#“something a gentlemen would wear to a duel” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwikiwikiwisstuff · 2 years ago

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Enko: What's wrong, Flame Hashira? Did you think we were just lazy artists? (Next to him were Yoru and Kaito laughing) (Rengoku and the others were stupefied. They had never seen those guys and girls among the corps in their lives, no one carried crows with them, but they only recently noticed their uniforms: indeed, they were made of the same material as theirs, but each one was authentic to theirs. In the case of Enko, who Rengoku had in front, had an asymmetrical turquoise yukata but without one shoulder, exposing a tattoo of Byakko, the white tiger, representative of the four guardians of Kyoto, and the pants of the uniform of the Demon Slayers) Uzui: Where did you get that? (He asked as they continued running after them… he realized that the material of Kaito's pants were the same, although he was too bold to just wear a terracotta-colored haori, exposing not only his muscles, but also his respective tattoo on chest, almost reaching his neck, Suzaku, the phoenix) Kaito: We stole it… (he said laughing while feeling the handle of his Tachi) How do you think we got it? Yoru: Oh, like any average hunter, taking the exam… Tengen Uzui… (He said with a malicious smile as he received his respective Yari from his falcon. His shirt had no sleeves, however, it was made of the material of hunter uniforms, he only wore the black haori with green on top)

Uzui: How do you know my name? (The four of them were still stunned to see that those boys were one of their own… or not?) Tsubame: Hey ladies, you can flirt with them later, now… ENKO! THROW THE BAG HERE! (The middle-tailed boy threw Tsubame the bag… it was an accurate long-range throw. The girl was quite tall and stocky, but it seems like she wanted to stall for some time while they waited for four of the missing members) Tsubame: Wow, wow~ but if they are the same gentlemen I talked to at the circus… why do they want this miserable bag when like Hashiras they are the ones who receive a better and bigger payment?

Uzui: Why should you be stealing? And why do they know my name? Ren: Because we are psychopaths~ Tsubame: Something like that, the truth is that we only did a little research on you… but as I say, this is not the time to talk, just to annoy~ Shinazugawa: YOU ARE THE UNPATHIC GIRL! Tsubame: … I AM UNPATHIC WITH ANY MAN, DWARF! Shinazugawa: DWARF- (Shinazugawa was very close to her… in fact, Tsubame was much taller than what they saw at the circus) Tsubame: Ah, Sanemi Shinazugawa, it would be an honor to humiliate you in a duel… oh, wait, it may not be a duel, but I'm already doing it! (She did a pirouette jump on top of him while taunting…that whole group was taunting. Sanemi was red with rage as he turned around to look Tsubame straight in the eyes. She calmed down a bit and slowly walked towards him, the rest also slowed down) Tsubame: Hey, dear, these are just jokes, come on, have your money bag, little one… (Shinazugawa was furious and accelerated his pace towards Tsubame) Tsubame: (sighing) There's no point in those who have anger problems… YUUKO! (Tsubame threw the bag on top of Shinazugawa, as he turned around) Yuuko: Thank you, baby~ (she winked and quickly started running, but it seemed that at least two people had already caught up with her) Oh, Iguro Obanai and Kyojuro Rengoku, what an honor to have you here by my side… tell me, Rengoku, What was it like kissing my sister? (The comment made Rengoku blush) Rengoku: Your-your sister? Yuuko: That's right, the beauty next to you~ (Hiroko appeared next to Rengoku, causing him to lose his balance for two milliseconds while Yuuko threw the bag towards her) Hiroko: You took an eternity… Yuuko Yuuko: Oh, calm down a little, Hiroko, at least there is one more here… how about we bother this pair?

(The twins began to juggle the bag, somewhat confusing Obanai and Rengoku… even now it was Yuuko who flirted with Rengoku and caused him to lose his balance a little and fall towards the edge of the roof. Uzui managed to catch up with them and roughly grabbed Yuuko by the wrist) Yuuko: OUCH! GROSS SHIT! (Strangely, the air of the young people changed a little, becoming thicker when they saw that the tall white-haired boy had grabbed Yuuko's wrist tightly, but she let go of the bag and kicked it) Yuuko: RYOKO! (The fire girl appeared with a jump, with a Yumi in hand) Ryoko: (in a cheerful tone) Sorry for the delay, guys ~ (she giggled as she shot a couple of arrows at Obanai's haori, causing him to get stuck against the ceiling for a moment) Apparently it's fun to make this night eternal!

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josefavomjaaga · 9 months ago

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Josefa gets in line, waits her turn and picks something from the hat.

Confused she stares at the tiny writing. Then she shrugs and pockets the strip of paper. She hates duels, but she’s on the safe side here: that prompt cannot be, for once. After all, Eugène has just sadly passed away during a hunt with Lannes’ EvilVoidTwin Roland, in a forrest close to the Void.

But, come to think of it, she does feel thirsty, some punch now really would be nice.

And at the punch bowl…

Well, it is neither really Eugène nor David, obviously. After all, this is a masquerade, everybody here is wearing a mask. So presumably these two gentlemen are wearing the masks of Jacques Louis David and Eugène de Beauharnais, respectively? Very convincing masks too, it has to be said... Oh, and they wear togas and laurel wreaths, because of course they do. They also seem to be in some kind of discussion.

"David": It is quite unnecessary for Your Highness to apologise for wiping your glass with the edge of my toga instead of that of your own. I am well aware that this was not an oversight, but a deliberate offence.

"Eugène": How dare you say that, Monsieur? When did I, renowned for my tact and affability, ever sink so low as to deliberately try and offend somebody?

"David": Well, maybe not to my face… but thanks to modern technology and somebody named Le Google I am quite aware of this letter you wrote and know what you truly think of my work. Not that I should care. I guess everybody is a critic these days. However, I realize my feelings have been hurt in an unbearable way. There is only one solution to this. Is secret slander the only weapon you are acquainted with and will you hide behind your high rank or will you follow me outside?

"Eugène": If you want blood, so be it. I understand it’s sometimes used as paint in modern art. Might help with those deplorable, lifeless portraits you did of the emperor…

With this, they make their way to a side entrance of the hall. Maybe somebody should stop them...

Diversions and Tomfoolery

On this table, there is a very eclectic collection of items. Papers of multiple colours, fabrics, scissors, knives, pens, pencils, quills and... pumpkins?

"It is a most modern trend, as inspired by the Irish and the Scottish, we are told! Carving pumpkins into terrifying shapes!" says a dark haired man in a scarlet red panda mask - though it seems that behind his mask's ears are... black cat ears. Real ones. Huh. He wears a dark green suit with yellow fringes.

The other man, clad in yellow and blue, in a mask of a wasp with antennae and little fangs, clears his throat. "Welcome to the diversions table," he says. "You can use the papers to cut out silhouettes, make collages, draw on them, paint on them, show them off here. Or if you want some inspiration and ideas, you can reach into this top hat and get something kinda weird."

You are encouraged to reply to this thread with your character's valiant arts and crafts attempts as they attempt to do something creative, talk about the very strange prompts inside the hat or to chat to the two masked attendants of this diversion station.

You're also welcome, if you don't RP, to use this generator and respond to this thread with your results or your responses to the results, and if you don't mind roleplay characters interacting with your post, feel free to state that in your post.

Or, you can go back to the entrance, go mingle with people, check out the table groaning under the weight of a bunch of presents or attend to your thirst at the refreshments station.

#napoleonic halloween masquerade event #thread: diversions and tomfoolery #(( I know nothing of David but remembered Eugène's letter ))#(( please feel free to interact if somebody wants to ))

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checkeredchicklet · 5 years ago

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AAAH THE ONE SHOT WITH THE STOVE WAS EVERYTHING! ✨✨Could I also request something? I did feel the duel scene was a bit underwhelming, I did want some more drama tbh (and I love Anthony as well). What about a one shot Anthony x reader, where the reader accompanies Daphne and lots of more drama? Perhaps reader gets hurt, Anthony in panic, angsty and stuff..feel free to adjust

I HOPE THIS ONE IS GOOD TOO!! I took a few creative liberties with this, adjusting the events on the show to fit the request and what not.

I’m coming off of a little bit of a migraine hangover and tbh I’m not sure how I feel about this right now on top of getting back into the swing of school. This is the first day since Friday that looking at my computer for more than twenty minutes doesn’t hurt my head so sorry it took longer than expected.

As always if you’re not happy with this, or if you want to request anything else feel free to slide into my inbox! These requests are SUPER fun.

After Daphne’s scandalous run in with Simon in the garden the night before, Anthony had taken it upon himself to challenge his long-time friend to a duel. The ball was supppsed to be your and Anthony’s grand debut as the newest couple of the season, however, you never got your dance with the Lord, and your dance card now laid empty and forgotten on the floor of the Bridgerton study.

Your dress also laid crumpled in a ball of fabric in the corner of the room. After hearing of your and Anthony’s intentions to begin properly courting, Violet had taken you to the seamstress to get one of your gown adjusted. Genevieve Delacroix had added stunning crystals to the delicate pale green fabric. Your had had been done perfectly by the Bridgerton family’s staff and you had even agreed to wearing a small amount of makeup. However, the night of your dreams abruptly ended when Anthony interrupted your conversation with Colin to inform you both he would be taking Daphne home for the evening as she was not feeling well.

The anger pouring off the eldest Bridgerton was like nothing you had ever seen before and you couldn’t help but wonder if she had rejected the Prince’s proposal, as you knew he had to intend to propose soon, and no night seemed better. However, as Anthony dragged his sister away you couldn’t catch his or Daphne’s eye, leaving your dreams of starting a whirlwind public relationship with Anthony crushed.

You now sat on the desk in the Bridgerton study, Colin pacing around the room in front of you, his boots rhythmically hitting the floor with every step he took. “What if he kills Simon?”

“Colin-”

“What if Simon kills him?”

“Colin I don’t think that-”

“Benedict surely doesn’t want to be bothered with the social scene, does that mean the responsibility to escort all of my sisters through their season falls on me?” The boy in front of you stopped pacing and pulled on the roots of his hair, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m supposed to be traveling soon! Anthony is supposed to be the mature one, he’s supposed to know how to run the family! Not me!”

“COLIN! STOP!” You finally cut the boy off, standing up and placing both of your hands firmly on his shoulders. “Nothing is going to happen to Simon or Anthony, no one saw Simon and Daphne in that garden other than your brother so there’s nothing to hide!” You dropped your hands from Colin’s shoulder.

“But-” both you and Colin turned to face the door of the study, Daphne standing in the doorway, her tone sombre and her head bowed towards the ground. “What if someone did see?”

You stepped away from Colin to face the eldest Bridgerton daughter, your tone changing to one of concern. “What do you mean what if someone saw,” you felt panic starting to bubble up in your chest. “Did someone see you and Simon in the garden last night?” You thought Anthony had been overreacting when he pulled yourself and Colin into the study the night before after you had helped escort Lady Bridgerton home. But if Daphne was concerned someone saw her and Simon kiss, maybe he wasn’t overreacting.

Daphne opened her mouth, as if she wanted TJ speak, before closing it again. Silence fell across the three of you before you heard Daphne gasp. “Cressida Cowper,” Daphne blurted out. “When Anthony brought me inside she stopped me and and asked if I caught a chill in the garden.” You watched Daphne’s expression change to one of concern.

“Cressida Cowper,” Colin started running a frustrated hand over his face again, “saw you and Hastings in the garden last night and Anthony, nor Hastings, know?” He took in a long breath before leering the air out through his nose.

Daphne quickly shook her head. “Colin you need to tell me where they went,” Daphne demanded. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, not finding it proper to interrupt the conversation between the siblings.

“Daphne, Hasting has, he’s done you one of the greatest dishonors,” Colin quickly shook his head, giving his sister a clearly confused look. “I’m sure you want him to pay.”

“I don’t want him to pay with his life!” Daphne’s voice grew louder and you stepped towards the sibilants again, hoping you wouldn’t have to be the one to calm their tempers so no one else in the estate would be woken.

“Well, I’m sure both Anthony and the Duke will do as gentlemen should and shoot wide,” Colin supplemented with a shrug.

You stepped between the two siblings, “besides,” you supplemented, “everyone might just think that Cressida has a grudge against you. You did take the Prince’s attention off of her, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Daphne, however, seemed to refuse to take no for an answer. “Colin you need to tell me where they went.” She turned to her brother again, a desperate look on her face now, “you know Anthony’s pride won’t let him shoot wide.”

Colin puffed air into his cheek, letting it out slowly before speaking. “Fine, but we’re coming with you.”

You had been lucky enough to be able to bring your own horse with you to London, and now, racing towards the site of the duel, you were glad you had. The Bridgerton’s horses clearly had not gotten used to speeding across the hills, as they lagged slightly behind you. Years of living out in the middle of the country had given you, and your horses, the ability to adapt to all different types of terrain. Be it flooded field, rolling hills or even shoulder high grasses, your horses were able to tackle it all.

You were glad your hair, still expertly tied up from the night before, had yet to be taken out as it kept the strands from flying into your face, distracting you from the task at hand. Still slightly ahead of both Colin and Daphne you were able to make out five figures standing in a plot of open land between two beautiful trees. Anthony and Simon were back to back in the clearing, both men clutching a handgun between their hands.

“You can go faster,” you urged your horse while he pushed himself to fly faster through the tall grass field, his breath coming out in heavy puffs. Anthony and Simon began to take slow, steady steps away from each other and you held your breath, knowing you were unable to push your horse to go any faster without him hurting himself.

Both men paused briefly before turning to face each other. Anthony pointed his gun towards Simon, while the Duke aimed towards the sky. Now, within proper distance of the ongoing duel you started to slow your horse. “Anthony!” You swung both of your legs to one side of your horse, trying to keep your balance while you did so. “Anthony stop!” Your horse slowed to nearly a stop and you let yourself slide off your horse’s back, your feet not even hitting the ground before you were running towards the two men.

“What are you doing?” Benedict practically yelled while you ran in between Anthony and the Duke. “Anthony! Anthony stop!” Benedict called when he realized you had already made up your mind. However, his call for the eldest Bridgerton to hold his fire.

Before you knew what had hit you, in both a literal and figurative sense, you felt a searing pain cut across your cheek. The bang of the gun firing didn’t reach your ears until after you had hit the ground, your left hand clutched tightly over your right cheek. Anthony and Benedict calling your name didn’t register either, especially when you pulled your hand away from your cheek and noticed it had been covered in blood.

“(Y/N),” a warm, heavy hand was placed on your shoulder and another pulled your hand away from your cheek. “The doctor needs to make you’re you’re fine, (Y/N),” Anthony’s panicked eyes met your own. However, you couldn’t focus on them with the pain in your cheek and the blood still covering your hand.

