeting. It also has to be the first message a person sends to sea and no one else is allowed to read it until it reaches the intended individual,” Blaze recalled aloud, “Making it seem all the more pointless. All you can really tell them is what you’re like and what’s happening to you and, regardless, it’s not going to reach anyone. How are you even going to mark this if you’re not allowed to read it?”

“Come on Blaze, when I was your age, I wanted so badly for a handsome prince to sweep me off my feet. I must have rewritten my letter a hundred times,” Vanilla chastised, plainly ignoring the kitten’s question, “You can tell them what you think loving them will be like, your hopes and dreams. No one else will ever get to read it, only you and them,” Admittedly, that was true. Whatever she wrote down here would likely be lost to the sea, “And even if it doesn’t work, no one who finds it would ever know it came from you. It’s a thought exercise as much as it is a writing one, a way to air your frustrations and ambitions.”

The kitten claimed her journal again, trying her hardest to ignore the cloudy sky above. For whatever reason, her pen felt heavier than it had just a moment prior. She let her thoughts flow onto the page, their pace kept by a modest barrier of consideration, and tried her hardest not to overdo it. In truth, she’d never really considered what she wanted from a partner or what a partner might want from her. Did she even want a partner? Part of her didn’t, and she was certain that would come across in her writing, but she couldn’t deny that she saw the appeal. The idea of someone loving her for her flames was more than a little farfetched but someone who could see past them and still love her? Someone who actively, genuinely, wasn’t afraid of her? How could she say no to that?

Finally, Blaze clicked her pen closed. Vanilla perked up, “Is it done?”

“I think so…” The young feline hummed before drawing her eyes to the page and giving it a final read.

To whomever comes to possess this note,

I hope we can meet and that, when we do, that the reason behind our link becomes clear rather than being the mere whim of coincidence. I have been instructed that, in this letter, I am to tell you about myself. While I was born into fortuitous circumstances, I have not lived the most fortunate of lives: though I am privileged in some ways, I am far more socially handicapped than the majority of my peers. I handle criticism poorly as I always try to give my all, regardless of the actual importance of any given assignment.

My peers don’t think too highly of me, many of them fear me, but the few truly close to me claim that I am mature for my age and intelligent. I’ve recently started to play the violin and have practiced ballet for as long as I can remember. As for other interests, though they’ll undoubtedly change by the time we meet, classical literature and music has always appealed to me. If we are destined to be together then I doubt you are a pilot, so this is probably unimportant, but I do have a fear of heights. I’m sorry if you wanted more details but I’m quite confused as to what is safe to include, in accordance with this dubious tradition.

I don’t think I’m the easiest person to love, both for reasons that should become clear to you and my inherent defensiveness. Though my investment in this idea of soulmates may be limited, the thought that there is someone out there who will love me for who I am is, undeniably, appealing. I may not be the best at displaying how I feel but, if we are to care for each, I will try my best to show you that I care. To be honest, I don’t know what to expect or to ask of you beyond that you keep an open mind if we do meet. Perhaps, just as this rumour being true would, you will surprise me.

Please stay safe and write soon, from your soulmate.

“It’s a little… melancholy,” Blaze admitted, trying not to wince, “But I don’t want to rewrite it. It’s good enough.”

It was all written in her neatest handwriting, entirely cursive and eloquent. There wasn’t a single spelling error, not one that she could identify at least, and it looked professional enough? She’d written it in the manner she’d learned to write all of her letters and, perhaps, that was a little too formal for the occasion. Then again, it wasn’t as though it would actually reach anyone.

And, of course, she hadn’t mentioned her flames; not in explicit terms at least.

“Is it how you truly feel?” Vanilla questioned, “Is it how you want to introduce yourself to them.”

Blaze took another moment, considering it for just a moment more, before tearing the paper from her jotter and rolling it into a tight scroll, “Yes.”

The tutor turned to rummage through her bag again, this time drawing forth three things: a ribbon to bind the note, a small (cleaned and untinted) glass bottle and a whittled down cork from an old wine bottle. Blaze took the ribbon first, gently securing her note, and trying not to crumple it, before gingerly sliding it into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She let Vanilla secure the cork in place, not much trusting that it’d hold if she did it. Then though, curiously, the rabbit produced another object from her bag. A small violet tealight, brand new and untouched.

“I think it might be nice to seal the bottle in your own, unique, way,” The rabbit explained, tilting the cantle upside down and holding it above the now sealed bottle, “With a little bit of fire, we can make a wax lid.”

The tealight exchanged hands, Vanilla held the bottle in place. Just as her prior heating, the tutor was likely the only one who would trust her to do this. Well, perhaps Gardon would too on a good day. Blaze snuck her forefinger around the tealight’s metal casing and birthed a burgeoning flame directly into the wax. The reaction was almost immediate, purple, lavender scented, wax began to drip down in gooey clumps and gather atop the cork. It took a while, and some shifting, to completely cover both the entryway. Most of the candle was diminished by the time it was done, the bubbling mass gradually cooling on the glass.

Vanilla drew it back, gently blowing on it, “Good job, Blaze. That’s perfect.”

In the silence that hung as the wax cooled, Blaze couldn’t help but dwell on her future a little. She knew she was young, far too young to be seriously considering these things, most children her age would still be focused on becoming a pop singer or filling some other extravagant niche. Her parents wanted her to focus on law, become a judge or an attorney, but, despite how important those callings were, they didn’t appeal to her. The only thing she knew that she wanted was to be away from here, to find somewhere that she could settle herself and actually be free to think, but that was so long away. She was bound to this place, bound to her parents, for the-

A gentle hand pushed up the feline’s chin and brought her to look the elder rabbit in the eye, “You might not meet whoever gets this letter for some time, but I promise you, Blaze, you will find them. You won’t be here forever; you feel so trapped forever. With their help or otherwise, I know you’ll do great things.”

The tutor rose, passing the bottle to its first owner. The kitten stumbled to her feet, taking it but quickly reaching out and holding her teacher’s hand. Barren white sand crunched underfoot, the clouds refused to part even now. It wasn’t long until she was at the cusp of the water, the lapping waves mere centimetres from the toe of their shoes. The older of the two drew up the hem of her skirt, Blaze awkwardly fumbled with her dungaree’s legs before retaking the rabbit’s hand. Vanilla took the first step into the foamy waters, but Blaze was quick to follow after. They waded until the sea reached the young feline’s knee, a glance from Vanilla informed her that was far enough.

Gently, Blaze set the bottle in the water. They stood for a moment, just to see that it would leave their sight. The tide was receding, they’d see the bottle bob above the waves every so often as it was gradually being carried towards the horizon. It was off to either meet with a watery grave or find some person somewhere else in the world.

“Well, now we just have to wait and see,” The rabbit smiled, turning and gently retaking her hand, “I’m sure it’ll reach someone wonderful. I can’t wait to see you two together. Its been so long since I’ve seen young love, I’m sure your Prince Charming will be wonderful.”

“M-Miss Vanilla,” The little girl couldn’t help but whine, “I don’t want a Prince.”

“Oh? What is it you want then?” She asked, nearing the water’s end.

“I don’t know…” Blaze murmured, giving it just half a moment’s thought, “I just want a friend. I just want someone else who will be nice to me.”

“Can’t they be both?” Vanilla laughed, taking the first step onto dry land.

The young girl hadn’t considered that, but she wasn’t sure that she liked it. She was about to speak up in defiance when she felt something peculiar. A wave had passed behind her, lapping just above her heels, but it had hit differently somehow. It’d almost felt too hard.

Turning to look over her shoulder, Blaze frowned as her eyes scanned the water. Among the waves, hitched in the sand, was a bottle. Had her note followed them back? Breaking off from Vanilla, the young girl crouched to get a closer look. Something about this bottle looked different. It wasn’t sealed with wax, it had a screw on lid. What’s more, this bottle was tinted green. Dumbfounded, without so much as thinking, she reached down and plucked the bottle from the water.

“Miss Vanilla?”

-----------

Butterflies flapped in her stomach as though they were giant eagles pursuing some sort of endlessly evasive prey. Blaze the cat, age twenty-two, had just spent the last twelve hours traveling with three overstuffed suitcases and a violin case. She’d departed a train forty minutes ago and had been walking ever since but, prior to that, she’d endured two different taxi rides and a full four hours failing to ignore a window seat view on a flight. To say that she was exhausted would be an understatement, she’d travelled further from her home before but never on her own and never like this, but to say she was unhappy would be entirely false. Blaze the cat was free, free from the Sol estate and free from all that came with it. She had finally claimed control over her life.

She’d never thought that the violin would be her escape; music simply been her hobby, but it had borne an unimaginable fruit. She’d managed to land herself third chair in an orchestra with a high probability of moving further up the ranks. The concertmaster was apparently reaching her elder years, looking for a protégé and to breathe new life into the group. A well-placed audition tape and a handful of politely worded emails had secured her the position. Sure, the job as it was now wasn’t enough to fully support her, but with her education the feline was certain she’d manage to pick up another form of income.

That orchestra job had led her here, Station Square; a city filled to bursting with opportunity which just so happened to also contain a cheap apartment-share near the city’s centre. An application for said lodgings had brought her to the door she was now standing outside of, an entrance to the supposed accommodation that persisted above an old pizzeria. She didn’t know where she’d anticipated her life to restart but the fact it was somewhere this plain honestly excited her. No more private beach; she had to build her own luxury.

First impressions were important, she’d been chastised about them her entire life. She’d tried to dress modestly, what few of her more expensive outfits she’d brought she intended to sell online. Her hair was fixed into a tall ponytail that almost crowned her head, a ponytail that she’d already remade five times today. A long brown trench coat, the brown top button of which she redid, was successfully obscuring a comfortable striped t-shirt and (surprisingly expensive yet unassuming) bootcut jeans.

Once she was certain everything was in place and she had some form of greeting in mind, she dared to press the grimy electric buzzer. Almost immediately, a slightly overloud and static riddled voice answered her call, “Hello? Is that Blaze?”

“Yes, hello. I take it this is the residence of Silver the hedgehog?” She answered.

“Yeah, that’s me! It’s so nice to finally meet you, I hope…” He seemed to catch himself mid-sentence, though he went quiet, the buzzing persisted, “Oh, oops, I should probably open the door. Sorry! I’ll be right down!”

