its-echo-song - Tumblr blog

its-echo-song · 2 months ago

Text

Malewife Ch 2

We make our way through the palace, the king spares no details about the architecture, expense, and care that went into building it so many years ago. He provides a rich and detailed family history and seems content to have me nodding along, strolling with my hand resting in the crook of his arm like it’s simply always been this way.

It’s hard not to communicate, I have so many questions about everything–an avid lover of history–but am reduced to non-verbal communication. I try to gesture with my hands but he doesn’t understand fully most of the time, so I nod or shake my head and hope that somewhere on the tour I’ll be shown where the advisors are. He takes me to the gardens, slowly making our way through the plantlife with warm, dappled, sunlight dancing between the leaves. He looks lovely like this and once again I find myself wishing I was someone else, wishing I could live this life in earnest. He catches me staring, trailing off his sentence for a moment before giving me a warm half-smile, brushing the hair of my wig off my shoulder. “You look gorgeous.” I blush up at him, smiling despite myself before I turn my attention away from him. He reaches down, plucking a flower and holding it out to me, I take it from him, turning it over in my hands and studying the delicate petals on it. “I have to ask… is it a custom in your homeland to wear a scarf?” He gestures to my face, obscured only out of necessity. I nod at him, avoiding eye contact. “You even hide your face from your husband?” It’s not an accusation in any sense of the word, his questions are all dripping with genuine curiosity. I nod again, this time meeting his gaze as I feel the weight of scrutiny shift into something less stressful. “Does it have to be a scarf? I-I only ask because I could have the seamstress tailor some to match the dresses. I’d like to contribute to your comfort and customs if allowed.” I shake my head, not really able to do much else, and he chuckles. “Sorry, I should get you something to write with.” He calls out for a footman, who seems to appear out of thin air, and asks them for a pencil and parchment. They give a slight incline of the head before hurrying away to gather the items. “I won’t lie and say I’m not curious.” He starts walking again, slow, a meandering pace that tells me he has no real intention of going anywhere, we’re just moving for the sake of it. “You’re already so enamoring, I have to wonder how you look under the mask. I won’t look, of course, but it is intriguing.” I nod along, feeling myself daze slightly, imagining the disappointment on his face if he ever sees mine. Disappointment that would quickly find its path to anger, I’m sure. No man would like to be betrayed in this way. I imagine the feeling of a noose tightening around my throat– that’s enough imagining for now.

As we make our way through the garden I catch stray glances from those tending to it, hear hushed whispers and notice that he tenses when he hears the word ‘mute’ from one of them.

I’m not, but I blush at the situation regardless. Had I been, I imagine I’d be furious with them, but he glances down at me and what would have been angers seems to melt away entirely. He clears his throat loudly and the gardener suddenly glances over at us, flushing before ducking his head in shame.

Nothing more was said, he didn’t even have to address it directly. To be entirely honest, he’s a tad intimidating, I would’ve felt a great deal of fear if I knew I’d possibly angered him. It seems, though, that he’s careful with his anger. Nothing I’ve seen of him, despite the small amount of time I’ve spent in his presence, tells me of any sort of volatility.

I conclude this after remembering last night, the way he’d allowed me to retire to my chambers alone where other men might have been… less gracious, to say the least. I shudder at the thought, pulling my arms around myself as more of a defensive gesture than anything else, but he is already pulling his cloak off and draping it over my shoulders.

A perfect gentleman, it seems. So I pull the cloak tighter around myself, shocked slightly by the weight of it, then shocked again by the scent that clings to it—tea and roses. I glance up at him, wondering if this is his scent or if perhaps his cloak is washed and fragranced that way. Whatever the answer may be, I bury myself deeper within it, pulling the soft fabric up to my chin and surprising myself with the spark of happiness that ignites in my chest.

Then I catch a glimpse of him and my heart flutters. The way he’s looking at me— admiration, joy, a spark of happiness that wasn’t so clearly defined earlier. Good god, my soul dances within me when we make eye contact. He grins and I’m thankful for the scarf over my face as I blush up at him, taking in new details—like how the sun illuminates the golds in the waves of amber that trail down to his shoulders.