An older man crouched down next to you, pulling a medical bag up next to him and opening it before he began expecting the wound on your cheek. “The bullet just grazed her,” the doctor spoke while he began cleaning the wound, “she’s lucky.”

“Thank the heavens,” Anthony breathed out while he pressed his forehead to your temple on your unharmed side, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you could hear his voice break towards the end.

“She’s perfectly fine my lord, keep the wound clean and covered and it’ll heal in absolutely no time.” You winced when you felt the doctor wipe something across your cheek, the pain flaring up momentarily before subsiding again. “I’m sure you could tell Lady Bridgerton it was a riding accident and everything would be believed. “If that’s all, and you gentlemen don’t intend on trying the duel again,” the doctor looked between Anthony and the Duke, “I’ll be going.”

Hasting and Anthony both thanked the doctor before he departed, Daphne and Simon engaged in a seemingly heated conversation along with Colin and Benedict. “(Y/N).” Anthony started, both of your hands held in one of his large ones. “I don’t-”

“I can’t right now, Anthony,” you placed a hand across your covered cheek. “I just,” you let out a frustrated sigh, “I’m questioning if your mind and your heart and in two different places at the moment.” You felt tears begin to gather in the corners of your eyes.

“(Y/N), please,” Anthony seemed to be nearly begging, tears gathered in his own eyes while you stood up. Your hands felt from his grip and you cupped his cheek with one, running your thumb along his cheek bone.

You offered the man in front of you a sad smile before you removed your hand. “I’m going to ask one of your brothers to escort me home while you and the others decide the next steps between Daph and the Duke.” He opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t allow him to. “Once you reconsider priorities we can revisit our arrangement, but I will not be second to any other reckless endeavors you wish to engage in if we do get married.”

With that you turned from the Viscount, still on his knees in the damp morning grass, tears in his eyes and a frown on his face.

#anthony bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony Bridgerton fanfiction #anna writes

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kjack89 · 4 years ago

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An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 5/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage shenanigan-fest, and we’ve actually gotten to the marriage part! Or, at least, the wedding. (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3)

As much as this Author positively loathes to gloat, there comes a time when even the most modest among us must utter those four words everyone hates to hear: I told you so.

Both the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire emerged from their duel with not a scratch upon them and with the Marquess sworn to uphold the honor of Mr. Grantaire’s sister and rectify the situation he caused by joining her in matrimony. As befits the magnitude of the scandal, a special license has been purchased – for who knows what sum – so that the whole affair can be concluded before the Dowager Marchioness even has a chance to book a carriage out to the country to meet her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

Much to the relief of both the Marquess and his fiancée, this Author presumes.

Still, a wedding may signal an end to impropriety, but scandals are wont to continue of their own accord, especially when one can hardly imagine the Marquess settling quickly or quietly into married life. A storm is brewing, one way or another, but rest assured, Dear Reader – this Author will be here to cover whatever may come next. LADY WHISTLEDOWN��S SOCIETY PAPERS, 6 MAY 1831

Enjolras hated to admit it, but he was nervous.

He really hadn’t thought he was going to be, but as he stood at the front of the small, unassuming chapel dressed in the best clothes he could purchase on a moment’s notice from the village, his stomach felt like it was doing somersaults somewhere around his knees, and his palms were sweating so much that he was tempted to wipe them on his trousers.

Perhaps nerves were to be expected. After all, it wasn’t everyday that he got married.

Granted, the wedding itself was going to be a simple affair, just Enjolras with Madame Hucheloup in front of the vicar, whom Enjolras had met once, briefly, the prior day and who had been as drunk as Grantaire had promised, so much so that when Grantaire told him that Enjolras would be marrying his sister, the man did not even hesitate, despite presiding over her burial some two decades prior. He seemed equally drunk that morning, swaying slightly as he hummed off-key, waiting for the ceremony to start.

Joining Enjolras and his not-so-blushing fake bride would be Grantaire and Le Cabuc as witnesses, with only the four of them any wiser to the fact that the entire thing was a farce. Then the only final piece of the puzzle was getting a suitable dowry from Grantaire to give to his mother, and then, finally, Enjolras would be free.

Well, free until such a time came as when he would need to ‘bury’ his fake wife, but that was a future problem, and one he was not inclined to think too closely about at the moment.

Especially when he had much bigger concerns: particularly, the fact that Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup were running late.

He glanced over at Le Cabuc, who looked almost bored, and chanced a look back at the vicar, who didn’t seem at all concerned with the fact that time was stretching on and there was no sight of either of them. Enjolras was just about to excuse himself to go track down Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup himself when the woman in question appeared in the back of the parish, out of breath and – far more concerning – dressed in her usual clothes and not the wedding dress that Enjolras had dutifully purchased to continue the façade, clutching a valise assumedly containing other clothes.

Enjolras frowned and hurried to intercept her. “Beg pardon,” she said breathlessly, her face flushed red as if she had run the entire way from the house. “But there’s been a change.”

“A change?” Enjolras repeated, stupidly. “What kind of change?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Himself is on his way, he’ll explain everything.”

Enjolras would have much preferred that she explain, but given that she looked like she was about to topple over at any given moment, he supposed the polite thing to do was to walk her to a seat before heading to the back of the chapel to await Grantaire and whatever explanation he brought.

So he did just that, depositing her in a chair before hurrying to the chapel door to intercept Grantaire and find out just what explanation he could possibly—

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Grantaire hurrying towards him, dressed not in his Sunday best as was anticipated but rather wearing, of all the garments in the world, the wedding dress.

Enjolras was certain his mouth fell open as he stared at Grantaire, temporarily unable to speak. There was a very small, distracted part of his brain that noticed that despite the dress not having been tailored for him by any stretch, it somehow fit Grantaire rather pleasingly.

He shook his head to clear it of that thought and wrenched his mouth open. “What in the bloody hell—”

“Language,” Grantaire chided, sounding stressed as he finally arrived at the door. “We are on consecrated ground, after all.”

It was a patently absurd thing to say, and accounted for Enjolras spluttering in response, “Yes, we are, so perhaps you can explain what in God’s name you’re wearing?!”

Grantaire drew himself up to his full height and scowled at Enjolras. “I’m wearing a wedding dress,” he said. “As for the reason I am wearing said wedding dress, which I believe is more to the point of what you’re asking, you should know. You’re the one who helped pass the damned thing.” Enjolras stared blankly and Grantaire elaborated, “The law was updated recently, requiring one male and one female witness for any nuptial ceremony.”

Enjolras had a sudden, horrible memory of celebrating a law passed through the House of Lords that was meant to help keep young women from being forced into marriage with their father and brother as the sole witnesses, an all-too-common occurrence. Granted, the efficacy of the law remained to be seen, since too many mothers were frequently willing to go along with such plans, but it was a start, and—

He shook his head to clear it. “And so Madame Hucheloup needs to be one of the witnesses,” he said instead, finally putting together the pieces to which Grantaire had been alluding in his usual, maddening way.

“Well, I thought about simply making up a woman’s name and forging the signature on the certificate,” Grantaire said, “but seeing as how I rather suspect that this particular marriage certificate will face more scrutiny than most, it didn’t seem a particularly wise course of action.”

Grantaire was almost certainly correct about that, but still Enjolras felt something like despair. “Was there no other woman that you could get to be a witness?” he asked, a bit desperately.

“Another woman whom I trust with my reputation, and far more importantly, with yours?” Grantaire asked, arching an eyebrow. “At this late of date?”

“Then someone who would pretend to be a bride for the day?”

Enjolras knew it was an idiotic question the moment he blurted it, and the look Grantaire gave him reinforced as such. “If I would not trust them to be a witness, what makes you think I would trust them to exchange marriage vows with you? Even if using a false name, I know not the legal ramifications and I would not have someone trying to take you for all your worth.” Enjolras blinked, fleetingly touched by the lengths to which Grantaire seemed determine to go to protect him – or at the very least, to protect his estate. “No, that was not an option. Meaning the only option available to us—”

“—Is you wearing the dress and pretending to be the bride.”

Grantaire grinned at him. “Personally, I think it looks quite fetching on me.”

As if to illustrate his point, he ran a hand down the bodice of the gown, a hand that Enjolras could not help but follow with his eyes as it skimmed the creamy fabric that dipped and clung in all the right places— “That is hardly the point,” he snapped, tearing his eyes away.

“No, the point is that the vicar, drunk though he inevitably is, will start asking questions soon, so it’s best we get this over with as soon as possible,” Grantaire said bluntly, his smile disappearing.

When he later thought about it, Enjolras could come up with no rational explanation for what possessed him to say it, but somehow, he found himself scoffing, “Quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Romance?” he repeated, exasperated. “Is now really—” He broke off without warning, and Enjolras was surprised to see his expression soften as he looked up at Enjolras. “Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly, the exasperation gone from his voice and replaced by something gentle, something entirely unfamiliar that Enjolras could not quite put a name to. “What there is between us is the stuff of fairytales, of legend. What Helen felt for Paris, or Samson for Delilah, pales in comparison to the depths of my feelings for you, and were I to search every corner of this world I know that there is no one with whom I would rather share the remainder of my days. Will you do me the honor of joining me at the altar and becoming my husband?”

Enjolras couldn’t help himself – he snorted a laugh. “Very well, I suppose I deserved that,” he said briskly. “But I do hope you manage to find some actual sincerity when saying your vows, or even the vicar might realize this is a farce.”

He offered his arm to Grantaire, who took it after settling his veil over his face so that not even Enjolras could read his expression. “I’m beginning to think you wouldn’t know sincerity if it were to bite you in the—”

“Shh,” Enjolras hissed, and for once in his life, Grantaire fell silent as the two of them traversed the short aisle to take their place at the front of the chapel.

“Ah,” the vicar said, smiling at them both. “Welcome, welcome. We are gathered here today, in the sight of God and—” The vicar let out a loud hiccup and Enjolras bit his lip hard enough to almost draw blood to keep from laughing. He glanced sideways at Grantaire, but couldn’t tell if the man was as amused as he. “—and the witnesses gathered here,” the vicar continued, “to watch as the Marquess of Enjolras and the, er, the…”

He trailed off, clearly casting about for the proper title for Grantaire’s sister, and even though he could not see Grantaire’s face, Enjolras could clearly tell that he was rolling his eyes. “Mistress,” Enjolras supplied helpfully, as it seemed the most appropriate title.

“Yes, that,” the vicar said, nodding at him, continuing without pause, “and Grantaire join together in the bonds of Holy Matrimony. You may face each other and recite your vows.”

Enjolras obediently turned to face Grantaire, hesitating before reaching forward to lift the veil from Grantaire’s face as was tradition. After all, with the vicar no longer facing him head on, it seemed doubtful he would notice that the features underneath were decidedly male.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow as Enjolras lifted his veil, but luckily, made no comment, simply reaching out with his lace gloved hands to take Enjolras’s in his own.

The detour from traditional vows had been Enjolras’s only insistence when planning the ceremony, and he was doubly glad he had insisted on it now, since he was not certain that he would make it through if he had to make the usual promises of honoring and cherishing to Grantaire, especially with Grantaire looking at him like that. Instead, he had opted for seven simple words borrowed from the rather utilitarian vows made by some medieval French men upon joining their households in common purpose with each other.

“Un pain, un vin, et une bourse,” Enjolras said, the meaning as simple as the words themselves: one bread, one wine, and one purse, the three things he and Grantaire would now share, bonded as they were by this ceremony.

Grantaire tilted his head slightly, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He had told the vicar that his sister would opt for equally simple vows, and had assured Enjolras that Madame Hucheloup would not surprise him. But Madame Hucheloup did not stand across from him now, and Enjolras knew without any doubt that Grantaire was going to say something else entirely, and he half-dreaded what words would possibly come out of Grantaire’s mouth. “Une vie et un amour,” Grantaire pronounced, and Enjolras was surprised that the breath seemed to catch in his throat at the simple words, an answer and a challenge to his own.

One life and one love.

Well, he had been the idiot who had asked for some semblance of romance.

The vicar was saying something else, but Enjolras seemed to have temporarily lost his ability to hear, staring still at Grantaire, at that small smile still on his face, trying to figure out why or how he suddenly had the urge to lean in and kiss that smile off of his face.

Without warning, the vicar cleared his throat loudly and Enjolras jumped before glancing almost guiltily back at him, but if the vicar noticed, he gave no indication of it, simply intoning, “What the Lord has brought together, let no man tear asunder. By the power vested in me by the King and by the Lord our God, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss—”

The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Enjolras had leaned in to press his lips against Grantaire’s.

It was over almost as quickly as it had happened, Enjolras pulling away before his brain had time to process what had just happened, or what he had just done, and he felt stricken as he scanned Grantaire’s face, looking for some reassurance that he had not made a grave error.

But Grantaire’s face was entirely unreadable as he reached up to again cover his face with his veil before turning back to the vicar, who was smiling at them both in a sort of genial, patronizing way that for some inexplicable reason infuriated Enjolras. Or perhaps it was just that Grantaire had dropped his hands and turned away.

Either way, as the vicar completed his benediction, Grantaire finally turned back to Enjolras, leaning in to tell him in an undertone, “Madame Hucheloup brought some clothes for me. I’m going to change and then we can return home.”

Enjolras nodded dumbly, tempted to ask how they would explain the sudden disappearance of Enjolras’s bride to any onlookers or the vicar himself, but decided it was not worth it. Especially since the vicar took his leave immediately upon the conclusion of the ceremony, mumbling something about being thirsty as he staggered past Enjolras and Grantaire, assumedly heading back to the rectory.

As Grantaire disappeared somewhere to assumedly change, Enjolras felt slightly aimless, milling about the chapel with nothing really to do besides sign the paperwork, which took about twenty seconds. Without any better option, he approached Madame Hucheloup, whom he reasoned had undoubtedly seen her share of weddings. “I beg your pardon for not asking sooner,” he started, “but is there something I’m meant to be doing for this?”

“Other than standing up at the altar as you just did?” she asked with a smile. “No, m’lord. Ordinarily you’d be greeting guests and such, and overseeing – which is to say, and begging your pardon for wording it such, paying for – the wedding feast, but seeing as how you’ll not be having any festivities…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Other than that, you’d be planning the honeymoon trip, I suppose, but again, I’m not sure what you and Himself have got planned there.”

She gave Enjolras a look that he couldn’t quite interpret and he shrugged as well. “Nor do I, I suppose,” he told her with a tight smile. “Very well. Thank you for your help. You and Le Cabuc can return to the manor if you’d like – Grantaire and I will be along soon enough.”

Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure he had any real authority to give orders to Grantaire’s household staff, but neither Madame Hucheloup nor Le Cabuc complained at the dismissal, simply taking their leave – and leaving Enjolras by himself and feeling, quite possibly, more aimless than before.

