#louis speaking to your muse in french

[dul4c]

every time louis speaks french in the show i swoon a little inside

[alewritesfics]

Bonus Chapter 2

Summary: A new Bridgerton comes into the family

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Sharma Sister! Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: unedited, pregnancy, child birth, umm probably is not that good since I have obviously zero experience with pregnancy, nor do I really know how childbirth was in those times, everything is based on what i saw from videos, happy ending, most probably is cringy but oh well

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

When you found out:

It was 2 months after your wedding, Anthony and you had gotten back from your honeymoon 2 weeks ago.

One sunny afternoon. You had woken up a few hours ago and were currently taking a walk around the garden, accompanied by Edwina and one of your ladies maid.

“How was Paris?” Edwina asked curiously “Was it as beautiful as everyone says it is? Oh how I wish I could go there. I heard the parks are just as beautiful, and all the French men, c’est magnifique, imaginez tous les beaux hommes” you laughed at her

“Might I remind you, you are engaged, I am sure your intended would not appreciate you speaking about other men” You looked at her teasingly “ But to answer your question, yes, the men were very handsome. Do not tell Anthony I said that” They both laughed, shaking their heads.

“Louis will not care, he knows I am interested in him only” She looked up suddenly “Speaking off, I am still shocked he asked me to call him by his given name only 2 weeks into courting, he certainly does not like formality”

You stayed silent and stopped in your tracks when an ill feeling overcame you. You held on to your stomach when nausea hit you.

“deedee?” Edwina questioned when she saw you stopped walking “Are you alright?”

You sighed when the nausea went away “Yes, I just felt a little nauseous , it is gone now, nothing to worry about” You waved her worried look off and continued walking

“Are you sure you are alright? You rarely get sick”

“Yes, Bon, nothing to worry ab-“ You suddenly stopped yourself feeling dizzy, holding on to her arm for support “ Maybe we should head back inside, I am not feeling so well”

“I told you, it must be serious, you do not get sick easily” She gasped “ What if it is a disease?”

She spoke all the way back inside, suggesting several things that could be wrong with you. You denying each and everyone of them.

“Hey, you are back early. I would have thought you would not be back for at least 20 minutes more” Lady Violet Bridgerton mused when you entered the drawing room

“Y/n was feeling sick, perhaps we should call for the doctor, she rarely gets sick” Edwina replies

“I am fine, bon” You shook your head before you covered your mouth with your hand, running to the nearest door to go outside.

You heard your sister and Violet rushing behind you. You knelt down next to the grass and lowered your head, vomiting everything you had for breakfast.

You groaned once you were finished, wiping your mouth. Your sister rubbed your back soothingly, while Violet helped you stand up and ushered you back to the drawing room

“How long has this been happening?” Violet asked, a knowing look in her eye.

“I have been feeling sick ever since Anthony and I came back from our honeymoon. I figured it was just a bug I caught from the journey back home, it would have maybe gone away in the next days but it has been 2 weeks and I am still feeling ill” You replied sitting on a chair

“Perhaps dear, we should call the doctor”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Edwina, Violet and your mama looked at you expectantly when the doctor retired from the room

“Well?” Lady Mary questioned

“What did he say?” Edwina added.

You grinned happily, looking up them. “I am with child”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

When Anthony found out:

“Anthony” Y/n spoke up as she entered his study.

Anthony looked up from the papers on his hands and smiled at her “Hello love”

“I need to speak to you” She played with her hands nervously

“I am all ears” He put all his attention on her “What is it?” He smiled comfortingly

“Anthony” Y/n stayed in front of the desk, looking at him seriously, Anthony’s smile faded at her serious face.

He stood up and rounded the desk to get closer to her, he grabbed her hands “Is everything okay?”

“Anthony, I am with child”

He stared at her shocked, unable to form a single sentence “You are with child?” Y/n nodded smiling happily

Anthony turned around, and covered his face. Y/n stared at him confused until she heard a sniffle coming from him, she grinned teasingly “Are you crying?”

He turned around fast “What? who is crying? It is certainly not me” he scoffed trying to play it off

“You are with child, our child. Y/n, we are going to be parents, to our very own little Bridgerton, oh my God”

“You are with child” He laughed happily and hugged her tightly, before he spun her around making her laugh. “ I love you, I love you, I love you, God I love you”

He stopped spinning her and pulled her into a kiss “ Thank you, thank you for making me the happiest man alive, I love you” He laid his forehead on top of hers, caressing her cheeks lovingly “ We are going to be parents!”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Month 2:

“Anthony, will you stop it!” Y/n exclaimed as she walked down the stairs “ Nothing is going to happen to me, your family is going to be there”

“I still think it is not safe, everyone is going to be in the park, someone could bump into you and make you fall” Anthony argued with his wife “No, I do not think you should go”

“Your family will be there, you will be there” Y/n said “ Besides, everyone knows we are expecting thanks to Lady Whistledown, the ton will be careful not to bump into me”

“The ton could not care less, maybe we should stay home, I mean, we could spend the day in bed, I could bring you your favorite fruits and maybe a book, or we could spend our time doing something more fun” Anthony suggested

“No, we are going to spend the day with your family as we planned, and that is final, now let us go, we should not let them wait for long in the park” Y/n walked out towards the carriage

“But, love-“

“It is final, Anthony, now get inside”

“Alright” Anthony grumbled as he stepped into the carriage

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Month 4: ( a few minutes after the epilogue)

“Perhaps you should not play Pall Mall”

“Anthony”

“No, listen to me, you can get tired very easily while hitting the ball, it is not good for the baby” Anthony tried to defend himself, Y/n looked at him unamused

“But it is fine to do other strenuous activities?” Y/n huffed, the rest of the siblings watched amused at the argument that was sure to start

“Give her a break, brother, she does not need you breathing down her neck with every little thing she does” Benedict said

“You shut up, when you get married and your wife is with child, we will talk” Anthony grumbled

“Love-“

“No”

“But, love it is not-“

“No”

“We should instead-“

“Anthony” Y/n groaned “Let me play peacefully, I implore you”

Anthony stayed quiet, watching unamused while Y/n hit the ball on her turn. They cheered when the ball went perfect between the wicket and walked backwards to the ball of the next person’s turn.

Y/n was walking next to Anthony, he held her hand as they walked. Y/n tripped on a hole, Anthony quickly caught her.

“See, it is not safe, what would have happened if you had fallen?” he scolded her

“But I did not fall”

“But you could have”

“But I did not”

“But you could have”

“Stop being so overprotective all the damn time, Anthony, I am fine, I did not fall”

“But what if-“

Y/n scoffed “ You know what, I am going to sit down, I am tired of hearing Anthony whining and complaining about everything” She then walked to where Lady Bridgerton was seated at “And Anthony, you are sleeping alone tonight”

“What? No, wait- Love, do not be like that, love-“ Anthony walked behind her, trying to change her mind “ Alright, you can play and I will shut up now” Y/n smiled smugly and turned back around, grabbing her mallet once again

Anthony sighed while the rest of the siblings chuckled behind them. Yeah, whatever Y/n wants, she gets and Anthony can never say no, he truly was whipped.

☆☆☆☆☆

Month 7:

It was 3 in the morning.

Y/n was in the nursery room they had prepared for their baby. She stood looking out the window, caressing her bump while she was deep in her thoughts. Anthony was still fast asleep in their bedchambers, without a single clue that his wife was not in the bed.

“Dear? What are you doing here?”

Or at least that is what she thought.

“Hey” Y/n smiled at him slightly

“What is wrong?” He approached her, hugging her from behind, his hands coming to rest on top of hers

Y/n sighed “I realized that with how busy we have been with preparing for our child, and the celebrating. I have not truly stopped and think about it all” She turned around to look after him, her bump making space between them “I am happy, truly, But I cannot help but be scared too”

“Women have died during childbirth, what if I- what if I am one of them” Y/n looked at him sadly while he stayed quiet “ What if I do not make it. my child, our child, will grow without his or her mother, I will not get to see our baby grow, nor give them my love. Anthony, I am very afraid that it will happen” Y/n started crying, Anthony pulled her into his arms, as best as he could.

“I am also very scared” Anthony admits “What will become of me if I loose you? You are the air that I breath, I cannot possibly function without you. And I cannot bare the thought of the pain you will be in when the time comes.” Y/n sniffled

“I saw what my mother went through when she was giving birth to Hyacinth, it was horrible, her screams of pain, i-“ he stopped himself “ We will just pray that everything will turn out alright”

“That is all we can do for now, pray”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Month 8:

A glass shattering breaks Anthony out of his work. He stands up rapidly and walks out of his study.

“Love?” He calls out in the halfway

“Anthony!”

Anthony breaks out into a run as soon as his wife yelled for him. He runs down the staircase, horrified on what could have happened to her terrorizing his whole body. He enters the drawing room, instantly finding his wife hunched over in pain, he rushes to her instantly.

“Call for the doctor, it is time” Y/n breathes out, pain evident on her face

“Help! Somebody come urgently!” Anthony yells out to the maids or the footmen, anyone.

The rest of the Bridgerton family had gone out to the park for a family day, Anthony and Y/n decides to stay in as she was due any day now, and they did not want to risk anything happening while in the park. Several maids and the butler came rushing into the room, taking in the scene that was their Viscountess, about to give birth to the future Viscount.

“Call the surgeon, immediately”

He carried her upstairs into the bedchambers, laying her on their bed, removing her hair that had fallen on her face while she groaned out in pain. The surgeon entered the room, followed by several maids carrying plenty of blankets and bowls with warm water.

“My lord, If you may please exit the room, you cannot be here while she gives birth” the surgeon said

Anthony stood up angry “You do not expect me to leave my wife while she is in pain” He looked at her agitated when she cried out in pain once again

“Please understand, my lord, It is not costumed for the husband to be with the wife when she has the baby. “

“Anthony, what is happening?” Violet Bridgerton appeared in the doorway, the rest of the family following behind her. Soon followed by Y/n’s own family, except Kate, she was still in India.

The Viscount stepped out to inform them of what was happening. The maids taking advantage of the fact that he had left, closed the door. He turned back to enter once more when he saw that they had closed the door, he went to open it when his mother spoke up.

“Anthony, you cannot be inside” Violet shook her head

“Mother-“ He was cut off by Y/n screams, “ I cannot stay outside while she-“ he huffed out, too worried to form a full sentence

“I know, but you should let the surgeon do what he does best and give him his space” Anthony nodded giving in and started to pace outside the corridor

Inside the room, Y/n was breathing in and out, guided by the maids as the surgeon tried to prepare her as best as he could.

“Breath in, my lady, you are doing wonderfully just breathe in” a maid urged her

Y/n shook her head “ I cannot, It hurts, I just-“ She screamed out as another painful contraction hit her, gritting her teeth tightly.

“My lady, you have to start pushing” the surgeon advices her “ Push”

Y/n breathed out harshly, pain racking in all of her body, she grabbed the bed sheets tightly, and pushed out, screaming out, her back lifted off the bed before she fell back down sobbing.

“I cannot do it, I need, I need Anthony” She sobbed shaking her head, sweat falling off her forehead

“My lady, the Viscount cannot be in here, you have to push, it will all be over when you do” Y/n shook her head

“I need him, I need my husband, get him i-“ She sobbed out when another painful contraction hit her.