“It’s occurred to me-” He thanks the employee who hands him a notebook, passing it on for me to hold.”-that I never even learned your name. It feels kind of strange to ask now, but… well, now that I think of it, I only ever learned the name of your father- Harvey, yes? I’d very much like to know what I should call you.” I realize with this, that he’s the man I’d exchanged letters with– Donald or “Donny” as he’d signed his letters. My mind stalls to a halt for a moment, realizing what he’d asked me and frantically trying to come up with any feminine names at all, as I stare at the ‘H’ I had started on my page out of habit. ‘Helena.’I show him, holding out the paper, and he hums a soft note of conformation. “It’s a beautiful name, befitting its owner.” I wonder if he took classes for this kind of thing, some sort of education in ‘how to flatter women’ that comes with his pedigree. I turn my attention back to the paper, writing a new note. ‘You flatter me. Do you treat all women you know like this?”“No, of course not. I just got very lucky that my wife is someone so easy to find compliments for, I don’t have to search for them at all.”

‘You seem very eager to approve of me.’

“Perhaps I am, would you rather me be more reserved? Do the compliments bother you?” I smile, trying to hold back the bemused laugh that wants to escape. ‘No, I’m quite fond of them.’“Then both of us are in an agreeable situation.” I nod at him, trying to push down the small sting of guilt within me. ‘I admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was surprised when I first saw you.’ His smile sinks ever-so-slightly, a miniscule flash of doubt overcoming his charming nature for the briefest moment. “I hope I didn’t disappoint.” ‘Not in the least, I’ve never seen anyone so handsome.’ And it’s true. I had gone into this engagement knowing I would probably never have any sort of real feelings toward a wife, I’d been more inclined toward the same sex. Seeing him, instead of a woman- pleasant surprise, but horrible disappointment. I’m going to pay for buying into this fantasy with my life unless I can find a way to get out of the engagement gracefully. “I’m glad I don’t frighten you…” He’s looking away, shame seeming to wash over him, draining away the beauty he holds naturally. ‘Why would you frighten me?’ I hold the paper out to him and he reads it, taking his time to formulate a response. “I saw the way you looked at me– it- it was because of the scars, wasn’t it?” I frown, my heart sinking slightly. He’s far too perceptive, a very very bad thing for him to be with my current situation. ‘No, no it wasn’t. I think I was startled by how handsome you were.’ He reads the page and I watch his expression shift as his eyes scan the words. He looks up at me with rosy cheeks and a large grin. “You flatter me- I’ll have to ask you to do that more often.” ‘My pleasure.’ I nod toward the path, leading out of the gardens. “Shall we go on, then?” When I give him another nod he holds out his arm to me and I, once again, walk next to him with my hand in the crook of his elbow.

The path leads down a hill, towards a clutter of trees surrounding a large lake. They’re blooming with flowers, all sorts of beautiful and soft pinks and whites, the air scented with a sweet and woody fragrance. It’s quiet here, nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves and the wind swaying the grass around us. Nestled into the treeline, next to the water's edge, is a large stone bench. It’s engraved with a fern-like pattern, something furling and lush, painted with lime wash in different muted shades of greenish grey.

Donny gestures toward it and we sit together, barely fitting without our shoulders brushing but it’s a touch that I do not mind.

I enjoy the stories he tells of fishing here as a child, sitting on the shore with his sister from sunrise to sundown, the times he’s taken a dip to cool off in the hot summers, the times he’s taken a boat out at night to stare at the stars surrounded by blossoms and fireflies.

He tosses stones into the pond idly while we chat, the action itself is boyish and full of the kind of fresh life you don’t often find in people our age— not anymore. Usually at this stage of life there’s a deepest tiredness, especially from the men who have seen war, but Donny— lord, he could turn dust back into flesh with the way he exudes life, like his spirit is made from lightness and joy.