While his nerves earlier had been expected, this inexplicable feeling of being unmoored was not. Frankly, as the marriage and the wedding to precede it were both shams, he hadn’t expected to feel anything more than slightly embarrassed at the whole process. But embarrassment was really the furthest thing from his mind as he thought about how he had felt standing in front of the vicar with Grantaire.

It should have felt even more of a farce than just the fake wedding itself, exchanging wedding vows with a man. At the very least, he was fairly certain it was a sacrilege, or making a mockery of the sacrament itself.

And yet, it hadn’t felt that way.

Enjolras had never pondered his nuptials save as a thing to be dreaded, had never pictured himself facing some faceless woman and binding himself to her, so he had no frame of reference for how others might have anticipated feeling, but he wondered if others also discovered upon their wedding day that it just felt...right. Like something he was meant to do.

Were he more inclined toward the philosophical, he might’ve wondered if there was a deeper meaning he should be reading into that, or if this should inspire some deeper questions about fate or predestination, but Enjolras had never been one for such discussions, preferring to focus on the here and now, the tangible ways in which he could affect change. And he did not dwell on them now, instead shaking his head once more to clear it of errant thoughts before going to find Grantaire to see what could possibly be taking him so long to get changed.

He did not find him at all in the chapel and was about to give up and head back to the house alone when he caught sight of a lone figure standing out in the small cemetery next to the chapel. Even without being able to make out any of his features, he could tell it was Grantaire, and he frowned slightly before heading over to join him.

“Grantaire?” he called when he finally drew close, and Grantaire looked up, startled.

“My apologies,” he said, something like guilt flashing across his face. “I completely forgot I had offered to walk back up with you.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened, because something about Grantaire seemed off. Not just that he was back in his usual clothes, though that was certainly a brief disappointment to Enjolras, but something about the set of his shoulders and the tired look on his face. He glanced at the small, unadorned stone Grantaire stood in front of, sudden realization hitting as he read the name: Adélaïde Grantaire.

“My sister,” Grantaire said, unnecessarily. “I just wanted a moment with her. She—” His voice broke and he coughed, once, as if to try to hide it. “She would have been greatly amused by today, I think.”

“The idea of you in a wedding dress?” Enjolras guessed, aiming for levity.

But Grantaire shook his head. “The idea of me getting married at all, really,” he said with a short, dry laugh. “We used to joke about it, her and I, when we were small. She told me that a handsome prince would come along and save her from her suffering, and I would tease that I would marry a handsome prince, too, and we would be princesses together.” He shook his head again, but fondly this time. “Hence why she would get great amusement at my marrying a Marquess in her name.” His smile faded. “Sadly, there was no prince in this or any land who could have saved her, no matter how many stars she wished upon.”

Enjolras bowed his head in understanding. “May I ask how she died?” he asked quietly, hoping Grantaire would not think he was intruding. He had refused to talk about his sister earlier, but Enjolras felt like something had changed between them and he might be willing to say a bit more.

Grantaire just shrugged. “She was very ill for much of our childhood,” he said matter-of-factly. “She and my mother were stricken with fever at her birth – my mother succumbed to it. Adélaïde got better, so to speak, but she was never truly healthy. Then when she was nine…” He trailed off before taking a deep, shuddering breath. “It was quick, at least, in the end. Which was a comfort in its own way.”

Enjolras wished he had some eloquent words of comfort to offer, but he felt tongue-tied instead. So in lieu of words, he reached out and gently rested his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, squeezing it once before letting it fall back to his side. Then he cleared his throat. “So she wanted to be saved from illness...what did you hope your handsome prince would save you from?”

“My father.” Grantaire flinched, whether from the words or from the memories they stirred. “He...he did not like me much. He was mostly indifferent to Adélaïde, but he seemed to find fault with everything I did.”

“He beat you.”

Enjolras said the words evenly, but his vision seemed to flash red in front of his eyes at the thought. Any parent hitting their child was a heinous thought, but for some reason, the idea of Grantaire as a child making desperate wishes to escape with his ill sister made his blood boil.

“Well, he rarely carried it out himself, but yes,” Grantaire said, his tone turning matter-of-fact again “And after she died, it got worse. Thankfully, when I went off to school, he was stationed abroad, and has never returned.” He snorted a humorless laugh. “God only knows how disappointed he would be if he could see me today, but I think he and I are both content to pretend the other does not exist.”

Enjolras was not so content, knowing that there was a man out there somewhere with such little regard for his own son, and it took him a moment before he could manage a response. “If he ever comes back, I’ll kill him.”

Grantaire looked sharply at him, searching his expression for a moment before his own softened. “A noble offer, but I don’t think we’re in much danger of that happening.” He nudged Enjolras lightly with his elbow. “Thank you, though.”

“It is the least I can do...as your husband.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras hesitated before adding, “I promise this arrangement involving your sister, and now you, I suppose, will be only temporary. As soon as everything is handled with my mother, I will find us both a way out of this so that you can return to your memories of her in peace.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I rather wish you wouldn’t,” he said, as if confessing a secret. “It’s been surprisingly pleasant, sharing a devious plot with you. And...sharing this part of myself with someone as well.” He gestured towards his sister’s grave before giving Enjolras a hesitant smile. “Besides, I’m certain our friends would hate for us to return to our usual animosity.”

“Our friends can adjust,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire laughed again. “Even so,” he said, before adding, with a beatific smile and a fluttering of his eyelashes in what he clearly deemed an alluring way, “Besides, you can’t be rid of me so quickly. After all, we haven’t even had a chance to have our wedding night yet.” Enjolras blanched and Grantaire laughed once more. “Now come, it’s time we returned to the house before Madame Hucheloup sends a search party after us.”

They started off together, silence stretching between them for a few minutes before Enjolras remarked, off-handedly, “Do you know, I believe that was the first time you’ve called me by my name.”

Grantaire frowned. “When?”

“When you were doing your little mocking proposal.” Enjolras gave him a look. “Normally you call me ‘my lord’ or ‘Apollo’ or some other asinine nickname.”

“I’m sure I have called you by your name before,” Grantaire scoffed, but he didn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes when he said it.

Enjolras wanted to counter that, and drag the matter into their usual bickering as a way to pass the time, but something caused him to hold his tongue. And as they made their way back up to the manor, he could not help but notice that the time passed just as easily in companionable silence, and that their hands kept brushing against each other as they walked.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les miserables #fanfiction #chaptered #part 5 #bridgerton au #regency au #nobility au #canon era #fake marriage #wedding #death mention #implied/reference child abuse

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itashiro-hitsuchiha · 4 years ago

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New Fandomless OC joins the Blog

Alright so I was inspired by a picture to make a new muse and with a bit of thought and work I believe I have something fun here. Feel free to send asks to her and get to know her or just jump into a thread with her to start the fun. Ladies, Gentlemen, and the rest of you, I introduce you to my newest muse.

Raven Tsukikage (goes by Ray but will answer to Raven as well)

Age: ???? (Looks around 22)

Sex: Female

Race: Human?

Orientation: Bi (but leans more towards males)

Height: 5’9”

Appearance: Long black hair (occasionally has it shoulder length but mid-back is the default) with some strands of bright blue in it, brown eyes, curvy figure (breast size is DD) normally has black eyelinder or deep black eyeshadow.

Personality: Generally upbeat and loves to party. Not one to pass up a challenge when presented to her. Very observant of her surroundings as well as the people within it. When needed she’ll show off her smarts using Sherlock’s method of deduction. Sometimes secretive. Semi-sadistic towards those who wronged her or others. Can be VERY petty. Hyper flirtatious.

Background: Raven was born in Japan a long time ago, even she doesn’t remember how long ago it’s been, and during that time the gods and other beings roamed openly. Her family worked in service to one of the shinto gods but they were a part of a sadistic game of theirs and during such a game she lost her family in a huge fire started by someone who was working for an opposing god to theirs and they were killed as a punishment from the other gods. She learns this after interrogating the arsonist. After that she decided to leave the country and travel elsewhere. Mostly in search of power to oppose the gods who wronged her. After a few years of traveling she came to Europe and gained permission to enter the Feywilds she traveled further and came across an elf named Ranzu and together they discovered the way to access Shadow magic, which was the thing she was looking for. After spending a few months training with Ranzu she parted ways with him and went back to Japan. There she challeneged a shinigami to a duel, She barely managed to win and using her powers to enact a ritual she ended up fusing her soul with that of the shinigami and she obtained immortality which was her goal to spite the gods who played with the lives of her family. Though she was quick to leave the country again as this would bring unwanted attention from the other gods. Since then she traveled the world and just looking to have as much fun as she possibly can.

Normal Attire: Given her aptitude for shadow magic she tends to dress in mostly goth style of clothes, but she mostly veers towards the skimpy side of the style. Most days she wears a short dress with a small veil going from her chest to her neck to give some coverage to her cleavage but it is still visible to any who looks at it. She also wears stiletto boots with leggings with thigh straps. She is a big fan of having some frills in her clothing (pic provided below is her normal outfit.)

Powers: Shadow Magic (Can manipulate her shadows to do a variety of things. main limit is imagination) as well as a few Shinigami powers

Pic:

#new muse #mun post

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ideaforfanficsorsomethingidgaf · 4 years ago

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I just want your reaction to this please.

Dumbledore and Dippet walked inside the office of the Minister.

Albus opened the door to reveal the Minister doing some papers. He took off his glasses to greet the gentlemen.

"Ah. Good afternoon, Gentlemen."

"Minister, Good afternoon to you as well." Headmaster greeted him.

"Good afternoon, Minister." Dumbledore greeted him as well.

"Gentlemen, I called you here because there is something I have to tell you." The Minister to them before the scene faded to black.

------------

Dumbledore has now arrived at the Headmaster Dippet to the location.

"Sir, if I may. Where exactly are we?" Albus asked the Headmaster in confusion as he glanced at the portkey again.

"That is the question that I don't know how to answer as I am just confused as you are," Dippet answered him.

"Hm... Does the map or the letter that Minister gave us any instructions on how to find this Muggleborn Witch?" Albus asked him as he looked around the village with many beautiful structures with weird shapes.

"Let me see," He opened the map to see it glow and they saw two blue dots, which indicate where they are, and one red dot far from the village. "Er... Yes, Albus. Follow me." Dippet told him as they walked and followed the directions to the red dot.

Albus followed him as he glanced at the map as they ventured out the village and onwards to the forest.

It was almost noon when they have found the house that they were finding.

They went up the stairs to the front door then Albus knocked on the door and they both waited for a response.

The door soon opened to reveal, what looks like 15 years old girl, who has long pink hair, wearing a red cape, a pig mask, and a crown.

"Who are you?" The girl asked them, hiding her sword behind her just in case if they were like the people that came to attack and kill her again.

"I am Headmaster Dippet and this is Professor Dumbledore. We are here from Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Heh? HEH?" She said to them with wide eyes.

"I know it seems overwhelming but it's fine to feel like that," Dippet assured her.

"Okay. Hmm... let me see, sorry, I tend to forget things sometimes even though I have like an eidetic memory. Hm... Oh! Yes, Hogwarts! Yeah, I did remember an owl went directly into the glass while trying to deliver what seems to be a letter when I was 11 years old. Which kinda reminds me, how is the owl?" She asked him as she hid the sword in the chest again.

"He is fine, may we come in?" Albus asked her.

"Shit! Sure! Sorry, forgot to ask you." She said apologetically rubbing her head as she let them enter the living room.

"Do you want tea? Or something?"

"No thank you, this will be quick."

"Okay, so what are you going to tell me?"

"We are here to deliver this letter personally."

Dipper gives her a letter and she inspects it and reads out the address.

"From the Ministry of Magic?"

"Yes, Miss Stone."

"Hm..." She gets a letter opener from one of the chests and opened the letter.

She then unfolded it and read the contents.

She sighed after rereading it.

"Why me?" She asks them with a raised eyebrow.

"You are special," Dippet told her.

"... Why do I feel like that's bull. Anyways, sure, I guess I'll attend this school." She told them as she shrugged.

"An excellent choice, Miss Stone. Which reminds me, why did you reject our offer? You have no reason in the letter, only saying, 'Sorry, I reject'" Albus asked her.

"Oh, about that! Yeah, you sent the letter during the worst low point for the village. There was a conflict that was very bloody so all of us had to stay and help our allies." She explained to them as she pocketed the letter.

"May I ask what kind of conflict?" Albus asked her, getting too personal.

"No, you may not because it's very personal. I think this conversation is done. You may see yourselves out." She told them narrowing her eyes at them

"Of course, Miss Stone," Dippet told her.

"We shall see you at the Sorting," Albus said before they both touch the portkey and they left the house.

She sighed at them before grabbing her newly made armor and some enchanted books. Time to make another armor.

-The Next Day-

It was the next day and she just finished cleaning herself up after harvesting her crops when another owl arrived. Good thing the window was open.

The owl landed on the table and Michelle approached it.

She gave the owl a worm before she took out the scroll and the pouch.

She opened it to see the checklist that she will need to buy for school. She has at least a few weeks to get herself so she has plenty of time. She then checked the pouch to see some blue powder. It's a good thing that she made a fireplace a month before last winter.

She nodded at the owl and the owl nodded back before it flew away again.

She puts the scroll and the pouch on the table before she went upstairs and grabbed a backpack. She put the scroll and the pouch there for now and 4 big suitcases of money.

She managed to fit everything in there. She then put the backpack inside a newly made ender chest.

She grabbed an ax and went to one of the trees and started chopping some before replanting them.

She got the wood she needed, she went back to the house and put it inside the wood.

She was making some wood planks when she saw in the chat.

(Dream joined the game.)

She tensed at the text before she took a deep breath to relax herself and continue making some wood planks.

She then soon heard some footsteps.

She looked up to see the leader of the village...

Dream.

She stood up and said, "Dream..."

"Stone..." Dream said to her back.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him as she grabbed a towel and wiped her hands.

"Just checking on you." Dream said as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his green hoodie.

"Cut the crap, what do you want?" She asked him glaring at him as she crossed her arms at him.

"Who were the two people that you let in your home and never came out?" Dream asked as he lifted his mask off.

'And there it is.' She thought to herself before asking him, "Oh, so you were spying on me then?"

"That's what happens when you listen to them and you're exiled." Dream retorted but she waved it off.

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, and about the two old guys? They're wizards and they left by touching something and they like teleported back to their place." She told him.

"What do they want with you, Stone?" Dream asked her with an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing, they just wanted to tell me that I'm to attend their Magick School." She told him.

"What's the school called?" Dream asked her curiously.

"Er... I think it's called Hogwarts or something." She told him as she tapped on her chin with a thinking look.

"Hm... And I assume you accepted it?" He asked her.

"Of course, anywhere is nice as long as it's away from you. Even the Nether sounds nice." She answered as she snapped her neck at him.