The buzzing finally faded and, once again, Blaze was left alone. That was the first time she’d ever heard his voice and, admittedly, she hadn’t been able to hear it very well. He sounded a lot more excitable than she’d truly anticipated. Their communication up until now had been limited to brief emails and, as a result, she didn’t actually know very much about the man she’d be living with for the foreseeable future. He had no criminal record, the flat itself both looked nice and was affordable, but beyond his job working in the museum and need for an additional housemate, that was the limit of her knowledge. Well, that and the picture attached to his=

Before Blaze could ponder on it for any longer, the white painted door before her swung open and a figure practically burst into view. She wasn’t sure who or what she’d expected out of this museum worker, but she certainly wasn’t this. A set of seven ludicrously long quills immediately consumed Blaze’s vision, followed by a set of excitable yellow eyes and a vaguely sun-kissed muzzle. He was rather peculiarly dressed too; he wore a jumper with a strangely low cut that allowed a seemingly endless flare of white chest fur to slip free. As if that wasn’t odd enough, he wore gloves that were lit by a bizarre cyan symbol on both their front and back.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Blaze!” His smile matched his eyes so very perfectly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Silver,” She half bowed, already feeling a little overwhelmed. The picture she’d seen had made him look demurer, his quills had been tied back and he’d been in his work uniform. She truly hadn’t considered that he’d be a head taller than her.

Almost immediately, he seemed to notice her luggage. Without even blinking, he gestured past her, “Oh, you must be exhausted. I can help with those!” Blaze’s surprise transmuted into total befuddlement at what happened next. With that wave of the hedgehog’s hand, those cyan symbols began to glow much brighter and Blaze heard shifting behind her. Before she could turn, all four of her bags had taken to the air and hovered above her head, “I’ll take them up and show you around, come on.”

She stood in the doorway for a moment, entirely dumbfounded. She knew people with powers like hers existed, but they were rare enough that she had never met another. To think that the first person she’d ever stay with, the first person she’d encounter, was capable of such a feat though? This Silver was filled to burst with surprises. Catching herself though, butterfly-eagles still running rampant in her stomach, Blaze began to give chase.

The hallway leading up to the flat itself wasn’t very well lit, but it was homely enough. It led up to a landing where (judging by the small pile) shoes were supposed to be kicked off. Following it was a glass door that immediately opened into a small and very well stocked kitchen. It didn’t smell like anything was cooking at the moment but, judging by the drying rack, he had been hard at work.

“I cook quite a lot,” As he called back, Blaze couldn’t help but notice the hedgehog had gone from walking to floating amongst her luggage, “Are you much of a chef?”

“Not particularly,” Blaze admitted, nonchalantly. What few cooking lessons she’d received had gone especially poorly.

“Oh, well, if you’re ever in trouble or want to learn then let me know,” He offered, spinning back around to face forward, “I made a little something to celebrate your arrival, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, thank you,” She said, now doubly surprised at his fast kindness.

Blaze took a sniff but, curiously, couldn’t smell whatever it was he’d mentioned. The hedgehog had clearly done a good job of cleaning up in preparation for her arrival, but then again… she had no idea whether the apartment had been messy in the first place. She passed an open door that seemed to lead into a small combination dining room and sitting room. Two patchwork couches sat near the room’s centre, a modest TV cresting just over them and a coffee table between them.

“Is this a violin case?” He called back, drawing her attention away from the room.

“Yes, it is,” She responded, noticing that he’d turned mid-flight and was now hovering the violin between them, “I’m joining city’s orchestra. I’ll need to practice fairly often, but if there’s ever a time you need quiet then feel free to say.”

“Oh, no, free to play it all you want honestly, the place downstairs just does take away and, apparently, the floor is pretty well soundproofed,” He said, that excitement still clinging to his voice as he landed outside a door, “That’s amazing, I’ve always wanted to meet a violinist. I can’t wait to hear you play, you must be wonderful!”

“I’m well practiced,” She coyly admitted, not used to barrages of kindness (let alone praise). She could feel herself locking up but tried to fight it, “Is this my room?”

“Oh, yeah. It is,” The hedgehog nodded, patting himself down before seeming to realise something. With a wave of his hand up the hallway, Blaze watched as a small set of keys raced their way from the kitchen area to float in front of her, “Almost forgot these.”

“Th-Thank you,” Blaze cursed her stutter, plucking them from the air. They found their way to the lock but, before she dared to push inside, she decided to feed her curiosity. He seemed so very open, it couldn’t hurt to pry, “How long have you been able to do that?”

“For as long as I can remember. It comes in pretty handy around the house, if you ever need anything moved then just say,” He grinned, clearly somewhat proud to have made a positive impression with his powers.

“I see,” She hummed, turning the key. She certainly wasn’t comfortable immediately revealing her power to him but, then again, her name was probably a bit of a give-away. Ideally, he wouldn’t question it, “It does seem rather useful.”

Blaze pushed the door open and found herself faced, for the first time today, with a sight she’d expected. The room wasn’t even half the size of her prior bedroom, its walls were both blank and painted off-white. Unlike the other rooms in the house, a grey carpet persisted underfoot. Blaze watched as her bags hovered through the door and landed inside in a small, neat, pile.

“I know it’s not especially stunning, but the landlord says you can decorate it if you want. I did my room up a couple months ago, before I moved in. It’s easier than you think, I’d be happy to help,” Blaze couldn’t tell whether it was due to her cold expression or some sudden realisation, but the hedgehog seemed to falter and turn away, “S-Sorry, I’ve never had a flatmate before, I guess I’m a little overexcited.”

“You haven’t?” She questioned though, in hindsight, the underdeveloped room spoke volumes.

“I’ve moved from place to place quite a lot, living in tiny, two-room, apartments,” He explained.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll manage to figure this out between the two of us,” She wanted to give a reassuring smile but was fairly certain it would only scare him off. It seemed like neither of them were particularly good at this, “Thank you, Silver.”

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable. If you need anything I’ll just be, uh, in here,” He tapped the door opposite, assumedly his bedroom, “There’s an en suite in your room and, um, I think that’s everything? If you need me then just call.”

Blaze nodded and allowed herself the smallest of smiles, “Perhaps, once I’ve put everything away, we could look over the paperwork?”

“Oh, sure, okay! Just say when,” He managed to grin again, ducking back into his room but not bothering to close the door.

Blaze matched him, stepping inside and heaving a sigh of relief. She’d made it through her first interaction with her flatmate, she’d made it to her new home, she was so close to relaxation. There was a small, single, bed against the wall with a tiny wooden bedside cabinet next to it. A reasonably sized, yet still small in her experience, closet was set up against the far wall and she could see the door that likely led to the bathroom. This was liveable, she could do this, it was just the first step in something new.

Unpacking her clothes and amenities took quite a lot longer than she’d anticipated, getting everything onto hangers and into the right place was relaxing albeit slow. There was nowhere especially practical to place her violin so it’d ended up propped against the far wall for the foreseeable future. The final of her bags still sat where Silver had placed it, entirely filled. Vanilla had packed it for her, saying its contents were mere food and cutlery, but she had made the feline promise not to open it until she was settled in her new home. Well, it was finally time.

Blaze hoisted the bag onto her freshly made bed, immediately creasing her work but not especially minding. She quickly brought the zip around, popping the top open, and was stunned by what she saw. The rabbit hadn’t lied, cutlery and non-perishables of all sorts filled the base of the bag, but a small note affixed to an object that Blaze hadn’t even thought about in almost ten years sat atop the other goods. A certain bottle that had washed up on the beach just after she had sent her own message to sea.

Vanilla’s note was short and simple, “Enjoy your new life, don’t forget to write and remember, they’re out there somewhere,” Concluded with a small, winking, smiley face.

Slipping onto the bed, Blaze found herself cradling both the note and the bottle. While that day on the beach stuck out in her mind like a sore thumb, perhaps due to the familial chaos that had come before it, the contents of this bottle did not. She hadn’t thought about that day often, especially not in the latter six of those twelve years, but whenever a book or a person mentioned the concept of soulmates she’d recall but never mention the occurrence. Admittedly, the young feline had long accepted that the note had in fact been written by Vanilla in an attempt to cheer her up following her childish strop. She didn’t believe in such nonsense then and she certainly didn’t now. Still, what was the harm in giving the coincidental note another read for nostalgia’s sake?

Blaze unscrewed the lid, giving the green aluminium top a quick once over before setting it on her bedside table. Wherever it had come from, the bottle had long lost any identifiable markings, but it was more bulbous than that containing any drink she’d ever had. She managed to get a finger in and, with some difficulty, pluck the note free. The sheet felt more like card than paper and was riddled with creases from its initial folding so many years ago. The handwriting was, admittedly, awful. She’d written her note as a child, but this letter looked to have been written with extreme haste. Regardless, due mostly to the large spaces between words, Blaze could make it all out.

It read:

“Hi there! If you’re reading this then I guess you know who I am? Just in case; I’m your soulmate! I can’t wait to meet you, I’m sure we’re going to get along great! I can’t write all that much about myself, otherwise the bottle will sink to the bottom of the sea, but I’m supposed to describe what I think our relationship might be like? But I’ve never been in one before, I’ve never had a soulmate before, so I’m not sure what to do or what to tell you.

People tell me that I’m a little blunt and that I wear my heart on my sleeve and that I’m pretty gullible. I’m not so sure, but I guess they’d know better than me? I really like sweet food! I can’t have a lot of it, we can’t really afford it, but that’s okay because it’s not good for me anyway. I also really like history books. The lost worlds of the past are so interesting to me and I’d love to discover more of them. I hope you like them too! I guess I can’t write about this too much, but I have a special skill that comes in useful quite a lot. It helps me tidy up and cook and get to all sorts of places, even ones I’m not really supposed to.

I don’t know you yet, but I hope you’re nice. I don’t really know a lot about love, a lot of my friends think it’s gross but not me! I think it’s nice knowing that there’s someone out there for me and I’m just waiting to meet someone. If I can make a difference, even if it’s just for one person, then I’ll be happy, so I’ll try my hardest to make you happy! I’m learning to cook and bake so you don’t have to worry about that, I can already make spaghetti!

Please stay safe and I can’t wait to read what you send me!

From your soulmate”

Blaze’s nose wrinkled as she reached the end of the note. She’d decided years ago that Vanilla had written this note, perhaps with her left hand so as to forge childish writing, but something was bothering her. The feline’s eyes traced back up the note, specifically lingering on the mention of a special skill that helped the individual to cook and clean. A foolish thought entered her head, a quiet whisper that was still loud enough to break the otherwise peaceful silence. Reading over the page again, the bluntness and earnestness mentioned further loudened that quiet voice.

Catching herself in her own stupidity, Blaze quickly rerolled the paper and returned it to its bottle. Not quite knowing what to do with it now, feeling a bizarre heat on her face, she set it on her bedside cabinet and threw her gaze to her lap. Attempting to escape the heat, and realising she’d been too distracted to do so earlier, she undid her jacket and shrugged it from her shoulders.

