#he just SOUNDS like a rich ARISTOCRAT

[kadwrites]

future mrs shelby | T.S

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or check out the series masterlist

summary ; the dreaded day arrives.

warnings ; arranged marriage!trope, anxious reader? , mommy issues, slow burn,

a/n ; shit will go down next part , but lmk know what you think of this one?

-

"mrs gray" your back is straight when you speak to her, truth be told you never got over the fear you have of her

"polly." she corrects you,

"polly." you repeat, you couldn't help but repeat it when she said it in that stern voice of hers

"so ya want to meet the in laws aye?" polly's smirk is there, as it always was.

"i told 'er she doesn't 'ave to." the smirk must be a genetic thing

"but i really want to." you add, with a nod

"she has manners, this girl." she points at you with her cigarette "almost too good for ya."

"almost?" he glares at you for a second after you spoke "i do 'ave a question for ya, polly."

she looks at you, nodding slightly

"tommy says they won't like me"

"they probably won't." she exhales the smoke before speaking again "we are not very accepting of outsiders."

"how can i make them accept me?"

"ya don't."

"what?" your brows pinch together "but i want to."

"i know" she nods again "but ya shouldn't, ya shouldn't go out of your way to 'ave someone respect ya. ya show them who ya are and they'll learn." she taps her cigarette against the ash tray "remember that backbone that i told ya about?"

you hated the way you were sometimes. you hated that you wanted people to like you , maybe it's because you were wired to. "a lady is always pleasant and always seeks to be loved." your mother always said. the thought of your own husband's family hating is making your head hurt

"yeah i remember" you're chewing the inside of your cheek, you didn't even notice that your feet were tapping against the floor

"why are ya so stressed about this? who fucking cares if they don't love ya?" tommy mutters as he lights up his own cigarette

"so what am i supposed to do now? wait till the party to meet them?"

"you'd be too stressed to care what they think of ya." polly adds, her eyes are making you squirm in your seat. no matter how often she did that, she still intimidated you.

"i think i'm going to be sick." your arm is wrapped around tommy's as you both walk through the long corridor that leads to the ballroom, where all the guests are.

everything feels overwhelming. your grandmother's diamond necklace that you insisted on wearing feels like it's digging into your throat. your dress feels too tight, the silk feels somehow hot. your shoes feel like they're going to slip off your feet. your hair feels like it's wound too tight, but feels like it might come undone at the same time.

he hold back a laugh and it's your turn to glare at him "it's not funny"

"never said it was." he's smiling though "it's just a party , relax."

"easy for ya to say, this is what ya lot do." you mumble , your eyes stuck at the end of the corridor

"us?"

"yeah, rich people i mean."

"i wasn't always rich, ya know." he looks forward as well as you both walk

"but ya were born to be rich." you didn't even think of those words, or even seem to care what he thinks, your words come out with a nervous breath laced around them, listening to the sounds of music and people celebrating

but he turns to look at you, and you didn't even notice that.

you take a deep breath, straightening your back and putting on the best smile you can muster as you walk into the party, people turn to the both of you. the greetings and congratulations start.

tommy speaks calmly, you envy him. he looks like he belongs there, between the aristocrats that fill the room.

tommy looks nothing short of dashing. his suit is perfect, not a wrinkle in sight. his demeanor is cool, in control, which he always is.

"mr shelby, congratulations!"

"congratulations thomas, it's a beautiful party"

"ya look gorgeous, miss. congratulations on the engagement"

"best of luck to the both of you!"

you just smile and nod, thanking them. you almost can't even see their faces, too anxious and too stressed.

"tommy."

that voice makes your eyes focus , your vaguely familiar with it.

it's his brother, arthur. you still keep your smile, though you can feel your hands sweating.

"arthur."

"so this the future mrs tommy shelby, aye?" he looks at you with a raised brow, you can't decipher the look.

"yes it is." you keep your voice at a steady tone , with that same smile "ya must be arthur , it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"ya speak too posh for a farmer's girl." his words seem a little slurred , now that you're listening well

"and ya speak too poorly for a rich man." your head is still held high.

tommy glances at you then back at his brother , he looks almost proud.

"did ya teach 'er to say that?" he smirks at his brother

"i'm not a parrot , arthur. he didn't teach me anything." you let out a chuckle, you pick up a champagne flute from one of the trays that the waiters carry "it's a party right? , let's celebrate, ey?, grab yourself a drink" you lift your champagne flute "cheers" you say before taking a sip, and tommy walks, dragging you with him

"is your whole family going to be like that?" your nervousness now shows as you throw back your champagne flute, drinking all of it

"yes" he looks at you with a smile , he takes the glass away, "don't get drunk, it's too early."

"right." you try to take deep breaths, you look around the venue.

it's perfect, it's everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever dreamed of. the cake, the music, the drinks, the decorations. nothing is out of place, except for you, or that's how you feel.

how are you ever going to fit into this life? how many of those parties are you going to have to attend or host?

your train of thought is quickly interrupted by fiona and madeline who look like they might combust with excitement

"oh my god ya look gorgeous!" madeline hugs you and fiona is by your side

"ya look stunning!"

tommy clears his throat and madeline freezes

"madeline and fiona, right?" he raises a brow, how did they not notice him?.

madeline pulls back, and both of them look at eachother

you laugh, you feel as if all that weight was lifted off your chest by just seeing their faces

"madeline , fiona" you smile "this is tommy, in case ya're too drunk to recognize 'im."

"she talks about ya two a lot ya know."

"she does?" fiona laughs nervously "it's a pleasure to meet ya , sir."

"congratulations!" madeline says with a smile

"thank you," he smiles at them, and you think both of them might actually turn to dust.

"where is celest?" your question made them both look at you again

"she's......." fiona trails off

"um...." madeline chimes in, with nothing.

you close your eyes shut at that "fuck me."

she and your mother had a fight, is what that means.

"what the fuck 'appened this time then?"

"celest wore your mother's necklace." fiona says quietly,

the ruby necklace.

she had to do something, she just had to somehow do something to ruin this.

"where's is she now?" your voice is too quiet and it makes madeline squeak

"in one of the room , she's crying i think."

-

taglist ; @tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator, @theshelbyslimited , @illuminwtesz , @goldensunflowe-r , @gruffle1 , @warrior-of-justice , @mgdixon , @babayaga67 , @goblinjnr, @justaproudslytherpuff , @budugu , @twlegit , @amberpanda99 , @aesthetic0cherryblossom , @capswife , @lets-turn-and-burn , @affabletimelady , @edencherries , @globetrotter28 , @eg-dr3amer3 , @sadroses98 , @fairytale07 , @hakudaru , @swordofawriter, @esposadomd , @thisuserlovesyouandyouandyou

#kadwrites #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfiction

[heyimdove]

More on why Persuasion is the real Jane Austen parallel to Aziracrow, and why Pride and Prejudice is not, because I can’t stop dwelling.

There’s a lot here so I’ll try to structure this in a way that makes sense. Wish me luck.

I’ve seen so many people equate Aziraphale to Lizzie and Crowley to Darcy, but these comparisons don’t make sense. Character-wise, they are far more like Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth, respectively.

We’ll start with Elizabeth Bennet, who I love with all my heart and is one of those characters I feel like I know (I’m delusional, it’s fine). Elizabeth is wonderfully intelligent, but she isn’t “accomplished” and isn’t a perfect specimen of Regency womanhood. Instead she’s sharp and headstrong. She wants to live how she wants and with someone she loves for a partner. She rejects a match that is, on paper, perfect and would solve all her family’s problems, because she won’t settle for unhappiness. You know who that doesn’t sound like?

Aziraphale, were he a Regency Era woman, would be considered very accomplished for the time; well-read, polite, even a music tutor. But he’s more unlike Elizabeth because he desires to “do what’s best for the family”. In other words, if Elizabeth Bennet was more like Aziraphale, she’d be married to Mr. Collins. She would’ve considered it her duty to marry him because it would protect her loved ones (see Aziraphale accepting the Metatron). For Aziraphale, his duty to protect trumps his personal desire.

So does that make Crowley our Lizzie? No, that doesn’t fit either, and not only because Aziraphale makes a terrible Darcy. Sure, Aziraphale’s status as an angel might be considered comparable to Darcy’s elevated status as a rich person, but Crowley has never hated Aziraphale, never even considered it, and wouldn’t hate him even after the rejection. Lizzie’s hatred is what spurs Darcy to grow. Darcy needed to be completely despised by her to decide to put in the work to be worthy of her.

Okay, so then is Crowley Darcy? Perhaps we could shoehorn that in somewhere because Darcy doesn’t seem good but actually is, or is considered grouchy, but it’s such a loose connection, it barely works-

-Especially when you consider how much better the two fit as the protagonists of Persuasion.

(And yes, shut up, I liked the Dakota Johnson one and I will be using the gifs.)

Where Pride and Prejudice is about two different people gradually seeing the value in the other, Persuasion is the story of two different people seeing the value in the other right from the start, but who then repeatedly make mistakes that keep them separate and in agony.

Aziraphale is *so* much like Anne. First, Anne is the only reasonable (read: likable) member of her high-born family, who believe people in other societal castes to not only be inferior, but disgusting.

Anne sees this is not true, and falls madly in love with the low-born Wentworth- only to be persuaded by outside input not to marry him. Station and familial duty play a part in this decision, and she regrets it for years. She is completely unable to move on.

Like Aziraphale, Anne is certainly more accomplished, for one thing, and she plays by the rules of women of her time and status. BUT her sense of mortality breaks often from that of her family. When she tries to impart her good morals upon them, they are dismissive and insulting, reacting as if Anne is the one who “doesn’t get it”.

She spends eight years with a family she barely belongs to, wondering why she ever thought the company of people like this was worth the loss of Wentworth.

For all of Anne’s kindness, she is a pushover. She’s rarely confident in herself. When she needs to speak up, or just have a direct conversation with Wentworth, she doesn’t. She can’t. She repeatedly makes Wentworth come to her.

Wentworth, meanwhile, is a far better match for Crowley than Darcy is. Wentworth will never be an aristocrat like the Elliots, but he carves out a life he considers valuable using new rules. Sound familiar?

Are Wentworth’s and Crowley’s morals obviously a bit different? Yes, of course. Crowley is a DEMON, after all. But Crowley conducts himself in such a way that he’s literally cast out of Heaven and removed from Hell- in other words, he’s twice been given “the rules” for how to act and has twice decided, nah, that’s not for me. Wentworth was given the rules for what he could have as a low-born man and became a wealthy, high-ranking naval officer. And Wentworth didn’t do that for love, either. He found the consideration of one’s wealth in determining whether they should be loved abhorrent. Wentworth did it for himself initially (bitterly too, maybe), just like Crowley saves the goats and the kids for himself.

And, of course, Crowley’s confession parallels Wentworth’s position in relation to Anne far more than Darcy’s position to Lizzie. Crowley says “if they (two apparent opposites) can do it, so can we,” because he knows he and Aziraphale love each other. At the start of Persuasion, Wentworth asks Anne to be his wife despite their differing societal rank because he knows they love each other. At the end of Persuasion, he asks again because he knows they have both been in agony, that they both love each other as much as they ever did.

Darcy, meanwhile, does not know if Lizzie loves him, but arrogantly believes she will accept on the basis that what he can offer her monetarily is better than what anyone else can, not knowing what she actually values. She demolishes him.

On that note, that’s really the only parallel between Aziracrow and Darcy/Lizzie, only Aziraphale is Darcy. Aziraphale believed Crowley would accept his offer because he believed Crowley would want to be an angel again. Crowley believed Aziraphale would accept his offer because he knew they loved each other.

These are all very different characters, but ultimately, I think we were gunning for Pride and Prejudice and wound up with Persuasion; the slowest, most agonizing burn with the most beautiful reunion. So we didn’t get “you have bewitched me, body and soul,” in S2. We got the events leading up to Persuasion, and will have S3 to watch them play out. Neil knows that Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship is the most compelling part of the story, so I doubt they’ll be separated for long. But everything is so messy, isn’t it? So it makes sense to keep them, like Anne and Wentworth, in close proximity, in mutual, bitter, unspoken pining, but still not together. It will be absolutely delicious to watch. Isn’t that what we loved the most from S1?

Because we know they love each other. And whatever catalyzing event forces them to say it out loud will be all the better if every moment they don’t say it hurts. I don’t want a “you have bewitched me” moment, I want “I’m half agony, half hope.”

#good omens #jane austen #meta #ineffable divorce #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #pride and prejudice #persuasion #im in pain #im in so much pain

[mystoriaaa]

FakeCreator!Reader

SAGAU but reader becomes the tyrant imposter who pretends to be the creator. Also has a game system in place because I'm a sucker for those lol

“How about we play a game?” 

“A game?”

“Yes. It'll be a fun, simple game. Just how you like it. It'll even involve that Genshin Impact game you're currently playing.” The person smiles, “I just need you to…”

—

You open your eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. And suddenly every sense of yours sharpens.

You feel the mattress you're laying down on, it's too soft. You jolt upright at the thought you possibly got kidnapped, looking around the new environment.

It's…fancy. You look down at what you are wearing and… it certainly fits the place you’re in. It feels smooth, something a rich aristocrat person would wear in the past. But that's the thing, you are broke as hell and you certainly aren't that old.

So what is this? Is this some kind of new sick joke kidnappers do nowadays?

A ping from a hologram accompanied by a robotic voice reading it out appears right in front of your dumbfounded face, cutting you off your thoughts. 

[Welcome to the World of Teyvat, player!]

What?

[You are currently inhabiting the body of the so-called “Creator” of Teyvat but the body is actually a fake!] The hologram fakes a gasping sound.

What. 

[Now, you have no choice but to pretend to be the real Creator or else…] It pauses for dramatic effect to reveal horrifying news that you'll definitely not like.

[You’ll be executed! Oh no!]

“WHAT?!” You yell in shock, at the absolute absurdity of it all. Not knowing that it would alarm the people guarding outside the door.

“Your grace?! Are you okay?!” The door slams open, and that's when you know, you are fucked.

Your grace. You internally curse that title, the one commonly used for the Creator. Towards the imposter that was actually the real one or to the fake pretending to be one. Which you are supposedly the latter.

Two people entered the room, and you felt the sudden movement of the wind despite the closed room. But that's just your imagination, right? Is what you would like to believe but…

A familiar yet foreign appearance appeared. That– That shouldn't even be real. You dig your nails into your palm, hoping the pain will wake you up.

Yet you feel fully awake as Venti, a game character, goes to you. Looking all over your body for non-existent injuries while your mind breaks down, crumbling at the horrid realization. 

His brows furrowed, gently prying your hand open, “Your grace? Is something wrong?” He asked in a worried tone.

You look at him, you don't know what expression you have but Venti flinches and ask again, “What’s wrong, your grace?” 

You take away your hand that Venti was caressing, hugging yourself as you close your eyes to process what was happening. 