"Look, Stone. Are you still upset about what I did?"

"Dream, how would you feel if one of your idols, one of the people that you look up to since your childhood, killed your grandfather in a duel, without any mercy no less, then exiled his family as well as seeing your family getting killed and/or committing suicide because of grief?" She snapped at him almost raising her voice at him.

"..." Dream was silent because he can't say anything.

"That's what I thought. Now leave, I thought we agreed that we won't talk to each other again." She told him as she continued doing her work.

"Calm down, Michelle-"

"No! No! Don't call me that! Don't come here and make me mad! Then tell me to calm down! That's like stabbing someone and telling them not to bleed! You're so illogical!"

"STONE!"

"WHAT!?!"

"....Good luck at school." Dream almost whispered.

"Hm." She grunted as she makes another wood plank.

When she heard the footsteps disappear, she looked around to see if Dream is still there.

She relaxed and sighed to herself.

"I can't wait to go to school." She said to herself. Tears rolling down her face.

#books #amwriting #harry potter #hogwarts houses #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #crossoverfanfiction #mcyt fandom #fantasy #there is some references #fanfics #fanfiction #i used some prompts in the prompt list

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x-spooks · 5 years ago

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Just Right. (Got7 AU) Ep. 1

This is going to be a tugboat of a love storyline. Your name is Inez-Mi. Your stage name is Nyx. You’re the newest member of an existing K-Pop girl group, Goddess, who happens to be under JYP. You’re replacing the leader who left abruptly and under shh, shh, circumstances. This is my first post so if you have questions/concerns/comments please fell free.

Sweat ran trails down the curvature of your neck, disappearing under the collar of your plain black T. It clung to your tacky skin leaving nothing to the imagination. Your chest heaved as your lungs were forced to take sharp scorching breaths. You were definitely questioning your sanity as you stared at your reflection and those of your fellow members. You weren't Asian slim. You weren't build for show. You weren't quite athletic either. Nope. You were comparing yourself to the 4'10" to 5'5", 90 to 100lbs, flawless Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese dolls. The instructor snapped his fingers. "Nyx, you're delayed half a step." He voiced annoyed in Hangul. "I'll improve." You breathed. Your smoky gray eyes met his black ones. You lowered your gaze and bowed deeply. He narrowed his eyes while a hiss of disbelief left his thin lips. Mister Cho had made his disapproval painfully clear. Specially in front of your fellow members and the big wigs. If it wasn't for your father's reputation and name you would've bounced after two days. But you were a Moon. A daughter of an Idol turned famous producer/Actor who gave his free time to excel a company he was a board member to, JYP Entertainment. You rose from your bow. "Again." Mister Cho demanded. Over dramatized groans filled the practice room. A Korean member, Song-I, mouthed a few curses about you being a foreigner and something about choking you to death. A laugh busted from your pouters lip. You weren't one to flex, but you wouldn't take anything physical from anyone specially Song-I dramatic whiny no having ass. "Moon Inez-Mi!" Mister Cho yelled. "Are you wasting all of our time?" Your laugh died in the back of your throat at hearing your full name, "No, Sir." You military straightened your spine. "Everyone dismissed expect Nyx." He growled with impatience, "You stay here until you get it right." You nodded refusing to get upset. You bit hard on your inner lip until you tasted iron. You waited until everyone was long gone before you let your frustration leave you. Your lungs took in a long stinging pull of air. Instead of trying to break your knuckles against the wall of mirrors, You counted backwards from hundred letting your breath leave your chest slowly. After a good five minutes, You walked over to the sound system and snatched up the remote. You stabbed the play button. Music pumped out of the giant speakers arranged in the far corners. You started to do the mind numbingly simple steps. You felt like such a sale out to your gender. Women in history fought tooth and nail to not be seen as walking sex and how you were flushing their progress down the toilet. With every movement your voluminous curves gave way more than your full Asian members. You needed to talk to your Dad. You shoved all those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. Listening closely to the music you continued to dance. You sighed at your reflection after dancing to the same track fifteen times. But You finally got the timing right. Your hands found your slim waist. You did a side turn. You stared at your side profile through the mirrors. Your butt and bust were big even with the tight sports wear. You kinda wished you took after your dad more. But your mom's Mesoamerican/north-western European genes were definitely dominate at least in you. Your eyes were large, circular with smoky gray iris and a deep double lid. Your skin tone was pale with pink undertones. A body that definitely had a Mexican flare. You did have your dad's full pouty lips, delicate nose and his cheek bones. You shook your head. "Fuck this." You sighed in English. You weren't ever going to be one of them. Movement caught your attention. You assumed it was your Dad checking in. He did it from time to time making all the other girls swoon. You let out another sigh, before masking your frustration. "Dad, your avid admirer are not here." Your perfect pitched Hangul voice was stinky with sweet sarcasm. "Dad?" Through the mirror, your eyes settled on a much younger man. He was handsome in a classic Korean drama way. It was then you noticed a few other guys staring in at you over his broad shoulders. They were all handsome in their own right. Your face went from white to scarlet in your embarrassment. You bowed deeply as you turned to face them. You tried to recall their names. "Please. Forgive my tone." You rose as she spoke in Hangul. K-Drama onyx eyes were cold as he took you in. You forced your expression to stay neutral. "I did not mean to be disrespectful." You tacked on. "Moon's daughter?" The tallest one asked not to you, but to K-Drama who had casually leaned in the door jam. He nodded slowly with a blank expression, but his eyes were steady and unyielding. Had you pissed him off before? "You must need the room." You forced yourself to blink so you wouldn't be staring at their stunning faces. GOT7, you suddenly remembered. "Please excuse me. I will leave you be." You rushed over to the equipment stand and set the remote back. "I heard you can do gymnastics?" One asked in perfect English. You glanced over your shoulder and nodded slightly, "I did participate when I was younger." You confessed in Hangul as you turned towards the sound of a masculine voice. Mark. Of course, you would remember the only American other than yourself. Well that was a lie you had a duel citizenship. He slipped past K-Drama and did a front aerial like it was as easy as touching his toes. He landed a few feet away from you. A smile took over your features as you gently clapped. Your embarrassment started to melt away. You took a good four steps forward and force your body to preform a back flip. You landed it out of pure muscle memory. You even did the proper posture for sticking it. You shook her head at your silliness. "I am Goddess's Nyx." You bowed again. A few loose strands of navy blue hair fell into your eyes and framed your face. You rose to see the members who were in the hall were now in the dance studio. K-drama didn't budge. He was still leaning against the width of the door observing.

Mark's smile could be heard in his voice as he introduced the members that were present. "The one still in the doorway is Jinyoung. Yugyeom is the tall one. That's Jackson."

You slightly bowed your head to Jinyoung and Yugyeom.

When your eyes moved to Jackson, he did a front flip so strong he landed in the super hero pose.

A genuine laugh left you as you slow clapped, "I wager your admirers appreciate it extremely." She teased in Hangul.

"You know it." He smiled as he rose from his stance.

K-drama aka Jinyoung voice killed the mood, "Mark."

"Hmm?" Mark glanced over to the door.

Jinyoung made the slightest motions that you barely see out from the corner of your eye.

"Are you following me?" You were suddenly distracted by the sting of annoyance in your older brother and New Manager of Goddess, voice as it seeped into the dance studio from the hall. "Why would I follow you?" A deep male voice countered with venom sharpening his every syllable. "I belong here. You. You're just the spoiled brat to a withered idol who hasn't got it through his thick skull his time has long since past." Jinyoung slammed the door. Not only shutting himself out into the hall, but also silencing the argument. "I don't know who that is, but they're in for a rude awakening." You dropped your beyond proper Hangul and picked up your American English. You started for the door. "That's our leader." Mark offered slightly annoyed himself. You stopped in mid-step. "What?" You glanced over to him. "Let me apology for him. JB and your Father aren't fans of each other." He offered hesitantly. "It boiled over today." Jackson offered. Your eyes went to Jackson then to the door while you wondered what had happened between JB and your dad. Everyone loved your dad or so you thought. A sharp clap gathered all of their attention, "While they finish their yelling contest let's see who can land the most moves." Yugyeom suggested in Hangul, "I'll keep score." "I'm in." Jackson and Mark said in unison. Their attention moved to you once you didn’t say anything. Jackson started to do a pleading puppy dog thing with his face. Mark smiled the sweetest smile and Yugyeom was laying the aegyo on thick. You playfully rolled your eyes while shaking your head. "The one with the least amounts of completions must purchase ice cream." You challenged in Hangul as you walked to the far side of the room. Sounds of agreement shot into the air. "Are we to perform the exact combination or a particular combination we have the most success with?" You called over your shoulder. "Best at." They agreed. "No simple combinations." You shot out in a playfully stern tone. You turned your back to the wall. You only had to wait a few seconds for Jackson and Mark to be next to you. "Ladies before gentlemen." You smiled. You took in a deep breath and made your Nikes do a few quick steps to get momentum. You forced your body to do a roundoff back tuck. You stuck it only to be abruptly face to face with a man who was beyond pissed. Your light eyes quickly took in his features. Two beauty marks above his left eye. His handsome features were set in a brooding expression. You would bet he always looked slightly intimidating. The little girl in you was instantly attracted. Like how you would fall for the rich bad boy in all those mangas you read in your pre-teens. You saw your brother was shoulder to shoulder with him from your peripheral. Well, as close as a 6'3" could be to a 5'11". You smiled a polite smile, but blatantly ignoring their combined attitude and turned on the heels of your Nikes. "Who proceeding?" "Inez-Mi." Your brothers voice was firm. "Il-Gun." You turned to face him but continued walking backwards towards Mark and Jackson. "Its time to go." He spoke in Hangul through clenched teeth. You didn't stop walking, "Sweet, smooth, satisfying ice cream is the reward." You voiced in Hangul as you felt the wall at your back. You leaned against it in a relaxed pose. You looked to Mark and Jackson then simply motioned for the next one to go. They didnt budge. You looked to the man next to your brother. You tried to keep your face neutral. His dark gaze locked onto her gray ones. If looks could kill. His kicked out chin and grimacing lips would make anyone with sense scurry. But did you have any? Nope. Your American arrogance kicked in. "Most honorable Lim Jae-Beom," You said in your sweetest Hangul tone, "you're going to receive lock jaw if you keep clenching your teeth and pushing out your chin like such." Your foreigner feature were set in a concerned expression. Mark, Jackson, and Yugyeom burst out laughing but quickly zipped their lips under JBs murderous stare. Jinyoung disguised his laugh as an awkward cough somewhere out of sight. "Now!" Gun snapped. You leaned off the wall unfazed by his anger and started towards them. You turned on your heels but continued to walk backwards "Forfeit means you owe me bubble tea." You smiled speaking English to Mark, Jackson and Yugyeom. Jackson confirmed with a kind expression. Mark flashed his famous smile and nodded. Yugyeom was red from trying to hold in his laughter. You turned and stopped in your steps. You were a few feet from the brooding twins. You bowed to JB and Gun, "It was a honor to meet you and please excuse my disobedience I did not mean to be disrespectful," You slowly rose with a soft demeanor. You turned at the waist slightly and waved goodbye at the guys. You even made a point to wave to Jinyoung who was casually sitting on the couch behind JB and Gun. His view point was perfect, you thought. He could watch everything unfold without being in the line of fire. You went out into the hall but before Gun shut the door behind him. You heard JB’s deep voice ask, "Why is she speaking like she's a descendant of royalty?" He was definitely angry. You laughed walking ahead of your brother. "Inez," Guns voice filled the hall, "this isn't funny." He growled, "Pissing off JB isn't worth the headache nor the ear full you're going to get from Dad. You need to learn your place." You rolled your eyes hard. "I can't comprehend the reason why?" Your voice caught some of his sassy tone. "Your my Guardian when father is not hovering. So would it not be you who receives father's wrath for not keeping me in my quote unquote place." The squeaking of his teeth grinding meant you had gone too far. "It's on Goddess' schedule for you to get ready for a radio interview." He talked through his teeth. You stopped in your steps until Gun was beside you, "I’m sorry." Your dared a glance up to Guns’ profile. "I did not intend to shove back so hard." An angry smile took hold of his intimidation features. "Dad didn't risk his neck and name for you to fuck this up. You are now the newest member and Leader of Goddess." He started walking so fast that you could barely keep up. "Start acting like it." You wanted to lash out. To scream at him that you had avoided the Idol path with college and spending time in the state's with our mom. But it wouldn't help you. You would come across as whiney, pathetic, and unmanageable. Gun was right, anyways. Their dad found a way to make lemonade out of a scandalous situation. A situation that was being covered up even within JYP Entertainment. Only the higher ups knew what happened and they weren't talking. All you were privy to was you were Goddess' Hail Mary pass. JYP Entertainment was going to drop the girl group, when your dad made the move to drag his 'multi-talented' daughter into the mix. You rolled your eyes hard as you remembered the press release. You were so lost in thought, you bashed into a slim, tall figure as you rounded the corner, "Excuse me," you bowed your head. "My apologies." Your embarrassment was written on your face as your eyes gazed up to a pair of grey, blue irises. "No," The well dressed man paused once he saw Gun. He sized him up with a cold expression, "Excuse me. I'm late and wasn't paying attention." His voice was lighter than You would have guessed. He bowed while side stepping. "Its all for show." An amused smile tugged on your lips as you spoke English. Your eyes settled on his handsome face as he rose. "Nyx?" He asked with a spark of recognition in his eye and finger gun pointing at you. You nodded with a kind smile. You thought of Got7 and remembered Mark and Jackson weren’t the only regular English speaker. "Bam Bam?" You countered. You definitely liked how his expression reflect his mood. There was no way he was Korean. A cocky smirk took over his full lips. "You might want to count to ten and mentally prepare yourself." You commented with some regret lingering in your voice. He arched a well manicured brow in confusion while losing his smile. "I might've," you paused thinking of a nice way to say you straight out disrespected his leader, "danced on JB’s last nerve." His full lips broke into a grin, "No worries." He laughed, "we do it all the time-" "BamBam." Gun voiced annoyed clearly ready to get out of here. He bowed his head in the slightest way. You sighed under your breath, "Gun-Hulk Smash." You felt Guns grip on your wrist. You had to resist ripping it out of his hand. You glanced down at your combined flesh. You were unimpressed. You softened your expression when your eyes found BamBam. "I am behind in my schedule as well it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," you spoke in Hangul as you bowed again. "Good luck." Gun started walking while pulling you with him. "You too," BamBam smiled a kind smile that reached his eyes. His expression soured at Gun as you was tugged away. Once you two made it to the elevator, you tore your wrist from his grasp. Your light eyes narrowed as you stabbed your index finger into the up arrow. You wanted to say something, anything clever to make it clear he wasn't your guys Father, but nothing came to mind. The elevator dinged open. You got in after Gun. You went to the buttons and poked the floor you needed. While the doors were shutting you saw BamBam watching you two. You smiled a polite smile and waved.