I watch with interest at the way he picks up a stone, studying it in his hands for a moment, running his fingers over the smooth speckled surfaces before gently throwing it back toward the water. For only a short moment, I envy the skin of a stone.

He picks up one after the other, repeating this small ritual time and time again, never falling out of conversation or missing a word.

Not until the end, where he spends a longer time turning a stone over in his hand. It’s not really an idle action this time, he brushes dirt from it, turns it, brushes dirt from it again, holds it into a dapple of light that’s filtered through the trees and angles it so he can watch the stone glitter— whatever this one is made of, it certainly does glitter.

He looks at me with some intensity, eyes meeting mine, and all else that was being discussed ceases.

“It matches your eyes, you should have it.” He says more softly than I’d ever heard him speak before, tenderness in the tone and sweet to hear like the honey over fresh strawberries in the summertime— refreshing, delicious, and something I could crave every evening.

I take it from him, taking my turn to observe the stone closely, smiling so wide I almost wish he could see it.

It’s prettier than I’d ever have the hubris to consider myself, for this my heart flutters.

‘Thank you, this is a lovely gift.’

He grins at me, closing my hand around it and encapsulating mine in his, “you are lovely, this stone could never compare.”

When evening finally comes around, after we’ve made our way back to the castle and I’m shown to my chambers, I sit on the edge of the bed holding the stone in my hands.

I observe it until I’ve memorized every detail, each small indent, every speckle, every smoothed out crack in the surface, and I find comfort in the cool touch of it.

I smile, placing it on the bedside table as I undress for bed.

Somehow, though, that stone ended up resting in the palm of my hand all night.

#donny tunajsgross #donnytunajsgross #fanfic #darvey malewife au

21 notes · View notes

its-echo-song · 2 months ago

Text

Malewife AU

Just for fun, because Harvey in a dress calls to me.

It’s a business deal, nothing more, nothing less. All we are to each other are performers. We both play our parts, dance for the good of the kingdoms, and everything remains peaceful. We’d arranged the entire ordeal through messengers, a correspondence I’m surprised he’d responded to at all, and now the engagement has been arranged to ally us with them. I get a better deal out of the situation, which I’m sure he knows, seeing as I don’t have as much land or as large of an army. Having their protection ensures safety. It’s been quite the journey to get here, a week by ship, several days of preparation once I’m in her palace, and now we are ready for the ceremony.

Their kingdom does things according to an old tradition, I’m not willing to break it for my disbelief in them, so I am draped in layer after layer of fine silks. They represent abundance, draped over your shoulders so you may never be cold, covering your face so you may never see hardship, over your head so you may have wisdom.

Once you’re appropriately dressed, and apparently blinded, a bishop takes your hand and leads you to the ceremony where you kneel and offer up a gift for your eventual spouse. The bishop says a few words and the engagement process is started, then you’re led out and to the bedroom. It’s there that you’re to see each other's face for the first time since the ceremony’s start. There’s no rule saying you can’t have seen them before- it’s just in this particular instance, I didn’t happen to. It’s no matter, really, because it’s simply a business deal either way.

Though, now that I look up, pulling cloth from my eyes, I realize maybe I wish I had taken the time to meet beforehand. The entire purpose of this was to become engaged to and marry the princess, binding our kingdoms in matrimony, but whoever stands before me is nothing of the sort.

He pulls off the silk from over his head and around his face and I realize with a sick churning of my stomach that this is not only not who I had expected, but that he's the king I had been corresponding with. I hold the fine silk up over my face, wrapping it several times in hopes that it’ll hide my features, and I look him over with my heartbeat settling into my throat. He’s broad, muscular in a way I had never thought possible, hardened by years of training, and as he slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt he reveals a slew of scars over his torso. Those scars match the one over his face, a diagonal gash that appears to have been a near miss to his eyes.