You’ve— you’ve just somehow isekai’d like in those shows you watch. And not just any normal isekai, but in the body of the fake Creator of those SAGAU fanfictions you read.

“Your grace, may I ask what happened?” A deep, smooth voice filled with concern but all it does is make your face pale.

Oh. You are absolutely doomed.

Warning bells ring in your head, the two’s voices blurring yet the words of the hologram echoes clearly. 

If they discover you're the imposter, you will die.

The world becomes distant as your chest tightens, everything feels real and not at the same time. You don't remember when you fainted, but all you wanted was for this to be a dream and wake up in your world again.

The last thing you see is the blue screen, with words that feel like it's mocking you.

[We hope you enjoy your experience and live to see another day!]

—

[Congratulations! You received a Memory Fragment from earning the achievement: <Trapped in another world?! The life of a Creator Imposter starts now!> Obtained from a successful transmigration.]

[Accessing Memory Fragment… Success!] 

[Memory Fragment playing now.]

“How dare you?! You dare to question me?!” Someone yells in anger. A voice so strangely familiar to you.

You try to remember whose voice it is, it almost comes to you but leaves when you come close to remembering. You know it's someone you know very well yet you can't put your finger on it. 

“P-Please, your grace… I did not mean to—” A different person’s voice, someone unfamiliar this time, begs desperately but was cut off by another angry yell.

“You dare to talk back to me?! Morax! Barbatos! What are you doing, you slow and incompetent acolytes! Bring death to this man right this instant!”

You flinch at the names spoken out, so so familiar but you just can't seem to remember. Your head hurts as you try to force yourself to recall what you forgot.

A clear, low voice void of emotions speaks, “We apologize for being late, your grace. We will do as you command.” 

A slap echoes loudly. 

Weird enough, you faintly felt the contact. As if you were the one that hit someone. But that can't be? You can't even see, let alone move…

“Useless. Useless, I say!” 

All of a sudden, your vision comes back to you slowly. Your senses are getting clearer and clearer.

Then, you feel your mouth speaking, your body moving even as you try to fight against it. You start to panic when you can't control your own body.

“It is an honor for you to be personally serving me. Yet you dare to treat me like this?” 

You try to scream, try to take back control of your body but all you do is point at someone kneeling before you.

“You seem to forget, you wretched Archon. But I am your—”

Suddenly, it comes back to you. Your mind momentarily freezes at you remembering everything. You somehow got put into the game you were playing and became someone you did not want to.

That's right, you are now the… 

“—Creator! The Creator of Teyvat! The ruler of this world! And you will respect me, worship me as I deserve.”

[Memory Fragment finished! Collect Memory Fragment to access more of the Imposter’s memories! It will surely help your survival. You can do it, player!]

—

You open your eyes. And once again, you see that unfamiliar ceiling. You close it one more time, just in case.

To your absolute dismay, it does not work.

You pinch yourself once, twice yet nothing happens, you stay in this dream-like place.

You sit upright with a headache from the imposter’s memories you received. Massaging your forehead as you try to calm down.

“Your grace?” Ugh, that cursed title. The proof of your annoying situation. “Does your head hurt? Would you like me to get you medicine?”

You look at the source of that voice and lo and behold, it's Zhongli from the hit game Genshin Impact. Sitting at the seat beside the bed.

If it was in any other situation, you would cry from joy meeting one of your characters. But now, you want to cry for a different reason.

“No. I am alright.” You say rather stiffly, you weren't sure how you should be speaking. Should you be screaming insults everywhere like the imposter you saw in the memory or something?

“I understand. I brought you lunch, would you like to eat?” Oh, the beautiful voice you love to hear whenever he was on screen. Yet it chills your spine, scared at what he might do when he finds the truth.

This would have been much, much better if this was all a dream. But noo, you stare at the hologram over Zhongli's face, this is unfortunately the reality. 

You sigh, “Give it to me.” Zhongli obliges. 

Well, at least the food is good. Even better than what you have in the previous world, you won't lie. Makes your remaining time alive better at least.

…You mentally slap yourself to stop these thoughts or else you might throw up.

After you finish eating, Zhongli takes the tray and says, “Dr. Baizhu said you fainted from feeling overwhelmed. Is there something troubling you?” 

You would feel bad at his worried tone if not for the fact you want to run away at the moment.

“It was nothing, you do not need to worry about it. I will be fine after resting.” You say with a fake calmness you did not feel, and hope it sounds like the real owner of this body despite the lack of yelling.

But then his eyes glint, piercing at you, looking like he just found the answer to his questions. And all you can think is that you already failed.

Standing from his seat, “I will be leaving then. Rest well, your grace.” Bringing the tray with him, the sound of the door closing made you slumped to the bed. 

That was so stressful…! Silently groaning to yourself, and looking at the annoying blue hologram box in front of you.

“You! Bring me back home right this instant!” You tried not to yell loudly, fearing that someone might hear you and come in. 

[Sorry to disappoint, player! But I cannot do that!]

“And why not?!” 

[Your original body has died, no medium can be used for you to access the previous world. Would you still like to proceed?]

A yes or no appears, and you ask in distraught. “I’m– I’m dead..?” 

[Yes. Returning would permanently make you disappear. Would you like to proceed?] The monotone voice irritates you to no end, it felt like it was mocking you.

“I— Why?” Your voice comes out quivering. You don't know what you are trying to ask, you just wanted answers.

[Please calm down, player! At the end of the day, this is all just a game.]

A game. 

A game. 

JUST A FUCKING GAME?!

You throw the nearest thing near you, the pillows passing through the holographic screen. “You brought me to this world and you say it is just a game?!”

Being quiet be damned. Fearing someone entering be double damned. You have to somehow make this screen pay for what they said.

You didn't want to be in this situation! This place where powerful people from fiction can hurt you in the most painful way possible before killing you. Even if you died and couldn't go back, you still wanted to return home because it's better than being here.

But this annoying blue box telling you it is just a game felt like it was trampling over all the fear and desperation you had. 

When you run out of pillows, you go for the glass of water at your bedside table and throw it. It shatters and the water gets everywhere on the floor. With nothing else to throw, you attempt to throw the big fluffy blankets too—

Venti enters the room and sees you trying to lift a clumsily folded blanket but it keeps falling off. You complain the third time it falls off again, “This stupid blanket!” 

Venti gets near you, holding you as you shake him off. “Your grace, what is the matter?” You keep thrashing around until you accidentally hit him. 

All of a sudden, your anxiety spikes and anger gone. You almost forgot that this is someone who could kill you, and you just hit him. You immediately try to apologize, “S-Sorry—” 

But you stop at Venti’s look of confusion and disbelief. What? Why is he... You rack your brain at the expression until you realize. 

The one you're right now is the imposter who's pretending to be the creator. The one who acted like a tyrant in that memory you received. You panic, you're already acting so out of character already.

You try to think of a way to fix it so they won't get suspicious until Venti brings your hand to his cheeks, smiling almost crazily, “It’s okay, your grace. This body is your creation, you have the right to do anything to me as you wish.” He lets go of your hand, but he waits. As if encouraging you to hit him.

Chills went down your spine, you remember how insane the behavior the playable characters have towards the Creator. It was all for fun when you read them, because it was fiction. But actually experiencing it yourself now scares you. 

Especially when you're just an imposter.

Swallowing the lump from your throat, you summon all the little courage you have left and say, “...Leave, Barbatos. I wish to be alone right now.” 

He looks at you, the same way Zhongli was looking earlier and you clench your clothes, trying to stop yourself from trembling.

“...Of course, your grace.” It feels like forever until he finally shuts the door, leaving you alone to yourself. But you are also left with a sense of foreboding.

You lay down on the messy bed, closing yourself off from the world. Comforting yourself that everything will be fine.

But a ping from that grating system comes, along with it emotionlessly reading a new notification that makes you fear for your life even more.

—

Venti closed the door behind him. He looked at the other archon standing guard at the door of the Creator’s room.

“Barbatos.”

“Morax.”

Silence echoed until the Geo Archon spoke.

“Did you notice it, bard?”

“Ehe~ Of course I did, why wouldn't a super devoted acolyte like me notice?”

The Anemo Archon replied lightheartedly, but his gaze intense as he stared at the taller god.

“Indeed. It would be quite shameful if us two, the last remaining of the original Seven, did not realize this.” 

The bard chuckled, “You’re right!” with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Wanna say it at the same time then? 3…”

The Geo Archon sighed tiredly yet complied nonetheless. 

At the end of the count, the two’s expressions turned serious. 

And spoke of the truth that could change everything.

“The Creator has changed.”

—

[Warning! Warning! The playable characters are starting to suspect you!]

#sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau zhongli #sagau venti #am i tagging this right #first time posting #not proofread btw #either a oneshot or prologue depending on my inconsistent motivation #genshin cult au #yandere genshin x reader #yandere sagau #sagau brainrot #is that enough tag ?? AHHHHH

[bethanydelleman]

I just stumbled across another Darcy Has Amnesia and Has Been Living as a Lower Class X and I need to say this:

DARCY WOULD BE IDENTIFED AS RICH BEFORE HE WOKE UP!

First, clothes. In Jane Eyre, despite her tramping through a bog, they knew her clothes are upper/middle class before she woke up. If Darcy is wearing anything he's gentry or merchant class on sight.

So lets say he's naked. People today kind of just look like people, but in the past, no. Lower class men in this era especially would wear their profession on their skin. Fishermen and farm workers would be tanned like crazy, carpenters would have lost bits of finger, blacksmiths burn marks and developed muscles. Do you know that winemaking can stain your hands purple for weeks? Aside from profession, Darcy would look soft to lower class people, but at the same time well fed. The lower classes were struggling with food insecurity during this era or for all time...

And then he wakes up, now I am not sure if they trained provincial accents out of kids in this era, BUT HAVE YOU HEARD DARCY TALK? Jane Austen doesn't have many servants talk, but sound like Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy they do not! He has perfect grammar and a huge vocabulary! He will be known as a clergyman, lawyer, merchant, gentry or even an aristocrat the second he speaks.

So what then? These are poor people, they aren't dumb. They would advertise that they have found a rich injured person and hope for a reward. Darcy would be fairly well known by face and they have artists and newspapers and printing presses. He also would be known to be missing, he has a family, he writes his sister on a regular basis.

I give it a month tops before he's safely back home.

And that's not even getting into the fact that erasing a person's entire memory is basically neurologically impossible...

#also Darcy would die if he attempted a single day of farm work #this guy does not have the right muscles #you think farm work before tractors was easy? #no siree bob #It is not called backbreaking for nothing #anyway #fan fiction #jane austen fan fiction #mr. darcy #amnesia tropes #pride and prejudice variations #jane eyre #charlotte brontë #jane austen

[sheep-from-rad]

Stay with me, Sway with me ♡  (SAGAU) Note: This song, I love this so much. This is a request by @mehhiah, sorry it took me so long to tackle this one. Also please, if you have requests put it in the ask box so I can easily see it (also priv messages scares me sorry). Anyway, I’m absolutely involved with this song, I hope you guys enjoy it! LASTLY, MY REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY CLOSED. Warnings: Semi-ooc (?), Prince Kaeya theory (I really love that one so I added it), bullet type, semi-yandere-ish [Masterlist 1] , [Masterlist 2]

Ever since the traveler breaks the wall that separates their lives from the dark reality about them being trapped in a game, music together with other factors has been a part of everyone’s lives. It’s not uncommon for foreign sounding music to be played everywhere, even in churches. Traveler songs being played together with new ones, old ones getting mixed up and rewritten to fit the new ones. While aware, sometimes you just forget that they are indeed alive and can interact with you. 

    You held the broom in your hands, pressing it close to your chest imagining a microphone, the ones that you can see at concerts and live bars. You put on your headphones, eyes fixated on the task of cleaning your room before the holiday ends. “When Marimba rhythm starts to play…” 

Diluc pretends like he’s not paying attention to the song that you are currently singing. It’s not the same as the songs that he is used to hearing both from the locals and from the Bard god. It has a sensual tone on it and it bears an air of refinery that reminds him of the fallen aristocrats Mondstadts used to have. He doesn’t care about crowns and wealth but being named as an uncrowned king, he can’t help but imagine the two of us dancing in such a song. In, in his arms at the after hours of the tavern to the early hours of dawn. Maybe he’ll steal a kiss or two, that if you let him to. 

Kaeya was having a late night drink when he heard the song that you are singing. It reminds him of that time he and Rosaria got so drunk they decided to climb Albedo’s laboratory but ended up watching Eula dance in the frozen waters (she chased them afterwards and chased them at work). Nobles sure love their fancy dances and he was not safe from Crepus’s dancing lessons as well. He can imagine the two of you dancing in the empty, semi-dim ballroom. Just the two of you, with the rich robes on your body and crown on his head. If he can’t run from his fate, he might just go embrace it if it means embracing you as his own. 

Venti writes a song while he listens to you sing. He is so used to the songs of praise or song of tales but a song that tells about desire is something that is new to his ear. Serenades to exist in Teyvat but they don’t go as far as to tell the most intimate desires. They only go on the surface and barely scratch the realm of what love is supposed to feel. Tomorrow comes the musical revolution and for sure everyone who hears the song of the night will make something of the same liking. He hopes that before you descend, he will be able to write the best song that describes his whole heart. 

Ayato finds himself a little flustered by the song. Inazuma just opened again a long time ago and the only references that he has on such subjects are those written by the locals and tales of his workers. It is safe to say that Inazuma is still in the age of conservatism even though it is now slowly advancing to be able to walk at the same pace as the other nations. He can’t help but stand up and away from his work, thinking about the lyrics of the song over and over. Bards sing about their feelings and poets make poems about the things that entices their feelings, does it mean you want someone to hold you close and bend you on the dancefloor? If so, he wants to be the one to do it. 

Alhaitham was taking notes. Dances are not uncommon in Sumeru but it is also not something practiced freely until the traitorous sages fell from their thrones. Dances and arts in general are still in their toddler days and he is glad that they get references from other nations. He notes the song being sensual, a type of song that only sang on weddings or intimate dates. The type of dance that he wants to share with you. To pull you by the hand and cradle your head possessively while he glare at everyone who wants to get close. It’s not like he’s gonna let someone get close to you. Not the traveler, not the sages, and definitely not Kaveh. That or, maybe he’ll let Kaveh join in

Taglist! @tinandabin | @chihawari |@eccedentesiast-sapphic @jaxielous |@uchihaeirin |@zuri-feather

#sagau kaeya #yandere sagau #sagau #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin scenarios #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #kaeya x reader #sagau alhaitham #sagau diluc #sagau venti #sagau ayato #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #sagau x reader #diluc x reader #venti x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato kamisato imagines #kamisato ayato x you #diluc ragnivindr x you #genshin diluc #diluc imagines #kaeya alberich

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 9: No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.