#got7 au #got7 fanfic #got7fanfiction #jb #mark #jackson #park jinyoung #youngjea #bambam #yugyeom #kpop fanfic #got7 #lovestory

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boneandfur · 6 years ago

Text

CHAPTER FIVE

Briar is startled from her toilette by a knock at the door. Perhaps it is the maid. But when she opens the door, Lisette stands there in the empty hallway, a shy smile upon her face.

"May I come in?" In her arms is something shimmering and blue, and not without some trepidation, Briar opens the door all the way. "Only, I thought you might not have another dress to wear to dinner."

Briar crosses the room, she opens her trunk. Inside are all the dresses of her Ruin, before Marlcaster tired of her company. Strawberry and cream, the night he took her to Drury Lane to see Cendrillion. Gold and green, like a charm, when she took him to meet her mother. And that last dress, the one she had taken away and burned, it is not here -- and yet the space where it should be still haunts her. She will never forget that dress. Instead, she turns her gaze to the one that Lisette has draped across the bed.

Blue for a spring sky, like the year she came to Edgewater. Blue for his eyes, the man who seduced her and swore she owned his heart. Blue, for the velvet curtains of the coach that carried her away that night from Drury Lane... And blue, for Mother's Ruin.

"Whatever is wrong?" Lisette touches Briar's shoulder, and Briar dashes the tears away with the heel of her hand.

"Nothing, it's nothing." Briar turns her face away from the dress, imagining Marlcaster's face were he to see her come down the stairs in it.

And then she is pulling it over her head, Lisette doing up the impossibly tiny pearl buttons, Zat man will be over zee moon to see you in zis, Miss Daly!

Their hair curled, they sweep from the room, giggling behind their fans to see the gentlemen waiting at the bottom of the stairs for dinner -- Prince Hamid, in full Ottoman regalia, complete with fez and gold braid -- Lord Maximilian in splendid military uniform, sweeping off his cap as he sees Lisette begin to descend the stair -- Mr Sinclaire, in full dinner dress, the dapper country squire, his wife in last year's fashion, sullen and pale at his side -- and Marlcaster, Marlcaster --

"Ned! Is it not the most wonderful dress you have ever seen?" At the top of the stair, Rosamund twirls around and around, giddy as a young girl, clad in a dress of green and bronze to set off her pale hair -- a peasant girl's dress, but for the intricate silver embroidery, the illusion of a bird of paradise fanning its wings across her bronze striped skirts.

Rosamund flips open her fan, half-hiding her face behind it in coquetry, and flicks her eyes at Lisette and Briar, as though to put them in their place -- for how could a falling star or a common weed ever hope compete with the Rose of the World, or dare to?

Briar looks at Marlcaster, willing him to look at her, to look at the dress, to remember -- but the space between them feels even further than before, the length between them that of the Hellespont, only without a light to pierce the darkness. And she is drowning, drowning, like proud Hero -- swept under the waves by the riptide, her former lover's eyes full of Lady Rosamund -- like the night at the theater, when she had watched them from the pit, then as now Marlcaster watching Rosamund like a man bespelled, fan fluttering to her lips.

Kiss me.

•••

"So, Cousin, where is this delicacy you promised us?" Rosamund dabs her mouth, looking pointedly at Maximilian. Her cousin is holding court at the center of the table, Lisette at his side, as though the two of them are duke and duchess, and every guest at the table moths attracted to their court of light. Marlcaster touches Rosamund's knee under the table with his hand, and when she presses her own against it, he laces his fingers with hers, holding them firmly.

No one else in the company notices the way that she seems to have faded tonight, like a flower pressed for many years between sheets of onion skin, but Marlcaster understands, or thinks he does. He lifts Rosamund's hand, pressing his lips to the back of it, and feels Briar's eyes drilling holes into the back of his head, all the way down from the end of the table.

Maximilian raises his glass, and Marlcaster sees Rosamund wince as her cousin empties his fifth bottle of the night. If Maximilian's eyes are wilder than they were the night before, or if he has come back from that little curio shop a changed man, Marlcaster cannot say. After all, he does not know the Cousin Maximilian who went away to war a lad of barely fourteen, following the beat of the drum.

But I have lost a brother, too.

"Mr Woods!" Maximilian bellows, tossing his napkin on the table. "Bring me the delicacy!"

Woods flicks an unreadable look in Rosamund's direction, and at her subtle nod, inclines his head to Maximilian. "My lord."

Sinclaire peers at Rosamund, and upon seeing Marlcaster's hand laced through hers, a dull red flush begins to creep up his neck. "Lady Rosamund?"

"If I may have your attention, please!" Maximilian clears his throat. "Lisette, will you set the tempo?"

Lisette presses her lips together, as though struggling to hold back a smile, and begins to drum her delicate hands on the table. It is a marching song, it is the beat of a war drum, it is a fife and the sound of a thousand boots marching, marching, marching, across the continent, all the way to the gates of hell, from which there is no return. It is a sound that Marlcaster has never heard, and yet it stirs him to his very core. He is on his feet before he knows it, and when Maximilian draws out his bayonet, the sound of naked steel ringing in the dining room, Marlcaster is somehow unsurprised to find his sword in his hand as well.

"Atten-tion!" Maximilian bellows, and throws open the door.

Hamid lets out a ululating war cry that causes Felicity Sinclaire to shriek and swoon, though once no one makes a move to revive her, least of all her own husband, who is hovering protectively near Rosamund. With a growl, Marlcaster shoves him out of the way, the two of them only halted from coming to blows by Maximilian's sharp whistle.

The men snap apart, like the tin soldiers that Harry used to set up on the nursery windowsill, facing in different directions.

"That would have killed you at Quatre Bras, sirs!" Maximilian's eyes shine with a wild light, and when Lisette lays a hand on his arm, he bares his teeth in a snarl. Stained red with wine, he could be any madman on show at Bedlam, and Marlcaster recoils at the look on Maximilian's face, wondering just what kind of wolf Rosamund has let in through her front door.

"Behold, the Kraken." Woods' dry, sarcastic wit is utterly at odds with the mood in the room as he and the first footman struggle through the door, laden with a tentacled creature in a bowl. "Watch out, it's a feisty one." They dump it on the table with a flourish, then back away, the footman not fast enough, drawing back his hand with a cry of alarm where it has bitten him.

"Huzzah!" Hamid cries, breaking into applause. "Mrs Sinclaire, look!"

Felicity miraculously revives from her swoon, simpering and fluttering her lashes. "But what is it?"

Maximilian brandishes his bayonet. "Behold, the symbol of Rams Forge, the fearsome Kraken!"

The Kraken begins slithering down the table at a fearsome pace, leaving a trail of slime behind it. Rosamund screams, flattening herself against her chair, and as Marlcaster and Sinclaire duel to be the first to come to her aid, Maximilian leaps up on the table, sweeping the cutlery from side to side with his blade as he stalks the creature, which has wrapped itself around one of the champagne bottles and is busy trying to pop the cork.

"Don't 'urt it, Maximilian!" Lisette's accent thickens as she stands up in her chair, stepping on the table, which gives a shuddering groan. Maximilian pays no attention, looming over the Kraken, his bayonet poised and ready.

"To your positions, men!" Maximilian thunders, and the room goes so still you could hear a pin drop.

The Kraken pops the cork, and as champagne shoots into the air, the room explodes in chaos.

Felicity swoons into Hamid's arms, and this time he catches her, a tiny smile upon her lips as he fans her face with a napkin, pulling her out of the way of the table. Briar is pressed up against the wall next to Woods and the footman, the three of them gazing out across the smashed china and crystal that litters the floor with matching expressions of utter dismay. The kraken has taken advantage of the distraction to snatch Maximilian's bayonet, and is swinging it in the air. Marlcaster takes one look at the octopus as it swings the bayonet towards Rosamund, and without thinking twice, steps forward, not feeling the tip of Sinclaire's blade as it slices him across the chest, and stabs the creature dead.

Part Two of Chapter Five coming soon!

Tag list in comments. Sorry about the long post, everyone but I'm posting from mobile.

#rosemary lane #my fic #desire & decorum fic #marlcaster x mc #long post

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jace-the-writer-guy · 5 years ago

Text

Brotherhood

In a darkened arena in Vale's largest stadium, silence filled the air. A very deathly silence, one unlike anything any wrestling event had ever seen with the exception of the recent events in World Wrestling Entertainment and All Elite Wrestling with Raw, Smackdown, NXT, and AEW Dynamite being aired with no live audience. The world the two rival companies come from had been dealing with a crisis situation, and their wrestlers performed in empty arenas devoid of any crowd reactions except for if wrestlers sat in the front row and pitched in their reactions. It was eerie, it was strange...

It just wasn't right.

"Ladies and gentlemen... we come to you live from VCW's home, right here in Vale," The VCW Heavyweight Champion, Ryder Argent said into the camera and into the silence of the arena, "I know this is a really strange way for someone to make their debut, but to start our special six-hour long show, please give a warm welcome to our new color commentator and ring announcer, Jace Reznor, accompanied by his daughter and one of my closest friends, Ebony."

No music played in the arena. No video on the tron. Just silence as Jace and Ebony made theif way out of the back and down the stage, and into the ring. He was dressed casually, wearing his usual casual outfit. Blue jeans, his black boots, and a black button-up shirt open to show a VCW shirt while Ebony wore her Purple Heart outfit, just without her armor. When making their way into the ring, Jace grabbed himself a microphone, and he stood next to Ryder as Ebony stood behind them.

"So... hi," Jace greeted everyone watching at home, "You guys around Remnant all know me as the Angel of Justice, and more importantly here, the father of the Archangel. We'll cut right to the point of this and of my weird debut here... But first we'd like to include two very special guests."

Ryder stretched his arm out toward the back in a showing motion. "Everyone please welcome... The American Nightmare, Cody Rhodes."

Just like Jace, Cody came down to the ring from the back to complete silence, wearing a great looking tan suit. He stopped on the stage and looked around the arena, and took a deep breath before walking down toward the ring. Just recently, he and The Elite had come to this arena to beat down the invading Inner Circle, and now he was there for a completely different reason. He stepped into the ring with the others after grabbing his own microphone, and he shook hands with everyone there in the ring.

Jace raised his microphone to his lips. "And now, please welcome The King of Kings, Triple H."

And just the same, The Game himself walked out from the back and down the ramp, wearing a black suit with an NXT pin on the collar. He looked around and just felt the silence around him, and he gave a pained grin. "It never gets easier..." He said, and it was clearly heard by the others in the ring. He gave a look toward Cody, who was looking back at him, and gave a small nod before entering the ring with them all, shaking everyone's hands, even Cody's.

"Welcome to VCW, guys," Ryder said to the two, "Jace, the floor is yours."

Jace took a deep breath through his nose and let it out evenly. "These two men from AEW and WWE came here at Ryder's request. The shape their world is in is... bad right now to say the least. Everything is slowly going on lockdown, and their companies and their immensely talented wrestlers have been working in front of empty crowds for the last few weeks. Their world is in a lot of strife. Ryder and I both know strife. We... we both know how it feels to have an uncertain future. We didn't know if we could ever trust tomorrow again, and now the people that live where these two are from are experiencing the same feeling."

Ryder nodded slowly at everything Jace said and sighed. "The wrestlers of WWE and AEW have been pouring their hearts out in the middle of their respective rings in front of no one for the last few weeks, and we don't know how long it will have to last like that, and it pains us here at VCW to see. They do that to provide live entertainment to their fans to help them have some kind of escape from what's going on in their world. That takes such a level of dedication that I just can't describe."

"So like how Ryder and my papa have been accepted into new families of their own, we wanna offer that to both AEW and WWE," Ebony said after lightly taking Jace's microphone, and she smiled her usual, bright, cheerful smile into the camera, "Because... no matter what and no matter what two companies feel about each other, pro wrestling is a big family."

She handed the microphone back to Jace and he nodded in agreement. "Exactly. We at VCW open our doors and formally welcome WWE and AEW to book their shows here in Vale and take their own styles and their stories all over Remnant to Mistral, Vacuo, and Atlas. We welcome them all with open arms. We welcome guys and girls like Jon Moxley, Keith Lee, Kenny Omega, Drew McIntyre, The Lucha Brothers, The Revival, The Young Bucks, New Day, Kris Statlander, Alexa Bliss, Brit Baker, Rhea Ripley, Riho, Asuka, freaking everyone in these companies!"

Jace felt himself shaking a bit after naming off all those talented people, and he took another deep breath. "Bad blood be damned, pro wrestlers deserve to do what they love to do in front of a crowd," Ryder took over for Jace and put his hand on the older Huntsman's shoulder, "We do what we do to make fans rise out of their seats and cheer, or boo, or whatever, and now with this relationship, the men and women of AEW and WWE can do just that. We know scheduling will be a pain for four shows a week, but damn it we're gonna a pull it off for our fans, and their fans back home. Guys, you're both free to talk now." Ryder finished and both he and Jace stepped aside, and Cody and Triple H stepped forward.

Cody spoke first. "I have to say... I'm humbled and honored to have been offered this relationship with VCW. When we in the Elite fended off the Inner Circle, we all felt something special in the air here. We all miss the roar of the crowd, and we miss seeing the smiles on our fans' faces. I know I left WWE on bad terms. It's no secret. But this is bigger than that, bigger than any grudge we have with each other whether it be what I've done after I left to my family name. Ebony here said it best. Professional wrestling is a family. Families squabble and fight, but when it comes down to it, we unite."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Cody," Triple H spoke up next, and he looked around the arena, "You see, all of what we do is for our fans. We do our best, even if some... questionable things slip out. These days are uncertain for us all, but one thing that is certain is that all wrestlers are part of a brotherhood no matter where they're from. And now, VCW offered their hands in our time of need, and Cody and I pushed all our personal feelings with each other aside, and buried the hatchet so we can provide you, the fans around our world a way to escape reality just for a little bit. Now, we hope to do the same for not only our world via a bunch of technical crap that would take years to explain," He chuckled and grinned, "but to your world too."

"I have to say, this is extremely surreal," Ryder said and looked between Triple H and Cody, "Seeing you two in the same ring, in a VCW ring, and this relationship with our three companies is just... history."

Both Hunter and Cody nodded in agreement. "There isn't any denying that." Cody said.

"This is quite possibly the biggest thing in pro wrestling history right now," Hunter added, and he laughed again, "Maybe even bigger than Wrestlemania."