Then I realize with a shock that he’s been talking this whole time, I’d been preoccupied enough to not even notice. I meet his gaze and he trips over his words slightly, face reddening as he suddenly looks off to the side with a hint of nervousness. “I’m sorry- I know this is all… I don’t have any expectations, that’s what I was trying to say.” He settles himself on the edge of the bed, leaving his shirt unbuttoned but still on. I watch his every move with keen interest, trying to gain any clues as to what situation he thinks he’s in- maybe he did expect me after all. Maybe he knew the deal he was making and I’m the only one who was fooled. “A political marriage is a little old fashioned, I’ll admit.” He continues on, “but I do want to have some sort of relationship eventually, if you’re willing? I’ve always wanted to have a wife and eventually a family- oh, I adore children! But- obviously I’m not saying- let me start that over-” A wife, a family- impossibilities for me. “I… want to give you everything you could possibly want.” He says this with such certainty, a final decision that he’s settled into. “I’ll buy you all the best dresses and latest fashion, bring you flowers, absolutely bathe you in the nicest perfumes money can buy- whatever will make you happy, I am at your command. Say the word, I’ll make it happen.” I still haven’t said anything, how could I? He expected a woman, someone who could give him a family, he’d expected a future. If he realizes who I am, he may very well kill me for trying to trick him out of a kingdom- and that would be a mercy compared to a lifetime jailing or a war on my people.

I take a step back, toward the door, on pure instinct- a reaction to the sudden thought of his outrage and my death. His expression falls from easy happiness to a weariness worn so well it must be chronic. “Ah- of course, if you’re- I understand if you’re uncomfortable. Would you like me to have your room readied for you? I could ask the staff to start the fire?” I nod at him, feeling the relief settle in through me. Good thing he’s considerate- good thing he’s not too eager to celebrate the engagement. “Okay. I’ll do that, then.” He stands and gives me a smile, one that doesn’t fully make it to his eyes like before, and makes his way to the door behind me. “I’ll have the staff come fetch you once it’s ready.” He gives a slight bow at the waist before closing the door behind him and I let out a breath of relief. I have to figure out a way out of this- surely there’s been situations like this before? We can’t be the only people who have ever had something like this happen to them?

I’ll just sleep on it tonight and tomorrow I’ll try to have a conference with an advisor. Until then… I guess I can’t let him see me.

After a while I’m shown to my room. It’s large but no less comfortable for the abundance of space. The floor has a large and ornate rug covering the wood by the bed- a large canopy style one, crafted beautifully with detailed carvings in the bedposts.

Across from the bed is a stone fireplace, situated in between two large and beautiful wardrobes. Across from the door, where I currently stand, is a large bay window seat— the perfect place to sit and read, ready with blankets and plenty of plush pillows.

It affords a view of the gardens below, beautiful arrangements of flowers in a wild array of color, plenty of evergreen plants, and hedges that have been shaped into various animals. Through all this, though, my attention lands on the bed– rather, what rests on top of it. A beautiful, blue, silk gown, embroidered with delicate floral patterns along the sleeves. There’s a note sat next to it, scrawled out in beautiful script. My beloved,

I hope this will suit your tastes as well as I’m sure your company will suit mine. May we have many years together.Beloved. Strong words from a man who literally doesn’t know anything about me- though I still find myself flushing slightly at them, rereading the note a few times. Either way, even if he is suited to my particular tastes, it’s clear that I am not at all suited to his. I pick up the dress, admiring the stitching, the smooth feeling of the fabric, before opening a wardrobe to place it inside. It’s filled with dresses as well. Though, I note with a slight twinge of disappointment, none of them seem to have an accompanying note. I hang the dress before searching for some sort of evening attire. I settle on a night gown, close enough to the usual fare to suit me, and get changed into it. It’s a shame, really, had things been any different– had my mother birthed a daughter– perhaps I would be in a favorable situation here. He seems kind, strong and rugged– the kind of man I wouldn’t mind spending my time with, or at least one who doesn’t offend the senses. I crawl into bed, focusing on the flickering lights of the fireplace, watching the way the flames dance. This, of course, is my life. I cannot give in to fantasy, wish for a man I know I cannot have, it’s not like I know him at all anyway. I’ll sort this all out tomorrow.