The occurrence ten years ago was just one of many bizarre occurrences in the flame producing feline’s life, she’d seen her fair share of oddness and coincidence. There was absolutely no way that this bottle had come from the person she was now living with, she’d long decided it was a forgery made to keep her happy. It wasn’t like anyone was pulling at the strings of fate. Even if Vanilla hadn’t made it, for a bottle from someone else, someone who clearly believed in the superstition, to have drifted to shore while she was out there... that was possible, wasn’t it? Just as it was possible she’d seen some vague familiarities between the man she’d just met and that note’s writer.

She took her head in her hands, she was being ridiculous. It must have all been induced by her nerves, she was in a new city and living with a stranger, of course she was going to overthink things. There was no way she’d just stumbled into living with her soulmate; she didn’t even believe in soulmates. She’d never believed in soulmates and now, of all times, wasn’t the time to start. Blaze rose from the bed, collected the goods from her remaining suitcase and made a beeline for the door.

When she stepped into the hall though, her eyes were unintentionally drawn through the askew door of his bedroom. Though she could only see perhaps the smallest quarter, assuming that their rooms were the same, she’d locked eyes with a corkboard. A corkboard with many sticky notes tacked to it but also a small, curled, notebook page stuck to it rather than pierced by a tack. With each passing second Blaze felt her face grow hotter and heard her thoughts grow evermore foolish. It was as though fate was tempting her to burst into the room and look at it, or at the very least ask him about it. But that was the height of foolishness, she’d surely sound insane or rude at the very best. What self-respecting adult believed in such a fairy-tale, let alone would discuss it with a new flatmate on the first day they’d even met! She couldn’t ask about that leaflet now of all times! That would look ridiculous!

His mention of always wanting to meet a violinist metamorphosed in her mind from a show of kindness to a potential deeply held honesty. She didn’t recall much of the letter she’d written, but Blaze knew that she’d listed some of her hobbies. She’d only just started to play the stringed instrument, it’d surely been included.

Finding herself lost and dazed in the hallway, Blaze couldn’t help but call out, “Silver?”

She heard what sounded like the hedgehog falling over before he rushed into the doorway, quills wildly tossed, “Hey, is everything alright?”

Blaze swallowed, “I’ve just got some stuff to put in the kitchen and I think I’m ready to sign the papers, as long as you’re not busy?”

“Oh no, don’t worry; I was just doing a little reading, let’s do it,” He beamed, taking to the air again and leading the way to the kitchen.

She felt an immediate impulse to enter his room, he’d left the door open, but Blaze knew that was foolish. No, the much louder thought in Blaze’s brain was questioning what he was reading. The hedgehog worked in a museum; it was likely that he liked to read about history. Even if he was, it would have just been another coincidence… but things were lining up more and more. What was today? Was this all just some bizarre dream?

Blaze begrudgingly followed the white hedgehog, finding herself analysing him more than she probably should. His fur and quills were unkempt but it wasn’t as though he was dirty, just fluffy. She supposed his fur must just have grown out like that. The strange cyan energy he produced seemed to let him guide both himself and objects through the air… perhaps even other people. Blaze could certainly see how useful this power would be for cleaning… it probably let him make multiple dishes and clean at the same time too, pending how it worked.

Heat flashed across her face again and, reflexively, she balled her fists. Though she’d long learned to keep her powers under control, their connection to her emotions was a constant worry. Embarrassment, of all emotions, was one she hadn’t yet managed to control. While it lacked the ferocity and excitability of anger, it was still especially important to keep it subdued. If she let them, these thoughts would do much more than reveal her power. She might burn down her new home before she could spend a night-

“Blaze?” His voice tore her from her thoughts, he’d made it to the kitchen while she’d frozen up in the hall, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine I’m just,” She scrambled for the right words, marching towards him, “I’ve not settled yet, I’m still getting used to this arrangement. Just getting my bearings.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” He nodded, still smiling so very brightly, “Take all the time you need. You said online that you’d never lived away from home before, right?”

“I’d visit hotels with my family but, outside that, yes,” Blaze answered, stepping into the kitchen, “I know I’m a little old for that to be the case but…”

“No, no. Don’t worry, I get it and I know it’s pretty scary,” He smiled, leaning against the kitchen counter, “I’ve moved around a lot and your first night in a new place is always weird, let alone your first time anywhere new,” His smile faltered just a little, he began to scratch among his quills, “I’m sorry if I’m making it worse. I’ve been trying to make things more comfortable but I’m probably going a little overboard, right?”

“N-No, no, you’re doing fine,” Blaze quickly replied but she knew that her stutter betrayed the truth. Her failure to convey what she was actually feeling was simultaneously a blessing and a curse this evening. She tried to smile, “Thank you, Silver.”

“It’s no problem. You can put your stuff wherever you want, but I cleaned these two cupboards out for you. I keep the pots and pans in the big drawer and the cutlery in the one above that,” He pointed, his grin slightly returning, “Oh and there should be enough fridge space, I hope?”

Setting the bag down again, Blaze quickly began to unload Vanilla’s parting gifts. She kept the hedgehog in the corner of her eye, watching as he pulled a magnet from the fridge and slid free a small bundle of papers. Assumedly, that was the lease. He then, seeming to realise he didn’t have a pen, gestured up the hall again. The face he, likely unknowingly, pulled as he reached for the pen was far too serious, his soft features barely allowed for it. He seemed very innocent, harmless even; judging by his apologies, despite his attempts to appear confident, this was surely all very new to him too.

“Is something wrong? Is there not enough space?” He asked, catching her staring.

“N-No, no. It’s fine, there’s more than enough,” She quickly looked away, shoving bushels of pasta into the cupboard as she tried her damnedest not to ignore the little voice screaming inside her. The voice that kept repeating the line in that note, that the writer was often described as wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Too many pieces of this non-existent puzzle were lining up, far too many. As she shifted to put away her cutlery, lost in thought, she very almost knocked into him. Even if it was all somehow true, even though that was entirely possible, then that didn’t actually mean anything. It wasn’t like just knowing some miraculous coincidence had happened meant they were bound to stay together forever or fall in love or whatever. She didn’t know him, he didn’t know her either! They’d hardly even talked!

As the last pan clattered into place, Blaze dared to throw another glance his way. The hedgehog had set the paperwork down on the unit and entered the fridge. Blaze hadn’t ever looked for a relationship before and she certainly hadn’t intended to now. She hadn’t really looked at boys or girls or anyone for that matter, but something was bothering her. Perhaps it was just a result of his earnestness, perhaps it was because he looked so fluffy and soft, but there was something almost… charming about him. Was he attractive? Was he cute? Beauty was supposed to be in the eye of the beholder and this beholder had literally no idea what she found attractive.

The moment his bright yellow eyes hit hers, she understood that aspect of herself just a little better. He’d leaned out of the fridge, having not actually taken anything, “I noticed that we need a witness, do you know anyone else around here who you’d like to be it? I can witness it if that’s okay with you but, you know, don’t want to impose or anything. Landlord owns the place downstairs and said you can just leave it there.”

“I-I’m fine with that, yes,” She quickly rose to stand straight, taking the pen and papers from him, “Don’t worry, Silver. I’m just getting my bearings; you’ve been nothing but helpful.”

His smile returned, the spark of joy in those eyes rocked Blaze to her core, “If you’re sure. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Blaze quickly threw her eyes toward the document. She’d read it before online, of course she had, but it was her only escape! She quickly filled in her share before blindly passing the sheet back to Silver for his witness confirmation signature, pretending to be distracted by the spice rack.

When she finally dared to look at him, Blaze found that Silver had casually let go of the objects he’d gathered and left them to hang in the air. Though she’d tried to fight it, Blaze couldn’t help but peer at his handwriting. He’d signed his name twice, both on the landlord’s copy and her own. It’d been at least ten years since the message in the bottle had been written, of course the writer’s handwriting would have changed over that time, but Blaze couldn’t help noticing the slightly scrawled nature of his penmanship. His handwriting wasn’t bad per say but it wasn’t in cursive, and it certainly wasn’t what you’d call neat. Though she longed to think of it in any other way, that was yet another strike in the soulmate column.

“Oh, um,” The hedgehog’s hand returned to his quills, “I don’t know if you’ve had dinner or anything, and you don’t need to eat it if you don’t want it, but I was so excited for you coming so,” He gestured into the fridge, “I made a cheesecake. Feel free to grab a slice whenever, it looks like it's properly set now.”

The hedgehog couldn’t just cook, he could bake. Alone that fact would mean nothing but, with all this compiling evidence, Blaze felt her head spin and more heat jumped to her face. She shifted by him, glancing into the fridge, and sure enough, there it sat. A biscuit base topped with a creamy yellow mass and decorated with what looked to be some kind of cherry or strawberry jell or jam. She took hold of the door to steady herself, feeling the heat gather and gather on her face until a single spark ignited near the tip of her nose and, with a small pop, burgeoned into a flame. Blaze ran her free hand down her face, snuffing it immediately, but the thoughts that prompted it still ran rampant in her mind.

“Eh, Blaze? Are you okay?” She heard him shift and felt him looking over her shoulder, standing so very close, “You’ve gone all red.”

She had no idea how much of that he’s seen but, regardless, his innocence was astounding. His reaction to that pop and a palpable burst of heat from the fridge wasn’t to question what had happened but if she was okay. His concern for her was so very plain, his heart truly was fastened to his sleeve, he truly was very naïve. She had no idea what his life had been like up until this point, no idea who he really was just as he had no idea who she truly was. They were just a pair of very socially awkward individuals, albeit in very different ways, who happened to have collided due to the machinations of either fate or coincidence. She still couldn’t just up and tell him about these thoughts or the message she’d received but, regardless of them and whether this was fate or not, it was only right that she got to the bottom of this.

“I-I’ll have some if you will,” She blurted out, turning away from the fridge and towards him. Though embarrassment was surely twisting her face into a grimace, he still looked so kindly, “Maybe we should have a sit down and… get to know each other a little better?” The day’s travel had run her ragged, but nothing could compare to this past fifteen minutes, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #soulmate #fanfiction

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royal-writer · 6 years ago

Text

T O G E T H E R

“And I’d do it all over again; this extraordinary journey we’ve lead apart and together, just so I could have you by my side at the end.”

This is why I’m not allowed to write this kind of stuff... it’s SO SAPPY AND ROMANTIC.... ALL THE SOFTNESS.... ALL OF IT....

With each attractive lady that strolled down the aisle, Amon only grew more restless. Each gown and woman looked exquisite of course; carefully trimmed and fitted to hug their bodies in the most flattering way. But none of the sleek golden garments and none of these faces were what he longed to see the most.

In the manners of tradition and respect, he offered a bend from the neck politely to each and every miss who stepped over the steeple. Some giggled softly; others simply nodded or returned the gesture in kind. Their dainty hands glittering with golden bangles to match their apparel; each bracelet adorning different gemstones in cuts the women favored that spoke most to their personalities. They ascended the stairs with the help of the young Master Korey; who would offer a gloved hand and an equally well-trained dip of his head.