"So everyone..." Ebony stepped into the middle of the ring between everyone after getting her own mic, "I think there's been enough talk, right? I think our fans are getting restless~"

Slowly, the lights started to come on and even more slowly, cheering began to build and build until the all the lights were on to show the jam-packed arena. It had taken an extreme amount of restraint from the crowd to stay quiet during the opening segment, but now they were roaring, all of them a part of history. Both Cody and Triple H started smiling at hearing all the dueling chants of "WWE", "NXT", "AEW" and "VCW". It was something they both missed and they shared a look with each other before getting on opposite turnbuckles to get the crowd roaring even louder.

"Damn I've missed this!" Cody exclaimed into his microphone, "Come on, everyone! I can't hear you!"

The crowd somehow got even louder after that and both men just relished in the noise. "You guys have no idea how much we've all missed hearing this each and every night!" Hunter said to them all, "This is like music to my ears, and I know all the guys and girls in the back can't wait to come out here to perform in front of you all!"

"That's right, everyone!" Ryder said to the crowd, and he gave a huge grin as Ebony hugged both Triple H and Cody, welcoming them to the VCW family, "For tonight only, this is a VCW, WWE, and AEW Supershow with matches featuring wrestlers from all our companies! And we offer the same to any other wrestling companies on Earth small or large that need a place to showcase their talent! Jace, take it away!"

"With pleasure, Ryder," Jace said and stood in the middle of the ring while the others except for Ryder exited, who took off his clothes to reveal his ring gear, "The following is a Fatal Four Way, champion vs champion match! Already in the ring first is your VCW Heavyweight Champion, The One-Winged Angel, Ryder Argent!"

Jace started grinning even more. "And your next competitor..."

"Shock... the system..."

"Making his way to the ring next... is the NXT Champion, Adam Cole!" Jace exclaimed and the crowd lost their minds when Cole's entrance music sounded over the PA system, signaling the arrival of the leader of the Undisputed Era into the VCW arena...

#oc #jace reznor #ebony renzor #nate the content creator #ryder argent #cody rhodes #triple h #pro wrestling au

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askiisoft · 6 years ago

Text

FAN ART FRIDAY: The Most Dangerous Dame

(Banner art by @ZeeboonInc.)

...And now, we return to you to your regularly scheduled programming.

This week is a tribute to Katana ZERO’s final boss, the enigmatic NULL remnant, Headhunter. So much of her story mirrored Zero’s own—a reluctant killer at the mercy of her own crippling addiction—that players exhausted every alternative to killing her as she crawled pitifully along the floor.

“Maybe you can spare her if you picked up some Chronos in the Slaughterhouse level?”

“Maybe there’s a hidden dialogue branch where she tells you what’s inside the vault instead?”

“Maybe there’s a secret if you let her kill you enough times in a row?”

Ultimately, as she predicted, only one of them could leave that bunker alive. Today we salute the warrior woman who never gave up the fight, even in the face of certain doom.

[WARNING: Contains plot spoilers for ‘Katana ZERO’]

by @moryu

“I win, fucker.”

Zero’s precognition was established early on, but seldom treated as more than an in-universe lampshading of the rapid trial-and-error formula that dated back to 2009′s Tower of Heaven.

It was Headhunter who revealed the full extent of what that power felt like: venting her anger through heinous atrocities only to reset time as if they never happened, or watching her opponent make the same blunder dozens of times, yet feeling her own willpower erode with each ‘do-over’. Her lackadaisical attitude towards death was something totally alien, and its implications re-contextualized much of the game’s earlier plot points. Even here, it seems she’s casually committing suicide just to fight the battle over again, having finally found a worthy opponent.

Just like with Zero’s purported forehead wound and The Dragon’s prototypical facial burns, fans seem to have given Headhunter a prophetic neck scar, as if taunting her foes, “yeah, cut me right here...if you can, that is”.

—

by @55_yamisan

I must confess that I’m not really into the whole “wedding dress” fetish that a lot of fans enjoy, but not even such formal wear could diminish Headhunter’s badass persona.

Someone who wears her decade-old combat fatigues and mask in public clearly doesn’t care much about fashion. Still, sometimes being an assassin requires a disguise, and I imagine this is the extent of what Headhunter was willing to put on to infiltrate her target’s fancy evening gala; take or leave it, Al-Qasim.

The juxtaposition of an an elegant neon dress and black garters with her signature beret, oversized zip-up jumper and massive fuck-off carbine is perfect for a proud, no-nonsense femme fatale who would never embarrass herself by rocking out to EDM or admitting to liking anime.

—

by @stanio_kz

In Eastern mythologies, there is a concept of the ‘red string of fate’, an invisible thread that connects every person from birth to their destined soulmate. For those fated to have their lives cut short, however, it instead links them to the source of their inexorable doom...

@stanio_kz’s illustration of this concept is both beautifully composed and intriguing in its symbolism. The cord around Headhunter’s neck obviously references her grisly fate, but could the two ends leading off-panel indicate a branching narrative, perhaps a reality in which Headhunter won her duel with Zero and lived on to take her revenge? On this subject, the artist says, “It really doesn't make any sense, I just wanted to draw them ...”

—

by @ZeeboonInc.

I don’t think it’s possible to capture the essence of Headhunter’s fighting style—constant teleporting, knife charges, and firing deadly beams from every angle—in a still image, but Zeeboon comes pretty close with these dynamic poses.

Before her shockingly pretty face made her the darling of fan artists everywhere, this interpretation of Headhunter in mask and full garb represented what NULLs everywhere must have seemed like: a gaunt, faceless harbinger of death, unable to reasoned with or defeated by anyone but another Chronos user.

—

by @DEL_streamer

Those of you who follow me on Twitter have already seen this one, but it must be re-iterated: this looks unbelievably awesome.

The sharp angles, ambient glow, and jet-black finish of Headhunter’s mask are one of the most sleek and menacing designs I’ve witnessed, and the way her cloak billows along the line of action to complement her dynamic landing pose sells the blowback from parrying Zero’s attack and makes her the clear focus of the picture.

Comparatively, Zero’s muted colors and more inert kneeling pose that suggest he can barely keep up with Headhunter’s sheer speed, despite wielding a superior weapon.Without having played the game, I might assume she was the main hero, and Zero a nondescript mook.

—

by @shaocixiezi

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call “black humor” at its finest.

At my last job, my going-away gift was a novelty USB drive of Batman, whom my co-workers knew was my favorite superhero. I use it to store backups of my art, and pulling off his head still unnerves me every time.

—

by @Kazzang3

There has been some graphic artwork of Headhunter’s decapitation, yet Kazzang’s minimalist and near-photorealistic interpretation sends chills down my spine.

The dark grey bodysuit beneath her NULL cloak is pitch-black here, leaving the eye nowhere to focus but Headhunter’s face, the outline of her forlorn expression darkened in the harsh glare of red. Such minimal detail, yet such incredible layout and resounding impact that’s impossible to forget.

—

by @spiderbirdo

Katana ZERO’s level of technology seems anachronistic at times; people still use mobile phones and watch movies on VHS tapes, and yet we encounter laser grids, flying gun drones, and cryostasis without remark. Part of Headhunter’s memorability comes from her absurdly high-tech weaponry, beyond what a wartime NULL would have wielded during the war: beam rifles, floating sticky mines, and teleportation abilities to surpass even a Gamma like Zero.

Spiderbird captures that mystique as Headhunter’s mines float around her like Gradius-style Options, bathing her in an eerie magenta glow. She appears as a time traveler might to a modern-day soldier: no face, no past, but carrying a perfect knowledge of the future and tech so advanced that any confrontation would be futile.

—

by @NagataBt

“They may seem dead to you and I, but to them they are still dying. No one to even hear their screams.“

In the weeks following Katana ZERO’s wide release, there was speculation that Headhunter’s demise had spared her from the limbo of living death that await all NULL: “She died before her withdrawal progressed that far,” or “Her death was final because her head was cut off, like how zombies work.” Anything to escape the guilt of killing one of our own for ultimately nothing.

We can only hope those theories are true, for the alternatives are far too bleak to contemplate.

—

by @zenixdd

This is just wonderful: Headhunter, a superhuman stone-cold killer, taking a moment to adjust her hairband just as any other girl would. Her tiny blue earring, mild freckles, and pale bags under her eyes from nights of exhaustion and endless Chronos hallucinations reveal the delicate vulnerability of someone who just mentioned wanting to drink your blood like a juice box.

—

May “Full Confession” play on loop at your closed-casket funeral, Headhunter. Your war, at long last, is over.

If you’d like some artwork featured on a future Fan Art Friday, just use the Submit Button on this blog!

*Gulp, gulp* by @WarioEAG

#katana zero #askiisoft #devolver digital #fan art #fan art friday #headhunter

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claudia1829things · 5 years ago

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"JEZEBEL" (1938) Review

"JEZEBEL" (1938) Review Following the release of Margaret Mitchell's 1936 novel, "Gone With the Wind", some Hollywood studios scrambled to find a way to cash in on its success. Producer David O. Selznick managed to purchase the film rights to Mitchell's novel. However, Warner Brothers Studios decided to do its own Southern melodrama called "JEZEBEL".

Directed by William Wyler, "JEZEBEL" starred Bette Davis in the title role as a headstrong New Orleans belle named Julie Marsden in the early 1850s. Julie's vanity and willful nature leads her to a series of actions, culminating in the loss of the man she loves, a banker named Preston "Pres" Dillard. The movie begins with Julie and Preston engaged and the former demanding the full attention of the latter. When Pres refuses to drop his work and accompany her on a shopping expedition for the upcoming Olympus Ball, Julie decides to retaliate by ordering a red dress (in New Orleans society, virgins wear white). Although Pres accompanies Julie to the ball and dances with her, he eventually has enough of her temperamental and foolhardy behavior and breaks off their engagement. Then he leaves New Orleans to spend some time up North in New York City. Julie eventually realizes she had made a major blunder and spends a year grieving over her broken engagement. However, she becomes determined to mend fences with him, when he returns to New Orleans. But their reunion proves to be bittersweet, due to Pres' new companion - his bride - and the potential danger of a yellow fever pandemic within the city. The road to the 1938 movie began with playwright Owen Davis Jr., whose play of the same title made its Broadway debut in December 1933. Starring Miriam Hopkins, the play only ran on Broadway for over a month before it eventually flopped. Someone at Warner Brothers must have seen some kind of potential in this Southern melodrama for the studio had purchased the play back in 1937. Rumor has it that the studio had specifically purchased it for Bette Davis as compensation for her failure to win the part of Scarlett O'Hara for David O. Selznick's film adaptation of Mitchell's novel. The truth is that Selznick had yet to consider his leading lady for the 1939 film back in 1937. I think Warner Brothers saw the story provided a juicy role for Davis and purchased it. Miriam Hopkins, who had starred in the 1933 play, had hoped to be cast in the coveted role. Needless to say, she was very disappointed when Wallis informed her that he had only "considered her" for the role. Warner Brothers had originally cast Jeffrey Lynn for the role of Julie's true love, banker Preston Dillard. However, the producers of a play he was appearing in refused to release him and the studio eventually turned to 20th Century-Fox star Henry Fonda as a last minute replacement. As for the film's director, Wallis and studio chief Jack Warner's first choice as director was Edmund Goulding (who had directed "GRAND HOTEL"), who was eventually dropped. Next, they approached Michael Curtiz (future "CASABLANCA" director), who dropped out at the last moment. They finally hired William Wyler, who had a contract with Samuel Goldwyn at the time. There have been many comparisons between "JEZEBEL" and the 1939 movie, "GONE WITH THE WIND". Considering the settings and leading female roles for both films, I could see why. But this is about my opinion of "JEZEBEL". The 1938 movie is not perfect. Since the film is set in the Antebellum South, naturally it would feature characters that are African-American slaves. With the exception of two characters, the majority of them are portrayed in the usual "happy slaves" literary trope that has marred a good number of Old Hollywood films set during the 19th century. You know . . . infantilizing the black characters. One scene featuring Julie's maid, Zette, enthusiastically accepting Julie's infamous red gown as a present. Now, any maid worth her salt would recognize the gown as trash. A black maidfrom the 1939 comedy, "DAY TIME WIFE", certainly regarded a cheap rabbit fur as trash and contemptuously rejected it as a throwaway present. But this wince-inducing portrayal of blacks in "JEZEBEL" seemed to be at its zenith in one particular scene that featured the Halcyon slaves greeting Julie's guests upon their arrival at her plantation . . . with cheers. Mind you, I have seen worse in the 1957 movie, "BAND OF ANGELS". Another major scene that I found equally wince-inducing featured Julie and a group of young slaves surrounding her, while they sing "Raise a Ruckus" to her guests. Yikes. I find ironic that a film like "GONE WITH THE WIND", which was equally guilty of its cliched portrayal of African-Americans, managed to feature at least three or four memorable black characters. I cannot say the same for "JEZEBEL", despite having the likes of Eddie Anderson (who was also in the 1939 Best Picture winner) and Theresa Harris in its cast. William Wyler redeemed himself, I am happy to say, in his 1956 movie, "FRIENDLY PERSUASION". Ironically, a good number of the white minor characters - namely men - seemed to be stuck in some kind of "Southern gentlemen" cliché from stories set in the Old South. You know the type - he wears a wide planter's hat, while either holding a glass of booze, a cigar or both; while discussing duels or putting down Yankees. This was especially apparent in one of the film's first scenes at a saloon, inside the famous St. Louis Hotel. There is also one scene, earlier in the film, that left me scratching my head. It featured Preston Dillard at his bank's board meeting, discussing the possibility of constructing rail lines through New Orleans and throughout Louisiana. I realize that the other board members' negative reaction to Pres' support for the railroad was suppose to be a sign of the South's backwardness and unwillingness to accept the advancement of technology. But I found this hard to accept. The movie began in 1852. During this period, the state of Louisiana was already expanding the railroad throughout the state. Nor was the South adverse to accept technological advances, as long as its elite profit from it. If the region - especially the Mississippi Valley - was willing to use steamboats to ship their cotton and sugar to the North, why not railroads? One mode of transportation was just as good as the other. And Southern planters certainly had no qualms in using Eli Whitney's invention of the cotton gin to become the number one producer and exporter of cotton in the first place. So, this scene seemed a bit unreal to me from a historical point-of-view. I have two other problems with "JEZEBEL" that I consider aesthetic. One of those problems featured the film's production designs, supervised by Robert Fellows. I had no problems with the production designs for New Orleans' French Quarter. I had a big problem with the production designs for Julie Marsden's plantation, Halcyon. At least the exterior designs. In the scene that featured the arrival of Julie's guests, Halcyon's front lawn and the exterior designs for the house resembled a large house in a Southern suburb, instead of a plantation house. I did not expect Halcyon's exteriors to resemble some clichéd Southern manor. But it seemed quite clear to me that Fellows, along with art director Robert M. Haas and the film's art department did not put much thought in the plantation's exterior design. Quite frankly, it almost resembled a facade constructed in front of a matte painting, on the Warner Brothers back lot. I certainly did not have a problem with most of Orry-Kelly's costumes for the film. But I had a problem with one in particular . . . namely the infamous Olympus Ball "red gown":