Her screams of pain were heard outside. Anthony sat down on the floor, burying his head into his hands to hide his tears while he listened to his wife’s cries of pain. Scared out of his mind that something wrong could happen to her and he would not be there by her side.

“She will be fine ” His mother said soothingly, sitting down beside him “ She is a fighter”

Anthony’s shoulders shook with silent cries “ I cannot loose her, mother”

“And you will not” Violet said “Have faith”

“One last push, my lady, I can see the head, just one more push” the surgeon said

“I cannot.” She sobbed “ I feel like I am going to die”

“No you will not, my lady, just push” a maid reassured her

Y/n grabbed onto the nearest maid for support, she yelled out, putting all her strength into the push.

“Yes, that is it! Push harder ” the surgeon, Y/n gritted her teeth and pushed again one last time, her body lifting from the pain before she fell back down, tired “It is out! The baby is here”

Y/n closed her eyes, her chest heaving up and down harshly, she covered her face in relief, crying into her hands before she uncovered her face, looking at the maid who was holding the baby out to her.

“Congratulations, Viscountess Bridgerton, you have a healthy baby boy”

Y/n smiled, caressing the baby’s cheeks, her eyes observing the baby’s face lovingly.

Outside, Anthony lifted his head from his lap once he heard the yells cease, he stood up, wiping his face and walked towards the door, it opened before he could get close. The surgeon appearing in front of him.

“ It is done, Viscount Bridgerton, they are both safe” the surgeon smiled and let him pass

Anthony entered the room, both of their families following behind him. He sets his eyes on Y/n holding their new baby, he approached her, his eyes on the baby while new tears filled his eyes, Y/n smiled up at him. He sat now next to her and Y/n handed him their baby. Anthony held him carefully although he was scared that maybe he could fall from his arms.

“It is a boy” Y/n’s hoarse voice informed him “Our little Edmund” Y/n looked up at at her mother in law who smiled at them once she heard the name

“You are alright?” Anthony questioned

“I am alright” Y/n assured him, laying her head on his shoulder, looking down at little Edmund, or Eddie for short.

“You look beautiful”

“I am sweaty” Y/n chuckled

“Still beautiful” Anthony looked around the room at their family, happiness radiating on their faces, before he looked back down at Eddie “Our little Edmund”

[garzamccurdy8]

hermes crocodile birkin 10

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[elleharperbcu]

Task 1: Concept Mind Maps

In pairs we produced a mind map of each others concept, for our final project, planning and considering how we can explore the following factors:

Research

Experimentation

Sampling

Development 

Production

Personal Reflection/ Evaluation 

Project/ Time Management 

We was asked to write down our narrative on a piece of paper and swap with our partner so we had each others narrative. We then wrote down our ideas that came to mind related to their narrative, in order to help them with new ideas they may not have thought of or knew about. I really enjoyed this task as it helped me learn new facts about the petite world and I was able to complete lots of research. I always loved hearing about my peers narratives and their stories as to why they are focusing on a certain topic. 

My completed research from this task:

Petite models - 

After researching about types of work available for petite models I found out that other than Moss, most petite models do commercial and catalogue work. Models who work in fashion generally work with high street brands specialising in petite clothing. It is very rare for a petite model to find high-fashion work on the catwalk or for designer labels. This is something that I find unfair as your height should not matter. However, petite models are not restricted when finding work. This is due to an increase in brands catering for men and women with smaller frames and shorter legs, petite models are now employed to keep up with this fashion industry demand. 

Successful petite models - 

Models who have refused to obey the stereotypical image associated with top designers, catwalks and campaigns are creating a path for petite models. These inspiring successful models have completely ignored the height restriction demonstrating that a smaller stature is required in the fashion industry. “Successful petite models are making an impact in a tall girls stomping ground, ignoring the confinements set upon them.” 

Twiggy -

A british icon in the sixties and only 5″4. She revolutionised the stereotypical look of the era, starting a new breed of supermodels. Her height is rarely mentioned due to her confident persona that demands attention. She is still the shortest model with such a supermodel status. 

Beautiful dreams - Twiggy records her first single 

Anja Konstantinova - 

Russian-Australian model, her impressive range of work includes, Vogue, Marie Claire, Urban Outfitters and French Connection. At 5″4 her height is not an issue with each shot demanding attention with her striking features, blonde hairs and natural posing instincts. The successful model discovered in a melbourne hair salon has received lots of rejection in her career, but she continues to break boundaries in a predominantly tall industry. 

She explains: “People in Australia don’t accept shorter girls because they are a bit harder to work with, you have to photograph them in a certain way.”

How to make the most of your petite frame - 

Don’t draw attention to your shorter height when interacting with clients and via body language. You will have to work extra hard to get noticed, which means standing tall and learning to highlight your height in photos. Never be caught slouching and be sure to work on poses that lengthen your lines. Good posture and strong stature goes a long way when presenting yourself to an agency meeting and photoshoot. 

Petite models who changed the fashion industry -

Lily-Rose Depp

Lily-Rose made her runway debut with chanel in 2016. She is just 5″3, but that did not stop her from becoming the muse of fashion icon Karl Lagerfeld. 

Amina Blu 

This German/ Pakistani beauty is 5″1 and no stranger to New York Fashion Week. Amina has walked for Kanye West more than 5 times. With her unforgettable looks and signature looks, Amina will keep making headlines. 

The ‘Size 0′ movement

Sizes range from 0-2 which is extra small to 14-16 which is larger. Smaller sizes are usually petites, and larger sizes usually found in womens or plus size departments. 

The size-zero ban is proof fashion industry on finally listening to customers. The use of size zero models has been a fashion industry scandal for many years. France’s top fashion house have committed to stop underage and size zero models from featuring in catwalk shows and advertising campaigns. Owners of brands such as Saint Laurent and Louis Vuitton say they want to persuade others in the industry to follow suit. The industry has long been accused of promoting unhealthy body images of women and ignoring well-documented health problems experienced by models. In 2017, the French government voted through a law requiring models must have a medical certificate confirming they were not dangerously underweight. 

“No model under 16 years will be recruited to take part in fashion shows or photographic sessions representing adults.” Models between 16-18 years will no longer be allowed to work between 11pm and 6am and must be accompanied by a parent or chaperone if required to stay away from home. 

“The wellbeing of our models is a fundamental subject” the statement from LVMH read. 

Mallory Schlossberg - “I’m part of a huge demographic that retailers largely ignore - here’s why it’s so frustrating” 

When reading this article I very much related myself to it, she mentions being reminded of her height near enough everyday, she is 4″11 like me. “There are only a few times when I'm reminded how short I am: when I'm riding the subway and someone pushes right into me because I'm not in his peripheral vision, when I can't reach my kitchen cabinets and hop onto the counter, and when I'm shopping.” 

When she was in high school and college she frequently shopped in the kids section. She mentioned it being impressive to see the selection that’s available for wealthy, stylish kids these days. She is able to wear a lot of designer apparel that are much cheaper than adult prices as kids clothes takes less fabric to make. However, it comes to a point in an adult woman's life where you do not want to shop in kids section anymore, she wanted to wear apparel for women because she is a woman. Adult size small dresses zip up just fine, but they hug in all the wrong places and drag on the ground or are longer fit on her than they’re supposed to be. 

“It's frustrating. How do you shop for clothes and not look like a child in children's clothing — or a child playing dress up in her mother's closet?”

There are retailers that do cater to petite women although the ranges are very limited. 

“Walk into Ann Taylor, Loft (where I buy my jeans), J. Crew, Banana Republic, or a department store, and you'll see selections of petite clothing, often relegated to a small corner with an odd amalgam of apparel, as though the merchandise team is wondering, "who is this petite woman? Is she a mother? Is she frumpy? Is she a decaying 90-year-old? Is she youthful and feisty? Is she too young to show off her curves? Is she a virgin?" The answer  — from a petite woman — is that she is none of the above, and she is all of the above. The petite woman is just like the regular-sized customer...only shorter.”

Retailers seem very confused with how to deal with short women. Topshop and Anthropologie are starting to recognise that short women like to look fashionable too, but the lack of options and concern for petite shoppers is noticeable. The reason as to why there are fewer petite options and not all stores offer apparel for smaller-framed women is because it requires a different design pattern. 

As blogger TanyaTheAnonymousModel wrote on Jezebel:

"For a dress to look the same on a petite woman, a standard size woman and a plus woman — for the hem to hit at the same place on each woman's leg, for the waist to sit at the appropriate height, for the neckline to flatter but not overexpose, for the pockets to be useful, easily reached, and neither too small nor too big — requires, in effect, three totally different paper patterns, each with a separate, and expensive, development process."

The Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City offers a continuing education course in image consulting, combining petite and plus size bodies together as "special size" customers — noting that they make up about a tremendous amount of the population. The course description reads as follows:

"Over 70 million U.S. women fall into the special size category, that 50 % of the population is actually under 5'4", and 65 million women are considered plus size. Designers, patternmakers, retailers, stylists, and image consultants, and wardrobe technicians can all benefit from this in-depth workshop that demystifies the special size business potential. Learn the facts behind the figures with practical information for fulfilling the expectations of the special size customer with proper fit, fashion, and service. Highly recommended for anyone looking to increase sales and services. Interact with our two industry experts as they each tackle the dilemmas facing both the petite and plus-size customer and give concrete directions for satisfying their shopping needs and fashion passions."

An undergraduate course "sketching for fashion designers" mentions that "Large, half-size, petite, and junior-size figures are featured to study proportions used in the industry". Showing petites aren't entirely ignored in design school, they just aren't given equal attention. They're generally not on runways; runways are about aspiration, and who aspires to be 5'2''?

“Petite women have not been celebrated loudly as equals. They have not been given body-positive model icons to speak on their behalf, although we do have Kelly Ripa, Snooki, and Kim Kardashian in our corner. There has not been a call to action. There hasn't been any real vocal repugnance, but instead, there's been a silence and a void, which is too telling. Petite women have been pushed aside, not permitted to speak — much like the children for which many try not to be mistaken.”

[doomarchives]

David Annandale’s The Harrowing Of Doom: An In-Depth Review

So, I was kindly offered an advance reviewer’s copy of The Harrowing of Doom by David Annandale for the Marvel Untold series, a new prose line revolving around Marvel’s villains. Although I’m not personally familiar, the author’s prior written work and academic scholarship indicated a strong background in fantasy, science fiction, as well as horror film and literature - all essential elements of Doom himself honestly, whether in his character, design, or formative influences. A promising start from the outset! 

To no one’s surprise, I was especially excited for this one. Doctor Doom is both my favorite Marvel character and area of nerdy comics expertise, and Annandale sounded like the perfect candidate to tackle him. 