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

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

Astarion and Ban host her parents for dinner.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art from @emy-san

“My mother will pry into everything,” Ban mumbled quietly, “including why we haven’t had any children yet. My father will probably ask about our assets - income, investments, connections, all that drivel.” She wasn’t looking forward to seeing them at all, tonight looming large in her mind, but she knew this would be it - one last time, for closure, and then never again.

They were roaming the grounds; Ban needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the palace as the staff readied it for guests. It was nowhere near as involved as even their smallest ball - a very small soirée, by comparison; she wasn’t sure if it could even be considered a soirée with only five people in attendance. Regardless, it didn’t require much in the way of preparation, and she knew their staff were capable and well practiced. This was the most nervous she’d been for any event they’d held, however, quadruple-checking every single thing until Astarion had finally dragged her out.

“Gods. Don’t they sound delightful,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Connections? Is it not enough to have the artisan guilds, including his own, in our pocket? Under our very roof?” He paused, rubbing his chin. “On second thought, Roderich would not necessarily be aware of that. He seemed to have rather woefully failed to keep abreast of current events.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The shop.” He looked at her, thoughtful. “It was worn, dusty and quite unlike how I’d expect someone of his proclivities to treat their ‘pride and joy’.”

This much was true. She’d seen the dilapidated exterior, the dinginess inside, neither of which would’ve been tolerated before she’d left.

“And what of your brother? Any snide remarks I should expect from him?” Astarion huffed a little, glancing up at the sky; it looked rather dull for midday, an unfortunate sign of possible rain.

“He’s likely to hate me for leaving the family,” Ban remarked, “more accurately, he’ll be jealous that I left and he didn’t, but you won’t hear him say that in front of Roderich and Arlette. He’s never had the strength to defy them.”

There would be little snark from her brother; he’d always been the least horrible member of their family. Adrien, her parents’ favorite, who could do no wrong, who was fated for more, to inherit and marry and pass down the most esteemed Glasscraft name. But he’d also been her only friend in the family, the only one compassionate enough to help her treat her wounds, to comfort her, whenever her father was done with whatever method of punishment he’d chosen that day. She wished he could have done more, could have stood up to their parents alongside her, but that was where their paths had diverged.

Astarion snorted. “I will do my utmost to be the picture-perfect rich, powerful, aristocratic husband they so desired you to have. However, if my patience fails me, and their necks come a little too close…”

“Try not to, will you?” Ban said, a sigh escaping her lips. “Be good - for me. I just need tonight to go well and then… with any luck we’ll never have to see them ever again.”

“Seeing as I’m the one who instigated all this in the first place…” Astarion exhaled, “I’m inclined to let you have it your way.” He held his hands up, playful. “No biting, I promise. Well, maybe a little, but…”

“Fangs to yourself, handsome.”

A dramatic, long-suffering sigh preceded the playful smirk on his face. “Of course, love.”

Ban couldn’t help the small smile that crept up at the sight of that. “Look. We cleared today for this. No meetings with the patriars, no haggling with Nine-Fingers - wouldn’t you consider that a win?”

“It would be, were I able to…” His hands rose, resting on either side of her waist, pulling her close for a quick, heated kiss. “… do certain things; alas we both know you are too preoccupied.” When they separated his eyes were tender, but the heat in them was unmistakable.

“Astarion,” she began, a little guiltily, “I’m sorry. My mind just isn’t on-”

“But of course! Besides, the staff are still at work. They’ve insisted on cleaning every room - there’s little privacy to be had today.” A mock sigh, and he let her go.

“And whose fault is that? I seem to remember it being your idea to host them.”

He snorted, but didn’t deign to answer.

“It’ll rain soon,” Astarion mused awhile later, glancing up at the sky again. “We ought to head inside. I’m aware it’s not the most comfortable place for you to be right now, but…” he shrugged. They were both dressed comfortably, but he’d very much rather not get his new loafers dirty on rain-wet soil.

She faced him, dark circles under her eyes prominent in the dull sunlight, nodding. “I mean, of course. I can get back to work with the caterers, pick out plating for tonight and the table napkins and-”

“Ban,” He tangled his fingers in hers, leading her back into the house. “A suggestion from your husband, if you’ll indulge me. Let’s head to bed - I can hold you, knead out all those knots in your back - nothing more, of course.” It would be good for her to unwind, he knew; the looming dinner had caused her no small amount of stress. She’d barely slept in days.

She followed him to their bedroom and Astarion sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, patting the spot beside him. The moment she was there he pushed away her ponytail, pressing a kiss to her neck, wrapping an arm around her. He laid down, pulling her down with him.

He purposefully shifted his tone lower, softer, seeking to soothe. “You’re alright; it will all be fine, and if it isn’t, say the word and I will make it fine. I’ve got you.”

She was silent for a few moments, then leaned on him, her head tucked in his warm neck, nuzzling between jaw and collarbone. She mumbled something against his skin; it was spoken so softly that it took him a few moments to completely understand it.

“It’s not just that I didn’t trust you,” she said.

His hand paused and he peered down at her. “Are you saying there’s more you’ve yet to tell me, or…”

She shook her head. “What I’ve said is about the sum of it. There were specific instances, of course, which I will tell you when we have time, but what I mean is… not telling you wasn’t only because of our issues.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m surprised,” Astarion mused; Ban’s eyes snapped up to his, evidently not expecting this response. He huffed out a sad laugh. “Love. I ate whatever little pride I had left to tell you all of what I am, where I came from. What I went through.” He saw shame in her eyes and aimed to soothe. “No need to be ashamed, love. It merely slipped your mind.”

“It shouldn’t have,” she countered, “I should have known; of course you’d understand. But it isn’t the only thing, or even the main thing. I…” she hesitated a moment, then continued. “I did not relish you knowing I’m weak. That I could, and did, allow those things to happen to me. That I gave in and let it happen, when I’d always been the one to help you, the one helping everyone. I want to be your rock, not your burden.”

A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead; Astarion huffed out a small, exasperated laugh. “I don’t think myself capable of seeing you or loving you any less, no matter the circumstances, and neither is your strength the reason for that love.” He turned somber, holding her tighter, as if doing so would fully convey the depth of his affection. “Grant me the privilege of being where your heart finds peace, Ban. I would love nothing more.”

Tears filled her eyes and she gave him a small nod. “That I can do. Will do.” She looked away, huddling against his chest. “But then… they made me what I am, for better or for worse. Talking about it also feels like acknowledging they did do something right, at some point.”

“No.” That he wouldn’t abide. He placed an elegant finger under her chin, tilting it so she’d meet his eyes again. “Do not ever say that, because it isn’t true, and by no means will it ever be.”

“But they-”

“They what? Shaped you? You are you in spite of what they’ve done to you, not because of it.” His voice had risen, insistent on driving the thought away from her mind. He saw her open her mouth, about to argue, and he immediately interrupted her again.

“Before you say anything else, do you think what Cazador did made me who I am?”

“In some ways,” Ban said, and he found a measure of joy in the fact that she did so seemingly without fear of his anger.

Astarion nodded. “I don’t disagree. But I am also more than that - more than what he made me. And so are you. You, Ban…” He took a breath, trying to find the words to fully express himself and falling utterly short.

“You are strong. You are kind, compassionate. You tried, when trying was only for the foolish and the brave. You gave me a chance. You loved me when that was - and is - an objectively stupid thing to do. You held onto yourself and onto me when I was unable to, chose our love and-”

He heard her whimper as she hid herself against his chest yet again. He gently rocked her, wanting nothing more than to hold her close and shield her from everything. Her trust was intoxicating, so new and yet so achingly familiar; a haunting reminder of what he had almost lost forever. She kept her head tucked against his heart, her breathing slowly matching his as she melted against his body.

“Are you listening?” he asked, and at her nod he made it a point to take slower breaths, slowing his pulse down so that it soothed her further. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Only for you,” he reminded her, staring up at the ceiling.

There wasn’t any reply, but there needn’t be. The silence stretched, and Astarion closed his eyes.

“This is really nice,” Ban eventually murmured, her eyes half-closed. It occurred to Astarion that she was utterly exhausted; the fact that she hadn’t complained about them wearing their clothes to bed should have clued him in immediately. He decided not to remind her about the massage and stayed mostly unmoving, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He considered speaking, to say candy-sweet words, but he knew they were unnecessary; they’d long moved past those early days, when his voice was all he could offer her. Instead he closed his own eyes, fingers idly tracing patterns on her head.

Sleep, love.

When she finally stirred, Astarion was still in trance. Soft, light snores wafted down to her from somewhere above her head. Ban gingerly moved his hand from her head, then carefully sat up. The sun told her it was almost sunset. A small wince crossed her features at the realization; she was a little surprised the noise of the preparations hadn’t interrupted their rest. They’d have to prepare themselves soon, but she didn’t want to wake him just yet, figuring she could bathe before he awakened.

She turned to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed - unneeded, but habitual, comforting. His hand closed, then opened again, as if searching for something; his eyes moved beneath closed lids. Dreaming. She planted a soft kiss against his brow, received a soft mm of contentment in reply, then left the bed, steps as silent as possible so as not to disturb him.

The bath was warm and fragrant and Ban sank into it, eyes closing despite her rising anxiety. Seeing her father was one thing, but her mother was different; there was little doubt she would pry into every aspect of their lives and ask Ban about everything that had transpired since the last time they’d seen her. She wondered what they’d heard of the group who’d fought the Netherbrain, but her parents rarely bothered with events that did not concern the business, and the fight had left the area around the shop mostly unscathed. It was unlikely they knew anything more than what the broadsheets had reported in the days after the city was saved.

Then there were also Astarion’s remarks about Roderich, and the state of the shop. What could have caused her father to let it fall into such disrepair?

“Love.”

Her eyes flew open to see Astarion standing by the tub, nude, a small smile ghosting across his lips. He stepped over the rim of the tub to sink into the water opposite her. The moment he was in he reached for the scented soap and the sponge. “You didn’t wake me,” he complained impishly, working the soap into a lather and starting to scrub himself. “Worse, I wasn’t invited to this bath. I’m hurt.”

She sighed. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, and I figured you’d need the rest.”

A wry chuckle answered her as he took her arm, bathing her as well. “I’m not the one waking up in the middle of the night.” He didn’t shy from her sharp glare, meeting it head-on. “And what of it? You can’t sleep. You think of them and dream of them - I can hear it.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ban.”

Astarion paused his ministrations, the sponge stilling against her collarbone. “You have to let me in,” he finally said, the sponge pressed down against her as the hand emphasized his point. “You are trying and making great strides, but you have to realize this isn’t… embarrassing, or weak. And even if it is, what of it?”

“I don’t think it’s…” she began, the lie forming automatically; Astarion merely fixed her with a pointed look and she sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I understand what you’ve said, but it isn’t that easy to overcome years of thinking that way. My mother prided herself on being a strong, stoic woman. She insisted that being emotional, needing comfort was… frivolous, unneeded, and for the weak; that she did not need anyone else other than herself.”

“An obvious lie, considering she wasn’t even strong enough to stand up for her own children.” The sponge resumed its path, scrubbing Ban’s chest and neck, traveling to the other arm.

She scooted closer, allowing him better reach. “She thought the strong thing to do was to let her husband do what he pleased, to require nothing of him.” She paused briefly to rinse off some of the soap. “They were betrothed at a young age, as is the custom. She loved him, at least at first. He… saw her as a broodmare, to birth his heirs. They had trouble getting pregnant, and she prayed to all the gods for a child, to give him what he so wished for. To give him what he’d begun looking for outside the marriage; without her permission, of course.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Pathetic,” he sneered, gesturing for Ban to turn around so he could scrub her back, “to step outside the marriage for heirs is one of the oldest and least imaginative excuses I could think of.”

“I doubt he cared.” The feel of the sponge against her skin, of Astarion’s hand grasping her shoulder, was soothing. Facing away from him provided her with a little more privacy, allowing her more ease in opening up. “My mother knew, much as he tried to hide it, yet she wouldn’t leave because she thought herself stronger than that. Because that’s what good wives do - listen to their husbands and give them children.”

Astarion’s hand stilled yet again and she heard a pinched, aborted grunt. “Again. Like I did you,” he said, tone acerbic. “And you stayed, like your mother did.”

“I left,” Ban reminded, and to her surprise she heard a relieved exhale.

“I am ever so glad you did, Ban,” he murmured.

Her head whipped around to look at him. Her hair splattered water everywhere, Astarion blinked away the droplets that landed on his eyelashes. He draped her hair over her shoulder to continue soaping the smooth expanse of her back, meeting her gaze.

“You thought I was incapable of reflection?” he teased, “Had you not left, we wouldn’t be here, I think.” The silence stretched as he continued working down her back. “I needed that push, and push you did. I can only be grateful.”

“I thought I broke your heart.”

He finished scrubbing and she leaned against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, fingers interlacing on her belly. He exhaled, thinking, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I prefer to think I broke my own heart.” Astarion wondered if he should say more, if more apologies would be required; loath as he was to do it, he would willingly prostrate himself before her if she required it.

“That time, perhaps; however I do feel like I’ve been breaking it again recently,” she admitted.

Astarion stiffened, realizing what she meant. “You have. You give a little, luring me in with a baited hook, and when I’ve bitten, you simply…” Dexterous fingers moved, miming a yanking motion, inspecting a fish, and discarding it. “...pull me in, only to push me away the moment I do something unpleasant or something that reminds you of Roderich or of my past behavior.” It’s not fair, he thought.

“I punish and reward, is what you’re saying,” she clarified, looking up at him. He could see guilt swimming in those eyes.

“Yes and no - I can appreciate that a lot of it comes from your family, and some of it comes from me,” Astarion began; he could feel her tensing and his hands slid to her shoulders to massage them. “However at times you make me feel like your feelings for me are contingent on how well I behave, and it’s…”

…just like Cazador. A comparison that he was loath to make, but one that was true nevertheless. He recognized the way her wavering affection made him feel - the shame, the fear, the pain - and he couldn’t continue shying away from it. Acknowledging it himself, however, was nowhere near the same as articulating it to her, and the idea of doing so filled him with dread.

He searched instead for the right word, and settled on “...painful.”

“I know you need time, and you deserve time,” Astarion finally said, “But please don’t withhold affection from me. Don’t leave me out in the cold, with silence my only company.”

Gods. She rubbed her face, frustrated. Of course she’d been hurting him; in her focus on not risking herself again she’d been too unwilling to trust his progress, too cautious - to the extent that he thought her love conditional.

“I’m so sorry,” Ban choked out, fighting back tears, “I’ve been doing to you what my parents did to me. I know. I… I’ll do better, I swear. This isn’t an excuse, love, but it’s hard; after having all this drilled in by them, and then… well, shielding myself from you - it’s not easy to unlearn.”

“Don’t you think that I, of all people, would know that, my love?” Astarion sighed, but he was mostly filled with relief and elation. That she acknowledged it, recognized it for what it was - unkind, unfair - and swore to change… it was enough for now, especially in light of the past tenday.