I realize that in the movie, the gown had been originally created for one of New Orleans' most infamous courtesans. And I did not have a problem with the gown's full skirt, which accurately reflected the movie's early 1850s setting. But that bodice . . . seriously? A strapless ballgown in 1852? I do not care if the gown was originally created for a prostitute. No such ballgown existed in the 1850s. The gown's bodice struck me as pure late 1930s. The ballgown is practically schizophrenic as far as historical accuracy is concerned. And I am surprised that so many film critics and movie fans have failed to realize this. Surprisingly, there is a good deal to admire in "JEZEBEL" . . . actually a lot. Many critics have compared it unfavorably to "GONE WITH THE WIND", due to the latter being a historical drama. Somewhat. Well, aside from its use of the New Orleans 1853 Yellow Fever Epidemic and the U.S. sectional conflict of the antebellum period in its narrative, "JEZEBEL" is not what I would describe as a historical drama. Which is why I find the movie's comparison to "GONE WITH THE WIND" rather questionable. Besides, the movie is basically a character study of one Julie Marsden, an orphaned Louisiana belle who also happened to be the owner of a plantation called Halcyon. Screenwriters Clements Ripley, Abem Finkel and John Huston structured the film's narrative as a three-act play - which is not surprising considering its literary source. All three segments of the film - "The Dress", "The Duel" and "The Fever" - served as different stages in Julie's tenuous relationship with Pres Dillard. But the best I can say about "JEZEBEL" it is a well-balanced mixture of character study, melodrama and a touch of historical drama for good measure. I can honestly say that "JEZEBEL" was not some uneven mixture of genres. There is something about "JEZEBEL" that I found rather odd. On one level, the whole movie seemed to be about how a willful and over-privileged woman finally received her comeuppance after causing so much chaos and even tragedy in the lives of those close to her. Yes, Julie Marsden was a selfish and rather childish woman who believed the worlds of others - especially Pres Dillard - should revolve around her. After all, it was her petulant reaction to Pres' refusal to accompany her on a shopping trip that set their break-up in motion. But I must admit that I was surprised to find some aspect of the film's narrative that questioned the 19th society that demanded Julie remained in her place, as a woman. Yes, she was selfish and childish. But she possessed a bold personality that seemed unfit for conforming to society's rigid rules. In a way, I could not help but wonder if some of her attempts to do what she wanted had sprung from some kind of frustration at being expected to remaining below the glass ceiling. Surprisingly, one example was the character Preston Dillard. As I had pointed out earlier, "JEZEBEL" featured the usual "happy slaves" clichés in its portrayal of the African-American characters. But it also used the Pres Dillard character to criticize the South's dependence on slavery. Pres denied more than once of being a follower of abolition. Yet, his criticism of slave labor, his respectful attitude toward slaves like Uncle Cato, his decision to live in the North and his support for technological advances in transportation and an improved sanitation system for New Orleans seemed to hint otherwise. A better example of the film's criticism of 19th century Southern society came from the film's second act, "The Duel". Yes, I felt contempt at Julie's efforts to humiliate Pres and his new bride Amy by manipulating her former beau, the hot-headed Buck Cantrell, into goading them. And I also felt disgusted when her manipulations led to a duel between Buck and Pres' younger brother, Theodore "Ted" Dillard. This proved to be especially ironic due to the close friendship between the pair. But what really disgusted me was not only did Julie eventually realized she had went too far and tried to prevent the duel; both Buck and Ted knew that Julie had manipulated them into that duel and her reason behind her action. Yet, those two morons insisted upon carrying out the duel. For face. I was especially disgusted with Buck and his blind adherence to this "gentleman's honor" nonsense. Buck and Ted's insistence upon carrying out their duel, despite knowledge of Julie's role in it, seemed to be a harsh criticism of a society that encouraged such duels. This is pretty rare for a Hollywood film made before the 1960s, let alone the 1950s. Despite a few quibbles, I was very impressed by the production and art designs for "JEZEBEL". Red ballgown aside, I thought Orry-Kelly did an exceptional job with the film's costumes. The Australian-born designer's costumes came very close to reflecting the fashions of the early 1850s - not only for women, but also for men. I was also impressed by the production and art designs that also did an excellent job of reflecting the film's setting - 1852-1853 Louisiana. The exterior designs for the Halcyon plantation may have been a bust, but I cannot say for the other exterior and set designs. This was certainly the case for the exterior designs for the New Orleans French Quarter scenes, as seen in the image below:

I simply found them exquisite. This artistry was on full display, thanks to the movie's long opening shot that introduced movie fans to New Orleans circa 1852. And we can thank both director William Wyler and cinematographer Ernest Haller for this memorable scene. And this was just the first. Another creative sequence from Wyler, Haller and the film's art designers featured a montage that introduced movie audiences to the film's third and final act - the Yellow Jack epidemic. I did not have a problem with the film's performances. In general. But as I had stated earlier, I found some of the performances for minor white planters and black slaves a bit over-the-top. One of those over-the-top performances came from Donald Crisp, of all people, who portrayed Dr. Livingstone - Pres Dillard's mentor. I thought Crisp took the whole Southern gentleman cliche just a bit too far. I was also a bit troubled by Theresa Harris' portrayal of Julie's maid, Zette. It seemed a bit too cliched in my opinion and I wish that William Wyler had reined in her performance a bit. Harris had better luck portraying another maid in the 1941 period comedy, "THE FLAME OF NEW ORLEANS". There was one more performance that failed to impress me and it came from Margaret Lindsay, who portrayed Pres' Northern-born wife Amy. How can I say this? Would one consider a limp and underwhelming character like Amy as another literary trope? At least for a story set in the mid-19th century? I could say that Lindsay was a bad actress, but I find this hard to accept, considering her performance in the 1940 melodrama, "THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES". Fortunately for "JEZEBEL", it did feature some very solid performances. Eddie Anderson gave a pretty solid performance as Julie's competent stable hand, Gros Bat. Matthew "Stymie" Beard struck me as equally solid as his young son, Ti Bat. Spring Byington was amusing as Julie's slightly snobbish neighbor, Mrs. Kendrick. Margaret Early gave a lively performance as the former's daughter, Stephanie Kendrick. Henry O'Neill was pretty solid as one of Julie's guardians, General Theopholus Bogardus. But I did not find him particularly memorable. Lew Payton gave excellent support as Julie's major domo, Uncle Cato. And Richard Cromwell really impressed me as Pres' younger brother, the intelligent yet temperamental Ted Dillard. But there were two supporting performances that truly impressed me. One came from George Brent, who I believe gave one of the best performances of his screen career, as the uber-macho Buck Cantrell. One, his grasp of a Lower South accent really impressed me. The actor also managed to convey the glimmer of Buck's intelligence behind his masculine posturing - something that made the rupture of his friendship with Ted Dillard rather tragic. The other impressive supporting performance came from Fay Bainter, who portrayed Julie's other guardian, Aunt Belle Massey. Bainter did such an excellent job of conveying the character's tiring efforts to make Julie conform to society's rules, especially those for women. Bainter made Belle Massey's struggles so apparent that when Julie's manipulations led to the Buck-Ted duel, Bainter gave that infamous "Jezebel" speech with a superb performance that may have sealed her win as Best Supporting Actress Oscar. I have read a good number of reviews for "JEZEBEL". And for the likes of me, I cannot understand why Henry Fonda's portrayal of banker Preston "Pres" Dillard was dismissed as either wooden or weak. I find the contempt toward the character rather mind-boggling. I even came across an article in which the author could not decide which male character was this film's Rhett Butler - Pres Dillard or Buck Cantrell. Was that why so many had dismissed Fonda's character? Because he was no Rhett Butler? I hope not. Personally, I found Fonda's performance spot on as the intelligent, yet beleaguered Pres, who finally decided that he had enough of Julie's antics. Fonda's Pres Dillard wooden? I beg to differ. Fonda did an excellent job of conveying Pres' emotions throughout the film - whether it was his initial passion for Julie, a combination of confusion and exasperation in dealing with Julie's childishness, his determination to save New Orleans' citizens in dealing with a potential pandemic, any lingering physical attraction he might feel for Julie following his marriage, and his anger. Like his younger brother, Pres had a temper, but he controlled it through a very intimidating stare that left others unwilling to confront or challenge him. It is a pity that he was never acknowledged with an acting nomination for his performance. Bette Davis, on the other hand, more than deserved her Best Actress Oscar for her performance as the spoiled Julie Marsden. What can I say? She was superb. She would probably be the first to thank William Wyler for his direction of her performance. And perhaps the director deserved some credit for guiding her performance and eliminating some of her bad habits of exaggerated behavior. But Wyler could only do so much. The talent was there - within Davis. She recognized that she had a first-rate director on her hands and did everything she could to give a stellar performance as the bold, yet childish and vindictive Julie. And Davis knocked it out of the ballpark with some of the most subtle and skillful acting of her career. I realized that I have not discussed the movie's most famous scene - namely the Olympus Ball. I can see why so many critics and moviegoers were impressed by it. The film's production manager had scheduled one day for Wyler to shoot it. The director shot it in five days and created a cinematic masterpiece. Each moment was exquisitely detailed - from Julie and Pres' arrival, the other guests' reaction to Julie's dress, Pres' insistence that the band begin playing, the dance, the manner in which the other guests slowly pulled away from couple . . . I could go on. But what really made this scene for me were Davis and Fonda's performances. Between Davis expressing Julie's growing unease and humiliation and Fonda conveying Pres' intimidation of everyone in the room, it was easy for me to see why these two, along with Wyler, became Hollywood icons. I cannot deny that "JEZEBEL" had its problems - including some of its production designs, one particular costume, and the inclusion of Southern character stereotypes - especially African-American slaves. But . . . I cannot deny that when push comes to shove, "JEZEBEL" is a well-written melodrama and a character study of a complex woman. The movie greatly benefited from a pretty damn good script written by Clements Ripley, Abem Finkel and John Huston; an excellent cast led by Oscar winner Bette Davis and Henry Fonda; and superb direction from the likes of William Wyler. I never understood why "JEZEBEL" had to exist within the shadows of "GONE WITH THE WIND". It is more than capable of standing on its own merits.

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winnipegpatty · 6 years ago

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i’ll pretend i’m okay | s.m. story

a/n: read the prologue in my masterlist!

disclaimer: i don’t know shit about royal stuff we’re just out here having fun

“What all is on the schedule today?” I asked Charlotte as we walked towards the back gardens.

“Tea with Phillip is in an hour. Lunch with William is at noon. Afternoon tea with Harry is at four.”

“Jesus Christ, she really wasn’t fucking around.” I muttered, as we reached a set of large doors.

Charlotte pushed the door open for me, “Afraid not, Your Highness.”

We stepped onto the cement steps, and I paused, taking a moment to stare at the sky. Perhaps there were a way out of this. I could try to make a scene, embarrass the Crown. That never went particularly well for, but desperate times and all that. I could try to talk to the parents, maybe see if they’d be willing to push it off. Perhaps I could offer to go to university. That’d give me four years at least. It wasn’t an appealing option, but it was at least an option.

Taking a deep breath, I turned towards Charlotte, “I’m going to go for a walk in the garden.” She nodded before I added, “Alone, please.”

Understanding, Charlotte backed through the door, as I stayed on the steps. The same two Queen’s Guards, I’d embarrassed myself in front of, stood at attention

“Gentlemen,” I nodded at each of them, eyes lingering for a moment on the one with the curls.

“It’s 2019,” I said, to no one in particular, “I really thought the monarchy would be past arranged marriages. Did no one watch the second Princess Diaries?”

Sighing, I stepped towards the garden.

“Phillip was an absolute bore.” I told the two guards as I walked in from the garden after tea.

“William is a fucking wanker.” I told Charlotte after lunch.

She choked on laughter, “So sorry, Your Highness.”

I snuck out of the afternoon tea with Harry, needing a break.

“Don’t tell the Queen,” I told the guard with curly hair, “But Harry is almost certainly a closeted gay man.”

He didn’t respond, obviously, but I liked to pretend I saw a small gleam of laughter in his eyes.

You’d think there would be a small supply of readily available men who met all the criteria of the Queen, but turns out that simply isn’t the truth. For days, it seemed, my schedule was packed full of meeting after meeting with men, just waiting for one that was The One.

But this wasn’t a fairytale.

That was my sister’s story, not mine.

I was convinced that I’d never find The One anyway. No man suitable to the Queen would be suitable to me. And no man like that would desire me either. And while, yes, it was to be arranged, there was still a degree of choice involved, for both parties. I was the princess with a bad reputation. A princess that went out on the weekends and got drunk. The princess that brought nothing but embarrassment to the Crown. I hadn’t attended university, but had instead decided to attend to my own needs. I brought filthy men home, just to annoy my mother.

Men of reputation and standing wanted nothing to do with me. Which is exactly how I’d designed it.

In recent days, filled with men and nothing but men, I’d taken to walks in the garden often. Now, I could lie to you and tell you this was because I liked the gardens. They are beautiful after all. Or I could tell you it’s because I needed to get away from the stuffy men mother wanted me to marry. And this would be true, but not my reasoning for choosing the gardens over, say my own room.

After four days of “appointments” with these suitors, I’d come to rather like the attention of that certain curly haired Queen’s Guard. There was something about his eyes, lingering on me as I walked and as I talked that was exhilarating. As a Queen’s Guard he was directed to not move, unless patrolling his post or encountering a public nuisance. He was not to visibly react to anything around him. And that’s what made him perfect. It was a way to discuss my thoughts and get absolutely no response. Even Charlotte, bless her, did her best to turn even the most horrific circumstances into something you could smile about. It was her worst quality really. Sometimes a person just needs to have a small pity party. And this had become my time and place.

“It’s been four days, and I’ve seen three men every day. That’s twelve men, you see.” I looked at the boy, then turned away. “Twelve guys and every single one of them is a fucking wanker.”

Charlotte would probably kill me if she knew I were out here consistently telling secrets to a random guard. But oh well.

“You know, it’s weird how you guys can really just stand here and not respond to anything. That’s a talent, I think. Really, I mean, props to you guys. I’d be laughing my ass off at the pathetic princess if I were in your shoes.”

I wonder if I could convince Charlotte to bail on one of my appointments to go to the salon. Maybe I could convince her it was to make myself more presentable or something. That might work.

“And you really don’t laugh at people’s jokes or anything?”

Maybe this weekend I could sneak off and do something completely disastrous and stupid. It’d been a while since I’d really pulled anything like that. Honestly, most night I was just tired. I’d curl up in bed and watch something on Netflix. Right now I was binging Queer Eye. I’ve not nothing but respect for My Queen, Jonathan Van Ness.