The Harrowing of Doom centers around a conflict familiar to those who know the character. Taking place fifteen years after his ascension to the throne, Victor von Doom is still hellbent on rescuing the soul of his mother, Cynthia, trapped in hell by the demon Mephisto. His yearly attempts to save her have been fruitless thus far, but he believes he can really do it this time, enlisting the help of a new character, Maria von Helm, and some of his lesser known subjects (also new characters) to accomplish the task, by building a machine called The Harrower. The noble scheme is further complicated by the reappearance of Prince Rudolfo Fortunov, son of the monarch deposed and murdered by Doom years prior, who is equally determined to take back what he believes is his birthright by any means necessary. The novel is a relatively dense and detailed one, and as a true blue Doom enthusiast, I have a dense and detailed review to match.

The first thing that I personally take note of in any material involving Doom is the author’s perspective on the truth of Latveria’s “benevolent dictatorship.” It immediately speaks volumes about a writer’s perception of Doom’s accountability and sense of morality; it kind of ends up coloring his entire characterization. That being said, I was really pleased by the evenhandedness with which Annandale treats Doom’s Latveria and his influence upon his subjects. It slots in neatly with some of the greats, Lee & Kirby, Jonathan Hickman, Roger Stern, etc with the acknowledgement that Doom is indeed a despot with an iron fist and a will absolute, but one who cares for the wellbeing of his country. Through dialogue from his subjects like the skittish Father Grigori Zargo and diehard loyal Captain Kariana Verlak, the reader gets the sense that Doom’s rule may be the best leadership Latveria has ever known. (A brief aside: another great strength of The Harrowing of Doom that has to be mentioned is the fleshing out of these different original characters. Maria von Helm was a particularly welcome addition, as a close friend of Doom’s mother and a far more empathetic magic user compared to him.)

Verlak is openly married to Dr. Elsa Orloff, a trans woman and neurosurgeon of international renown. Both of them had experienced the Fortunov rule that predated Doom’s, with Orloff even having fled Fortunov’s Latveria when she first come out as transgender, in fear of his tyrannical rule and the dangerously transphobic legislature he enforced called “The Laws of the Person.” It is apparent that Doom exists in obvious juxtaposition to the prior ruler’s bigotry. Beyond the total erasure of all previous discrimination and state-enforced bigotry, he has Verlak appointed in a role of great prominence, gave Orloff the tools she needed to succeed in her field, and even shares an exchange with her where he remarks that he knows her from her publications in the Lancet Neurology and that he appreciates them for their “speculative” approach. In an excellent exchange between Father Zargo and the rebel Prince Fortunov, the priest, who is by far Doom’s number one fan, explains Doom’s mesmerizing hold on the populace and the benefits they reap from his rule, despite it being a despotic one:

“I’ll be explicit, all the same,” said Zargo. “Doom is a sun king, even more fully than Louis XIV ever was. Latveria is a world power. How? Because of Doom and only because of Doom. Latveria’s strength and its wealth come from his inventions. And the beams of his sun touch every citizen. Universal basic income, free healthcare, free schooling, free universities, free training to the highest level of your calling - all of these things flow from Doom.”

“Free?” Fortunov snarled.

“The price is obedience, yes,” said Zargo, “And yes, Doom is feared.” Zargo stopped himself from saying Vladimir was feared and hated. [...] “Even though Doom is feared, he also is Latveria in every sense that matters.”

What I really appreciated was the author’s ability to walk the tightrope of acknowledging how beneficial Doom is for the country and his protectiveness over his domain, whilst also acknowledging Doom’s intense paternalism that ultimately favors his own goals. Doom, as well-read comic fans would know, is heralded as one of Marvel’s master manipulators. It’s a great strength of this novel to see him exerting his willpower and the strength of his personality to manipulate and sometimes, fully overpower that of his subjects. Father Zargo is definitely the most profound victim of this, a man with ties to both the church and the occult. Through the novel, Doom insistently pushes him towards the latter, his priorities made clear in one sentence: “The work was what mattered. Zargo’s soul was not Doom’s concern.” An especially interesting scene occurs later in the novel. Without too much elaboration, Doom performs an experiment where he uses the old Latverian nobility as guinea pigs.  This was something I immensely liked, corroborating one of my own personal perceptions of Doom. It’s always made sense to me that Doom would continue to hold a certain amount of disdain for Latverian high society, even after he went from low class Romani boy to monarch himself. 

(“The Fantastic Origin of Doctor Doom,” Fantastic Four Annual #2.)

Afterwards his partner, Maria von Helm, muses aloud that she always wondered why Doom let vestiges of the old regime remain, to which Doom responds: “Now you know. The aristocracy has its uses, and the advantages of being disposable.” It’s maybe my favorite example in the book of the exceptions to Doom’s purported benevolence. He does want the country to flourish and for his subjects to prosper, but this intent can be superseded by his innately ambitious nature and his own personal biases. It’s clear at several points in the book that Annandale is obviously well-read on Doom himself, but it was especially in the capturing of this nuance that it really stuck out to me in a big way. (As well as the fun reference to Doom’s brief jaunt in the French Riviera in Supervillain Team-Up!)

Outside of this core aspect of his characterization, I really enjoyed how the novel not only built up Doom’s cult of personality, but emphasized the sheer magnetism of Doom himself, in person. Constantly, characters find themselves buffeted by strength of his will, craving his approval or cowering and scrambling to avoid his displeasure. It’s a great true-to-character depiction of interactions between Doom and Latverian citizens, dynamics that were only touched upon briefly in the periphery of most comics involving Doom. I think, ironically, this is also perhaps the source of one of the novel’s few weaknesses. By keeping the book very Latveria-focused, Annandale does an excellent job of adding world-building on every level, from expounding on Latverian national holidays to the layouts of Doomstadt to the country’s storied history with witches predating Doom and his mother. But the fact that Doom mostly interacts with those beneath him or those who work for him gives the reader a bit of a myopic, overtly flattering perspective of him as almost too certain, too powerful, too unfeeling. I suppose it serves the scope of the novel for Doom to be more an obelisk of a man than fully well-rounded, but I contest that one of the best things about his character is that his indomitable exterior hides a deep well of pain and uncertainty. 

(“In The Clutches of Doctor Doom,” Fantastic Four #17.)

(“Oath of Fealty,” Doctor Doom #7.)

The novel obviously perceives Doom as Byronic, there’s even excerpts from Manfred interspersed between chapters that I greatly enjoyed, but I did find the heart of the Byronic character a little lacking here. Where Manfred bares his soul alone in monologue or to others, Doom, for the most part, does not. There are definitely brief allusions to the trials he’s faced, but he seems rarely prone to doubt or vulnerability until the very end. (For example, the central task is the attempt to rescue Cynthia von Doom’s soul, but little time is spent dwelling on this very human connection between mother and son.) Or even self-admitted imperfection! Interestingly, I only ever caught one mention of his scars in the entire novel. 

The Harrowing of Doom seems to prescribe to the line of thought that the mask is the only true face of Doom’s that matters, but I think with that philosophy, it stays firmly within the character’s own comfort zone. And his psyche never feels truly challenged, because there’s no worthy challenger. Doom knows without a doubt that he is Fortunov’s superior, so there’s no real interpersonal friction there. It left me keenly interested in seeing how the author would write Doom in the presence of someone like Reed Richards, an opponent who has historically brought out Doom’s baser instincts and invoked his self-doubt, drawing out his flaws and humanity in the process. Hopefully Marvel approves a sequel!

Doubtlessly, it’s still a strong entry into Marvel’s Doom canon and an excellent read for anyone who enjoys the character and is familiar with his history. The novel gives a sprawling, detailed look at Latveria and fleshes out both country and countrymen with aplomb. I took real delight at the indirect peeks at Doom’s personality through other characters’s observations or simple exposition. Some notable examples include Doom’s occult librarian wondering if he had been appointed out of spite of his witch-hunter ancestry, Zargo noting the west wing of Werner Academy was dedicated to clinical research in a nod to Werner von Doom’s work as a healer, and my favorite: the paintings within Castle Doom being impressionistic depictions of Doom’s ancestors, “people long buried, long forgotten, and in their lifetimes ignored or worse.”  

The conflict also moves at an engaging, brisk pace and smartly takes advantage of the widely known fact that Doom is preoccupied every Midsummer Night and turns that into an opening to be exploited by Fortunov, who also is well characterized throughout the novel and even experiences his own personal growth.

(“Though Some Call It Magic!”, Astonishing Tales #8)

Essentially, the product is a great novel about Doctor Doom influenced by strong comic lore knowledge, Gothic and Romance literature, horror cinema (According to the author, Doom’s lab is modeled after the lab from The Bride of Frankenstein!), and fantasy. If that sounds like something up your alley, definitely check it out. It gets a wholehearted recommendation from me. 

About Marvel Entertainment

Marvel Entertainment, LLC, a wholly-owned subsidiary of The Walt Disney Company, is one of the world’s most prominent character-based entertainment companies, built on a proven library of more than 8,000 characters featured in a variety of media for over eighty years. Marvel utilizes its character franchises in entertainment, licensing, publishing, games, and digital media.

For more information visit marvel.com. © 2020 MARVEL

[ladyanput]

Seeing Green Ch.15 {End}

Warning: light gore.

Once they landed back in Paris, Marinette felt a sense of finally being home, but it wasn't as overwhelming as it used to be. Part of her yearned to go back to Gotham, to be with Damian and the others, there was a sense of belonging there, now that Paris was once again safe.

Oddly, no one once mentioned anything about Marinette being Ladybug. In fact, when she talked to them, playfully suggesting about Ladybug's identity, they all began saying their thoughts, but not once mentioned her. Odd, but she didn't push her luck. Maybe the Miraculous Cure had been extremely generous and wiped their minds? One less thing for her to stress about.

Once she got back to school, her, Miss Bustier, Lila, and Marinette's parents were immediately summoned to the principal's office. Mr. Arquette did not look the least bit pleased, his hands folded neatly as they all shuffled into his office and took a seat.

"I received many disturbing reports while you all were in Gotham, reports that I should have known would happen since I left those children in your care." Arquette spoke, his voice firm and cold as he glared hard at Miss Bustier. "You abandoned a student in the middle of a dangerous city, you left your students roam as they pleased with no supervision, one student stole the money from another, a student was kidnapped and you never once reported it to myself or her parents, much less the police. You even had the audacity to say that her kidnapper did nothing wrong. Caline, you've been on thin ice for quite some time now, but this gross negligence is the final straw. One of the students was even assaulted at the Wayne event and you did nothing to break it up and just stood back and watched. I don't believe we have a place for you here at Saint Louis anymore, not after your behaviour."

"Please, you don't understand, it's all a misunderstanding! Marinette manipulated Adrien and-" Lila began, looking tearful.

"And you," Arquette turned his steely gaze on Lila, cutting her off before she can try and spin another flimsy web of lies. ", You have crossed many lines. Lying about medical records, of how to contact your mother, long series of absences, and I heard much about your deeds in Gotham. Your mother is almost here, Miss Rossi."

"What?! No, she can't-" Lila was on her feet within seconds, her body trembling. Caline, herself, looked quite shaken as well, as if she were about to be sick.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng, I am greatly sorry for what you've had to endure all of these years. I should have taken a more firm stance on things, I should have gotten someone else to attend the trip with your class." Arquette turned to Marinette, his expression turning to one of regret. He stood, then rounded his desk, kneeling next to her chair. "I take full responsibility for what happened to you in Gotham."