A peek to the young future Lord’s father and mother; and his niece Amelie, revealed their internal impressions. Amelie, taking in the entirety of the church with wondrous awe to lay a beaming smile upon him as she caught Amon’s eye. His brother-in-law, looking to his son with swelled pride. Acting as the civil gentleman he was groomed to be; dressed in such a likeness to his own father.

And finally, Josephine. Her eyes left him only in brief moments to savor a moment’s view of the surroundings and each new figure who glided down the path. Now, resting on him as he caught her eye with a touch of understanding. Perhaps Essätha was not the first choice she’d have in mind for him as a partner, but she never spoke an ill word of her. He could tell it had been a surprise through shared letters how his feelings had grown for the stunning young woman to his sister while he was away. He could tell how confused and awestruck she’d felt when he’d returned home; finally willing to settle after so much time spent away becoming a better man, only to bring her home with him.

She had expected the proposal. The moment he had come to bring it up to her; wanting her acceptance, Josie had seen it coming all along. The twinkle in her gaze as she looked him over and nodded while holding his hands; offering him the blessing he would never be able to hear aloud from their parents.

Essätha made the world sweeter. Brighter. Every dawn be there storms or light, he always had the sun right beside him when he’d wake. She brought to him softness and a long-forgotten sense of pure elation. That joy was something he could not deny; her heart, touch, and love all things he couldn’t live without. It had been the easiest and most frightening decision of his life to take a knee and ask her to stay; to be his for the rest of their days, to take the name of Illiad.

She already had all of his heart and soul. What little she did not have; the things trivial and unimportant, he wanted to share that with her, too. No longer his house, but their house. No longer his land, but their land. No more questioning the lines of where he stood; where they stood, what she meant to him which was everything and more.

He would make sure she never again questioned where she belonged. No more nights wondering where she would rest her head. No more fear of the fall; unsure if there would be something to catch her because he would always be there, and he would always catch her. His angelic Essie would always find love and sanctuary with him. No matter how difficult the world may get; no matter what happened, she would always have his support and adoration now and forever.

There was no one more merited to happy, carefree, comfortable life than her. By the name of Pelor and his family line, he was going to give her anything and everything she desired and should be righted. For all the good and radiance she brought to the world; for all the magnificence and warmth she brought into his life. She’d spent too much time struggling and too much time alone, and he wasn’t going to let another second slip by without her being appreciated as the beautiful, gentle, kind, illustrious woman she was.

His eyes caught upon the last maid making her way down. The off-gray black of Solace’s sly stare wearing the most form-fitting of the gowns. She seemed to mock him with just a glance; her lips painted a darker red that curved up with squinted eyes. A teasing look; knowing well that with her entry, there was only a few other after her and then…

And then her.

Straining his neck to the side in a manner less dignified and appropriate for a nobleman, the Lord of the Emerald Expanse listened to the surge of music rise and rise and rise again. Playing much like his breath, which seemed to only heighten with every note that rang in the air.

Right on cue from the ushers, sets of children from Briarton came twirling down the lane. It brought some chocked, tear-eyed faces to fits of gentle laughter as youthful boys and girls came slowly down. Not every step coordinated or even; with the youngest clutching to others and each other or tripping over themselves on polished shoes. Little girls dropped and rained white rose petals down from their woven baskets and the majority of the young lads held the hands of some of the girls, looking shy and embarrassed to do so.

It made the corner of Amon’s mouth twitch. Refraining himself from a smile as he stood straighter; holding the posture of his shoulders squared with hands clenching and unclenching behind his back.

Each child curtsied or bowed; some clumsier than others, and walked around the front of the pews to the side where they went to be seated in arranged areas beside their parents near the front.

He was no longer paying attention to the kids. The shift in the music; the tug in his chest, it all brought him back to the doors as two gentleman clad in shining, strapping golden armor stepped out on either side of the door. Each man placing a hand over their breastplate with wonderfully detailed ceremonial designs, and bowed low from the waist as shadows moved alongside the fringes of the door.

Murmurs filled the entire chapel with awe and excitement. Every body turned; the shift of the wooden pews groaning softly in the air.

It was all so distant. Muffled.

Lord Amon lost his breath suddenly. The outline of her torso fitting snugly in the bodice, the shape of her waist and slender arm wrapped around the stocky elbow of the man at her side. As she stepped out from the door frame, the width of the bottom; outrageous and exaggerated, spilled out in every direction and trailed an elegant train on the back. A perfect dress; the purest fresh-snow white with the veil trying to hide from him what he knew to be the most gorgeous, the most stunning individual to ever grace the world.

He cleared his throat quietly. Erecting his stature to the fullest; drawing in every angle and detail he could see the closer she got. All the while working his throat as he swallowed, with the alarming dampness of tears invading the edges of his vision and swimming in his gaze before he could blink them back only for them to keep returning, leaving him to continue fighting the urge off.

There she was. His every untold dream. The keeper of his heart. Every whispered joy and love. All the patience and gentleness inside of him. Who he was, now, stemming off pieces of her where they joined and connected in the best ways. Carefully folded among trust and companionship; this radiant beauty of grace and compassion.

His darling Essätha.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It didn’t grow any quieter, even as the number of bridesmaids began to deplete. In fact, it only grew more rowdy as Essie glanced back to look upon the children beginning to file in the room.

Some were holding hands with each other. Some were being looked after by one of their parents; or by the ushers who tried to maintain the balance and reign control. A few of the youngest seemed confused. Two of the smallest tried huddling timidly among the rest, all gazing around with wide-eyed wonder at the extravagance of the church.

Seeing some of the kids look over to her, Essätha offered a charming smile. Her fingers curling at her side; wiggling them as she murmured a few words for a small display of harmless flickering lights to momentarily dance across the room. They weaved in little patterns; sparkling up and curling with whimsy to create a brief indication of a heart.

Most of the tykes giggled at the display.

Such dears. She was over the moon that Amon had agreed to allow a small group of flower girls and the young gentlemen escorts to join their ceremony. It felt right to involve the town she would be calling home from now on. Plus, it seemed to set aside what uncertainties there may have still been in some of the townsfolks, too. Just a few hushed whispers of distaste; likely from the most pessimistic or nobility judging type, had grown quieter these past days.

Everyone else seemed almost as bemusedly smitten with her as Amon was. Essie had tried to prepare herself mentally and emotionally for the worst of blows when she’d returned here. Linked in Amon’s arm as they’d stroll the streets or standing at his side like an equal, she’d been ready to bar up her wall and force a smile through venom if she had to. Stares she felt sure were going to burn her.

What a delightful surprise, the acceptance of these people. Folks she would be helping to serve; who had been open and curious of her from the start. A different face then they were used to, seen hugging to the side of a man who had been closed off for so many years now found smiling often and laughing just as much.

Sometimes it made her wonder, but she tried not to question. Maybe it was the way Amon seemed so changed in her presence. Maybe it was that she was relatable; not born of nobility, knowing well both the struggles and the ease of a simpleton’s life. Hell, for all she knew, they might see her in some distant way the same way they saw Amelie. Likable; always for the people, always openly coming out to speak with them, help them, hear their opinions and hold a conversation.

Whatever the scenario, it made living in Briarton that much more enjoyable. For the months spent prior to the engagement, learning more of the customs and culture of the area. Getting to know the people just as she got to know the layout all too well of the manor.

How unexpected and how perfect it had been, to see her Amon getting down on bended knee. Splotches of red on his upturned face, sheepish as he took hold of her hands. The shared laughter as Caesar came romping upon them; trying to lick Amon in the face as he came up to her and she’d ran her fingers over his whiskers and laughed, and laughed, and told him yes what had to be a hundred times between kissing his face and him kissing hers while nodding her head all the while.

Why she hadn’t seen it coming, Essätha hadn’t a clue. There hadn’t been any expectations, coming home with him. It felt… right, when he’d asked. Where else was she to go, when he already had her, heart and soul? Following him had been easy. So easy, in fact, she’d forgotten her fears entirely on the situation of them being temporary. It felt too natural; too simple and too warm. Safe and happy, in the genuine authenticity in which he cared for her.

Now what stood between her and her perfect slice of heaven now and the rest of her life was minutes and moments.

Essie smiled a quirky grin to Solace as she offered a thumbs up, and headed out into the corridor to the softened voices and quiet crying. A final sight of her dress glittering in the afternoon sun and she was out of sight from their angle; the sound of her heels against the floor echoing.

Gods, she felt faint. Only the hired help and temple pastors were left in the room now; aside from herself, sir Abernathy, and the group of babbling kids. Her body was swimming on cloud nine. It felt like such a wild and fantastic dream and each time she blinked, she saw that everything was still there. The same bright lights, the same paintings, the same individuals all smiling and looking around. Not an illusion, but reality.

“Alright children, stay together, as instructed,” a church minister informed them slowly. “Little ladies, drop the petals as you go. Delicately now; you want them to be spread all the way down to the end of the aisle, so don’t throw them all at once.”

As she bounced on her heels, Essie could feel the shifted weight at her side. Her eyes moved to catch sight of Abe’s as she placed her hand upon the hooked area of his elbow as he offered it. The glint of his eyes still glossy, but the color had returned to normal on his face once more. His used handkerchief gone, with the stylized one still perfect and crisply folded to sit tucked neatly against his breast pocket.

“You look magnificent,” Abernathy encouraged warmly, reaching across to pat her hand. “Everything will go fine.”

Of course it would be fine! She’d been practicing to walk in these blasted heels for months; she’d been practicing her vows for what felt like years, and she was going to be spending the rest of today and ever day calling Lord Amon her husband. She could walk right out there and fall flat on her face, rip her dress and watch storms blow in outside to block the spring solstice sun, and it would still all be fine. Everything today would be perfect, because by the end of it all, she would have her Lord Amon. Dashing and considerate as he always was; a true and valiant man filled with integrity.

A small wave to the kids as they passed with varying degrees of excitement and nervousness, and they too disappeared past her line of sight into the other room. Ranges of ‘aww’s followed from the guests and then giggles; the most noise they’d managed so far as she could hear.

Essätha didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until the usher stepped back, and made for a grand sweeping gesture towards her.

“M’lady,” they stated gently, bowing as two soldiers hurried past him with their spears held high. A resounding clanking of shifting metal and a deafening silence that came with it.

With a gentle dip of her head, she straightened her pose and followed the tempo of the carrying music as it rose. Slow, careful steps; pausing just outside of the dazzling brightness of the chapel then to follow Abe’s lead as he took the next step into the room.