“Apology accepted,” he allowed, adding a little pompousness to color his voice, hoping it would lighten the mood, “I’m nothing if not gracious, after all.” But he also reached to her with his mind, suffusing her with his feelings - his gratitude, acceptance, and understanding.

She laughed a little; it came out broken, an odd mix of sadness and relief. “Too gracious,” she choked out.

“No such thing,” came his answer, quick and reassuring. “Just as you’ve forgiven me, so have I you. There’s little need to measure who did what, as long as we both…” he gestured, unsure of the specific verbiage he needed, “as long as we’re both happy, I suppose.”

She couldn’t contest that, turning to kiss a trail from his jawbone down his neck. Her lips ghosted over the old bite marks, setting off a wave of pleasant shivers throughout his body.

“Then we are in agreement?” he asked, simply to ensure the air was clear.

Ban made a small mhm of assent but didn’t say more. He was relieved, but found himself wanting to introduce more levity. He shifted, untangling his fingers to playfully cup a breast. “Much as forgiveness has been dispensed, darling, my heart still feels broken,” he drawled, “A kiss would be most welcome in soothing it.”

“You’re sure you only want a kiss?” she said, and he huffed out a small laugh.

“Most definitely not. Still, a kiss would be very welcome.” He played with her breast, pinching the nipple between index finger and thumb. Scooting back, she pressed against his cock. He bit his lip, appreciating her teasing, but forced his hips to keep still.

Tilting her head back, Astarion met her lips with his own, a soft caress without urgency. He nibbled at her lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan. Hands reached for his head, grasping still-dry curls to pull him closer. He allowed it, but he felt her fingers begin to move towards his ear; he quickly pulled her hand away.

“There isn’t enough time, you’re preoccupied, and as much as I’d like to take the edge off,” he scolded, “there are far more pressing matters we ought to attend to. I would prefer to make love when you’re wholly here, and not plagued by the spectre of your family.”

“So you’re saying you’re not hard right now? What do I feel back there, then?” she teased, hand sinking beneath the water.

Astarion tried to snatch the hand before it reached him, but she wasn’t really making a play for his cock; he was easily able to wrap his fingers around her wrist. He brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss before sinking his fangs in, drinking languidly.

“That’s for being a tease and for being too godsdamned attractive for your own good,” he murmured, licking the last rivulets of blood before they fell.

Ban laughed, rolling her hips back, rubbing against him lightly. “You are hard.”

“Painfully so,” came the reply, huffed in exasperation.

“I doubt drinking helped you any,” she added, very much amused.

He groaned as she rubbed her ass on him again. “No,” he admitted, “but I needed something.” Astarion was mere seconds away from lifting her and sitting her on his cock, but she thankfully - regretfully, if he was being honest - pulled away.

He grumbled, glaring at her; he felt around the tub for the sponge he’d dropped when he’d reached for her hand. Instead he found a muscled thigh and pinched, just enough to elicit a yelp and a little jump; she splashed his face.

“Ass!”

Astarion chuckled, “And yet you love me.” He’d never said it with such lightness of heart, he thought; it was far too fraught, too sensitive a topic for him until recently. There was a certainty there now, of her love for him, that he was grateful for. However he couldn’t fully suppress the lingering question, the question that plagued him even in these calm, happy moments:

Will she ever love me as deeply and completely as I do her?

A question that shouldn’t haunt him; there was no tangible way to measure love, after all. To attempt to do so would likely only end in heartache, but he couldn’t seem to prevent it from cropping up each time.

His silence as he contemplated this train of thought did not go unnoticed.

“Astarion?”

Her hand touched his cheek, and he blinked twice as he refocused on her. She’d turned to face him while he was lost in his reverie. He saw concern writ large on her features.

“I didn’t mean to taunt you; I wasn’t actually going to grab you, if that’s…” she trailed off, “I’m sorry.”

Realization dawned on him and he vehemently shook his head. “Ban, no. It was perfectly fine; welcomed, even. I was merely lost in some tangent of thought - one of little import.”

True - not the whole of it, but now was not the right time for it.

“Then do you want to…?” Ban ventured; he quickly shook his head.

“Tempting, as you always are, but no. I’d rather focus on tonight’s events; there’s little doubt that it will be complicated, at the very least. You will need all your energy for it.”

Ban nodded. “A very good point.” She turned to face away again, leaning forwards in a silent request; Astarion wistfully raked his eyes over her back before he began to soap it again.

Astarion watched Ban fidget in front of him, tugging at the skirt of her dress.

“This does fit well, right?” Her voice was tentative, anxious as she spun around for his assessment. He’d been her mirror since she’d lost the ability to see her reflection. Sometimes he helped her see herself with the mental link, but right now he merely pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin.

“I think it fits perfectly,” he managed to say. The way it clung to her ass was delightfully distracting and he considered saying so, but he could tell she was nervous. Instead he walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder to still her movements. “You look beautiful; you always do, but especially so tonight.”

“Thank you, but are you sure the hem’s not too short? Fath- I mean, Roderich would no doubt comment on it, he would complain and say ‘have you no modesty?’ and-”

He tightened his grip on her shoulder and placed himself in front of her. “Look at me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks; if he so much as utters one word that offends you - that even irritates you - you merely have to say the word and he’s out.” His throat tightened as he spoke. How much had Roderich hurt her, in the small span of years a human child had, for her to be such a stuttering mess right now?

Ban took a few gulping breaths, nodding at him. “Yes, of course. You… thank you.” Another sharp breath took her and she rushed him, burying her face against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, rocking her gently in his embrace.

“I shall go ahead to greet them,” he offered, “You can meet us in the dining room whenever you wish.” He slowly began to pull away, but she gripped the lapels of his suit coat.

“Stay with me,” she begged, unwilling to lift her head from where it was pressed against him. “Please. A little longer.”

Wordlessly he nodded, enveloping her in his arms yet again.

He could only hope it helped.

Astarion lounged on the throne as he waited. He heard the front doors opening, the thump of footsteps, the muffled voice of their chamberlain wafting through to him. He stayed in place, watching as the ballroom doors opened and figures began to enter. He’d carefully arranged himself, legs crossed and head resting on his hand, the picture of insolence and lordly power, exuding what he hoped was an aura of indifference.

He let them approach, making no move to rise or greet them; he counted four - no, three - figures. Their chamberlain, Roderich, and a woman.

Where’s the brother?

“My lord,” the chamberlain began, “Master Glasscraft and his missus are here.” Astarion didn’t deign to rise, eyes raking coldly over Ban’s mother. He could sense her deference to her husband; she hadn’t even looked up yet. A short, plump woman, she all but hid behind Roderich as the man prepared to greet Astarion.

Roderich cleared his throat and at that, Arlette’s eyes rose, raking over Astarion, traveling from the top of his curls to the bottom of his shoes. Her eyes widened and her lips parted a fraction of an inch. He knew that look all too well, remembered seeing it on countless faces, every single time Cazador loaned him out. It made his lip curl in disgust.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich began, hesitating for a moment. “Astarion.” The Glasscrafts bowed, obviously rather nervous and unsure.

Astarion fought the urge to snap; that he dared address him so informally without permission rankled. He let it pass, however, sitting up, elbows on his knees. “Roderich,” he nodded. He then turned to Arlette, and also gave her a small nod. “You must be Arlette. Ban has told me so much about you both.”

He finally stood, hands casually smoothening his trousers as he did, relishing the look of discomfort on their faces at his words. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he still towered over the pair, something he found immensely satisfying. “Pleased to have you here. How did you find the grounds, Arlette?”

She tittered. “It’s nice, I suppose. Roses were never something I desired for our garden; they’re thorny.”

“They require care and loving attention. Not things everyone is capable of giving.”

Satisfied with the raised eyebrows his comment caused, he decided to take them to the dining room; at least then he could have some wine to take the edge off their blathering. He descended the dais, gesturing for them to follow him. Before he could summon the chamberlain, however, Ban’s mother decided to get started on her prying.

“If you don’t mind me asking - how long have you and Ban been together?” Arlette’s voice made him turn and he crossed his arms, considering the question.

“A year and a half, if not slightly more,” he answered, mind flicking back to the day they first met. He noticed her frown; she opened her mouth as if to ask something more, but her husband gave her a curt shake of the head, ending her interrogation.

Interesting, Astarion thought to himself. He waved a hand at the chamberlain. “Please tell my wife that her family has arrived. She is free to join us at her leisure.” As he did, he led Ban’s parents out of the ballroom.

Roderich cleared his throat. “Astarion-” he began, wincing when Astarion fixed him with a glare over his shoulder. “You would really let Ban… your wife… hole up in her room while you have guests?”

The moment the words were out, Astarion rounded on him, rage written all over his face. His crimson eyes glittered dangerously, lip curling in a sneer. “I do not presume to tell Ban what to do, Roderich. Do you truly have the gall to attempt to command my wife under our roof?”

The smaller man spluttered, a sound Astarion relished. “I- my lord- I do not! I merely say it as fatherly advice. Ban is-”

“Is what?” he interjected, crossing his arms. He saw Arlette open her mouth as if to speak, but she first looked to her husband for permission. As Roderich nodded, she began.

“My lord, forgive me. In fact, may I call you Astarion? You are, after all, my daughter’s… husband… although I notice you do not wear rings.” Arlette straightened up, bracing herself. “What Roderich means to say is that our daughter can be willful. She is prone to behaviors that are unbecoming of a wife, behaviors especially unbecoming of her stature as your spouse, of a lady.”

“Unbecoming-” Astarion bit back the curse forming on his lips, scoffing instead. “For one, no. I am to be addressed as Lord Ancunín, not Astarion. If I hear that one more time from either of your lips’…” The pair before him recoiled, his words obviously effective.

He let the threat hang, satisfied at their reaction, and pushed on. “Ban is willful. She does things that are unbecoming of your idea of a lady, yes.” Those were in fact the things that made him love her so, but he considered that truth something Roderich and Arlette did not deserve to know. “Those are the things that make her her, and you will not disparage my wife in front of me. Is that understood?”

Small, hurried murmurs of assent answered him. Satisfied, he turned away from them. “Let’s head to the dining room before we all reconsider this reunion, shall we?”

The doors were held open for Ban as she entered the dining room. She did not see Adrien, only Roderich and Arlette, seated in stony, awkward silence across from Astarion. She noticed her mother’s eyes, the way they drifted down to her belly, as expected. Sorry mother, no grandchildren here. She quickly scanned the rest of the room - there was no sign of her brother - then landed on her husband. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, but he placed them flat on the table as he turned to her. His eyes flicked to her and for a moment she saw the steely anger in them, but it quickly melted into tenderness. He rose, crossing the room to take her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, low enough that her parents did not hear. He kept her hand in his as he led her to her seat, only releasing her to pull her chair out. As she sat, so too did he, shooting one last warning glare at Roderich and Arlette before he waved a servant over to request dinner be served.

Ban looked Astarion over, noting the furrowed brows and tense shoulders, feeling a surge of relief that he was here. She reached out, snaking her hand around his, holding it in a tight grip. He made no outward sign he’d registered her touch, but his hand squeezed hers back. Satisfied, she turned to her parents.

Arlette was the first to speak, evidently unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. “Ban!” she exclaimed, “I know the last time we saw each other wasn’t… the best, but your father and I are so glad to see you again. You seem to have done well enough, haven’t you?” she asked, shooting Astarion an appreciative glance, “And I’m very proud. We taught you everything you needed to know, and look how far you’ve gone!”

Ban sighed. “I… I have done well for myself.”

She glanced over at her husband and saw his face harden further. Concerned, she reached into his mind. Not yet, love. I need to talk to them. He visibly swallowed down his pique, jaw reluctantly unclenching.

That they’re alive at all, Ban, is merely because you wish it.

She couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped her. Keeping their bond open, she continued addressing her mother. “Done well, but not because of you, or what you two have taught me. Where’s Adrien?”

Arlette took this in stride, smiling to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth that still occasionally haunted Ban’s nightmares. “We shouldn’t argue about that. Have you forgotten? It’s uncouth to be arguing at the table.” She paused, and her gaze slipped away from Ban, settling on the empty plate before her. “Your brother had a prior commitment, and we thought it rude to ask your husband to postpone.”

Ban watched her mother rake her eyes over her belly yet again. “Any plans for children, Ban? You’re not getting any younger. I’m sure your husband wants an heir,” Arlette pressed.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her father interjected. “A little darling boy, Ban, would be a wonderful gift. For you two, and for us as well. He would be a treasure to us all.” He nodded at Arlette.

Ban sighed. “Do you harass Adrien for grandchildren as well, or is this reserved solely for your female child…?”

“Besides,” Astarion chimed in, a devilish grin on his face, “I must confess we have been trying as often and as enthusiastically as possible, but alas…”

Before he could continue, the servant returned with soup, halting any further prying for a few moments. Astarion automatically opened his mind further, sharing his sense of taste with her.

As they began to eat, Roderich spoke up. “As your mother mentioned little beauty, it is indeed uncouth to argue, or discuss such… marital activities, at the table, just as it is uncouth to leave your guests waiting.”

Ban could feel Astarion bristle, a vision flitting to her unwittingly: fangs, glittering in the light of the chandelier, sinking into that repulsive neck so that he’d never call her that again.

“It’s also uncouth to beat your children, as I understand it,” she snipped, and was rewarded by the blush that crept up her father’s face. Astarion barked out a laugh beside her but said nothing, his thoughts conveying amusement and warm affection.

“That, I did for your wellbeing,” Roderich protested, although his voice was weak. “So you’d end up somewhere in life. Successful. As you indeed became.” Ban saw her mother nod vehemently at these words.

Astarion could no longer help himself. “She is not successful because of your frankly atrocious parenting, she is successful in spite of you,” he growled, “And did I not warn you not to disparage my wife?”

Ban saw his lip curling again and hurried to interject before fangs were bared. To Astarion she sent a small plea, asking him to wait and let her get what she needed before he did anything rash. He blinked at her, the curled lip trembling in fury before it lowered.

“Be glad she bids me to be merciful and stay my hand,” he drawled, turning to them, “Else you would be in far more unpleasant circumstances than this.”

Ban cleared her throat. “Mother. Father. It… doesn’t matter what you think. What you did to me and Adrien is unforgivable, and if you think this success was because of you, you’re wrong.”

“How could it not be?” Arlette interjected. “You married someone so attractive. Someone rich. Someone powerful. All these things I taught you how to navigate. How to be a good wife. A good woman. How to know your place, to be strong and to honor your husband. Don’t you see? You married a hero, from wh-”

Her words died off as Astarion slammed a fist down onto the table, absolutely livid. “A hero?”

Roderich attempted to explain, “We asked around, my lord. We heard of your rise to power, of your efforts in saving the city from the Netherbrain.”