"No, Mr. Arquette, please. No one thought I would be kidnapped, and luckily Batman saved me." Marinette put in quickly, feeling a sense of relief, now that Miss Bustier would no longer be around. That pressure of being the perfect example was finally lifted from her shoulders. "You're a great principal, you couldn't have known. But I appreciate your actions now, you're more than making up for this."

His shoulders seemed to relax and he nodded before returning to his desk. It wasn't long before Lila's mother showed up, and then the show truly began. 

"You've been lying to me? Me?! Your own mother?!" Mrs. Rossi screamed at her pale faced daughter, before pulling a few brown envelopes out of her bag and holding them up. "Do you know what these are?! These are court orders! Court orders from Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and the Waynes! What were you thinking, having your friend slander their names all over her blog?! You basically accused Jagged of being a pedophile by saying he wrote a song especially for you, that you're his muse!"

"She is also saying she's the personal muse to Gabriel Agreste, ever since she became his model." Marinette put in helpfully, and sat back as she watched Mrs. Rossi got red in the face and continued to berate her daughter.

"And now you'll be going to live with your aunt back in Italy, if these lawsuits don't bankrupt me! I'm only a secretary, Lila, what made you think we could travel like that?!"

Marinette merely watched as Lila was reduced to tears, and expelled from the school. Mrs. Rossi dragged her daughter out and Caline Bustier was promptly dismissed to go and collect her things.

"What will happen to my class?" Marinette asked the principal once she and her parents were about to leave.

"Well, they will get a new teacher, it might be a bit difficult with only a few months left before you all graduate." Mr. Arquette admitted, looking thoughtful.  At the tense silence, he cleared his throat. "Miss Césaire will be thoroughly punished for her actions as well, in Gotham. Assaulting another classmate is completely u acceptable. I was told by her parents she is already being punished as we speak."

Marinette left that school, her parents figuring that she needed a day off after all that had happened. So she silently went up to her room and collapsed onto her bed, finally processing it all.

She was finally free of Lila. Hawkmoth was defeated, and she had both Nooroo and Duusu back, after having fixed the Peacock Miraculous. 

When she heard her phone buzz, she picked it up and smiled to herself.

{Damian} I miss you, Angel, I hope your flight landed safely.

{Damian} I miss you already Angel. And Plagg's taste in cheese is the smelliest ever. Alfred is threatening to throw him out.

The smile on her face didn't drop for the rest of the evening, as she spent the entire evening messaging Damian.

…

Ladybug stood firm at the podium, her teammates standing with her as they faced the flashing of cameras with stoic expressions, press members shouting out questions. She merely stared at them, waiting for them all to quiet down. The crowd quickly got the clue and did such.

"Today, I am here to announce that Hawkmoth has finally been defeated. The terror he reigned over Paris for so long is finally over." Ladybug announced, and this only caused the crowd to go into a bewildered frenzy once again. Ladybug waited, and the media was quick to quiet again, realizing they had to be polite with this one. "Gabriel Agreste, formerly known as Hawkmoth, has been arrested and placed into the custody of the French authorities."

"What about his son, Adrien Agreste? Was he in cahoots with his father?" A reporter blurted out, and it took everything in Ladybug not to flinch at that name.

"Adrien Agreste was not in league with Hawkmoth, he and his mother are innocent." Well, as innocent as one could be. Adrien had been arrested, but anyone could see the boy needed mental help due to all of the mental abuse and grooming that had been forced upon him by his father. So Adrien and his mother, who had indeed woken up, had moved out of the country, where Adrien was getting good care in a good facility, not that he'd ever leave it, not after all he had done.

"What happens now?" A young reporter asked. Ladybug recognized her from her school, Estelle Desrosiers, a sweet girl who always sought out the truth, but was respectable about things. So Ladybug gave her a gracious smile.

"Well, Miss Desrosiers, the Miraculous will be retired and I shall be leaving the city. There are dangerous villains in the world and the world needs the help of the Miraculous to stop it. They're here to keep the darkness from taking over." She spoke firmly, and everyone could see the hero they had all grown to love and admire. There was much outcry at her stating she was leaving, but she stopped the noise and set a hand over her heart. "I love Paris, I love France. This is my home more than anything, but I cannot stay, cannot sit by as the rest of the world suffers. So thank you, Paris, and embrace your newfound freedom. And here's my final Bugout!"

With that, she and the rest of her team took off, followed by the cheers.

Back in her family apartment, Alya was seething as she sat between her parents on the couch, watching the live broadcast. That should be her up there, basking in the glory of defeating Hawkmoth with Ladybug, if Ladybug had actually used her head and gave her back her Fox Miraculous! No one was better suited to be a hero than Rena Rouge! Or it should at least be her at the front of that media stand, asking all of the important questions, getting the big scoop. But her parents had made her delete her blog. She had lost every single electronic she'd had, due to her actions in Gotham and her recent attitudes towards everyone. She had even screamed at her little sisters to the point she had made them cry.

The future was not a bright one for Alya Césaire.

…

Graduation had quickly arrived and when Marinette left her class, she didn't once look back. Sure, they had all apologized, save for Alya who had been expelled and needed to repeat her senior year, but they had thrown her aside so easily for a complete stranger. The kind of trust she had had with them was never going to exist again.

As she arrived back at her place to pack her bags, she saw Luka, Kagami, and Chloé in her room, waiting for her. They each gave her a grateful smile, before they began giving the Guardian back their Miraculous.

"I'm going to miss you." Chloé whispered as she nuzzled Pollen, then handed the hair clip over to Marinette, who tucked it safely into the Miraculous box. "And we'll miss you too, Marinette."

Marinette smiled and opened her arms, Luka, Chloé, and Kagami moving in for a group hug. The four of them held onto each other tight, before finally letting go.

"Have fun in Gotham." Luka whispered, ruffling her hair gently before he kissed her temple. "Keep in touch."

"I will." Marinette tucked the Miraculous box into the hidden compartment in her suitcase, then made her way downstairs, embracing her parents tightly, tears welling up in her eyes. She was finally leaving the nest, leaving the home that was full of such love and happy memories. But she still felt something deep inside of her calling for her to go back to Gotham, her new home.

Once she got in the taxi, she settled back and glanced down at her phone buzzed, biting her lower lip to hold back a giggle.

{Damian} Once you land in Gotham, go to the Wayne Botanical Gardens. I have a surprise for you, Angel.

"I'll be home soon, mon prince.."

…

Marinette stepped into the greenhouse and grinned at the sight of Damian standing there, next to a checkered blanket and a picnic basket. She dropped her purse and ran towards him, hugging him tightly as he lifted her up and spun her.

"I missed you, Angel." Damian whispered into her ear as he set his giggling girlfriend back onto the ground, then motioned towards the picnic. "I thought I'd surprise you, to welcome you back home."

"And here I thought you and your brothers were gonna throw me a party." Marinette grinned, taking a seat beside him. When he began setting out the food, she felt her smile only widen. "You really spoil me."

"Well hopefully I don't spoil your appetite too much. Jason decided to go into the kitchen today and bake you a 'welcome back' cake. Pretend to like the inedible mess." Damian gave her a wry smile as he poured them both a cup of sparkling juice, before holding his up as a toast. "Welcome home, Angel."

"Glad to be home, mon prince." She tapped her plastic cup against his and took a long drink, unable to wipe the smile from her face. The hour passed with them joking and eating the food Damian had brought, Marinette glanced at the time and sighed. "We should get back. I really want to see everyone, I've missed them."

Marinette stood and stretched her body, groaning softly as she managed to loosen a few tense muscles, then took a step towards the exit.

"Marinette."

She turned towards Damian. Damian met her gaze, then raised his gun. A shot rang out and Marinette stumbled back a few steps, clutching at her chest as a bewildered look on her face.

"D- Damian..?" She dropped to her knees, then was jolted onto her back when he shot her again.

"I thank you, Marinette. The Miraculous are much more powerful than I would have ever thought." He smiled thinly as he made his way over and knelt down next to Marinette, who was choking on her own blood.

Marinette stared up at the boy she thought she was so deeply in love with, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks as she tried to reach up for him.

"I'm glad you were at least useful. You really are a ditz, aren't you?" He stood and ground his foot into the gunshot wounds, making her let out a choked scream.

Marinette's mind was in a whirl, struggling to breathe as her world began to dim.

So she had just been a pawn…? Been used to get the Miraculous…?

He had lied to her?

How could she have been so stupid?

As the light left her eyes, the only thoughts were on betrayal, and the fears of what would happen to the Kwami, to Tikki.

When her body went limp, Heretic grinned.

…

Damian rushed his entire way to the Botanical Gardens, silently cursing Mr. Freeze with every inch of his being. Because of the bastard, he was two hours late in meeting Marinette. He knew she'd understand, but still, no one deserves that. He feared she was angry because she wasn't answering her phone.

He rushed through the roof doors, when a strong coppery smell hit him, a smell he was very familiar with. His body instantly tensed as he reached down the small knife in his pocket, carefully making his way into the greenhouse as his eyes darted this way and that.

And what he saw made his heart stop.

Marinette was sprawled out on the floor, staring skyward, with two gunshot wounds in her chest, a puddle of blood beginning to congele around her. Hovering over her was a loudly weeping Tikki.

"Tikki,what happened?!" Plagg burst from Damian's coat pocket and rushed towards her, hugging her close as his dearest friend broke apart in his arms.

"I- I don't know! I was asleep, I was so tired because I- I'm still trying to help Nooroo through his trauma, and I just woke up! What happened to her, Plagg? She can't be dead, she just can't be! I can't lose her, please, tell me she's not dead!" Tikki wailed.

"Marinette…?" Damian knelt next to the body, cupping her face ever so gently. He felt tears burn his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers, desperately wishing for the reality to not be true. She was gone, he had lost her and he hadn't been here to protect her. The tears began to flow as he let out a sob and hugged the body close. "No, please, Angel, please don't go.."

He sat there and rocked as he sobbed. Eventually, he got the will to call his brothers. They'd have a horrible call to her parents.

…

Tom and Sabine wept as their little girl, their only child, was lowered into the ground. Damian felt numb, like nothing was really worth it anymore. But beneath that numbness was an angry ready to burst forth and cause the death of whoever caused this. The police hadn't found anything, no DNA, no fingerprints, nothing except for Marinette's. Why couldn't they do their goddamned job and find the murdering bastard?!

"Diana, what are you doing here?" Bruce's surprised tone brought Damian's attention, and he watched as Diana Prince approached them, looking grim.

"I am here to honour a brave and dutiful Ladybug. My mother had wished to attend as well, but we did not want to cause much ruckus." Diana admitted, looking down at the casket being slowly covered in dirt. She let out a long, defeated sigh. "But one so young… No one should ever die so young."

"Why would your mother care about this?" Damian snipped, but Diana took no offense, seeing how torn up the boy was. Many people lashed out in their grief.

"She was a previous Ladybug." Diana admitted, noticing Plagg peeking out from Damian's coat pocket. She smiled down at the Kwami and knelt, pretending as if to tie her shoe. "Hello Plagg."

"Hello there, Princess, you've certainly grown." Plagg said rather sadly, before looking away. "Tikki.. She's not doing so good."