Her eyes were quick to take in the dazzling interior. The attention to detail was simply overwhelming. Low hanging candlelight with flickering fire; the time of day just right so that the shimmering sun hit the panes of mosaic glass perfectly to light up the steeple and walkway. An enriching smell filled the room under the perfume of flowers in full bloom. It was eloquent and utterly gorgeous; down to the bows strung and curled so perfectly, the decorated pillars, the gold trim, the vines covered in floral arrangements and wreaths hanging on every wall measured precisely apart.

Every pair of eyes in the room moved upon her. Turning fully in their seats to look upon her. Though she knew she looked lovely, it was overbearingly embarrassing. Her chin held high; grateful for the cover of the veil as she gracefully inclined her head to the guards and to the pews filled with people.

Then to where her gaze longed to rest: searching over the wedding party. Split on one side with figures draped in gold and on the other, sharply trimmed suits with the sermon in the middle of it all.

There he was. Adjacent on the right side of the preacher. From the end of the aisle, she could make out the smile on his face and the dancing light in his eyes. His body tilted towards her as he spotted her; his throat flexing as he swallowed. The most heartachingly beautiful man she’d ever seen. Her every gentle strengths found in his resolve. Her bravery found in his. The quiet voice of hope he gave her; the breath of air like a new life drawn in just looking upon him. So strapping and so warm; his honesty making a more honest woman out of her.

All the joy bubbled up in her chest, and she went to lunge forward. Gods, he was right there. Her heart leapt for him; feet lighter than air oh gods she couldn’t wait any longer! A ridiculous, wide-splitting grin spreading over her face-

The arm linked with hers tightened against Abernathy’s side. Though she wasn’t looking to him, his expression was one of light amusement as he held her close so she could not break away yet. A quiet, almost inaudible ‘ahem’ in the back of his throat as the previous gasps of admiration that filled the room seeing her suddenly ended with instead, quiet chuckles and snickering.

Her attempt to rush forward hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Glowing scarlet beneath the shroud that hid her face, Essätha forced her impatient steps to follow the guidance of Abe’s. Always hurrying her next stride through his as the grand cascade of music notes began to grow higher and higher. The gushing of the crowd having grown louder and louder; in quiet tones trying to hide their own many shades of delight. A thousand murmured compliments; a thousand more murmured words of encouragement and barely-retained gleeful statements on how thrilled they were for Amon; how thrilled they were for her.

As she neared the stairs, Amon took them one at a time to meet her at the bottom. The darkness of his eyes never leaving hers. She could make out the tremble of his jaw briefly as he came close through the mist that blurred in and out of her vision before his expression tightened. The glassy shine of liquid in his eyes disappeared, as he tilted his head to Abernathy who returned the gesture in kind.

A hand extended towards her. With it, the orc-elf stepped back to release her arm. He paced quickly off to her left to take his seat in the front pew, right beside Haymitch.

Amon cut himself at the waist in a low, elegant bow. The longer strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes as he peered up at her, a smile growing on his face.

It took effort to hold back the desire to push the stands away. Instead, she placed her palm into his callused one; a hand to her ruffled skirt bottom to hold it out as she curtsied low. Bending from her knees lower and lower, to the point she nearly knelt before him. Truthfully, she was ready to collapse then and there and melt from his touch.

Her beloved Lord Amon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She was… unparalleled.

No one came close to the ravishing divinity that was her. Even with that obnoxious concealment over her face, the color of her eyes was the earth that grounded him. The dress was cut and tailored with such classic feminine touches; and yet it still had sneaking additions that showed her taste. Before she’d turned, the glimpse of the back of the thin veil laid over an open dip that had just the right amount of sensuous appeal without revealing too much bare skin.

Crystals and shimmering stones sewed throughout the floral patterns. Upon the seams and edges, he could make out the symbolic simplification of his family crest matched with miniaturized serpents. A thoughtful personal touch. He wondered how much time she’d put into helping design the dress with the seamstresses; one of the few things he’d had absolutely no hand in throughout the process. And he was glad he didn’t; the surprise of being made so breathless as he devoured every inch of her within her gown was the richest pleasure his eyes had the grace of grazing over.

He didn’t take his eyes from Essätha’s but for just a moment as she stood before him. Long enough to respectfully recognize Abernathy’s presence, and meet the elder man’s gaze as he paid a respectful gesture. His eyes all too swift and eager to go upon hers once again as he shuffled back on his boots just enough not to invade her space with his presence as he curved from the hip.

Truthfully, he should have lowered his eyes as well but found that he could not. His palm extended, awaiting the wondrous union of her hand touching his as she made a formal gesture of obeisance. He wanted to scoff the traditional gesture then and there. With her sumptuousness, she should be submitting to no one.

The delicate feel of her palm ran over his, enough to make his spine tingle as he wrapped his fingers over hers. Sleek scales stood out in darkened hues against her skin where the tips of his fingers touched. Despite the unplanned gesture not scripted, he couldn’t wait a moment longer not to honor his stunning bride as he brought her hand to his lips.

Her face was glowing the most radiant rosy hue. A shyness in the length of her dark lashes crested low so they almost touched the rounded edges of her cheeks made from the width of her beaming smile.

Pelor, his heart throbbed just looking at her. All her resplendence so breathtaking to look upon. And she had wandered through, by some miracle, to enter his life. The strangest accidental destiny forged.

Every subdue whisper was drowned out by the longing echoes of his heart. Straightening stance, Amon waited until his darling Essätha was standing before him once again before he turned to the side; with her mirroring the action. Holding her hand carefully in his own, he guided her up the half-a-dozen or so stairs up to stand before the minister, before turning to her once again.

His hands shook. Little tremors as he released her, reaching up to the lace embroidered edge of the veil. He had to swallow the lump in his throat threatening to choke him into tears as his jaw worked. Grinding his teeth together for extra security as he took the thin fabric in weathered hands to roll it part of the way up.

A whiff of the fragrance she wore drifted from her skin. Lilacs with violets, mixed with a note of vanilla and faint hints of rich honey-like earthy amber. A wonder remembrance of a spring garden in bloom. The further up he pulled the sheer curtain, the more inviting the aroma and glorious color of her skin. Finely dusted cosmetics she really had no need to wear on such flawless warm brown skin. That stunning arc in her smile on stained lips. The apples of her cheeks, the allure of her eyes as she blinked through a wave of emotion as he draped the veil back over the wrapped darkness of her hair.

Amon’s mouth parted slightly. Closed; trying to control the bombardment of crashing waves. Such raw, pure, ethereal elegance. His hands pulling back as he breathed in shakily; hearing none of the guests and their mixture of sobs and exhaled voices of amazement.

Essie needed none of these luxury items to still be the most grand woman in the room. The glow of the moon seeming to shine from her throat upon the silver elven jewelry, joining the daytime sun that poured upon her like the graced hand of God. Dangling strands of thin silver looping back around her ears; hanging from a woven circlet trimmed with mixtures of rose gold and a single, light emerald gemstone laid upon the center.

Procession be damned, he wanted to fold neatly against her then and now. Collapse into the endearing ways she touched him; hold her close and drop to his knees before her and worship her. Mold his lips to hers and kiss her in all the sentimental and soft ways he longed to as he breathed her in; felt her under his skin and nuzzled in the shelter of his heart. A place where she would always be secure and eternally loved.

The officiant cleared his throat in preparation to speak. As he did so, Amon took hold of her hands in his; gripping them gently between their chests as he smiled broadly down into her cheerful face.

‘You look mesmerizing,’ he mouthed wordlessly to her.

Her breath gave a small hitch as she blushed deeper; lowering her chin in a modest gesture. It only made him want to reach out and hold her face more. Tenderly, as he would shower her captivating feaures with kisses and press upon those full lips and hold her steadily there, into his chest. Feel her melt into him; allowing her strength to dissolve into trusting him to keep her steady.

“Welcome,” the preacher began in a carrying voice. “Welcome, family, friends, loved ones, and honored guests. We come together today on the spring solstice beneath the light of Pelor to celebrate the love between Amon Thomas Illiad; Lord of the Emerald Expanse, and miss Essätha Medüza.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gods, he looked handsome.

The moment he furled up the remainder of the shroud, she got the most spectacular view of his face. No longer hidden behind the fabric; the shine of his eyes glittering with tears upon her. The sharp bridge of his nose, the cut of his beard smoothed out perfectly, the crop of his hair set wonderfully with the nagging exception of longer wisps near his temple and sitting upon his forehead. They’d been nipped on the ends at least so not to fall over his eyes but that didn’t stop her desire to press them aside.

His uniform looked quite dapper. A pleasant swirl of gold popping out against black with the white collar of his undershirt stiffly against his neck. The unexpected surprise of the hankie settled into his pocket; a dark shimmering green like the namesake emerald of his land with golden intertwined initials.

He always looked so dignified and prominent; the heritage of aristocratic status and a chiseled look of valor. A noble, heroic face.

His grinning expression only grew as his lips moved in a pattern of sweet words.

Heavens above.

Essätha’s face grew hotter as she bashfully squirmed in place. All but too aware of the rough hands gingerly blanketing over her own. Such thoughtful, nurturing hands. Never taking; never demanding. Always offering; reaching for her, steadying her, embracing her with prudent care. Offered only with patience and understanding. Sometimes sailing over her body, to hold her in the most private and intimate of settings with affectionate tenderness.

She adored every ridge and scar on those hands. With just as much enthusiasm and elation as she loved his face. Carved in ways that was like being cut from marble; sharp and defined like an artist’s work. And like any good artist, they did not simply stop with making a beautiful face but a powerful body of steel. Where soft lines met hard; a blend of gentleness and strength.

Whatever it was the officiant was saying, it was far gone to her. All she knew; all she craved, all she cared about in this moment was the face in front of her. Tilted in her direction. Watching the way the lines of happiness moved over his face. Inhaling the scent of sandalwood and pine rising up from him. What little restraint he’d put in to hold himself back was beginning to unravel so that he looked at her; really looked at her, with ranges and spectrum's of devoted admiration. The glistening of unshed tears; the quiet breaths of air coming out in occasional huffs to keep check on his emotions, the pools of his eyes bringing her into the depths of a neverending span of space where it was just the two of them, lost with just each other and perfectly happy.

It all hit her at once. The weight of the moment. The significance. The resonating happiness buzzing inside of her; spilling out from the corners of her eyes as her lip wobbled before she could catch it between her teeth and smile.

She had found the one thing she had always wanted, and it laid beside and inside of this spectacular man: her happiness.

And his own. Too much time spent in his life loathing himself. And she realized that no matter how perfect her own existence was in that moment; no matter how lovely it was to smile and feel joy, his own would be her new dream. Her every goal. Every day would be spent cherishing him; her Lord Amon, and rousing the flames of his soul. Aiding him in his growth; watching him become more and more of who he should be allowed to be, as the great man he was.