“Me. You think I’m the hero of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion laughed, a deep, full laugh filled with levity - but also incredulity. Ban sampled the flavor of his emotions as they flooded through their connection; there was genuine amusement, but there were also much heavier emotions - his profound admiration for her, and his love. More than anything else, that.

It took him a long moment to recover, his features shifting from mirth to a deep, seething rage. He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table, leering at them. “Ban is the hero of Baldur’s Gate. She was the best of us - and nowhere were any of those insipid ‘lessons’ you subjected her to of any use. She picked us up, one by one, led us through the wilderness, all the way to the city. She burdened herself with every decision and every sacrifice that had to be made. She helped each and every one of us wretched fools,” he growled, his hands tightening on the table until it creaked, “and somehow still managed to save your sorry hides along with everyone else in this godsforsaken city.” He glanced at her, his expression softened briefly, the last part of his tirade saved for her and her alone.

You gave me everything, saved me from slavery and death alike. Loved me.

She offered him a soft smile before he turned back to Roderich and Arlette, the anger firmly back in his features. “You have pushed my patience far beyond the point I’d normally tolerate. The only thing keeping you alive is her - I strongly encourage you to quit while you’re ahead.”

This final warning, with Astarion looming angrily towards them, sufficed to convince the pair to back off. His tirade may have inadvertently revealed his fangs, Ban realized; she was tempted to ask him to back off again, worried.

The thought passed to him and he turned to her, wanting to tell her to let him handle it, when he realized. He leveled his gaze back onto her parents, brushing at his suit coat before sitting back down.

“What prior commitment was so important that Adrien would choose it over being reunited with his long-lost sister?” The cold tone had crept back into his voice, his wrath receding behind an icy veneer. Astarion fingered the stem of his wineglass, the other hand idly tapping the table. “Rather rude, when I invited everyone. Does he not miss his sister?”

That is what you wanted to know, is it not?

He’d read the thought as soon as it came into her mind. She’d felt Adrien would be guaranteed to show up; for one he would have wanted to see Ban. The other reason was purely pragmatic - Roderich would have wanted to introduce him to his powerful brother-in-law, establish connections early. His absence was perplexing.

“How is he, anyway?” Ban interjected before Astarion felt compelled to push further. Adrien was the only one she had a smidgen of concern about, the only one she thought she’d have an honest conversation with tonight; and yet he wasn’t here. Did he resent her? Had he run away, just as she had done?

She noticed Roderich’s jaw clench at the mention of her brother. Curious.

“Adrien, well… he had other commitments, as your mother said,'' Roderich stammered out, eyes darting from Ban to Astarion nervously. It was a lie, Ban was sure, but she couldn’t exactly place why. In her mind Astarion whispered his agreement.

She shook her head. “He didn’t, father. Don’t lie. You never were good at it. Does he not want to see me?”

Arlette let out a loud tch of disdain. “Of course he doesn’t want to see his ungrateful sister. I birthed you. We raised you. Loved you. And what do you do, the first moment we need you to do something in return? You run. You selfish, ungrateful child. After you left, your brother’s betrothal became much more difficult for us to secure. ‘Little beauty’,” she scoffed, “You aren’t even beautiful. All you have is what I taught you, no matter what your poncey husband here says. You know that.”

Ban tried not to let those words seep into her heart, but they hit their mark anyway. She felt herself tremble, felt tears threatening to form. No. Don’t. She’s just riling you up, Ban. Don’t.

It didn’t work. Her eyes blurred as her tears welled up, her breathing became fast and began to hitch. She gripped the edges of her chair, trying to ground herself because no, they can’t see me cry again, they can’t win-

“OUT!”

Astarion’s thunderous voice broke through to her, strong and brave and so, so needed. Her home and her salvation. She watched as he stood, index finger pointed towards the door.

“Out. Before I end your miserable, worthless lives. Get. Out.”

Ban wanted to tell him she hadn’t gotten the truth yet, but she was in no condition to. Astarion snapped a finger, summoning the chamberlain.

“Get them out of my palace, and they are not to be allowed back in under any circumstances.”

The chamberlain hurried to Roderich’s side and gestured politely towards the door. Roderich shot out of his chair and shoved the chamberlain away, glaring at Astarion.

“You may be the man of the house here, but mark my words: you are nothing. I do not know what you are, but I know enough to know you are unholy. A monster,” he spat out.

Astarion laughed at this, gleefully baring his fangs. They glinted in the candlelight; Roderich and Arlette flinched and went pale.

“Then you know how easily I can kill you, drain all your putrid blood and bathe in your innards,” he hissed. “And who would believe you? I walk in the sun. My heart beats. I am warm. I am a patron of the arts. I am well-respected throughout the entire city. I am a lord. And you? A sniveling, washed-out guildsman, bitter over some argument over a commissioned mirror. Any more attempts to approach my wife, to even speak to her without her express permission, and I will crush your reputation.” Astarion smiled, all teeth and danger, the predator on full display. “And if I ever hear any whispers about what lives in this palace, I will assume it has come from you. I will find you where you sleep and I will kill you - and I need no invitation to enter your home, trust me.”

Arlette, finally making the connection, took in her daughter’s features. “No. You…”

Ban smiled with feigned shyness, a smile she’d been taught to perform in polite company. But she let her lips stretch further, baring her own fangs. There was a low thrum of satisfaction in her belly as she watched her parents recoil in horror.

“Go on,” Ban said. “My husband has told you to get out. Be polite and do as my lord bids, hm?”

They seemed to hesitate, and Astarion released another hiss for good measure. Roderich finally conceded, his shoulders sagging slightly. He fixed Astarion with one last, terrified glare, then led Arlette out, the chamberlain guiding them out of the palace.

“That didn’t quite go the way I’d hoped,” she said, turning to Astarion. To her surprise he was right next to her, arms already halfway encircling her. He gave her a long, tight embrace, his nose pressed tightly against her temple, breathing in her scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The rancor was gone, and so was the smooth veneer in his voice. All that remained were his worry and his concern, her wellbeing his primary focus.

Ban held him just as tightly, hands fisting into his suit coat. It crumpled within her grasp, the smooth silk and the embroidery providing a texture she found comforting.

“I’m fine, I think. Perhaps I won’t be in a little bit, but right now I’m more concerned about Adrien.”

Astarion peered at her, studying her for a moment. Seemingly satisfied she wasn’t lying, he nodded.

“We’ll have to reconsider our approach, but I agree with you.”

“So you saw it too.” She stood, but her husband was always a step ahead; the chair was pulled out, his hands wrapping around hers before she could even reach for him.

It’s as if you can read my mind, she jested.

There was tender amusement there, mixed in with the clouds of still-roiling anger and worry. He tugged at her arm.

We can discuss everything another time. For now I would like you to rest.

She acquiesced, allowing him to lead her to their room.

That night she fell asleep, body enveloped in his arms, her mind embraced by his.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @@vinegarjello @the0ldman @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

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[starfellforyou]

imperfect for you ✧⋆｡˚

❛ ༉‧₊˚ featuring: neuvillette x treasure hoarder!reader

❛ ༉‧₊˚ premise: the iudex of fontaine is renowned for his impartiality, objectivity, and unwavering principles. he resolves the court’s cases with precision, wielding a sharp blade of virtue against any misconduct that arises before him. but when a pesky treasure hoarder with a crude tongue and an eye for jewels crosses his path, she threatens to obliterate everything he’s ever stood for…

❛ ༉‧₊˚ genres: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, class divide

❛ ༉‧₊˚ word count: 4k+

♪ imperfect for you - ariana grande (slowed + reverb)

Sometimes, to make a living, you’ve got to get your hands a little dirty.

I would know. The life of a Treasure Hoarder, to the disagreement of many, is no easy feat. I’m not going to act like it’s a righteous path, but it’s the only path for the likes of me; and unlike my fellow bandits, I don’t burn my cash nearly as quickly as they do.

Fontaine is like an open treasure chest, full of twinkling gems and glittering jewels, a realm of luxury and riches. I normally sneak slices of warm bread into my satchel. But I’m tired of always struggling to get by. I’m sick of making ends meet when I could be weaving a tapestry of opulent threads.

I want to steal something bigger. Brighter. Feed my brothers and sisters without having to worry about warm bread.

I hear the Court of Fontaine is stocking up on a sackful of precious goods from all over the nation - and I intend to get my hands on them.

…

Sneaking into the court was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was put on an old hat and pretend I’d been sent to deliver the week’s paper.

“I’m here to collect a stack of news, sir.” I tip my hat politely, a paragon of manners and humility.

And just like that, I’m in. This isn’t my first time breaking into the court; after all, it’s terribly troublesome for non-aristocrats to find themselves welcome in a high-society breeding ground like this one.

I stroll down the frilly lanes of Quartier Narbonnais, taking my time to avoid suspicion. Parasols and silky dresses line the streets, hushed chatter and gossip filling the air like the incessant chips of Bluecrown Finches. Something to the left catches my eye.

It’s a child standing on the tips of his toes, arms outstretched towards a small roll of sapphire-blue ribbon on a tall wooden shelf. I realize I’m standing in front of the Chioriya Boutique. Huh. Such beautiful dresses… The boy’s clothes are slightly tattered, his skin marked with dirt. My heart pangs with sympathy at the thought that this child is just like my little brother; anxious, alone, and with nothing to his name.

I point a finger towards the bushes next to the shop and shout, “Look! Over there!”

The ladies looming nearby gasp with curiosity, craning their necks to get a good look of whatever it is that’s caught my eager attention. I yank the roll of ribbon off the shelf without making a sound, a devious act that only one with years of practice could master. her 

Handing it to the boy, I ask him what he needs it for and pull him to the side.

“My sister’s dress is missing a blue ribbon. I figured I’d find her a replacement…” He trails off, uneasy. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any money to pay you, mademoiselle…”

“Consider it a favor.” I pause. “You owe me one, that’s all.”

The boy nods, his adorable features lighting up. I ruffle his hair and tell him to scurry off.

“Make sure you don’t get caught, little one!”

“Caught doing what, exactly, young lady?”

A deep, commanding voice speaks from a few feet behind, startling me - though I do not show it.

I turn to face the man in a relaxed, casual manner. His face surprises me even more than his voice does. He’s an elegant, poised man, tall and intimidating, yet not in a bad way. He does reek of sophistication, nevertheless. I curse myself for being so careless. What are you, an amateur?

“Why, by his sister, of course! Children these days, always running about.” I chuckle for effect.

It doesn’t seem to faze him.

“I have reason to believe you have stolen something from this establishment, miss. I’ll have my officers take you in for further questioning immediately.”

What a jerk! I can hardly believe such cold-hearted individuals exist. I glance over his fanciful robes and twinkling accessories with disdain, remembering exactly why I proclaim law enforcement in Teyvat to be a terribly corrupt system run by frauds. I need to think fast if I want to make it back out of the court alive.

Criminals like me have no place in a respectable region like this.

“Of course, my lord. I will obey your orders without a word of complaint.” I bow to him despite myself.

“Very well then. Come with me.” He starts forward, footsteps strong and chin held high. “You must be from the villa–”

I’ve snuck behind the nearest bush and climbed up a wall, as swift and soundless as ever. Watching from above, I giggle at the officer’s notable confusion.

“Show yourself!” He shouts, eyes frantically searching his surroundings but to no avail. Clearly frustrated, he curses under his breath, attracting the attention of the ladies nearby, who swoon once they meet his gaze.

“My apologies.” He mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitted together in a scowl.

He storms off into the crowd.

…

It isn't until I return to base that I realize that was no ordinary officer. The way he was dressed, the power in his voice when he spoke to me… It all seemed very peculiar.

“The Iudex. You spoke to the Iudex of Fontaine. There’s no way.” My younger sister seems to be in a state of shock.

“The Chief Justice? Nahhh. It couldn’t have been him. I mean, what’s he doing next to a women’s boutique?”

“Based on your descriptions, I think it’s safe to say that it really was him. I have heard that he enjoys strolling amongst the locals.”

I have a hard time believing it all. Indeed, my sister has always been the most well-read of us, but surely if I’d come face to face with the Iudex of Fontaine himself, I’d have known, right?

It all just seems absurd.

But I guess anything is possible in the Land of Justice. Now that I’ve found myself on the Chief Justice’s radar, it would benefit me to be more careful with my thieving endeavors in the court.

A minor inconvenience isn’t going to stop me now.

…

In an ornate, oversized office, Neuvillette sits by the fireplace, pondering.

He’s infuriated that someone dared defy his word in his presence. He’s puzzled about the thief’s identity, her next move. Most passionately of all, he feels foolish.

Utterly ashamed that he let a young woman escape with her pride right under his nose.

He calls out for a servant. “Have a Melusine troop assembled by tomorrow morning. I must catch this thief if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Of course, sire.” The servant hesitates, unsure. “Don’t mind my prying, sire, but this girl seems like nothing more than a petty thief. Why are you so hung up on bringing her in?”

Neuvillette rests his head on a gloved hand, elbow propped up on his polished spruce-wood desk.

“Because no one… escapes from the law.”

…

No one, of course, but me.

I spent the next two weeks stealing all sorts of interesting artifacts from within the court, some that sparkle and some that whir. With the money I’ve been bringing in, my siblings are finally able to have meals that contain more than just mushrooms and a few slices of bread.

Multiple times a member of the Iudex’s troop - occasionally the Iudex himself - managed to catch me, but each and every time I got out unscathed. I think I enjoy this life of crime.

Or rather, I enjoy the look on his face when he realizes I’ve slithered out of his reaches. The thrill of coming this close to facing him again, each and every time.

I received word that a masquerade ball is being hosted at the Vasari Passage tomorrow night, and that many fine ladies and gentlemen of society will be there. Naturally, I decide that my next cause of action is to “borrow” a pretty ball gown for my grand entrance.

I choose the most exquisite of gowns from the shop’s dusty attic - a rich purple shade to match my eyes - and brace myself for a possible run-in with the Iudex. I can’t risk him capturing me again. There’s no way he’d still recognise me. It’s been ages. Besides, I’m sure he has other bandits on his list.

…

The ball is an extravagant affair; I’ve never seen this much Hydro in one place - on land, of course. I have to admit, it really is quite enchanting.

Throughout the evening, I’m careful not to expose my face. I must be the most wanted petty criminal in Fontaine. In the unlikely event that anyone should identify me as the thief that’s been stealing their goods, it would only mean more trouble for me. With grace and finesse I whisk through the crowds, yanking one pearl necklace after another from the necks of oblivious aristocrats, stashing my finds safely away in the pocket strapped to my leg.

Just as I’ve gotten my hands on a marvelous emerald bracelet, I bump into someone I didn’t notice was standing right in front of me. As I recover, I’m struck with the familiar sight of flowing sapphire robes, a head of long hair as pristine and pure as snow. Oh, Archons.

Before I can even begin to protest, he grabs me by the waist with a firm hand and pulls me into a back garden, far enough away from the bustle of the ball. A glowing waterfall splashes gently to my left, and a couple dozen fireflies light up the Romaritime bushes that surround us.