"I have no doubt." Diana nodded and stood once again, turning towards Bruce. "What will happen with the Miraculous now?"

"They need to ensure somewhere safe. You said that your mother was once a Ladybug, yes? Perhaps you can take the body back home? I know it would be greatly protected there." Bruce glanced over at his son, who was staring at his ring. "But the Black Cat Miraculous…"

"It can stay here." Diana assured him softly. "You never separate a Black Cat from their Chosen." 

"It was the last thing Marinette gave to me." Damian murmured and Diana felt her heart break at how defeated he looked.

"Keep the ring safe, Damian. And Plagg, help Damian as well." Diana reached down and stroked Plagg's head gently once she was sure no one was watching. "I shall take the box home to Themiscyra."

"Thank you, Diana." Bruce turned his gaze back to the grave, his hands curling ever so slightly into fists. "I know Marinette would appreciate it while we hunt down whoever is responsible for this."

"Once you do find out who it was, make them suffer." Diana hissed, a dangerous threat in her eyes. "Or I shall."

…

That night, Diana took the Miraculous box, sans the Black Cat ring, and returned to Themiscyra.

That night, in a graveyard in Paris, several people approached the grave of Marinette Dupain-Cheng and began to dig.

…

Marinette felt as if she were floating, the entire body full of warmth and strength.

She opened her eyes and realized she was seeing nothing but green.

Then something took hold, something indescribable. She burst forth from the green water, letting out a scream of rage as memories began flooding back, memories of her murder. Eyes almost blind to anything around her, she charged towards a faint figure in front of her and body slammed them. When another person came forward, she flipped them over her head. She broke another man's arm and leg.

"Hold her down!" A feminine voice snapped out, and quickly Marinette found herself being restrained on a cold floor, snarling and snapping, screaming out for Damian's blood.

But eventually, that madness faded and she found herself staring at a beautiful woman who knelt over her.

"Who… Who are you?" Marinette croaked out, her entire body still shivering, tears beginning to flow from her eyes.

"Oh Marinette, do not weep. My name is Talia." The woman stroked the hair from the young girl's face, smiling kindly down upon her. "Do not fret, I shall take care of you from now on. You are in safe hands."

{To Be Continued in the sequel}

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[revolutionary-demosthenes]

Louis de Manoël de Végobre (Pt. 2/2)

So, now that I’ve written about De Végobre’s life in general, on to the second part... which I know I should’ve posted like a week ago. (Sorry!)

And as a prelude, let me just say that since there is so little on De Végobre, it is hard to talk definitively about really anything in his life. This post is going by the information that I have at the moment. 

So, was De Végobre likely romantically and/or sexually attracted to men? If so, who was he in a relationship with?

As mentioned before, De Végobre, Kinloch, and Laurens were very close while they all lived in Geneva. Even Gregory Massey, when examining their bond, points out that this was “the beginning of a pattern: he [John Laurens] continually centered his life around homosocial attachments to other men.”*(John Laurens and the American Revolution by Gregory Massey, page 40.)

(I wouldn't agree on the “homosocial” part.) 

Francis Kinloch and John Laurens were pretty likely in a relationship for at least some of their time in Geneva, but the question is, how did De Végobre fit into that?

The way De Végobre writes to Laurens after he hasn’t written for a little while also definitely points to a very strong friendship at least. Not writing for long periods of time was not unusual for John, the unusual thing here is how much Kinloch and De Végobre minded his casual attitude towards correspondence. This could also be indicative of a stronger relationship between them.

As an interesting comparison, Alexander Hamilton wrote this to Laurens on September 11th, 1779:

“I acknowlege but one letter from you, since you left us, of the 14th of July which just arrived in time to appease a violent conflict between my friendship and my pride. I have written you five or six letters since you left Philadelphia and I should have written you more had you made proper return. But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful [blank space].”

This is Hamilton after Laurens hasn’t responded to “five or six” letters.

This is Végobre after Laurens hasn’t written back to one letter (I’ve quoted this in the pt. 1):

“When I have wrote [&] sent an epistle, I am always imagining the history of it; I long to see it [illegible], arriving, read, and answered; I Keep in my memory its date, I calculate the time of its arrival, and I impatiently expect the time of receiving an answer. This longed for answer arrives at length; then I am contented, and beginning another letter I prepare myself for enjoying still such a pleasure. But—if no answer… What must I think? I am concerned, sometimes a little angry. How does my friend do? Is he sick, absent, or idle in answering? Suspense is a hard thing.

I have wrote to you on the 24th of December, you have not yet answered. If you are guilty of negligence, pray do not aggravate your fault by a longer delay. Fault, I say; indeed I think it to be a fault to let pass over a great time without answering the letter of one who deserved answer. There is the end of my chiding, and I hope my thanks will soon began: I mean, that my second stroke shall get me an answer. Indeed, I would be sorry if your continued silence would hinder me from setting pen to paper a third letter.”

“How angry they get when you don’t respond to letters” is not by any means a foolproof way to measure attachment, but the similarities between the responses are interesting. Hamilton’s is more teasing, but the basic message remains “Please write to me. I’ve written to you, but I’ll stop if you don’t write enough.”

Some more concrete examples of strong affection between De Végobre and Laurens can be found in other letters from De Végobre to Laurens, such as one written the 24th of December, 1774. In this letter, De Végobre again drops some very blatant hints to please, please write, and closes it with this:

“Adieu, I dont know if in this language I have been able to express my heart’s true sentiments; you shall see in this letter my knowledge in your tongue; you will laugh at my mistakes in grammar, but not at my sentiments.”

There are two someone’s De Végobre’s “sentiments” could be referring to. One is John Laurens, but the other is Francis Kinloch. In this same letter to Laurens, we find our first evidence that Kinloch and De Végobre could have been lovers. De Végobre writes in the above letter,

“...never, never in my life I have been so well entertained as when I read Milton; and why? First, for Poet’s Excellency, and secondly and chiefly because I read it with Kinloch. My beloved, my dearest friend is Kinloch; how happy am I, when I teach him some part of natural Philosophy, when I read with him both English and French Poets, when I talk with him about various matters plainly and heartily as with a friend! Let me say again, Kinloch is my beloved, my dearest friend.”

Well. This kind of speaks for itself. De Végobre certainly uses some very affectionate wordings here, and calls Kinloch his “beloved” and “dearest friend” twice in two sentences.

I do take note of Végobre saying “as with a friend,” as opposed to “with my friend” or something along those lines. The way Végobre phrases it could suggest that Kinloch is something other than a friend, though Végobre also calls Kinloch his “dearest friend” a couple times. Just... something to notice.

The best way to get more information on the nature of Végobre and Kinloch’s relationship would be letters between the two, but unfortunately if such letters do exist, they aren't available to the public. However, Kinloch does mention De Végobre in a letter way later, in 1804. This letter was to none other than Johannes von Müller. 

As you may know, Kinloch came back to Geneva with his family in 1804, and Müller actually might have stayed with him and his wife (after she had a baby and the midwife moved out.) Anyway, in this letter, (which thankfully is in English,) Kinloch is musing about remembering his earlier times in Geneva, and he says, “...De Vegobre I have not seen.”

So what? Well, this casual reference implies that Müller at least knew of, if not knew Végobre, especially as for most others mentioned in this letter Kinloch explains their connection to him. And there’s more-- Charles Victor de Bonstetten, Müller’s lover, also mentioned De Végobre in passing in a letter. This adds to the evidence of De Végobre being at least a little a part of this pretty-openly-gay-for-the-time-period group of people. 

In La France protestante: ou, Vies des protestants français qui se sont fait un nom dans l'histoire depuis les premiers temps de la réformation jusqu'à la reconnaissance du principe de la liberté des cultes par l'Assemblée nationale; ouvrage précéde d'une notice historique sur le protestantisme en France, suivi de pièces justificatives, et rédigé sur des documents en grand partie inédits, Volumes 7-8 by Eugene and Emile Haag, it says, “He also spent some time at the castle of Coppet with M[adame] de Staël, who more than once used his vast education and his extraordinary memory.” Here’s the thing-- Madame de Stäel and Coppet are also mentioned a lot in the book, Briefkorrespondenzen Karl Viktor von Bonstettens und seines Kreises, which is essentially what it sounds like; a ton of Bonstetten, Müller, Kinloch, Frederike Brun, etc’s correspondence. From what I can figure (the book’s mostly in German) Müller and possibly some others were at Coppet in 1804. The frustrating thing about the quote about De Végobre and de Stäel is that there’s no dates as to when he stayed with her, only that it was between 1789 and 1814. It may have been in 1807, but whether he was there before then I don’t know. But at the very least, De Végobre had some close mutual friends with Müller and Bonstetten.

As I mentioned before, De Végobre never married. De Végobre seems to have been a friendly and affectionate individual, and he lived a long time. And it was also rarer to not marry back then. Why, then, would he never marry? The reason that strikes me as most likely when put with other evidence is that he was attracted to men.

[fanatiquee]

⍤ : What does your muse’s voice sound like? Is it light? High pitched? Scratchy? Deep?

𝓡𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓶 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷 𝓜𝓮𝓶𝓮! ooc:

I love this question, because I have a very particular voice in mind when it comes to Louis. In the books he’s often described as speaking very quietly, or softly, and his speech is always measured and accented. It’s remarked far more often that Louis has an accent than a lot of the other characters (who also have accents) and I think, although A.R just describes it as French, Louis’ French accent is definitely colonial. It’s influenced by the Creole Patois but also by Occitan, since Parisian French wasn’t the lingua franca of France when his family moved to New Orleans, and some of that natural French regional variation would have followed them. It’s a very ambling cadence. As far as the actual sound of it, I imagine it’s very smooth, generally middling, more on the tenor side but there’s definitely a softness there, it isn’t resonant by any means, it tends to pitch upward more often than downward, unless he’s angry, and then I think he’s definitely relying on the lower part of his register. But overall, it’s quite light and as I said, smooth, in general speech.  

[headquarters90]

Family (Warrior of the Crown 8)

Pairing: Darkiplier x French Goddess!Reader

Words: 1,859

Warnings: Mentions of past suicidal thoughts 

Series Masterlist

A/N: It’s been a h o t m i n u t e and I apologize for that. Go ahead and let me know if you want to be put on a tag list because I am willing to do that. Don’t know when I’ll be back on track. Also, if you haven’t already, please take the time to read this. That is an update I did not that long ago (I think Sunday?). Thank you for your patience!

She wants to take away your lovers, Y/N. She plans on putting you at risk of turning to the darkness, continued to cycle through your head even after the meeting with Flinn and it has caused you to constantly space out to the point that someone who was in the room with you could scare you.

It was so bad that Dark demanded Sébastian to go fetch Hades or someone. Dark, the entity that hated other Gods being around. That how you found yourself surrounded by family and you blinked when you watch something fly across the table at Jean-Louis.

“You are such a pain,” Angel groaned as she leaned back in her seat. “You like André. I don’t see why you complain about him so much.”

“I do not like André,” Jean-Louis deadpanned. “That’s like saying I like Dark,” he added and you perked up a bit at the mention of him.