“Well lads, looks like it’s the same shit but a different day.” I paused. “One direction said that, didn’t they?”

And so it went, my life. Day in and day out. Boys in and boys out. Never once, seeing someone a second time. I really wasn’t sure quite how long this would go on before I would inevitably have to sit down with my mother for tea again. I rarely spoke to my mother, really only in the most formal of matters, but I could imagine she wasn’t happy with me. She was probably high up in a tower somewhere screaming to my father about what an insolent spoiled brat I was.

“What’s your favorite One Direction song, now that we’ve brought it up?” There was no response, as usual. I stared directly into the guard’s stunning eyes, “Well, I for one, love Ready to Run.” I swear to god on my life, he smiled. And I dreamed about it for the next three days.

The first time I made the guard laugh, I thought I was hallucinating. And frankly, I almost hoped I was because he could actually get seriously in trouble for that. Even fired. And I certainly hadn’t wanted that. But god, the sound of his laugh. It was like a fucking angel came down from heaven and just swept me up in it’s heavenly music.

“So a man came to a duel armed with a pencil and paper, and then,” I took a dramatic pause, “He began to draw his weapon.” And he’d laughed. At possibly the stupidest joke to exist, but he left out one quick chuckle before quickly erasing any signs of happiness. It was a drug that I was high off.

___

“Tea with your mother is in an hour.” Charlotte announced upon entering my room.

I looked at her, “Honestly, I’m shocked it took her an entire month.”

“The Queen requests you come in appropriate attire.”

“Leggings and a crop top it shall be then,” I snickered.

Charlotte sighed, but didn’t respond.

She would almost certainly have to retire early due to the extra stress I put on her with all my defiant behavior.

But, staying true to my word, I pulled on a pair of black leggings and a small black bralette. I wore a sheer crop top with embroidered flowers on it. I looked hot, frankly, and the anticipation of my mother’s reaction was like taking a shot. It was one of the few things bringing me pleasure recently, making her life as absolutely miserable as possible considering it’s what she deserved.

“This is what you consider to be appropriate wear?” My mother growled through her teeth as she was sitting at the table, newspaper in hand.

“Well, you never specified the occasion, mother.”

“For god’s sake Y/N, you can do absolutely nothing right.” Anne folded the newspaper and placed in to the side. “Now Lord Mendes will be here any moment and there frankly isn’t time to have you change out of the hideous costume of yours.” She gestured to my body. “It’s honestly like you were raised on a different planet.”

“Or perhaps like I wasn’t raised at all,” I smiled pleasantly.

“Enough, Y/N. Now take a seat.”

“Why are we even here? If I’m just meeting another person, why are you here?”

“Well, since you’re incapable of keeping a man for more than a minute, your father thinks it best for me to be with you from here on out.”

I leaned back in my chair, groaning. “You’ve got to be fucki--”

“Lord Mendes, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” a man named Jeffery announced to us, opening the door and revealing my next suitor.

Anne stood, and I followed suit, my royal training kicking in.

“Your Majesty,” a young, velvety smooth voice came as the man bowed to her.

“Lord Mendes, please meet my daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Y/N.”

“Your Highness,” the same bow now directed at me.

Coming up, I offered him my hand, he gently brought it to his lips pressing a chaste kiss to it as I curtsied.

“Lord Mendes, it’s a pleasure.” I said in a sugary sweet tone, looking up from my hand to meet his eyes.

It was only in that moment that I recognized him as the Queen’s Guard I’d been fraternizing with over the past month. It wasn’t common for Queen’s Guard to be anything but people of the commonwealth, but it wasn’t entirely unheard of for members of rank to join the military or guard.

“No, the pleasure, is most certainly mine,” Lord Mendes returned. His cheeks were a rosy red as his tongue flicked out of his mouth to lick at his lips lightly.

The three of us took our seats, The Queen at the head of the table, and myself and Lord Mendes sitting across from each other.

“Please do excuse my daughter’s dress, Lord Mendes,” Anne sniffed at the air. “She finds it a game of sorts to dress in ways I see unfit.”

“Well,” he smiled across the table at me. “What a daughter would she be if she didn’t give her mother a difficult time now and again, but I do think she looks quite lovely.”

She hummed just as servants came to swiftly serve tea and brunch to us.

“Now Lord Mendes, what is it that you do?” I asked as I poured a splash of milk into my cup of tea.

“Please, do call me Shawn, Ma’am.” I nodded at him. “I come for a long line of Generals, but I chose to attend university at Eton. And recently joined the Queen’s Guard so my mother wouldn’t be able to say I was the only family member not serving the Queen.”

“Well it is wonderful to have you as a member of the Guard, Sir,” Anne responded, taking a sip of her tea.

“Yes, it is absolutely wonderful, Shawn.” I smirked across the table.

___

The Queen was away on a diplomacy trip to France and that meant there was only one Queen’s Guard on the back doors. Which meant time alone with Shawn.

It was nice finally knowing his name.

“You really were going to just let me stand here for an entire month? Talking about all these horrendous guys, when you probably knew you’d eventually be one of them?”

I stared into the hazel eyes, wanting to get a rise out of him.

“You let me think you were just some normal guy, but you’re a fucking noblemen just like the rest of us. Walking into a room and you’re suddenly His Grace, Lord of Hastings. Did you think I would never find out, or were you just hoping I’d find out like that?”

I had half a mind to start poking his chest, but this was the best way to talk to him. When he was completely unable to respond because, let’s face it, I’m a fucking coward. Despite the inkling of a crush that had developed for Shawn over the past month, I was and always had been incapable of having a rational conversation about feelings. It’s part of being a royal. You don’t discuss your emotions because your emotions do not matter. The Crown matters, and nothing else.

“What so I would come out here every day and tell you my frustrations and look at your gorgeous eyes and see those curls and what like I almost started to trust you? And I didn’t even know your name? Is that it?” I huffed, turning away from Shawn, struggling to even understand what was happening.

For all intents and purpose, I was quite happy with Shawn being a Lord. He was the first guy in a string of horrible set ups that wasn’t a fucking prick and I quite liked him. He wasn’t bad on the eyes, his voice had that same velvety sweet taste that his laugh had the first time I’d heard it. He wasn’t completely disagreeable to talk with, even while sitting with The Queen. He had personality, which was rare in my world. He was, really, Prince Charming in every aspect of the concept aside from not being a, well, prince.

In short, he was perfect.

“Your Highness, if I may,” Shawn’s voice came from behind me, almost silent.

I spun around, completely shocked. Shawn could get fired if he were caught talking to me, or anyone for that matter.

“I do believe you’re overthinking this,” His voice was barely above a whisper and his lips hardly parted. From far away, it would most likely not appear as if he were speaking at all, and he certainly wouldn’t be overheard.

“How so?” I questioned.

“I had no plan, Ma’am.” The corner of Shawn’s lips quirked very slightly. “You came out to me every day. You spoke to me. You were always the one approaching me. I just stood here at my post. I never spoke. And I did my very best to never react or respond in any way. I had no idea I’d be meeting you, but I suppose after a month of botched dates, the Queen was quite desperate. I am, afterall, on the absolute lowest rank of nobility. And invite to the Queen’s castle is almost unheard of in my family.”

I scuffed my shoe on the gravel, knowing it would have irked the hell out of my mother. “Well, I suppose I came because, I quite liked you.” Feeling slightly stupid at this confession I rushed to fix it, “I mean, I know I don’t even know you, but I liked something about you. I’m not even sure what. But, if you don’t think I’m completely insane for using you as an outlet of frustration for the last month, then I’d really like to see you again. Preferably without my mother present and when you can talk and not risk being fired.”

“I’d like that, Ma’am.”

“Please, we musn’t be so formal, Shawn. I hate it.”

___

“Charlotte, will you be coming with Shawn and I on our ride this afternoon?”

Charlotte entered the power room where I was patting down my face, preparing for the afternoon horse ride planned with Shawn.

“I believe not, Ma’am.”

“Well, you will be missed,” I replied as I set the makeup brush down. Turning to Charlotte, “But I’m quite excited to speak with Shawn alone.” There were small butterflies fluttering in my stomach, which was a new sensation.

“I’m sure the Queen will be happy to know you’ve made a step of progress, Ma’am,” Charlotte responded.

I stood, moving into my large closet. “He is very handsome, don’t you think, Charlotte.” Not allowing her time to respond, I asked, “Now the maroon pants with the black top, or the black jacket with white bottoms?”

“Maroon.” Charlotte spoke immediately.

“You’re right, much less stuffy.”

Walking through the castle always felt like a maze, even when you grew up in it. And getting anywhere took at least ten minutes. But that was perfect because by the time I reached the front staircase and had began my descent (as any princess does, you don’t even need a ball for that shit), Shawn was already waiting at the bottom. He was dressed in light blue jeans and a thick sweater. The jeans were something you’d never seen him in, but frankly they were doing a lot of good things for him.

“Your Highness,” Shawn bowed.

Traditionally in a setting such as this, it really wasn’t necessary for Shawn to greet me in just a formal way, but it was kind of sweet the way he insisted on being such a perfect noblemen.

“Your Grace,” I laughed a bit through a curtsy as I joined Shawn on the ground floor. “You ready to show me your riding skills?”

“Oh most certainly,” Shawn said, puffing himself up. “I won first prize at Jeffords Jockey Camp in Year 6.”

“Wow, Year 6. Ten year old Shawn must have been a champion.”

“Oh I was, Year 7 wasn’t quite as stellar for me, however.”

I laughed, hooking my arm through his. “Well the stables are this way.” I led him through the castles towards the West Wing.

Shawn was sweet and adorably clumsy and extremely awkward when it came to trying to flirt, but it was as perfect as it really could have been. His personality rose and challenged my wits. He laughed at my idiocy, and I could tell that despite giving off a cherub like good boy quality, he certainly wasn’t as prim and proper as he appeared. As we rode at a leisurely pace we passed stories back and forth. Shawn sharing his university experience, and me sharing some of my man escapades as princess.

“Y/N,” Shawn asked during a short lull in conversation. “I’ve got to ask, what has you so hesitant about getting married?” Shawn tugged on the reins of his horse when she’d suddenly begun trotting faster than mine. “I mean, not to me, of course not to me. Just, in general. Why is the idea of being married so terrible that you had to consistently come and rant about it to a measly Queen’s Guard?”

I smiled, looking over at him, “Well, I didn’t have to come outside everyday, I chose to. I liked something about you that I couldn’t even understand myself. But as far as marriage, it’s not marriage that makes me hesitant. It’s marrying someone who I don’t love at all. I’m not expecting just huge fairy tale story for me, Shawn. But I do want to be in love. I think I deserve that. I’ve given my entire life to this country, why do they get that too?”

Shawn nodded, understanding, but not speaking.

“Here,” I guided my horse, Shawn following, to a small patch of trees. I climbed off mine, tying the horse to the tree, and Shawn followed suit.

“Is it really that difficult being a princess?” Shawn questioned as he tied his horse up in a similar fashion to mine.

“Well,” I motioned for him to follow me through the trees, “I guess it depends on the day.”

Shawn hummed, coming to walk alongside of me.

“Shawn, do you like me too?” I asked abruptly, looking at him. “I know that I’m the one that came to you everyday, and you just had to stand there and listen to me whine usually, but...is this, like mutual? Or am I just crazy to hope that it could be?”

Staring into Shawn’s hazel eyes, my heartbeat quickened. Shawn studied me for a moment while I grew more nervous every second he didn’t respond. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, debating how to respond before he gently grabbed my fingers, pulling me close to him.

“You’re not crazy,” he whispered.

“No?” I gulped.

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s mutual, Y/N.”

___

It had been three weeks since the appointments with suitors had stopped, and I’d begun to exclusively see Shawn. We’d grown closer with each encounter, and we still had many moments outside the back garden, him in his Queen’s Guard uniform and me doing whatever I could to make him smile. Some days he’d lightly nudge me, unbeknownst to his counterpart guard, in lue of a response.

The Queen seemed rather pleased, according to Charlotte. It seems Shawn has settled down some of my antics or something of the kind.

“But, she’d like to set up a meeting with you to discuss the forward proceedings with Lord Mendes,” Charlotte had said a couple days again.

“Forward proceedings,” I groaned. “She really has to kill the joy in everything.”

But here I was, today, for once actually having dressed appropriately. Wearing a knee length powder pink skirt, a white blouse, and a matching powder pink suit jacket. Outfits like these made me want to throw up. But considering I actually liked Shawn, and didn’t want to screw this up, I’d decided I would behave appropriately.

A young man introduced me as I stood outside my mother’s office. I quickly wiped my sweaty palms against the skirt, and took a step into the room.

“Your Majesty,” I greeted her formally, entering with a curtsy.

“Ah, Y/N, you look lovely today.” She brightened only slightly as she looked at me. “Please sit down, love.” She gestured to the seat in front of her desk, and I took it silently, placing my hands in my lap. “Now, tell me. It’s been about a month with Lord Mendes, are things proceeding well?”

I nodded lightly, trying not to show true emotions. “I’d say so. We have plenty of common interests and he isn’t completely terrible company.”

It was sad, but I was somewhat afraid that showing my mother any true emotions would deter her approval. Not that I had solid evidence, but my personal happiness wasn’t exactly priority for my mother. I’d make this seem like I’d decided to do my duty as a princess, and nothing more.

Anne nodded sternly, “That’s good to hear. You know, he’s not of high noble rank.” Her voice wasn’t exactly disapproving, which was good, but she certainly wasn’t thrilled.

“No, he isn’t Ma’am.”

Royalty was weird. While I was talking to my mother, in formal matters like this it was still best to see her only as the Queen and me as the Princess. Almost as though she were my boss. We were discussing what’s best for the country, and nothing more.

“And you’re certain none of the higher noblemen would suit you better?” The Queen questioned.

“I don’t believe so, Ma’am. But, if I may,” I looked to her for permission to continue, and she nodded. “Lord Mendes may not be of high rank, but he is pristinely trained, a complete gentlemen, and he knows everything a nobleman should know. He’s never given me reason to believe he wouldn’t conduct himself perfectly at a function. And as I am not heir apparent, it isn’t of as much importance who I marry. He is still noble, and will continue to bring honor to the Crown.”

The Queen’s face softened and her lips lifted ever so slightly. “I see you are passionate about this. Your points are correct, and I believe we will meet with the Baron and Baroness next week to discuss details of an engagement.”

I nodded to my mother, and for only a moment, allowed myself to smile.

An Engagement. To Shawn.

“Thank you, Y/N,” my mother spoke succinctly. “That is all.”

Taking my cue, I rose from my place and curtsied again before leaving.

I was really getting married. And to Shawn Mendes of all people.

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