Her happiness was important, but she felt it the most; in it’s untarnished form, when pieces of it reflected and derived off his. The joy he deserved. The seeds of life he should be living, however he decided. She wanted that for him; that and so much more. It didn’t matter his wrongs; he’d fought well and hard all his life against himself and it was long past due he was given his warranted life of content and bliss.

She hadn’t realized how far the reading had gotten along. The practice sessions; privately and together, with the sermon had always felt so clunky and took forever. But then again, she hadn’t been so invested; so totally shamelessly lost in the bottomless gaze holding her as before and reeling in the strings of emotion like she was now.

“You are not just adding to the your life, but each other’s,” the sermon stated. “The act of marriage is a voluntary act; one of commitment and trust.”

“Before vows can be exchanged, I ask that you both confirm the intent of your union.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first tear slipped over the contour of her cheek and down her face. It was soon followed closely by the second, rolling over her face as it escaped her other eye to trickle down to her chin.

Quietly, he cleared his throat. His hands swallowing hers; squeezing them lightly in his grasp. Taking all of his reserve will to keep his own tears back.

They were not tears of sorrow, but he still longed to wipe them free from her pleasant appearance. They tried to obscure the toffee color of her eyes and left blotched tracks over her makeup. He was far more concerned with her gaze however; glassy with further unshed tears.

“… I ask that you both confirm the intent of your union…”

Had they already made it through the opening words and blessing? He couldn’t even recall the reading of the passage from one of their shared favorite novels. My, he must truly be distracted.

“Do you, Amon, take Essätha as your wife? Do you vow to take care of her, in sickness and in health; to share your life and your dreams, to build her a home that is a place of happiness? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, and; forsaking all others, remain faithful to her as you both shall live?”

Nodding solemnly, his voice escaped him in a rasp as he uttered: “I will.”

A faint sniffle from the illustrious beauty before him. This time, he let go of her hand to reach up; thumbing the escaped tear from the corner of her eye as she beamed from ear to ear. All the light in the room seemed to focus, if not exude, purely from her as their searching gazes flicked over each other.

From the crowd, a series of ‘awws’ and broken sobs pushed into linens.

“Do you, Essätha, take Amon as your husband? Do you vow to take care of him, in sickness and in health; to share your life and your dreams, to build him a home that is a place of happiness? Will you love him, comfort him, honor him, and; forsaking all others, remain faithful to him as you both shall live?”

Amon reached back down to take hold of both of her hands. A gentle, hopeful squeeze of pressure surrounding them as he held his breath.

“I will,” she choked.

Oh, his sweet love. He wanted nothing else; needed nothing else but her. Now and forever; that fetching smile and glowing eyes like a binding spell. He couldn’t remove himself from looking at her if the world was collapsing around them in that moment. She alone was the gravity anchoring him; the force breathing air into his lungs, the celestial sun upon him beating in his heart like molten lava.

A twinkle glistened in the minister’s eyes. He reached out; the dark skin-tone laying over their intertwined hands for a second as he looked out into the crowd.

“I ask that those present please be silent, as the pair will now exchange vows to seal their love for each other. Lord Amon, you will go first.”

The pair of hands retracted, leaving just Amon’s to smother upon Essätha’s. The drum of his heart racing as he swallowed against the threatening thickness in his throat. What small murmurs grown quiet with silent, mute weeping from a few people dabbing furiously at their faces.

There would never be enough days, enough time, enough eternity to express how much she meant to him. But he would try to express it the best he could; letting everyone know just how precious, just how meaningful and important she was to him as well she knew.

“My darling Essätha,” he cooed; his words barely carrying as he reached up to swipe away another tear from the corner of her eye. They only grew stronger thereafter; an affirmation of his loyalty for all the hear.

“I have been given the greatest privilege and honor to stand beside you. Not just today, but every day since we have met. I have witnessed your courage and your tenacity. I have seen your beauty inside and out, as it lives and breathes inside of everything you do and are. I have watched you rise to every occasion; and seen firsthand the strengths you possess in your kindness as well as your spirit.”

“I would never have believed that someone could accept me the way you do,” he gruffly continued. “You take me as I am, completely. Without question or hesitation. You are not just my love, but my friend and ally. You are genuine in who you are. Honest, kind, compassionate, and daring. You are a fierce, patient, bold, generous woman with the most humble heart. I’ve never been so enamored before you. I’m grateful to have been there to hold your hand through the storms that have passed us by, as I was given the chance to stand by your side.”

“I promise to be there for you and support you, come what may. To laugh with you in the good times; and to fight alongside you in the bad as I comfort your sorrows. I promise to respect our differences; and to always give you an open ear. I will honor and cherish you; as my partner and as the unique one-of-a-kind woman that you are. I promise you will always have my trust and faith. Every hope and every dream you have, I will encourage and fight for as they will be my own.”

He had to take a moment to catch his shaken breath. His fingers stroking along the side of her face, careful to try not smearing the delicate makeup as he brushed away stray tears lingering along the edges of her shimmering, adoring gaze.

“I give to you that which is mine, freely. My home, my wealth, my name, my all. My hand which shall always reach for yours; my heart that belongs only to you, my soul which will forever be fast to your side. I choose you; and I will choose you over and over again, every day, from now until my last breath.”

“On this day, I take you, Essätha Medüza as my wife,” he affirmed with unyielding strength. “I take you as you are; loving who you are and loving who you will become. I long for no other. I will cherish you, love you, and care for you always. Your needs shall always come first. When you need it, I will be your sword and shield. You will never have to face your adversaries alone, for I will be there.”

“I pledge to you; only you, Essätha. I will fill your cup. I will seek your joy, by whatever means necessary. I will love you, unconditionally, through this life into what lays beyond it. I join my life through yours; an equal in all things, to my trusted lover and companion.”

Amon breathed out unsteadily. Little quakes moving over his hands.

The softness of her fingers, delicately rubbing beneath his eyes for a moment as she smiled into his gaze fondly. The collection of tears having sprung to the surface and slipped over the edge as he finished.

It wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. Barely holding a candle in the darkness to his devotion; how marveled he was by all of her. The best, most incredible, most unbelievable person to have walked in to his life and; miraculously, the one to stay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She’d shivered and trembled through the entire heartfelt speech. Certain through his light touches, that he could feel the tremendous echo of her heart. It called to him; reached for him, begged for nothing else but him.

Such tender, earnest words. He spoke them with certainty. Assured of himself through it all; only when the last of them hung in the air did the tears that had been welling up the entire time manage to break through his barriers. Falling over his cheek, making her impulsively move in to skirt the stray tears away from his lovely face.

Quiet weeping was being poorly stifled in the church now. Some people masking over there faces to the best of their ability as makeup ran and grown men looked down upon their shoes to keep hidden their own strands of emotion.

“Miss Essätha,” the minister spoke gently. “You are free to speak what your heart wills, now.”

Speak? She hoped she could find her voice. Much of the day had been a mute daze; trying to keep her exterior from shattering into a blubbering mess.

“M’lord Amon,” she whispered, running her fingers over his scruff and down to take hold of his hands. Though her voice started small, it rose in a similar manner to Amon’s as she spoke.

“You are a thoughtful, resilient, clever, sweet man who I am fortunate to know, and who the Emerald Expanse is lucky to have. I’m sure your parents have been proud to witness you grow; here and on the other side. You are the kind of man people can depend on. You’re the man I depend on; knowing that you are brave as your are intelligent and considerate.”

“I have loved you deeply for so long. Understanding that you have made mistakes, but that you are willing to correct them. Seeing you for what you were; not as stern as you had tried to make the world believe but someone humane and gentle. Willingly giving yourself up for the good of others. Protecting people; serving them to the best of your ability, working yourself tirelessly to be the best that you could for those around you. You have always placed yourself not even second, but last to all those around you.”

“I will never put you last, my beloved,” she assured him in a wavering voice of emotion. “You are my role model; the giving, polite, forgiving caring person I look to when I need guidance. I will try in every way, to be worthy of you and your love. I know I can count on you, as I pray you can count on me to be there through out darkest times just as we have stuck it out through the brightest.”

Between her digits, she could feel the pressure of Amon’s wriggling to interconnect. Weaving against hers; holding to her hands with unrivaled care. A firm but loving squeeze of gentleness as their eyes remained, staring deeply into each other’s with naked affection and brimmed liquid.

“I give you all of me, and promise to walk with you, hand in hand, through it all. Acknowledging your faults and strengths, as you do mine. Should you need a shoulder, I will be there. If you need your space, I will give it. I will be your confidant; your support. I promise to uphold you and honor you; to stand beside you and guide you through as you do with me.”

“You make me a better person, and I am thankful for that. All that I have to offer, I will share with you. I want nothing more than to wake with the breath of each day, staring into your eyes. And should we end up with nothing but each other, I will be happy and content because I have been granted the greatest treasure of all. The promise of your heart, which I will love and protect, in this life into the next.”

“I love you, m’lord Amon. Come the sweltering sun, the endless droughts, the surging seas or raging fires; the changing seasons and blistering winters, I will love you; all of you, forever and always. I wish to build a home with you; a family extended through yours and mine and our friends. I wish only to love you and be loved by you; and for your happiness which fulfills mine.”

As she finished; her voice rising in a lilt, the sermon himself made to clear his throat. In a moment of privacy, he briefly glanced away as Amon wiped at her teary-face. Such light brushes of callused fingertips to her face as she reached up to cradle his cheeks in turn; working away the mirrored tears streaking over his cheeks.

Even red-eyed and red-faced with emotion, her Amon was a sight to behold. And his touch, giving her goosebumps all over with such delicacy. Always so careful of her. Always so gentle with her heart, which he had mended in the same ways she had mended his: sewn and stitched with liquid gold poured into the cracks and crevices to create and entirely new and reforged heart. Stronger than it had been in years; finding all these new reasons and ways to pulse so eagerly for another.

Finally finding a reason to breathe and exist beyond a simple desire to survive. Now, longing to see the dawn as she’d place her head on the pillow beside his at night. For no amount of dreaming of him; as splendid as those dreams could be, matched waking up in sturdy arms and the lingering, sluggish lips that kissed her every morning with reverence.

The hoarseness of the pastor’s voice sliced through; only slightly fragmented with emotion as he declared: “Please present the rings.”

From the corner of her blurred vision, she saw a shadow approach up the middle of the stairs. A glimpse to the figure, and Essie offered a sheepish smile to Master Korey as he extended a pillow out to them both.

Careful of her unsteady hands, she released her hold on Amon’s face as he did hers to take the single, simple wedding band as her beloved took her own as well as the engagement ring back sitting over it.

“Thank you, Korey,” the Illiad Lord murmured in fluctuating tones.

“Uncle,” the young man respectfully acknowledged; followed closely by, “My lady.”

“Thank you,” Essie squeaked; her pitch high and fractured.