“I think you secretly like Dark,” Juliette commented from her seat beside her twin. “I mean, I think we all do. He’s helped Y/N more than anyone likes to admit, including the two of them.”

“However, he needs to learn to deal with Y/N like this,” Angel gestured towards you and you looked at her. “How are you doing?”

“Hypatia wants to take my possible lovers away,” you hesitated, shifting in your seat as your cousins’ eyes fell on you, “and she wants to put me more at risk of turning to the darkness.”

“We already have a plan in motion so don’t worry, alright?” Angel reached over, squeezing your hand. “Trust me.”

“What plan?” Jean-Louis questioned, furrowing his eyebrows as you looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know this plan?”

You thought about it for a moment before shaking your head. Angel hadn’t come to you about anything expect on how to kill Azazel.

“The plan would be pointless if everyone knows,” Angel started and Juliette nodded, causing you and Jean-Louis to look at her, “The ones part of it knows.”

“Juliette?”

“Is one of them, yes,” she nodded and Jean-Louis scrunched his nose in annoyance.

“I don’t like that. Who else?” He questioned.

“Auntie, Hades, Dark, André, Apollo, and Sébastian.”

“Dark knows?” You questioned, looking at her as she nodded. “Why does Dark know?”

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t like that.”

“She questions why Dark but not Apollo or Sébastian,” Juliette snorted and you scrunched your nose. “So, since he’s not around, we can talk about it now.”

“I rather not.” You shifted in your spot and she raised an eyebrow.

“Y/N, we are here because Dark fetched us after you learned what Hypatia wants,” she pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean that anything.”

“Y/N,” Jean-Louis started, placing his hand in front of you. “I’m the God of Hate and I can tell that you’re in love with the entity.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Y/N-”

“Can we stop?”

“The Inuit’s does have information on Seraphina,” Sébasitan’s voice drifted into the library and you turned your head towards him, watching as he held up a file.

“Thank you.” You stood, walking towards him as you took it from him.

“You seem better,” he commented and Angel snorted as she leaned back in her seat.

“Apparently, just tease her about Dark and she seems to sober up,” Jean-Louis offered and you tensed before turning to stare at your cousin who sent you a grin.

“Why is there someone demanding to speak to you in your throne room?” Ares’ voice drifted into the library and you scrunched your nose before shaking your head at your sister’s annoyance. “Didn’t think you could cause someone to be angry with you, princess.”

“I believe I told you to stop calling me that,” you shot, pushing passed him, fighting back a glower as footsteps followed you.

“Y/N! Thank Goddess.”

Lifting your eyes to the voice, your heart dropped at the sight of blood dripping from her mouth.

“What happened?” You questioned, asking a servant for a chair as you approached her.

“Tried calling for mother but didn’t work out well. Where is she, by the way?” She questioned as your eyes lifted towards your sister who stepped into the throne room.

“Estella? How the-Don’t answer that.” Angel shook her head before shifting on her feet for a moment. “Should I get Auntie Eva?”

“Please,” Estella winced as you touched her face. “Any blood by chance?”

“Sébastian.”

“On it.”

“You seem to be doing well,” Estella mused and you raised an eyebrow at her, tilting her head back. “She knew who my mother was.”

“The one who attacked you?”

“Yes. She called her by Eva and not Dea. No one on Salizar’s side of the world follows Dea or the French Gods and Maverick doesn’t know who would know her true name outside of those who already do,” she voiced. “She also said something about you and someone called Dark? Who the Hell calls someone Dark?”

“Language,” your aunt’s voice drifted into the room and Estella rolled her eyes.

“Sébastian should be back with blood soon,” you told Eva, watching as she stepped forward. “What did she look like?”

“Tan skin with what I thought were tribal tattoos, vibrate blue eyes like Beckett’s was. Thought she was a psychic at first but then her markings glowed. She could possibly be a djinn. I did catch sight of her forearm for a quick moment and I could have sworn she had a similar mark to yours, Y/N, but with-”

“-Stars.”

Turning your head, your eyes met Dark’s before returning back to Estella who scrunched her nose.

“Why the Hell do you look like that dude Laci and Beckett watched?” She questioned and you raised an eyebrow. “They were mortals. They’ll do mortal things,” she waved you off before thanking Sébastian as he held out a mug to her. “Anyways, how does she know?”

“It’s best to be cautious from this on out, Estella,” you spoke, rubbing your forehead. “She’s part of the Warriors of Darkness and we’re currently having issues with them. I wasn’t aware that they knew how large this family goes. Maxence, can you call father and have him warn his other children? Gods’ know we don’t need more reason for them to hate us.”

~

“How large would you say your family is, doll?” Anti questioned and you lifted your eyes to him for a moment before dropping them back to your book. “I hope that what we found out-”

“It doesn’t,” you cut him off. “And the main reason why my family is so large is because of my father from before my mother and after my mother’s death. He was careless when he slept around so I have a lot of half-siblings and a majority of them don’t like Angel and me. That and my uncle, Jean-Paul, slept around before his wife as well so I probably have cousins that I’m unaware of.”

“What about the other uncle of yours?”

“Uncle Philippe? Many would avoid him. He’s the God of Sexual Longing. His wife, Marie, was the first to actually want to be with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’ll have a kid here soon.”

“Seriously?” Anti voiced and you raised an eyebrow at him before turning your head to see Dark’s narrowed eyes. You took a moment to watch him before returning your eyes on the book. “You have nothing to say?”

“Should I?” You questioned, glancing up at the glitching entity with a raised eyebrow. “If the narrowing is about the Mark, it’s idiotic.”

“You two just need to talk. Jesus Christ.”

“It’s not a good idea to use his name. He likes to listen in whenever it’s said,” you chimed and Anti stared at you.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just unbelievable.”

You let out a hum before returning your eyes to the book, flipping through the pages.

“Did those Gods have information on her?” Dark questioned and you pointed towards the file on the desk. “Have you read it?”

“The moment Estella was gone,” you answered, watching from the corner of your eyes as he walked up to the table, opening the file. “It’s interesting to say the least.”

“She didn’t participate in what the others of her kind did and she turned to the Darkness?” He questioned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, actually, according to the book about the Warriors, the Warriors that get chosen are vastly different than a lot of their kind,” Anti offered and you lifted your head to stare at him. “Didn’t hide the book fast enough from me, remember?”

“Right. Didn’t think you read the whole thing,” you commented and Anti sent you a grin.

“Quick reader.”

“Apparently.”

“I need to read the book,” you heard Dark mutter before looking over at him with a tilt of your head.

“He’s not wrong,” you spoke, setting the book down as you made your way over to Dark. “Warriors are either vastly different than their kind or extremely rare. They’re background would be the reason why they are vastly different.”

“You said extremely rare?” Anti questioned and you lifted your eyes to him as you nodded.

“Yes. Isabelle’s kind is extremely rare. Only four have every been know to carry her blood, including her.”

“Four?”

“Her, her brother, her mother, and her father,” you answered, reaching forward to continue through the file.

“So rare it’s kept in the family,” Anti muttered and you nodded. “How are you and your family different from your kind?”

“If you have to question, you haven’t been around them long enough,” Dark shot and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Y/N-”

“-was the Goddess of Life wanting death,” you voiced and the two entities turned to face you. “No matter what my family tells you, I wasn’t going to amount to anything with how I was before the Great War. Treated everyone equally but I couldn’t shake their hands. Trained hard for years but someone raises a hand to fix my hair and I still flinched. Nightmares every night, flashbacks nearly every day. If it wasn’t for the fact that I would have caused the balance to shift and nearly destroy everything, I wouldn’t be here today.”

“And yet, you still see the Goddess you used to be,” Sébastian voiced from behind you and Dark and you turned your head to look at him. “I’ve finished warning the rest of your family.”

“No doubt they had a few choice words about Angel and I.”

“Quite of few, though there were some who made comments of a visit after everything. Maybe some are coming around after all.”

“Probably the same few who don’t mind us,” you hummed, reaching forward to grab your book. “I think I’m going to see about something to eat and ambrosia.”

“You need sleep, Y/N.”

“Yes, well, there are more important things at stake, Sébastian.”

From the corner of your eyes as you made your way to the door, you watched as Sébastian raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with his eyes close before he seemed to have given Dark a pointed look.

[jlf23tumble]

Fic rec anon here, and I'm blanking in the moment! I know you have a lot of recs and I love them all. Maybe your favourite AUs? Broadly speaking? Seeing some of them might help jog me into more specific categories ! xx

Gotcha, sort of like my prison rec list, only I like to think of it more in terms of what would I have on my phone to read when I’m bored and traveling, lol. Obvs, this sort of list is super hard, but having it focused on AUs kinda helps? At any rate, this isn’t a deep dive, it’s just my top level, so hopefully it’ll spark you. These are in no particular order, so come back if you want more!

Tuxedo Dress-Up, by Blake (honestly, ANYTHING in this fandom by Blake, I file this one under hot and hilarious, but every line is just swooooon). Louis is an aspiring song writer by day, a makeup artist for drag queens by night, and masquerading as a full-time real estate agent for his third most famous (and first most handsome) client Harry Styles.Or, five times they fail to fuck in a closet, and one time they get it right.

Once Upon a Dream, by objectlesson (again, ANYTHING by Phoenix, and most of it is canon, but where to even start with her AUs, jesus god, I struggled to rec just one, so I went with the AU she gifted me, ilu!!!!). “M’not gonna half-ass our fake relationship,” Louis almost snaps, voice sharp with a defensive edge, like Harry wandered too close to a bruise with needy fingers. “Now kiss me again. We’re gonna make every shitty tourist here wish they had stayed in the Midwest. We’re gonna burn Disneyland down with our gay.” Or, a fake dating AU where everyone is lying and they happen to be at the Happiest Place on Earth.

knock knock, i love you, by @thelovejandles aka beautlouis (another one of my fave authors in this fandom, proof that wips DO finish, and they’re absolutely worth it). Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.

Tied Down, by @ham-palpert (the twists and turns here, my goddd, just masterful) The most interesting case in Liam and Niall's careers falls directly into their laps, courtesy of an epic fuck-up of one Harry Styles, partner to the almost-infamous drug dealer Louis Tomlinson. The investigation yields an unexpected yet satisfactory outcome for Liam and Niall. For Harry and Louis, however, things are far more complicated.

Alien Roadtrip! by @helloamhere (needs ao3 account; I love desert roadtrips, and this captures that vibe perfectly, plus it’s hilarious). For the first time in his life, Louis doesn’t know where he’s going. Harry doesn’t mind. Or, a roadtrip with desert feelings, too much snack food, and empty motels. Harry is definitely absolutely not an alien. That would be ridiculous.

Harry Styles Cooks..., by @magicalrocketships aka sunsetsmog (aka the very best wip on earth, I weep with joy whenever I get the notif). In which Louis Tomlinson can’t cook, there’s a very special shower curtain, and Harry Styles used to be a baker. Or Louis owns all of Harry Styles’ cookbooks, and he never intends to cook a single thing out of any of them.

just call me inspiration, by @hereforlou (in which I *am* Liam Payne, porn editor!) The truth is Louis knows he’s going to hell, if there is such a thing, but it isn’t because he writes erotic fiction for a living. If anything, it’s because his muse, the reason he’s inspired to write about people shagging in increasingly creative ways everyday, is the sweetest, loveliest, most genuine (and completely oblivious) future children-book illustrator in the world.