I’m woken by the sound of knocking on my door. A woman's voice calls through, gently informing me that it’s morning. I groan, blinking the drowsy blur out of my eyes and assessing my surroundings. For a moment, I’d forgotten. The moment I realize I’m not home, it all comes back to me in a stressful rush of remembrance. I need to try and sort things out before they get out of hand- more out of hand, anyway. I get out of bed, pacing for a moment, considering my avenues. I should probably find someone who knows the laws here, a lawyer or advisor- another knock at the door. “Ma’am? I’ve been instructed to come help you get ready.” Oh no- The door starts to open and I glance around, grabbing the first thing I can find. It happens to be the silk fabric from last night, but it’ll work for this purpose. I wrap it around my face, head, and shoulders, praying that the staff member doesn’t ask too many questions. She opens the door and steps inside, offering me a cheery smile. “Good morning miss! Sorry- would you like me to come back later?” I almost answer, catching myself right before I say anything and stopping short of exposing myself with my voice alone. I shake my head no- gesturing for a pencil and paper. “Oh! Right away, ma’am.” She curtseys quickly before vanishing back outside. A few moments pass where I’m on my own, I use this time to start searching through the wardrobes. One is filled with dresses, the other sports shelving and drawers. The shelves hold several wigs- for this I breathe a breath of relief, slipping the silken fabric off and fitting it on as quickly as I can manage. That’s one less thing I’ll have to try and conceal, at the least.

When the woman comes back, she carries a pencil and paper with her, handing them over to me.

I scrawl out a note asking if they have an advisor on staff, when she reads it she grows visibly nervous. “Oh- uh… yes, we do- you wish to talk to him?”

I nod and she clears her throat. “Okay, I just need to let the king know, and he can take you.”

Before I can write out another answer she disappears out the door with a polite curtsy. I swear under my breath, starting to think of excuses to give him when he gets here.

I need to look the part when he does— not much I can do for my face except cover it but I should at least try to wear something more than a nightgown.

I stare over at the wardrobe and sigh, opening the doors and pulling the blue dress out.

If nothing else, I can acknowledge his attempts at connection.

So I slip the dress on and struggle with the corset, tying what I can only imagine to be a mess of a bow in the back after several minutes of frustration.

I go to the mirror, peering closely at myself— it would be a lie to say I’m not pleased at the results of my deception. I may not be considered beautiful as a woman, but I would have never expected as much. I do feel, however, as if my appearance is passable so long as he doesn’t scrutinize too closely.

I give myself a final nod, smoothing out the skirt with my palms, before turning and settling into the window seat, waiting for the king.

An eternity passes me by before he knocks, gently, calling out to me in a soft voice. Calling me ‘my love’ as if we’ve been married under ordinary circumstances. He doesn’t even know my name- I believe I missed his last night.

When I don’t answer he knocks again, waiting, so I go and open the door. He smiles brightly down at me, all charm and handsomeness, I flush when I catch his eyes and turn my gaze away.

“You look beautiful!” He says, taking my hands gently, holding me at a slight distance to himself. “Thank you for wearing the dress— you didn’t have to. It’s to your liking?”

I nod at him and he grins wider. He starts telling me about it, who made it, how long the design took, all the while pulling pieces of fabric for me to look at or gesturing— after a few minutes of this I realize he’s retrying the corset.

I wouldn’t have noticed, except that he had to pull the laces slightly and he apologized for it as he did.

When he’s finally done, he stands in front of me again, admiration being a synonym to his countenance. “So- I’m told you want to see the advisor?” Though his looks tell nothing, his tone is worried, slightly hesitant.

I nod, pulling away from him and grabbing the paper and pencil. ‘I wasn’t sure who to ask to show me around the castle.’

He laughs, shaking his head. “Oh! Don’t bother him with that! I'd be happy to show you around, my dear.”

He offers his arm to me, expectantly, and I take it with a slight fluttering in my chest.

This is going to be much harder than I’d imagined.

#donny tunajsgross #donnytunajsgross #fanfic #darvey #darvey malewife au #Donny is a hopeless romantic to the extreme

25 notes · View notes