As Korey retreated, the preacher opened his arms wide as he spoke loud and clear: “With these rings, we mark the beginning of your new journey shared together. As you wear them, may they be a constant reminder to you of one another, and the deep bond of faith, trust, and love they represent. These rings represent the promise of your commitment. The ring; an unbroken and never-ending circle, symbolizes your dedication, loyalty, and promises spoken today both aloud and in your hearts.”

“Lord Amon, as you place the rings upon Essätha’s finger, repeat after me.”

Her breath escaped her in an uneasy gasp as her beloved Lord took hold of her left hand. Bringing it close so briefly; letting her fingers touch upon his chest over his heart.

“With this ring, I take you my heart at the rising of the moon and stars, and dawn of the sun.”

As he echoed the words, Amon began to slowly slid the wedding band down the third finger of her hand.

“To honor and to love, through all that may come.”

It pressed snuggly at the end of her finger. In the shaft of sunlight, the carefully forged silver glistening.

“From this day forward, I promise you will not walk alone.”

The engagement ring; far more lavish with it’s many diamonds and delicate craftsmanship, was added where it belonged. No longer leaving a ghostly impression there any longer, but returned now with the band, close at heart.

“May my heart be your shelter, and my arms your home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He couldn’t stop himself from crying any further. The endearing nature of her words undid him.

What had he done to be deserving of her praise? What had he done to earn the admiration and esteem this stunning, beautiful, gentle woman held to him?

Amon swallowed hard as she touched him. Tenderly; circling the pad of her thumbs beneath the hollow space beneath his eyes. And he held no care for how reserved he should appear; how dignified as a nobleman he should be standing as he reached for her. Cupped the sculpted perfection of her face and held her there, stroking her tears away as she did to him. Gentle, gentle, not wanting his rigid fingers to hurt her or dab away too much of her makeup.

It was the incline of Essie’s head that alerted him to the approaching boy. He turned, seeing the set of rings splayed out against the fluffed silken pillow and instinctively reached for the two that would set permanently upon his love’s finger from now on.

“Thank you, Korey.”

His words were muted. Disoriented through his raging surge of emotions.

“Uncle,” the Montebank master mused with a look of warm humor to him, before following it with a respectful incline to his wife as he tacked on a: “My lady.”

“Thank you.”

Ah. An enchantress’ voice. So becoming; filled with all the right notes and tones of sugar and spice to make him shiver.

He followed the instructions; as practiced, while the pastor spoke the blessing he echoed. Feeling the weight of the words inside of himself. Each chord it struck inside of him; repetitive in it’s truth as he gave to her his hand and his soul by placing both rings upon her one at a time. The wedding band, placed closest to her beautiful heart.

Her eyes shone as he held her hand. Wanting nothing more than to lay it over his heart, letting her feel the way she made him feel in the way it beat so erratically for her.

“Lady Essätha,” the elder man spoke calmly now, “as you place the rings upon Amon’s finger, repeat after me.”

Her hand cupped his. Rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand; drawing little shapes of code. It stole away his breath for a moment; lost in the gentle gaze of butterscotch brown.

“With this ring, I take you my heart at the rising of the moon and stars, and dawn of the sun.”

Her dainty little fingers wiggled against his digits. Drawing some space between his wedding digit and his pinky and middle finger.

“To honor and to love, through all that may come.”

The cool metal touched his skin. The engraved words of the Yuan-ti tongue hidden on the inside of the band searing into his skin.

Keeper of my heart.

“From this day forward, I promise you will not walk alone.”

Essätha pushed the ring past the bends of his finger gently.

“May my heart be your shelter, and my arms your home.”

On the last of the words she repeated, her voice broke softly in a few ways. The ring to his knuckle, spun gently once by her digits until she simply held to his fingers. Anchoring to him in a way that said she was ready. That there was no more running; no unexpected hurdles, no flight. No panic. No fleeing.

She would stay. She would stay, and be his.

And they would have their home; build into the comfort of each other and an embrace so glorious and pure it left him speechless every time. Each chance he had to hold her was euphoria.

And never would he let go. She would never feel under appreciated; unwanted, unwelcome. Never again. Not for a second, not for a moment, he simply would not allow it. He would be the best, the most devoted, the most loving husband he could be. He would do it all for her. Anything for her. Everything.

And they would have it all, together.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Lord Amon and Lady Essätha, you have come together before your family, friends, and loved ones as two people, now united as one couple under one name. You affirm yourselves together as husband and wife, and pledged your lives together by the symbolism giving and receiving of the rings.”

Too overjoyed not to bask in the glory of the moment, Essätha wiggled her fingers against Amon’s as she drew in a sharp breath. Taking the time to admire the set of rings upon her; buffed and polished to catch in the light. A prism of colors, barely there but pretty all the same, bouncing off of the diamonds to dance in the rays of sun coming perfectly down on them.

“By the virtue and blessing of Pelor; bringer of light, I now pronounce you Lord and Lady Illiad; masters and protectors of the Emerald Expanse. You may now share your first kiss as husband and wife.”

Oh. Oh, she’d been so caught up with the impact of the vows, she hadn’t realized the ceremony was already coming to an end. Her eyes, crawling up over the suit, moved to catch Lord Amon’s and take in the sharp angles of his face and overjoyed smile as he exhaled in an excited rush.

She was expecting a peck. Merely a polite gesture before those present. Something to satisfy without being too much, as he was the prim and proper sort to leave only chaste kisses in public here and there.

One arm came to her waist, and the other to her cheek. Sliding behind the veil, to the back of her head and carding through sections of hair he made loose from the bun, Amon dipped her back to display her slender throat. A shocked, frankly unexpected gasp breaking free from her as he grinned; wild and warm and filled with delight.

His beard was soft. Gently rubbing to her chin and cheeks as he tilted his head and stole to her lips with his own. Incredibly soft, but hiding nothing. Not from her, not from those watching as he robbed her of air and held her. The world pivoted from it’s axis; the wolf whistles and cheers and choked, excited happy sobbing was gone.

It was just them. His mouth over hers. The doting fondness in which he so tenderly kissed her. The path he carved for her; true and straight through to him, with him, wherever it lead.

When he pulled away by fractions of an inch, warm breath bathing over her mouth, staring into her eyes and the sudden cries of the crowd ringing in her ears, she allowed herself a breath of her own. Filled with his air; his cologne. Found in the shine flashing over his eyes as he grinned down at her. That same smile growing as she reached up, running her fingers over the whiskers against his temples as she held his face.

“My wife,” he declared; a single word of complete and unhindered elation.

“My husband,” she answered in kind; her voice a purr fueled with delight.

She was more prepared this time as he came to her. Throwing her arms around his neck; clutching him closer as the fog appeared over the world again and it was just the pair of them. Colors of his soul blending into hers; shades she had never seen in the world all from him.

Nearly everyone was at their feet. A round of applause thunderous; filling the church as the dappled lighting encircled them.

And they kissed, and they kissed, and they kissed and life was perfect, as perfect as it had been and could be, being right there with him with her. As it should be.

Together.

#eci artz #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #please send tissues

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moviessilently · 7 years ago

Text

Mary Pickford plays an Italian woman whose brothers have gone off to fight in World War One. Alone and worries, she discovers a sailor washed up on the shore. He tells her that he is an American and they secretly marry but is her husband really who he claims to be?

Home Media Availability: Released on DVD.

Italian dressing.

After co-founding United Artists, the rest of Mary Pickford’s silent career was a balancing act between the child roles and whimsy that her fans had come to love and the heavier, more artistically satisfying parts that Pickford craved.

The Love Light came on the heels of Pollyanna and Suds, the former being a famously sugary child role and the latter a slapstick-and-pathos story of a laundress in love. The Love Light was meant to give Pickford some heavier drama and it was directed by her best friend, noted screenwriter Frances Marion. (By the way, Marion later recalled that both she and Pickford found Pollyanna “nauseating” so a change of pace was needed all around.)

Pickford back in spunky mode.

The Love Light is the story of Angela (Pickford), a young Italian woman whose family operates the local lighthouse. She lives with her two brothers and is being courted by Giovanni (Raymond Bloomer). Of course, the Great War breaks out and her brothers go to fight, as does Giovanni. One brother is killed immediately and Angela waits alone for news of her other loved ones.

One night, Angela finds a man (Fred Thomson, Mr. Frances Marion) washed up on the shore. He says that his name is Joseph and he is an American deserter. Angela feels sorry for him and hides him in her cellar. Naturally, they fall in love and are secretly married. Also, Angela finds out that Germans engrave “Gott mit uns” on just everything. (This coarse exposition is in no way foreshadowing, nope, nope, nope.)

And all I ever find on the beach is a shell or two.

Joseph does have one odd request of his wife: he wants her to give him a “love signal” from the lighthouse at precisely midnight. Angela obeys and, would you believe it, an Italian ship is sunk at precisely that time.

So then Joseph is like, “It’s been real but I have to get back to America, toots.” Angela goes to the village to steal chocolate for him and is nearly caught. When she returns, she finds him asleep in the cellar. She leans closer and…

So THIS is why he kept ordering extra sauerkraut.

In his sleep, Joseph mumbles three words: Gott mit uns.

Sigh. Really, movie? Really? The reveal is silly as silly as an Englishman saying “God save the King!” or an American saying “I pledge allegiance to the flag…” in their sleep. And coming so conveniently on the heels of Angela learning the phrase, it feels artificial and forced.

So, congratulations, Angela. You have married a German spy. And she also discovers that her beloved baby brother was on that ship that was destroyed the night before. Da da DUM!

Angela has some ‘splaining to do.

What will Angela do? Will she give hubby the heave-ho? Watch The Love Light to find out.

Spoiler Because This Really Bugs Me: So, Angela makes her choice and turns her husband over to the villagers, Joseph dies trying to escape, now we just need Giovanni to come home and… What? There’s another half hour remaining? Oh good lord. Basically, we get reel after reel of, “Golly, war sure is awful, isn’t it?” Also, snotty nuns will take your child because they think you’re crazy and will give the infant to a totally random OTHER crazy lady. Yay?

Um, thanks? Signed, Italians

In its review of the picture, Photoplay Magazine stated that “the story is developed without reasonable logic” and I have to agree. Pickford is delightful, especially in the earlier lightweight scenes, but the film jumps around from genre to genre and plot thread to plot thread without sufficiently setting itself up for the transition. Instead, it relies on cheats and old propaganda tricks that were as stale in the 1920s as they are now.

Both silent films and black and white films deserve to be treated as works of art in their own right. Neither sound nor color are missing. That being said, I do get annoyed when the lack of color or sound are used to cheat the viewer of information they could use to solve the mystery.

Don’t mention the war!