Buried Like Treasure, by @becomeawendybird aka quickedween (marcel marcel marcel!!!). Prince Harry Styles is very private. He chooses to keep himself out of the public eye but feels lonely and isolated while surrounded by people in his hectic royal life. When he finishes his dissertation, he decides to take a solo holiday to one of the royal family's properties in the Swiss Alps. Semi-retired thief Louis Tomlinson has been pulled in for one last job: steal a painting from an uninhabited mansion. Neither one of them expects a natural disaster.

into another serotonin overflow, by @mercutionotromeo (this story packs a LOT into a little, it helped inspire my sideblog with smaller fic recs, actually). Harry's the yearbook photographer who's been assigned to take pictures of Louis, the new captain of the football team. Harry's got a massive, obvious crush on Louis and somehow, Louis feels the same way.

Turning Page, by @daisyharry aka purpledaisy (pretty much every on-set picture I see of Harry these days just makes me tag it for this fic). “You wanna buy Harry a drink?” Louis lets his eyes drip back to Harry, to his wide eyes and the way his shoulders curve down. He really is pretty – Louis will be the first one to admit it and the last one to ever say it out loud. Louis almost smirks and his lips twitch as he tilts his head, “Not particularly, no.” An AU where Harry Styles tries to get lost in a place he’s never been. Louis Tomlinson has been perfecting the art of being lost for years. What they don’t expect to find is each other.

hush. by wankerville (this story is achingly evocative of just about every shitty small American town, but my god is it beautiful, the sweetness of how it ends). “I don't like you like that, Harry.” “See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.” Or an AU where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.

Three French Hems, by @gloriaandrews and @100percentsassy (I wish I could pick just ONE of my top three from these two, but alas...do persimmons smell like come? discuss).  In which Louis is a designer at Burberry and Harry spends December wearing Lanvin… and Lanvin… and Lanvin.

Thought the Song Was Sung, by @gloriaandrews and @100percentsassy (see above, pretty much, and how happy I am that the tweets still show up! with Dame Julie Andrews even!!). Louis never auditioned for the X-Factor. Years later, Harry's just another gay ex-boybander who lives alone with his cat... until Niall decides to take matters into his own hands and set up a profile for Harry on a dating website.

Wild and Unruly, by @gloriaandrews and @100percentsassy (Iconic, even the abstract is iconic, everything still holds up. oh for cute, etc. etc.). Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

Are You Gonna Be My Girl? by loadedgunn (another one that inspired my sideblog dedicated to short fics! So much greatness packed in, Jesus, it’s in my top five for sure). Louis reenacts his first time, and Harry wants to be his good girl.

“burn this flame” by @rainbowninja aka rainbowninja167 (anytime I reread this, I smile...filed under hot and hilarious). When Harry gets invited to play in a celebrity charity match with Louis Tomlinson, Manchester United's star player, he's determined to impress him with brilliant football skills. The only flaw in Harry's otherwise foolproof plan? He has absolutely no football skills, brilliant or otherwise.

Challenging Nature: A Look into Male Lactation, by @jaerie (hands down, one of my fave kinks, handled fantastically well...and this isn’t the author’s only one!).  Even taking into account all the bizarre things Harry has subjected himself to in the past for the sake of an article, Harry has received his strangest assignment yet. It comes up as a random misunderstanding in a meeting and builds into a conversation — can men breastfeed? Internet searches reveal documented cases of male lactation popping up at different times throughout history, but are any of them true? Can a man will himself into lactating? Harry has two months to make it happen.

like how your hands feel me up and down, by ballsdeepinjesus (this author wrote a lot of my faves back in the day, I have so many ~thoughts about the amazing writers in this particular era). “It’s -- you’re tight,” Louis chokes. “It’s tight, I mean. It’s. Yes.” His hand is curved around his hip now, squeezing lightly. “Tight’s good, right?” Harry murmurs, batting his eyelashes. He almost can’t believe himself. “Very good,” Louis grunts. Or louis works in a halloween shop and harry needs a costume.

baby look what you've done to me, by ballsdeepinjesus (see above; even the username kills me). The next day kind of turns everything upside down, though. Louis gets another lingerie catalogue addressed to Harry. He’s about to toss it when he sees a personalized note stuck to the front; it thanks Harry for his previous purchases and offers him a complimentary six-month subscription to their magazine free of charge. Or louis moves into harry's old flat. harry gets a lot of mail.

Take Our Bodies Higher, by @littlelouishiccups (I’m something of a connoisseur of the phone sex trope, so the way this author flips it and makes *Harry* the operator plus what ensues? chef’s kiss!). Harry wasn’t often caught off guard at his job anymore. He called different men Sir, Master, or Daddy for work almost every week, but he’d never been told he was a good boy in a voice quite like that. In which Harry is a phone sex operator and Louis dials a wrong number.

Make a Dime Go One Hundred, by @screwstyles (I’d rec this for their jobs alone, but everything in it, just wow). “Do you think you could trust anyone enough to have full control over you?” he asks into the night, hoping his sentence won’t break their bubble. It doesn’t, if the way Harry’s eyes meet his is any indication.“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough from the singing they had done earlier. Louis wants to keep this memory forever.“You know, if someone wanted to, uhm,” he coughs, “to tie you up, or blindfold you.” Or a friends to lovers AU where Harry volunteers to help Louis experiment with bondage. Things don’t go exactly to plan.

it ain't trickin' if ya got it, by sarcasticfluentry (needs ao3 account; I often stare at the wall and wonder what another installment in this universe would be, fuckkkkk, it’s so good, I only wish the social media was still in it). 28-year-old blockbuster actor Louis Tomlinson rushes home to give his 20-year-old model boyfriend Harry a good seeing-to after a particularly provocative Instagram post and, in his excitement, alerts the entire world. Featuring daddy kink, anal beads, and feelings.

If You Asked Me if I Love Him (I'd Lie), by allyasavedtheday (needs an ao3 account; it’s a sequel, but I reread it over and over vs. the first piece).  Or the one where Harry and Louis eloped but neglected to mention it to anyone. Meanwhile Lottie is getting married and the only way for them to not steal her thunder is by pretending they're just friends for the weekend. Featuring Harry and Louis as terrible liars who don't know the meaning of the word platonic and some Tomlinsons and Styleses who definitely don't believe them.

Damn, I could go on, but I’ll stop! My sideblog dedicated to short fics is @marathonficbreak, and it has some smaller ones, if this is too intimidating, lmao...hope some of them are new for you, enjoy!

[caiuscassiuss]

Paradiso | Richkid! Jaehyun (M)

   Description: Escaping to Italy and having a torrid fling to escape your pushy father sounded like a good idea, but the man you were screwing? Yeah, well, he was, erm... married.

Genre: Rich Kid/ Summer Vacation AU angst | fluff | humor WC: 15.3k Warnings: graphic smut (semi-public sex, dressed, hardcore dirty talk, unprotected ), profanity, cheating/ infidelity, mentions of mental illness

NCT Writer’s Prompt: You’re traveling around Italy this summer, hoping to escape from the ‘worthy men’ your father keeps setting you up with. It wasn’t your plan to fall in love with the rich, handsome bachelor that you met at the winery, that’s just a plus. (yeah yeah I know i’m tweaking it a bit)

(A/N: ⚠️ This story contains an extremely problematic scenario (i.e. infidelity). I do not condone the actions of the reader nor Jaehyun. ⚠️ Also, this fic contains real places that I may have written wrongly, as I haven’t visited Italy. It also contains the brand names that I do not own ⚠️)

   “My daughter has been so excited to meet you! Weren’t you, dear?” you father smiles at you over his wire-rimmed glasses, a sharp edge to the curve of his lips and a cautionary glint in his eyes.    The crunch of the iceberg lettuce in your mouth sounded a bit too loud as you finished chewing it. It went down your throat like a square through a circle slot, but you forced it down and beamed at the boy in front of you.    His carefully unbuttoned Brioni silk button-up and the Hermés loafers on his feet were as pretentious as the boy himself, but adequately fit the sophistication of the private lunch club your father had invited him to. The Metropolitan Club sat high atop the skyline of New York, giving its well-heeled patrons an unmatched view of the Big Apple while discussing the returns of their blue-chip stocks. Munching on their light salads and seafood platters, chatter ran light and easy throughout the club full of glittering chandeliers and tasteful Louis XVI-themed decor.    However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to admire the crystalware frosted with 16th-century French artwork when the company sitting in front of you was quite the contrary. His name, Nicholas Hadrian Alexander the III sounded just as inflated as his ego; his superiority complex trumped his pretty cheekbones, unfortunately. Nicholas smirked at you, giving his best attempt at bedroom eyes while twirling his fettuccine alfredo around his fork slowly. You personally felt second-hand embarrassment after he started biting his thin bottom lip.    “Certainly, father. It’s so nice to meet you Nicholas,” you grinned, showing too many teeth.    “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. You’re just as beautiful as your father says, even more so,” Nicholas replies slyly. Cringing, your fingers bunched up the soft fabric of your burnt-orange, hand-dyed silk dress.    Booming laughter resounded to your left, and you observe Nicholas’ father, Thomas Alexander, clutching his chest in laughter across from you.    “Oh, Sebastian, to be young again!” Thomas shared a conspiratorial glance with your father, who smiled wholeheartedly back.    “I remember how I had to chase my wife across the damn globe before getting her to marry me. Those were the eighties, you know. My, we’re getting old, Thomas! Either way, my wife and I have been happily married ever since,” your father reminisced.    “Indeed we are! I met my dear Claudia through a friend and all it took was one smile and I was long gone.” Thomas added, taking a bite of his lobster dish (He certainly could use a salad, however.)    “Speaking of marriage: Nicholas, Thomas keeps telling me you haven’t found a nice girl to settle down with? For a proper lad like yourself, I’d imagine you’d have better things to do than endure the company of these old fogies.” you father chuckled at Nicholas, sipping his nice Château de St.Cosme Gigondas from his wine glass.    Ah, so we have decided to stop pussyfooting around, you mused, stirring the straw around your raspberry lemonade. You had to admire your father’s skill in maneuvering conversation, steering the conversation to the port of his agenda. Unfortunately, his silver tongue was not ripping some poor man to shreds, but being used to affix you a new beau.    Nicholas, in particular, was chosen because he stood to chair a private defense company once he came of age. If you married the poor sod, your father would be able to proudly boast a lucrative defense contract with the U.S. military supplying whatever hardware they needed.    Well, marriage was never explicitly stated. You could easily read between the lines, however; it was hard not to when father dearest started dragging you along to countless places where some attractive young man happened to be. Whether it was at gala or park or luncheon like this one, your father just had to introduce you to a man that had greed in his eyes.    As objectified as you felt, you knew that your father had your best interests at heart. Once, in a moment of uncharacteristic candor, he had told you that he wanted to see you well-taken care of after his death. He really had tried to give you the best he could with what he had; you had never needed in your short life. You were given the best of material luxuries, sent through finishing school, then to an Ivy League college for the best education. Your father wanted that to continue.    Still, the lemonade went bitter down your throat.    “Oh, no, it’s not like that, “ Nicholas blushed, and exaggeratedly did his best to look bashful. “I just haven’t found the right girl, you know? Too many in for it for the fame or money, but…” he conspicuously slid his eyes over to you.    You’ve heard that one before.    “Oh, my darling Y/N is the best one could find among our kind. She went to Harvard, you know…” you father rambled on.    As he went on, the glazed looks of Nicholas and his father did not go amiss to your careful eye. You grimaced. They didn’t really care what you were, only who you were. They had already made up their minds and decided to cast their gauntlet for your hand, as medieval as it sounded.    Lunch went by in the same fashion, filled with superficial conversation in between bites of lobster and salmon. Nicholas sent ridiculous overtures towards you, while Thomas and Sebastian did nothing but goad him on. You did your best to stay engaged in the conversation, even if you wanted nothing more than to dump wine over their suits and leave.    You reluctantly exchanged numbers with Nicholas, and everyone mutually agreed it was the best time to depart. Nicholas tried his best to draw you into a hug when departing, but you carefully evaded his hands without seeming impolite. The frustrated set to his brows almost made you laugh.    As your father and you clambered into his grey Jaguar (his day car) in the valet parking, you stayed silent and buckled your belt.    “How was Nicholas? Wasn’t he nice?” your father asked while revving up the engine, a purr eliciting from the car as he did.    “I hated him,” you pronounced succinctly, resting your cheek on your knuckles to look out the tinted window.    “He… he couldn’t have been that bad, Y/N! He even said he liked history, and you like history, right?”    “Father, I asked him about his thoughts about Machiavelli to which he replied “he liked that castle” and then proceeded to fling another ridiculous innuendo at me,” you dead-panned.    “He was still very polite!”    “And I still want to fling him over a cliff in San Sebastián.”        “Damn it, Y/N!”    His sudden increase in volume surprised you, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him clutching the steering wheel very hard.    “I have introduced the best of the best to you, the cremé de la cremé of society, the premier men with the means to support you yet you still reject ever offer! Are you not grateful to me? Everything I have done is for you!” he frustratedly grit out, the creases on his forehead growing more pronounced in his anger.    “Have you ever thought I am not interested in chaining myself to someone? Not interested to shackle me to men who are so pretentious and self-absorbed they see nothing but bags of money when they look at me? Because I am most certainly not!” you seethed, boiling in the pit of your frustration.    “I want to see you treated like a queen, Y/N! Because when I am dead and gone, who will take care of you? You might have your fund and inheritance, but who can really take care of your wants and needs?”    The unanswered question preceded into silence, which draped over the car like a heavy blanket, and the two of you sat in tense silence.    “Dad, let me make a deal with you, in terms you understand,” you calmly asserted. “Let me take a break to somewhere, like Positano or Monte Carlo for a while, and I will be more open to the… options you have given me.”    Your father stays pensive for a while, navigating through the streets of Manhattan. You have never seen him older than he seemed at the moment, stroking his clean-shaven face in deep thought. You knew he couldn’t reject this. What were a few hundred thousand dollars spent on vacation compared to an advantageous marriage?    “I’ve taught you too well, huh?” he chuckles. “You sound like your old man. Very well. Take your break to where you want to go and I will cover all expenses, then come back here in 2 months.”