I watch him carefully as he flexes his jaw. Though his face is partly concealed by a mask, I can tell he’s been driven mad with contempt - no, irritation. He’s been waiting a long time for this moment.

“It’s you.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my lord?”

“Enough of your games.” He spits out the words as if they’re poison on his tongue. “You cannot run forever. I know people like you well. It never ends well for them, running from the law.”

This pisses me off.

“Because the law protects the high and mighty, like you. Like the people out there. There’s no room in the law for people like me. Those who have to fight to survive. Those who can’t find work. Those who can’t put food on the table without stealing it.”

I watch as he falls silent, seemingly at a loss for words.

“What you are doing, while worthy of sympathy, is still illegal. It is my duty as Iudex to uphold the law and bring justice to all.”

“What about my family? What justice do they receive then, you bastard?”

He seems taken aback by my choice of words, a small frown written across his brows. Did I just insult the Chief Justice? I try to think of a way out of this situation; it’s gotten far too messy for my liking.

But a part of me doesn’t want to leave him here. This game we're playing - it excites me. Sometimes, it feels as though he lets me go on purpose. And while I do credit myself for being an excellent thief, I can’t help but feel as if I’ve gotten myself entangled with the law in more ways than one.

“I must take you in immediately. You will return all of the items you’ve stolen, precious or not. Fontaine is no place for such thie–”

I take a step forward and kiss him on the cheek.

Just a peck; a gentle act of intimacy that lasts no longer than a second. It shocks me as much as it does him, and I swear that beneath his mask, I can see his cheekbones flush a deep crimson red.

“P-Pardon me, my lord.” I take the opportunity to flee, leaving whatever just happened in the garden behind me.

He must’ve been too disgusted to follow me.

…

The following days passed with little to no thievery. I couldn’t explain it, but a part of me felt… guilty, for the first time in my life. Maybe not for stealing all those things from the hands of the wealthy, but for kissing him the way I did, in an attempt to save my own ass.

But that was the tricky part; did I really kiss him just to save my own ass?

I shake my head, desperate to prevent these frightening thoughts from clouding my judgment. I still have a family to feed.

I’m just about to sneak a sack of berries into my satchel when I feel his presence wash over me, watching me. I spin around to survey my surroundings, and sure enough, there he is. The Iudex in all of his dignified glory - staring at me from across the street. I return the sack to its position in the pile and walk over to him, my footsteps light and quick.

“I didn’t steal.”

“You would have.”

“But I didn’t.”

He sighs, exasperated. “I have been lenient to you. Whether or not you agree, I have shown you kindness by not exacting harsher measures in response to your… intemperance.”

I suppose that is true, especially after what I pulled that night. I remain silent.

“And despite every fiber of my being telling me to put you behind bars this instant, I wish to ask you a few questions before I do so.”

“And what’s in it for me, wise-ass?”

If he’s offended, he’s doing a great job concealing it. “I’ve called off the search. And, you’ll get to ask a few questions of me.” He tilts his head cautiously.. “Something tells me you would find that most enticing.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

“Fine. Shall we head to somewhere more private, my lord?”

…

For some reason, he brings me to his office in the Palais Mermonia. We enter through a secret entrance hidden from the public eye, and manage to remain unseen. He’s very serious about keeping our arrangement confidential.

The building is lavishly decorated, its shiny walls a reflection of its equally shiny inhabitants. At every turn I’m awed by the sheer magnificence of it all; by how I’m likely to never set foot in a place like this again.

“Please, have a seat.” His voice is low. He almost looks uncomfortable.

“So. What’d you wanna ask me?” I lift both feet and rest them atop his desk, crossing my right leg over the left. This is my first and last time in a room as cushy as this one, after all - I might as well make myself at home. “If you don't mind, I’d like you to answer my questions before I answer yours.”

He doesn’t object. I continue, “Why are you so unwilling to turn a blind eye to a few measly scoundrels? The people they’re stealing from already have far too much - and yet, you are complicit with their greed.”

There’s a distant look in his eyes. “Ever since I’d been issued the position of Iudex, there’s been an immeasurable… weight on my back. To uphold the law, standards of safety, fairness… That has been my job for as long as I can remember. I have dedicated my life to ensuring that Fontaine is the splitting image of perfection.”

“You speak as if you are old.” I scoff, feigning sophistication in my voice. “You’re a young man yourself. Shouldn’t you, of all people, understand that achieving perfection is impossible? Not when there is so much filth and corruption manifesting beneath the surface?”

My words seem to have struck him. “...I suppose there is truth to your words.”

“So stop. Let me and my people live as we have been. We don’t go around attacking the rich unprovoked, you know, despite what most people think.”

We share a pleasant silence for a moment. It feels as if I’m getting to him; as if we’re beginning to really see each other.

“You really do have the most exquisite eyes.”

This takes me by surprise. Did the Chief Justice of Fontaine just compliment my eyes? I try to suppress the redness growing across my cheeks.

He speaks again, his unfaltering gaze fixed on mine. “I never quite got your name, Miss…”

“Y/N,” I answer hastily. “And, you are…?”

“Neuvillette. My given name.”

Neuvillette. It’s never occurred to me how much I don’t know about the affairs of the city. About him.

“I have another question, Neuvillette.” He nods. “Why are you so intent on bringing me in? Are there no other criminals in Fontaine that demand more pressing attention?” I push further. “And why are you talking to me now, rather than locking me up?”

He looks speechless, as if troubled by something. “Because…” My heart stutters as I anticipate what he’s about to say. “Because I have something to ask of you.”

I deflate. “Oh. What is it?”

“I’m willing to offer you a job - an esteemed position in the Maison Gardiennage. You’d be an excellent addition to the team, and you won’t have to worry about a single piece of Mora from now on–”

My heart stops stuttering. It sinks. “So that’s what this is about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You pity me. This whole time–you’ve been trying to recruit me for your–your–battalion! To use me!” I feel betrayed. Blindsided. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.

I rush to stand up, and he gets up just as quick. “I assure you, that is not my intention, Miss Y/N–”

“You just want me taken care of so I can stop stealing and you can go back to your precious duties.” And to think that maybe we shared something. “I thought you were different. I really did. Now I see I was mistaken.”

“Miss Y/N, you must not keep stealing.” He sounds desperate, as if about to lose the composure he so carefully maintains.

I can’t do this. I swing the door to the hallway open, fuming. “You call us Treasure Hoarders, but you fail to realize that the ones who hoard treasure are yourselves.”

I spin around one final time, taking in the sight of him. He’s standing less than an inch away from me now. I notice that it physically pains me to be this close to him. “I hope I’m not spotted, for your sake. Archons forbid what being seen with me might do to your reputation.”

I slam the door behind me.

…

For the first time, Neuvillette doesn’t have a solution for any of this. He can’t let her keep stealing, that’s for sure. But is that really all that’s troubling him? Is that the real reason why he’s so worked up about all of this?

He swats at an invisible thought in the air. Focus. A royal auction is to be held tomorrow evening, and there’s a lot to be done.

…

I can’t bear to stay in the court for much longer. Everything is just… too much.

If I am to stop stealing in the court, all while ensuring that my family is fed and happy, I’ll have to end my business here with a bang. Steal something truly valuable that’ll guarantee I’ll never have to steal again.

Therefore, when I receive news of the Annual Court Auction being held the following day, I can hardly contain my anticipation.

This will be the heist of all heists. My family’s lives are on the line.

I must sneak in unnoticed, snag the one-of-a-kind Hunter’s Brooch from wherever it is backstage, and sneak back out where I came from. Make sure I avoid running into Neuvillette, at all costs.

…

As the clock strikes six, the auction begins. A dense crowd fills the ballroom, the stench of elitism wafting through the air.

I managed to steal a servant’s uniform while he was distracted and put on my disguise, determined to get the job done once and for all. As I pretend to refill my tray, I listen closely as the auctioneer projects his booming voice. “Going once, going twice… SOLD to the lady in pink!”

The Hunter’s Brooch is up next. I glide through the crowd, offering tiny pastries and shot glasses to the haughty noblemen as I pass.

“Next up: the Hunter’s Brooch!” The crowd oohs and aahs, captivated by its remarkable beauty. “Do I hear one-million?”

I inch closer and closer to the stage as bidders furiously compete with one another for the brooch. I hear numbers I have never heard in my life.

“Do I hear fifteen-million? Going once, going twice…” The crowd falls silent, seemingly bested.

“Twenty-million.”

My head whips around so fast I almost drop my tray. Neuvillette.

“SOLD to our Chief Justice!”

I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. Seeing him from afar is somehow a thousand times worse than seeing him up close.

I remind myself what I came here for. I attempt to ignore the pounding in my chest and sneak past the guards in front of the stage. There it is.

The brooch sits on a cushioned plinth backstage, sparkling despite the darkness. I yank it from its display in the blink of an eye and stuff it into my satchel. Hugging it under my arm, I latch on to the wall behind the stage and begin climbing towards the landing on the second floor.

Just as I reach the surface, I pick up a swarm of hurried footsteps headed in my direction. I try to steady myself as hastily as possible, but by the time I look up, it’s too late.

Guards.

They grab me by the arms and pull me away from the auction. From my grand plan. From my dreams of never having to steal again.

…

A trial. I’m to sit in front of the Iudex tonight and face him for the first time in days. I’m to relive the embarrassment of getting caught, of encountering my first defeat. I’m to look him in the eye as he finally decides to throw me in jail for good.

Time passes rather quickly in a holding cell, contrary to popular belief. Before I know it, I’m sitting in a courtroom, anxiously waiting for the Iudex to walk in.

My pulse quickens when the thick ivory doors swing open.

He remains the paradigm of grace and regality; able to command an entire room without ever so much as uttering a word.

Despite all the guilt, all the shame I’m feeling sitting in this chair, I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.

He moves to take his seat on the elevated throne in the middle of the room, and for a moment - just a tiny sliver of a second - we lock eyes. He looks conflicted, tired, as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night.

The trial proceeded as one normally would; everyone was represented by someone, though the loaded old man I’d stolen from had obviously hired a greater amount of skill.

It’s now time for the final judgment to be made.

The Iudex’s eyes are downcast, his forehead creased. His gloved hands seem to be restless and unsure. Please, Neuvillette. Don’t do this.

A pause that stretches on for an eternity passes, and he whispers something unintelligible to the court orderly standing next to him. A bewildered expression appears on the orderly’s face, but Neuvillette has already gotten up to exit, halting all further questions.

He charges out of the courtroom, leaving hushed exclamations and gasps of surprise in his wake. Neuvillette… Did you betray me? We all look to the court orderly.

“The Chief Justice of Fontaine has declared the defendant… not guilty.”

…

“So does that mean you’re free to go now?”

“Yep.” I smile at my sister with a sigh. “I’m never going back there again.”

“What? Why not? I thought you said the city was our golden opportunity.”

“It was. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t keep stealing from the hand that feeds me. It’s too much. It’s not… fair.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” She wriggles her eyebrows at me.

I give her a hard nudge, playfully. “There are other prospects, you know. I heard Liyue possesses treasures beyond even our wildest dreams. We shall aim to relocate by the end of the month.”

“Not yet done with your scheming, Miss Y/N?”

No. It can’t be.

I jump to my feet so quickly my sister flinches. “Hey, could you maybe…”

She runs off towards the camp, leaving the two of us standing face to face atop the most beautiful hill in the region.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” My voice comes out shaky, as if I haven’t spoken in years.

Neuvillette searches my eyes, vulnerable and sincere. “Did you really think you could hide from me for long?”

Inhale. Exhale. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you lock me up? Why come all the way here after two weeks?”

“You must know…” He trails off, stares at the setting sun just above the horizon. “My every waking moment is plagued by thoughts of… of you.”

I stop breathing.

“At night, I dream of you. The criminal I cannot seem to capture. The thief I cannot seem to subdue.” He takes a step forward. “Your words echo in my mind, your eyes pierce my soul. Your insolence, obscenity, rebelliousness… All of it. It-It vexes me.” Another step. “You are a thief, Y/N, for you have stolen more than just precious gems and sparkling jewels.”

I’m rendered speechless. All I want to do is run into his arms.

“Please. Don’t leave. I beg of you.”

My heart feels so… so full. I rush to close the distance between us, beaming so widely it must look strange.

“Only if you promise to let me keep stealing your stuff.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your wish is my command. I suppose it will do the nation some good if all of its inhabitants remain healthy and fed.” I smile. “You’ve made up your mind, then? No law enforcement work for you?”

“Actually… I’ve yet to give it any thought. You sure you’d want a Treasure Hoarder amongst your ranks?”

“You make a good point. But right now…” He’s staring again, lips mere inches away from mine. “All I want… is you.”

“But my lord, surely that’s against the law,” I tease.

“The law has no place here.”

And he kisses me, hungry and passionate.

For the first time in ages, I finally feel well off.

❛ ༉‧₊˚ author's note: i had to stop myself from writing a commentary on class divide and remember i'm in love with neuvillette lol (two things can be true at once) hope you like this one! typically this would've been a multiple-chapter fic on ao3 but oh well here goes nothing

✧ starfellforyou

#— ‧ ₊˚ 𝘴𝘧𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 🌸✩ #genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvilette genshin #genshin neuvillette #fontaine

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Can I request a fem reader x frollo in an arranged marriage?

The strands of will

warning : obsession, implied dark theme, fluff/comfort

Info : Thanks for the request anon have fun reading hope you like it and everyone else too;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°It was a forced marriage as she saw it a bourgeois aristocrat from one of the post-bourgeois towns around Paris. Since her only child's sons had died in the war, she was the sole heiress to her father's lands, money and reputation. ,,You will not disgrace us, the judge is a good match," she heard her mother say as she helped her daughter into a dress for the first court appearance, the first meeting with her new husband.

°She had heard about him from Judge Claude Frollo, the man who didn't just want people from his town to come and laugh and dance. He ruled Paris with an iron fist and was his own proud man. But he didn't seem to have an interest in women apart from his own righteousness. He was almost three times as old as a man in his fifties who had married a young woman in twenty years of life.

°It was a match she knew to be the best, however, as there could be nothing better. ,,Yes mother I won't disappoint you" she replied before the cords were pulled tighter around her back and only a few minutes later she was invited to tea in the meeting room. ,,My beautiful bride-to-be, it's a pleasure to meet you," the older man greeted her and gave her a kiss on the back of the hand. She curtseyed and smiled cautiously, ,,It's a pleasure to meet you," she replied and sat down opposite him as the family chatted about their soon-to-be husband.

°The wedding at Notre Dame was a great golden wedding, a time of prosperity in which even the people could participate from the outside. When the two said yes to each other, she felt his cool hand on hers and he lifted his veil. ,,I will take good care of you forever, my wife," he murmured as he gave her a surprisingly gentle kiss. The two of them walked out of the church, past the rich people, past her family, who gave their only living child into the arms of the judge, and together they entered a carriage.