For example, the 1947 Bogart and Bacall vehicle Dark Passage hinges on a character adoring the color orange and even having a car in that dramatic shade. Of course, since the film is black and white, we never recognize that distinct car and so the big reveal feels cheap.

The same is the case with The Love Light. To explain his accent, Joseph claims to be an American and Angela believes him. All well and good but we in the audience are denied hearing whether his accent is American or German and so the eventual reveal that he is a German spy feels just as cheap as the Dark Passage finale.

Methinks Gott was not mit anyone during the Great War.

Another problem with the film is that it’s still in Great War Hate the Hun mode when the movies had pretty much moved on. In his review, Carl Sandburg wrote: “It almost looks as though the play was written during the war to be show in Italy to keep alive interest in the war.” The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse, which opened two months after The Love Light, showed the way forward for Great War pictures with its themes of divided families, honor and, of course, a some very hot tangos.

(I know that none of you will have trouble with this distinction but for the Hollywood screenwriters who do not seem to understand this: There were no Nazis in the First World War!)

Some patented Pickford shenanigans.

It seems obvious that Frances Marion was stretched too thin by the project. She had written great screenplays before and she would write great screenplays again but the combined task of writing and directing, plus all the personal baggage that came with a cast full of her nearest and dearest, seems to have been too much. Ironically, Marion fares better as a director than a screenwriter in this picture.

As stated above, Pickford is delightful when she engages in slapstick early in the picture. One of the best and most underrated comediennes in film, Pickford capers and prances and tries to beat up her brothers in the best comedy tradition. She does her best with the later dramatic scenes but the setups are so silly that she is undermined. (Of course, Pickford was the producer, so she also shoulders responsibility for the film’s failures.)

Wounded soldier? Meh. Wounded soldier she knows? TRAGEDY!

Further, Angela is not a particularly appealing heroine on paper because she only acts if something affects her personally. She only turns in Joseph upon realizing that he was directly responsible for her brother’s death, she only takes action to save a storm-battered ship when she realizes her baby is aboard. Any charm in the character is due to Pickford’s talents as an actress.

On the plus side, Henry Cronjager and Charles Rosher’s camera work is absolutely gorgeous. Dramatic shots of storms and boats and fires and silhouettes and candlelight, lamplight and, of course, the lighthouse. Moody, gorgeous and warm, this picture is a feast for the eyes.

In the end, this film is an example of a picture made by enormous talents that just does not work. It’s one of the more heartbreaking facts of the film industry but sometimes everyone can be doing the right thing and still end up with a dud.

The Love Light is a plot that would have worked as a dramatic one-reeler but it just doesn’t have the oomph to be stretched out to feature length. The final third of the film feels tacked on and nothing is really very satisfying. The cinematography is an enormous draw, of course, and the film’s lighter moments work but the whole thing is kind of a mess. It’s an interesting bit of film history but not necessarily great entertainment.

Where can I see it?

The Love Light was released on DVD by Milestone but that edition is out of print. I have not yet viewed the Film Detective release.

***

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The Love Light (1921) A Silent Film Review Mary Pickford plays an Italian woman whose brothers have gone off to fight in World War One.

#1921 #Frances Marion #Fred Thomson #Mary Pickford #Raymond Bloomer #The Love Light #War

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bodelevy-lindqvist · 4 years ago

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ENJOY THE SILENCE ⚔️ angel & bode ⚔️ d.m.c

@angel-thorne

[Oof, how caustic. Poor Bode. Angel sees a lot of himself in people like that – his old self, that is, the self that had been left behind in his Rebirth. He still remembers what it’s like, though. To see the worst in people. Or, worse, to see only what they can give you. He thought he’d been so strong then, above the need for comfort or contact.

He feels more human now than he ever did when he really was human.

The temptation now is to tease when he meets people like Bode. It used to grate on him so badly when optimists would prod at him with gleeful expressions, but now he counts himself among the ranks of optimists he can see the appeal. When people take themselves so seriously, it makes you want to point it out by stark contrast of your own silliness.

But… well, he also has a shred of empathy. There’s taking yourself seriously, and then there’s Bode. Angel suppresses the urge to say ‘if looks could kill’, because really, a lesser creature than Angel would be thoroughly withered by the glower on this man’s face.]

You’ve certainly got the name for it. [Angel agrees solemnly. Captain Lindqvist would be a hell of a title. He continues, quite conversationally:] So, you had your fall yet? Because you know what they say, pride always comes before it.

[Whatever’s ailing this man – and it must be something, for him to be so dedicatedly, bluntly cold – could probably be cured by a good bout of laughing at himself. That is Angel’s absolutely unprofessional diagnosis.]

[ He caught sight of the other’s face, and for a fraction of a second, Bode let himself be pleased. There was something to be said about Angel’s bold exterior; his very soul made noise in the heavens above. He wouldn’t deny the whimsy of a person like Angel. In fact, Bode had been close to a loud soul before, someone that went by the name of Oliver, or as Bode had affectionately dubbed, Winston. Oliver had a way of swallowing up sound and light the second he walked into a room. He was explosive that one, and perhaps that is why people like him and Angel often came with expiration dates. Meteors, his mother had mentioned once before.

He didn’t have the time or mental capacity it took to deal with meteors, much less befriend them, not anymore. He’d met Angel all of five seconds before realizing he was one of the citizens of Colony 22 he’d have to avoid. After all, Bode had never been one to deal with grief very well. One of the few skills he never picked up along the way. ] That depends entirely on you, stjärna, do you plan on falling with me?

[ He hadn’t meant to lose the edge in his tone but speaking his native tongue often softened his speech. It rung in the air like a song, albeit one that warned school children to be wary of the dark, but a song all the same. The taller male turned his attention to the building ahead of them, the outline of it looked muddy and grim. He wondered how long it would take to crush the spirit of the man that walked beside him, how long would his shadow grace the hollow walls of Belvedere? If Angel was a meteor, then Bode was the astrologist marking his line of descent.] Don’t you have some friends you can pester? Surely one of them are willing to play dress-up with you.

[ He wanted as much distance from the crash site as he could get. He still remembers the line of Oliver’s face, his lips once so arrogant and demanding going slack and vacant. Blue. Bode glances at the single piece of jewelry he ever wore, a silver ring that settled on his middle finger, and reminded himself the cost of blinding lights.] After all, you have so many of them, Angel.

#this is bad iamsosorryidontknowwhatelsetodo #threads

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tinseltine · 6 years ago

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RECAP of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association 76th Annual GOLDEN GLOBE AWARDS

Tinsel & Tine's

RECAP of the Hollywood Foreign Press 76th Annual GOLDEN GLOBE AWARDS

by Le Anne Lindsay, Editor It was nice to return to the revelry of lighter spirits at the Golden Globes, after last year's all black red carpet, women's movement take over; not that I didn't approve, but the seriousness of what was happening didn't exactly make for a party. This year the emphasis was back on the free flowing champagne, where it ought to be. Hosted by Andy Sandberg and Sandra Oh, the pair delivered a cute opening bit consisting of supposedly dissing on the celebrities, with effusive praise. There was a lot of congratulations on the diversity in the room, on stage and nominated. And a number of gorgeous gowns, so let's get to our red carpet picks...

The red carpet for me is ageless, if you are slaying, you are slaying! I absolutely fell in love with Patricia Clarkson in this tangerine confection by Georges Chakra Couture. It's not only a spectacular dress, but it's perfect for her spirit and figure. Congrats Patty on your Golden Globe for Sharp Objects.

On first look at both of these choices I said not feeling it. Then looked again and was like, ya know what? these do work for each of the actresses and the designs themselves. Good job Julia Roberts in Stella McCartney and Constance Wu in Vera Wang

No one is going to deny Lady Gaga won the red carpet hands down. It's just too easy to give her best dressed, but yes, Gaga wearing that larger-than-life periwinkle Valentino dress will not soon be forgotten. And I like that she did not forget one of her Star is Born, predecessors by wearing a gown inspired by one Judy Garland wore to the Oscars in 1954.

I guess we'll never know what spell of magical whimsy got into Glenn Close (Armani Privé) and Melissa McCarthy (Reem Acra) to inspire these choices on the red carpet, but any way, Congrats Glenn on the Golden Globe for Best Actress - Drama for The Wife

Anne Hathaway (Elie Saab) usually comes correct on the red carpet, so I don't mind chastising her on this trailer park trash comes to Hollywood look, which I'm sure she regrets. I do feel bad about putting Elisabeth Moss (Christian Dior Haute Couture) on this list 1) because I love her and 2) because all the designers who dressed her gave a donation to a charity called RAD, however, she looks damn awkward in this dress, it's just not flattering. I know it's wrong to make fun of a kid on her first red carpet outing, but who decided Elsie Fisher (Kenzo/Lonchamp) would look good as one of Santa's Elves out on Epiphany. I have no sympathy for Judy Greer, this was not a fun risk, this was made for ridicule.

It goes without saying these women of color only know how to bring it on the red carpet Regina King In Alberta Ferretti - Congrats on Supporting Actress win for If Beale Street Could Talk, Kiki Layne In Dior Haute Couture, Danai Gurira In Rodarte, Halle Berry Zuhair Murad

Tinsel & Tine's Annual Red Carpet Picnic

Those who have followed my annual Golden Globe recaps (see below for links) know that I normally put out a crazy spread for awards night. But this year, I didn't invite over any friends for a watching party. Plus, I'd been out to brunch earlier, so I kept it to a reasonable size picnic this year:

THE CECIL B. DEMILLE AWARD

I can't say honoree Jeff Bridges speech had people chanting Bridges for 2020, like Oprah's last year. Still, in his own way, it was very inspiring and zen like, but what else would you expect from "The Dude"?

ANNUAL Hijinx

I thought the Flu Shot bit was a bit lame, and it turns out it was fake anyway, they weren't really giving out celebrity flu shots. A guy in my office said they should have made it Botox, then everyone would have been excited about a needle coming at them - LOL

Flu shots (shots, shots, shots, shots, shots) everybody? #GoldenGlobes pic.twitter.com/GY1U2lP1gJ

— Access (@accessonline) January 7, 2019

CAROL BURNETT GETS IMMORTALIZED

Of course, Carol Burnett's ground breaking variety show already did that, but now to have an Annual Best in TV Award named after her, in her lifetime, no wonder she was "Gobsmacked", it's quite an honor, and one she truly deserves.

And the Golden Globe Goes To...

Once again, my track record for predictions was pretty shoddy. I got a few of the easy ones right, was pleasantly wrong on some, and irately wrong on others:

Tinsel & Tine #GoldenGlobes Prediction: Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in Any Motion Picture - Amy Adams, Vice - Hoping for Foy, but feel it will be Adams#GoldenGlobes2019 https://t.co/x1VOmkwIqI pic.twitter.com/dHLPJTgDMf