°She knew the way to his home, she had looked at a map of the city and wanted to at least find her way around her new "home". His paralysis was true, but his gaze on her was not a look that she could not organize and would not be able to in the next few weeks. She learned that apart from his interest in justice, he perhaps liked her violin playing. ,,Please play again for me, darling," he asked her most evenings when they went through the house together after dinner in the music room to the sound of the violin.

°But she also knew that this righteousness, this hatred and stress he unloaded on her. He could be just too gentle, giving her clothes, sheet music, instruments, colors and being gentle to her. But when he didn't let the traveling musicians get away from him, it was like he was burning in hell. His rough manner, the feelings that came over him, he locked her in the house, ,,You're too good for this scum," he said with a flash of madness in his eyes before the door slammed. His kisses were more eager than usual, as if he were possessed.

°The only thing he never mentioned was her wedding itself, as if they had known each other forever, he loved her, had an obsession for her and didn't want to lose her in life to hate. She was his property and he knew that at the end of the day she had no choice but to love him in one way or another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#disney #the hunchback of notre dame #judge claude frollo #judge claude frollo x reader #frollo x reader #claude frollo

[shiraglassman]

books i owe reviews to

I am behind on Stuff but here are some books I read recently that I liked

Lavender House 1950′s queer noir. Gay cop gets fired for being gay and ends up a hard boiled PI solving one of those Rich Household Murders when the head of a soapmaking fortune falls to her death. Has TW’s but a happy ending for the MC, who sounds like Batman in the audiobook.

Legends and Lattes Orc retires from adventuring and opens a coffeehouse in a city that’s never heard of coffee (which is its own kind of funny.) She accidentally found-families herself because of course she does, and it’s got f/f in it. 

A Gentleman in Moscow Smartass elegant aristocrat is sentenced to permanent house arrest in a hotel when the communists take over in Russia 100ish years ago. Book describes the next several decades of his life and all the adventures you can get up to in a small space, which are: plenty. Surprise, like the previous one this also has restaurant stuff in it so I felt very Seen by the person who recommended it to me. Has m/f in it.

A Lady for a Duke Regency m/f romance. Heroine was thought dead on the battlefield in Waterloo but instead, she’s nursed back to health in a cottage and takes the opportunity to quietly transition and return home to become the “poor companion” to her brother’s wife. Problem: her old best friend, who has a lot of Waterloo trauma himself, is at the end of his rope. He does lash out when he figures out his new love is his old lost friend, but it’s 100% selfishness not transphobia (”how could you let me think you were dead”) and there is more than enough space in the story for him to redeem himself. Just wanted to make sure y’all knew that was in there.

I also read Project Hail Mary ages ago and that was really cute. I LOVED the ending bc it was more than I was expecting by that point. I went in nearly completely cold and that’s why I’m not describing the plot, just that someone I trusted said that they thought I’d like it. So I’m gonna let that be the spoiler: that it was ultimately cozy enough for the likes of me. :P

#booklr #lavender house #project hail mary #legends and lattes #a lady for a duke #a gentleman in moscow #books #reading #queer books #romance #trans books #trans romance #orcs #noir

[artistsfuneral]

🐾 Topaz the Griffinslayer 🐾

Vesemir gets a cat. The cat takes one look at him and decides 'this one is mine now'.

---------- ao3 ------------

Chapter One - meeting the mouser

When the old witcher returns to his horse he is met with the strange sight of a cat leisurely lying on Daphne's dapple gray back. The first thought that comes to his mind is that the cat is damn lucky he took Daphne and not Malwina down the keep. His other mare would have trampled the poor thing without hesitation.

Then he notices the weird thing about the cat. It doesn't hiss at him. In fact it doesn't show any signs of aggression at all. In all his years on the Path and afterwards, which is to say many, many years, that has never happened before.

It's a general, well known rule that predators, no matter the kind, don't like witchers. Some domesticated ones, like dogs or birds˟, can be trained out of it, but cats had long since shown to be an incredibly effective witcher repellent. It's so known that for a while humans in bigger cities went a bit crazy with breeding the things until it turned into a plague. Most city mages ended up with the knowledge on how to safely castrate a cat and a full purse.

The cat on top of his horse was looking at him entirely too peaceful. While it had lifted its head when he entered, it didn't react further. Even now, when he enters the stall and therefore also the cat's personal space, its mood doesn't change. It blinks at him lazily out of big topaz eyes and watches him pet down Daphne.

As far as the old witcher can tell – he barely knows anything about cats – it's not a simple tavern stray. It looks too nice to be ever considered a stray. He wouldn't be surprised if it's one of the expensive ones. He may not know a lot about cats, but he knows how much some aristocrats are willing to pay for pets. The idea of having an animal around that's just there to look pretty and be friendly seems absolutely ludicrous to a witcher.

Even to him it's obvious that the cat is incredibly well cared for. If not because of its peaceful demeanor than because of the way it looks. Its fur is almost luxurious long and soft looking, though clearly made for a colder climate. It's colored a dark shade of brown with many black stripes down its sides and long, thick one that starts in its neck and goes all the way down to its tail. The eyes, big and round and watching him, are of a dark topaz coloration and if the color reminds him of his sons' eyes and makes him a bit emotional he would never dare admit that out loud.

The most prominent feature of the cat is its leather collar though. It was crafted with a lot of care and recently polished as it still has a bit of a shine to it. There's a little round metal coin hanging from it with a sparkling star engraved on it, not unlike the medallion witcher trainees wear before they receive their official wolf-head-medallion. Hanging above it is a little blue tear-drop shaped gemstone. Definitely an expensive cat that belongs to someone rich enough to put gemstones were they could easily be snatched. He almost expects his medallion to hum, indicating some form of tracking spell, but nothing.

The cat looks at his gloved hand when it comes closer to where it is lying on his horse but doesn't swat at it, doesn't hiss in warning, doesn't even turn its ears back. Instead it lets out a tiny, friendly sound, a 'mrrp' and curiously sniffs the leather of his glove.

Utterly baffled, the old witcher has to take a moment and steps out of the stall. He catches a glimpse of the stable hand, a growing boy hardly older than fourteen who's refilling a water through in the back and with a sharp whistle calls for the boy's attention.

The boy turns mid movement and looks at him wide eyed, “Ser?”

He nods his head towards Daphne's stall, “Have you seen the cat on top of my horse?”

The boy blinks at him and replies with a, “Yeser.”

“Who's cat is that?”

“'snot yours?” The boy's speech is slurred, his thick accent pulling at the words like they belong together. The kaedweni courts call it the accent of the peasant. Some times the old witcher adapts it just to annoy them.

“Ever seen a witcher with a damned cat?” He barks out, annoyed that the boy's short answers don't give him the information he wants. Not at all helping, the stable hand simply shrugs his lanky shoulders. “Never seeno witcher before,” he says.

“Then whos cat is it?” the witcher bites out, “Who else is in town?”

“None, ser. You an'the postmaster, but he's gotno cats. Make'm sneeze.”

“Any witches that have passed through recently? Some upper folk, a lord or lady perhaps?”

He shakes his head, “None, ser, 'swhy I thought the mouser's yours.”

Said mouser takes the opportunity to make itself known with a series of loud meows, strutting right towards the witcher and bumping its head against his boots, then sitting down next to him. Seeing this the stable hand shrugs again, “Looks like's yours now. 's always the mouser choosing.”

Apparently that ends the conversation for the boy, because he turns away and gets back to work, leaving a dumbfounded witcher staring down at fluffy brown cat that looks back up at him and blinks. He decides not to think about it too much, shakes his head to clear away the tangle of thoughts and turns back towards Daphne's stall.

The cat is right there in the stall with them as he saddles his draft horse. It follows him like a obedient puppy when he leads Daphne out of the stable and bumps its head against his boots when he checks his packs one more time. If it weren't for the fact that he doesn't feel a single drop of chaos on the cat he would have thought it to be some sort of creature or shape shifter. Even testing it with a piece of pure silver doesn't cause a reaction and it only yawns widely when he starts reciting chants that would have any form of devil screeching.

He feels almost relieved when he sees one of the barn cats walk around him with a wide berth and its ears plastered to its head. When he looks at it, it's eyes thin and it hisses at him. When he looks at the brown cat at his feet big topaz eyes look back at him. So it's just this cat that's weird. He can live with that.

What he can decidedly not live with is the fact that as soon as he's up in the saddle and ready to make his way back to Kaer Morhen, the cat lets out another mrrp and suddenly jumps up onto Daphne like it's done so a hundred times before. His mare doesn't react at all and so he watches a bit wide-eyed as the cat settles down between his legs and over the small bags that are tied to the front of the saddle. Then it starts purring and the only reason why he doesn't loose his shit is because he's in the middle of the town square.

He nudges his legs together and Daphne obediently trots into the familiar direction of home.

#idk man #the witcher #witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #vesemir #witcher vesemir #kaer morhen

[forpiratereasons]

Right now, I just want to do what makes Ed happy.

Ed talks a lot about how being with Stede is fun but I love the way he says this. He wants to be happy. He doesn't want to have to be anyone else. He doesn't want to have to fight for survival or to be responsible for making decisions or to carry the weight of his crew's lives. He's handling it so well - being captured, losing everything - because he still has Stede, and because on some level I think it was a relief. To not have to worry. To not have to run. To not have to put on the mask. To fold socks and take care of Stede and do some fucking grunt work without being asked to constantly expend.

He asked Stede to teach him the ways of an aristocrat, but that's not even really what Ed wants. That's just what looks the most possible to Ed - that's the same fantasy a millennial has about winning the lottery and buying a house with 97 bedrooms in LA and jetsetting to tahiti and spending all doing fuck-all except being rich and famous. It looks shiny and new and easy, but it doesn't hold up to closer inspection. The house may have 97 bedrooms, but they'd all be empty. It isn't until Ed falls in love with Stede that he realizes that what he's wanted all along isn't 97 bedrooms.

He just wants to love. And be loved. He just wants to be happy.

The folding socks scene is about realizing that it doesn't matter how many bedrooms (or bunk beds, as it were) there are. He knows what he wants because he's had everything he's fought for stripped away and he's still happy because he has what matters, and that's Stede.

Ed doesn't want to go back to be Blackbeard. He wants to escape with Stede and live a life somewhere else.

It's the moment the millennial fantasy changes from the 97 bedrooms in LA and that sterile, empty fantasy to a fantasy of a little cottage somewhere close to the sea, with a kitchen they can both fit in and a garden they can both work in and maybe there's only one bedroom but it's more than enough as long as he's not alone in it. He wants to wear soft, comfortable clothes and tell stories and laugh and plan fuckeries not because they need to in order to survive but just because it's fun doing it. And he wants to fold Stede's silly little socks because they're Stede's, and because he loves Stede, and sometimes when you love someone being able to fold their socks for them feels sacred.

The desire to be happy always sounds like such a small thing. Almost a childish word that is - happy. As adults we talk more about security or fun or we use words that sound more grown up like content or we downplay happiness entirely - oh, I had a good weekend, oh, same shit different day, oh, you know, livin the dream. But happiness really isn't a small thing at all! And it can live in the little moments, yeah, but it is foundational. It's elemental to the experience of being a person. And you can see that in Ed, in that moment - that he is experiencing himself, fully and completely and only as a human being. Not a legend or a monster. He is just a human being, striving for happiness, and he's found that in Stede.

What a small but huge thing Ed says then. It sounds so little, but it means so much. It does mean all those other words we use - security and fun and safety and laughter and comfort and satisfied - but it also means something so much bigger. It means love and hope and a future. It means humanity, and maybe that little cottage on the beach, cups of tea in the morning, folding socks in the afternoon, an invitation and a plea and a leap of faith and trust laid out with an open hand.

After everything Ed's been through, after everything Ed's had to fight for, everything he's survived, he can still see all that. He can see all that with Stede.

What makes me happy is - you.

#it's loving edward teach hours #not that i would say no to winning the lottery !! #but i feel like there's a fantasy of wealth and power assuming it will bring happiness #and then there's a fantasy of happiness regardless of wealth and power #which is really what i'm getting at #ofmd #blackbonnet #gentlebeard

[otomefiend]

Victor

Story Event: Luxury liner invitation

Chapter 1

Everyone is being sus, Victor most of all.

~~Part 1~~

The sky was clear, and the sun rays reflecting on the water surface made it shimmer.

Young female aristocrat: "Where's the boarding platform leading to the first class cabins?"

Black-haired crewman: "I'll show you the way. Please leave your luggage with the porter."

Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the lively port, I looked up at the luxury liner anchored in front of me.

(Woah.... it's huge!)

The ship, floating on the water, was new and bigger than I had ever seen.

Its sails fluttered in the wind, raising hopes for the voyage to begin.

Victor: "Ahaha, Kate, if you tilt your head back like that, it'll fall off."

Kate: "Ah, it's such a magnificent ship, I couldn't help myself."

From now on, we were to stay on board of this luxury liner, Orellus.

As for what led to this turn of events--

*flashback starts*

--a few days earlier.

One day, when all members of the Crown unexpectedly gathered together, Victor arrived in the dining room skipping.

Victor: "Everyone! Viscount Morris sent us an invitation to a thrilling ship excursion."

He placed the letter on the table.

Invitation to the maiden voyage of the liner Orellus.

"We hereby invite you to the maiden voyage of the luxurious liner Orellus.

Our ship sports one of the world's most opulent dance halls, a casino with an excellent selection of games, and a grand piano on deck.

Feel free to use our facilities at your leisure,

Whilst enjoying a truly pleasant and secure journey of your dreams."

~~Part 2~~

Liam: "Wow, a luxury liner sounds wonderful. I've never been on one."

Kate: "Neither have I. The man who sent the invitation, Viscount Morris, who's he...?"

Harrison: "He's a friend of Victor's. Of course, he has no idea about us being members of the Crown."

Ellis: "He's rich and a bit peculiar."

Victor: "Viscount Morris has always dreamt of having his own ship. His wish has finally come true."

Kate: "Then, what's the mission about this time round?"

Victor: "....huh?"

Kate: "Sometimes, when you bring up a story like this, you have some kind of mission in mind.

(Maybe it's an undercover investigation into a luxury liner. I need to get a grip and step up to the challenge.)

Victor: "Oh my goodness, Kate!"

Victor: "I've demanded too much of you, and now you're stuck in work mode!"

Kate: "So it's not a mission this time?"

Victor: "Of course not! We're going to embark in style and spread our wings."

Victor: "The Viscount told me to bring as many people as I'd like. Then"

Victor: "Raise your hand if you can't wait to get on board and have some bonding time with me. Yes!"

~~Part 3~~

Victor: "Raise your hand if you can't wait to get on board and have some bonding time with me. Yes!"

Liam: "Sorry, Victor, I have my stage performance."

Elbert: "... Al, Roger, and I are on a mission."

Alfons: "How vexing, but it can't be helped."

Roger: "Enjoy your trip. Where are you off to, Jude?"

Jude: "To a business meeting. Let's go, Ellis."

Ellis: "Wait, Jude. I'm sorry, Victor."

Victor: "H-harrison?"

Harrison: "Pass."

Victor: "Agh..."

(Everybody turned him down....!)

With tears in his eyes, Victor turned towards me.

Victor: "Kate, you --"

*flashback ends*

(That's how I ended up here with Victor.)

I didn't agree to it just out of pity.

For a commoner like myself, this type of opportunity would not come often.

Besides--

Victor: "The wind is calm today. I'm sure it will be a wonderful voyage."

(I want to spend time with Victor)

I felt most at ease being by his side.

As I was stealing a glance at his profile whilst he was looking at the ship, someone tapped me on the shoulder --

(... ?)

~~Part 4~~

I felt most at ease being by his side.

As I was stealing a glance at his profile whilst he was looking at the ship, someone tapped me on the shoulder --

(... ?)

Red-haired crewman: "Lady, I'll take care of your luggage."

Kate: "Oh, thank you. If you'd be so kind."

Red-haired crewman: "That's some nice dress and necklace you wear. Hope you have a good trip."

The items I was complimented on were Victor's gifts just for today.

(I think this blue diamond necklace is particularly expensive)

I could tell Victor wanted me to relax and enjoy myself to the fullest,

which I decided to do wholeheartedly.

Crewman: "The luxury liner Orellus will be setting sail shortly!"

Crewman: "Hurry up if you want to get on board!"

Victor: "It's time."

Victor: "Come, Kate. Take my hand."

Kate: "Yes, Victor!"

~~~

--With a soft blast from the steam whistle, the ship left the harbour.

Kate: "Woah..!"

Passing through the luxurious atrium of Orellus, I couldn't stop myself from voicing my admiration.

???: "Do you like it, lady Kate?"

I turned around and saw a dandy gentleman with white hair standing there.

Victor: "Kate, this is my friend, Viscount Morris."

(It's the Viscount!)

~~Part 5~~

Kate: "It's a pleasure to meet you, Viscount. Thank you for inviting me."

Viscount Morris: "Thank you for your kind welcome. You're a lovely young lady, just like Victor said."

Victor: "Right? She's so lovely I can't help showing her off."

I was startled by the sudden `lovely`, but

(No, no, he's just being polite)

Victor: "Morris, I'm glad that your dream of owning a ship has come to fruition."

Viscount Morris: "I'm moved to be congratulated by the person who saved my life."

Kate: "Person who saved your life..?"

Viscount Morris: "That was around five years ago"

Viscount Morris: "My wallet was stolen and I ended up eating and drinking in a bar with no means to pay..."

Victor: "I saved him from being beaten up in a back alley by the young bar owner."

Viscount Morris: "My, I told him I was a viscount, but he didn't believe me!"

Victor: "Haha, you were a mess --"

Viscount Morris: "Haha, Victor. You promised to keep it a secret, didn't you?"

*flashback starts*

Ellis: "He's rich and a bit peculiar."

*flashback ends*

(I see...?)

Steward: "Lord Morris, I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation."

Viscount Morris: "Yes...?"

Steward: "There's something I urgently need you to hear. In fact--"

Viscount Morris: "...What?"

Chapter 2

#ikemen villains #ikevil #victor #ikevil victor #ikevil story event

[mageofseven]

So I noticed that Mephistopheles has a cane. Do you think he has chronic pain in that leg? Or does he just have it because “rich important aristocrats just have canes for no reason?”

Personally, I like the idea that it’s the first one, but he pretends it’s the second one because of his upbringing, and MC is the only person to see through that facade and will subtly do things to reduce the strain on his aching leg (letting him lean on her in a way that looks like they’re just walking together, making sure there’s always enough chairs for everyone, finding excuses for him to slip away from a party so he can rest for a while, etc)

I’d love to see how the dynamics shift once he realizes she knows and he stops trying to hide when he’s in pain.

I'm grouping these together since they basically cover the same topic

And just so you know, I do believe he uses the cane for disability reasons, but I will reveal the reason for it in my Mephisto x MC series~

•▪︎▪︎◇°●♡●°◇▪︎▪︎•

This man is so good at pretending--or at least, so good at getting on other people's nerves to the point where they don't pay too much attention.

Chronic pain runs in MC's family though so it doesn't take much for the human to see just how much the nobleman depends on his cane or notice the occasional wince from standing too long.

This demon would rather protect his pride and deal with the pain than accept help from a human though.

Challenge accepted. This will be fun.

After all, MC gets to do their two favorite things: help someone and annoy Mephisto~

Is always pretty discreet when offering him a chair, whether getting others to sit as well or just him.

If it's just the the two of them though, the human literally push his ass down in a chair if he's being too stubborn (sometimes he's very obviously in pain, but will refuse to sit on the sole premise that MC asks him to).

Even with his cane, his leg muscles will have times where they randomly and completely give out on him for a minute.

MC will catch him, holding him up for a second by one of his arms till he regains enough strength to stand back up

Only to also take the fall for this--pun intended. The human will tell others they tripped him and, considering how their relationship was, it sounded pretty freaking believable to others.

Mephisto is a stubborn man so MC never learns how his leg got in its current shape, but can definitely tell this poor man is ashamed of it.

The two continued to fight in their usual ways, but MC still ends up bringing comfort to the nobleman about his disability.

In truth, he has never been able to confide in anyone about it; hell, even Diavolo doesn't know about it and it's been present since childhood.

Mephisto has been taught to hide his disability well because his parents see it as a defect that is nothing but an embarrassment to them.

MC never makes him feel ashamed about it though and always makes a point to make sure he knows his disability doesn't make him less than others and that receiving help for it doesn't make him weak.

The human tells him a lot of things contrary to his parents' words...but Mephisto wants to believe MC nonetheless.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me mc #obey me mephistopheles

[deepfivetraveller]

Moriarty the patriot x Sick!Child!reader. Chapter 1 (Platonic)

The MI6 could only gather little information about them since they were new to the circle of rich aristocrats.

The Quinn family owned luxurious hotels whose popularity and income just went above the roof, which is surprising since they’ve only been in the industry for a few years. Due to this, they were suspected of smuggling drugs across countries. Only problem was that the military had no evidence. Albert was instructed to check the family out, but since he had to do some preparations on ‘The final problem’ William decided to go instead.

As the carriage stopped, William turned towards the window and saw a large mansion. It had british architecture and was lavishly decorated in the family’s signature colour purple.

 He was greeted by the master and mistress of the family as he exited the carriage. “Welcome Mr Moriarty it’s finally good to meet you.” Richard Quinn says this as he shakes William’s hand a little too vigorously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too Mr Quinn.” He replies. “Please come in. We have prepared some special Darjeeling tea just for you.” Elisabeth Quinn motions him towards the garden of the estate. After that all three engage in small talk to which William could only pretend to like. Eventually, a topic peaked his interest. “Yes,yes our daughter too has the same habit.”

“Daughter? You both have a daughter?” William sips tea from his cup. “Yes,we just adopted her a few days ago.” She slices her cake with more force than needed creating an unpleasant cling sound. “She is still adapting to her surroundings so we didn’t bring her here.” she continues. William too was once an adopted kid and yes, it does take time to adapt but he started to get a bit suspicious of them.

"Is it possible for me to meet her personally?"

The couple both look at each other after William says this. “Sure. Let me lead you to her.” Richard gets up from his chair and so does William. While walking, Mr Quinn says “Our daughter has a medical condition due to which she cannot talk much, so please don’t force her to talk.” he nodded and kept this point in mind. A mute child is perfect if the parents want to keep a secret from society.

After a few minutes of walking they both enter a grand library.The shelves were made from a wood of dark colour possibly walnut or teak. All the books there were binded by some sort of luxurious leather. After going in a little deeper William sees a small girl sitting on the table copying something from a book. Richard whispers “I’ll introduce you to her and then leave you alone.”

William nods again and both of them come up to you. “Y/n?” Mr Quinn taps on the table. You immediately stop writing and look at both of them. “This is our guest Mr William James Moriarty.” He points at William. “I’m going to leave both of you alone now.”

After Mr Quinn leaves William sits next to you. “Like your father said, My name is William. What’s yours?” He felt a bit guilty making you talk in your condition but for the sake of the mission some things need to be done.

You take a bunch of flash cards connected to a flash card ring. You flip to a page with you name on it and show it to him. Clever. “Y/n. What a lovely name. How are you adjusting to your new life?” He  turns slightly towards you. You immediately flip to an empty card and write ‘It’s going alright.’

He notices this was not a direct reply to his question. Either you don’t have much to say or you were threatened by your parents. Though he does try to eliminate the second option since you are wearing a luxurious dress. Nevertheless he still doubts.

“I see.” He leans onto the table.

“Are you happy with your new life?” He enquires. You write ‘Yes I’m quite content with my life.’ He smiles and then looks at what you were reading. “On the Origin of species…” he reads the title out loud. He also looks at the notes you were writing and sees the key points of the book written neatly.

“You should explore other parts of science as well. Why don’t we try to find  other books on physics and chemistry here?” He gets up and extends his arm. In reply, you hold his hand.

“Can you take me to the science section?” You nod to his question and take him there

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Yes, yes, maybe…no.” William picks a few books and takes them in and out of the shelf. All the books he thought were suitable to read were given to you to hold. “That’s about it.” he turns towards you. “Let’s go back and sit down.” He takes the books from you and carries them.

“Thank you.” This is the first time you spoke to him. He didn’t know what you were thanking for, maybe for holding the books, maybe for helping you select books or maybe for something else. But more importantly he was taken aback by your voice. Your voice did crack a bit due to your lack of talking, but in his ears they were melodious; like  crunchy sweet.

Suddenly the clock chimes, an indication that it is now evening. “Oh my, time went by fast. It seems it’s time for me to go now.” he replies. He kept the books on a small wooden chair but when he was about to leave you grab onto his sleeve. He could see you mouthing ‘Don’t leave’.

“Why?” he questions. You slowly take back your hand from his sleeve and mouth him ‘Sorry’. William kneels down to your level, expecting you to say a reason for your action.

‘The first person to not make fun of me is you.’ he frowns as he looks at your card. “What about your parents?” he inquired. ‘Well they aren’t mean to me but that doesn’t mean that they are kind.’ you’re hesitant to show this card and he can tell.

He tries to calm you down by patting your head and to some extent, it works. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “I’ll take care of this.”   “But how?” You questioned back. “That…” He gets up and looks at you. “Is my problem. You just relax” He tilts his head as a sign of respect and leaves the room, leaving you a bit confused and dumbfounded.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #william james moriarty x yn #william james moriarty x reader

[saintsenara]

So, I've saw you (I think, sorry if I'm wrong) talk about two things and I want to read more about them? Them being: Molly used a love potion on Arthur; and the weasleys getting paid to stay close to Harry? Pls tell me more!

Also sorry if I am again wrongly attributing stuff to you lol 😅

you have indeed @in-flvx, although i would like to out myself as a weasley defender and say that i think these are completely bullshit tropes. they just happen to be very, very funny.

the easiest way to stumble upon them is to click on the 'independent harry' tag on ao3. i'm going to preemptively apologise for what a bitch i'll sound in what follows - not least because it's clear that a lot of the stories under this tag are written by teens just starting out with fan-fiction - but pretty much everything which comes under this umbrella can only be described as so incandescently bad it's good.

if you should click, you will find yourself in a topsy-turvy world where you can get a blood test at a bank and where harry is so hot, cool, talented, and rich that he could shatter the sun with the force of his avada kedavra eyes orbs.

there are several key features in these sorts of stories: that all the slytherins are lovely and misunderstood; that harry hadrian is some sort of minor aristocrat who speaks like lord of the rings if it had been written by chat gpt; that dumbledore is a moustache-twirling, machiavellian villain who is keeping harry locked at the dursleys for a laugh, hiding his fan-mail from him in a vault, and stopping him being so hot, cool, talented, and rich through a combination of dark magic and pop psychology.

you will also find, sometimes, that - in these stories - ron has the personality of a bag of flour which has been left out in the rain. which gets harry wondering - why would he, since he's hot, cool, talented, and rich, be friends with someone who is ginger, poor, and irrelevant? and he will learn, usually with the help of a goblin or two, that it's because dumbledore tricked him into it! by paying mrs weasley to help him get onto platform 9 3/4 and ron to sit with him on the hogwarts express and then gaslight him into buying him some sweets! and then by paying them to make harry stay with them every summer! until he's missed his chance to be bffs with draco malfoy! gasp!

why would dumbledore do this? don't worry yourself.

if these sort of stories manage to restrain harry going apeshit at dumbledore's evil until he's seventeen, rather than eleven, they will often also have him working out that he couldn't be in love with someone ginger, poor, and irrelevant either, and concluding that ginny's given him love potions. or, on occasion, molly's been giving him them on ginny's behalf. probably to keep harry from his true love: regulus black's old wank sock daphne greengrass.

[molly does mention having brewed a love potion once in prisoner of azkaban - although not that she used it on arthur. as it does with love potions generally, the text treats this as all a bit of a joke, which isn't great, but the woman isn't running a mind-control lab in her chicken shed, come on now...]

#asks answered #asenora on writing

[frevandrest]

How and why did Saint-Just think he'd get away with pretending he was old enough to be elected in 1791. Sounds like an irresponsible move.

Short answer: that was 18th century and people in their culture (well, the culture they grew up in) could be admitted to things even if they were technically too young. Not for this specific thing - but "being admitted to stuff even if too young" was not unheard of.

This was particularly true for the aristocrats and other powerful people (like how Hérault got the position of avocat du roi at 18, which was under the minimum age - and he was not the only one). Not sure how (and if) these things were possible for commoners, but with the Revolution, we see situations in which people were admitted to things even tough they were under the minimum age. So I assume this is where he got the idea.

And it wasn't his solo project - the village was behind him. It was part of the struggle between royalists and revolutionaries in the village (and the area), which is a rich and exciting (well, to me) mess. But yes, the village revolutionaries were on it, and kind of vouched that yes, SJ was old enough. His enemies in the village (first and foremost, his archenemy Gellé), on the other hand, tried to cockblock him by revealing the truth.

There is also a thing about IDs with your precise birthday not being a thing. So it was much easier to fake information if needed. (All those stories about people moving to a different town and changing identities. It was probably not super easy, but today it's much more difficult).

All these things combined make it not so surprising that he attempted to get elected even though he was too young.

... and he almost got away with it! (kind of). I will write about it in a different post but it almost worked because the only tangible proof of SJ's birthday was his baptism record, located in a church in Decize, more than 300km away). So it was basically his word (and that of his supporters) vs the word of Gellé (and his supporters). Until it was decided that SJ had to produce a tangible proof, which he couldn't. (And yet even then he tried to keep fighting for it, although unsuccessfully).

#ask #anonymous #frev #saint-just