   The mimosa you were sipping was very refreshing to your taste buds, and you applauded your friend, Sul He Ra, on her choice of beverage for the morning.    Today, you were adrift on her private yacht off the Amalfi coast. Hearing you were in town, she had immediately dragged you from your hotel room in Le Sirenuse and onto the 3-story mega yacht her father bought for her (equipped with 3 staff and a swarthy, Greek captain). The morning sun beat against the decks of the luxurious wooden decks, the seagulls cawed and the waves beat gently against the side of the boat. The clear blue sky and the colorful facades of the buildings behind you set up a perfect backdrop for your late morning brunch, just like those postcards in tourist shops.    You were shielded from the sun by your straw hat, and the sea breeze passed pleasantly through your tan linen dress. Hera, lounging on a leather couch across from you, wore a nice Calypso St. Barth jumpsuit and a black, wide-brimmed hat. A crew member set down a tea caddy of pastries, which you both thanked as she ran off towards the kitchen.    “You saw my captain, right? Alessandro? Whew, what a man!” Hera fanned her face jokingly.    “Why yes, I did. He was the one who led us onto the craft,” you uttered wryly.    “Semantics, semantics,” Hera waved off. “Anyway, did you see those biceps?! What I would give to have a night in bed with him!”     “Are you telling me Sul Hera did not immediately fuck him in his tight Navy uniform?” you sniggered.    “I don’t think that would’ve been appropriate at the first introduction. My father was there, and I’m not really into that, you know?”    The two of your burst out in laughter, holding onto the sides of the couch to stay upright. Hera’s scandalous escapades never failed to amuse you.    “I felt like I haven’t seen you in ages, Y/N! Where have you been for the past year?” Hera cried in mock outrage, throwing up her hands in the air. You smiled. Hera has been one of your best friends since you met in finishing school, one of the few people you could stand in the midst of overly snobby young girls. She was apart of the London-Dubai-Shanghai set, making it hard to keep up with her jet-setting lifestyle, but you still were up to date with her.    “Wouldn’t you know it, I’ve been holed up in New York and London for the past few months,” you replied dryly, taking a bite of the wonderful croissant laid out for you.    “I thought you hated such boring cities?” she quoted you, raising an eyebrow.    “I do,” you said tersely, tearing off a piece of the flaky, buttery pastry with your fingers    “Well, why then?”    You turned your head to face her, a noticeable scowl on your lips. “My father and his matchmaking scheme.”    Hera winced and daintily sipped at her mimosa. While her mother and father were strict, they surprisingly gave her the choice to pick her partner. Perhaps there was the factor she had 2 older brothers and another sister to marry off, but it was still highly unusual. The Korean girls you knew from boarding school were married as soon as the ink dried on their diplomas.    “Oh dear, we’re now that age, aren’t we? What has your father done now?” Hera asked, twirling an ink-black lock around her pointer finger.    “I’m only 25! This isn’t the middle-ages, I’m not going to be on the shelf for christ’s sake! Over the past 8 months I have met at the very least 50 men, all hand-picked by my meddlesome father and politely pushed to tie the damn knot!” you ranted. Grabbing the stem of your mimosa flute, you downed it in a few angry gulps.    “You sound like a damsel in distress,” Hera laughs.    “Oh my god, what am I to do Hera? All these men— they’re fucking pigs, only worth a few million dollars,” you bemoaned. “The only reason why I’m here and not in Canary Wharf is that I made my father a deal. I now have 2 months to do whatever I want and as soon as you know it, I’ll be in a white veil.”    Hera sighed sympathetically and bit into the oozing cinnamon bun in her well-manicured hands. She chewed pensively for a while, before swallowing and turning her coal-black gaze to you.    “My advice for you: enjoy it. Get dicked down, get drunk, sow your wild oats before you’re pawned off.”    She leaned forward, giving up her comfortable incline on the cushions. Hera fiddled with the strings on her jumpsuit in doubt. “I hesitate to offer this up, but when you get married, you could always, erm, have someone on the side...”    “I... I don’t know. God knows that most of these men visit a brothel every other month, but could I?” you agonized.    A contemplative silence spread between the two of you, only the sound of the bird rocking and seagulls cawing heard.    “You know what? This is such a somber mood. Give me some gossip, Hera!” you demanded, perking up from your slumped posture.    The bright girl perked up immediately at the thought of sharing juicy scandals.    “Well, I heard that this bank manager’s wife found out he had 5 mistresses, all holed up in separate suites in the same complex…”

   A yawn escaped your lips, and you opened your eyes to the pleasant view of the Italian countryside, going by in gentle, rolling hills dotted with trees and charming houses. How idyllic.    You asked Hera to accompany you to Tuscany and go on a road trip through the region, giving you the chance to catch up for all the missed time. The girl happily agreed, citing that she was trying to escape her ex-hookup from London (some Japanese bloke named Yuta? Kuta?) and had all the time in the world to travel around with you. Plans were made, a train ride was taken, and the two of you arrived in Florence.    However, when you said “road trip”, you thought it was just going to be the two of you in a Range Rover or something. Hera, however, arranged for a driver and a silver Mercedes G-Wagen to be idling in the pick-up lane outside the terminal.    You shook your head, mouth curving up in a slight smile. That girl…    Despite the misconception, the two of you traveled in peace. Hera insisted you have the classic tourist experience of taking various wine tours throughout the region, bringing you to her favorite places. While you were only half-interested in the wine, you gleefully took pictures of the historic structures these wineries and vineyards were housed in. As you traveled south, you visited Albola Castle and the Fattoria di Montemaggio, sipping fine vintages of wine in between lavish lunches of traditional Italian cuisine. It was an enjoyable existence, but you couldn’t help but feel restless. Like, you could be doing something somewhere but what was something and where was somewhere?    “Ma’am, we’re soon approaching,” the driver spoke up.    Hera, her head slumped on the car window, jolted up from her light nap. Her eyes adjusted to the sun coming in through the windshield, and she yawned and rubbed her eyes.    “Thank you, Sungmin,” she replied.    “So where did you say we were going, Hera?” you asked.    “Brolio Castle, which houses the Barone Riscoli winery. You know, it’s the oldest winery in Italy!”    “Really?” you gasped.    “Really! It was founded a thousand years ago. They created the Chianti Classico wine— hold on, doesn’t your dad like that wine? I think my dad gifted him some during a club outing last year,” Hera mused.    “I should get him a bottle. Something to placate him before he sees his credit card bill go through the roof,” you smirked.    “Hell yeah!” Hera cheered and high-fived you.    As the car traveled along the rocky pavement, you stared outside to see the extensive vineyards and the jutting ramparts of the historic property. Your mouth slightly gaped at the grandeur and beauty of the red-orange castle surrounded by carefully-manicured trees and shrubbery. You couldn’t imagine how it felt like to see this in the first century as a mere peasant, something so impossibly beautiful yet still entirely real.    The pair of you hopped out of the car as the driver parked it, stretching out your stiff muscles from the extended car ride. She led you imperiously to the check-in desk and stopped to talk to a young Italian woman with her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail.    “Sul and Y/L/N,” Hera said. The receptionist nodded and looked down at her desktop, clicking, and typing to search for your reservation.    “I booked the private tour for us,” Hera whispered conspiratorially in your ear, and you nodded in approval.    “Ah, yes. Booked for the Privilege Tour at one o’clock,” the young woman said in a slight accent. She handed you two wristbands and checked her desktop, frowning as she looked at the screen.    “Ladies, I’m afraid you have may have another group joining you in your tour. Their guide sommelier has had to cancel last minute and your guide is the only available one to conduct the Privilege tour. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” the receptionist said somberly.    “No, no, it’s alright! The more the merrier, right Y/N?” Hera grinned at you.    “Of course, of course! It’d be lovely for us two lonely ladies,” you reassured and Hera laughed.    You could see the Italian lady breath out a nearly invisible sigh of relief, glad that the rich-looking ladies weren’t going to put up a fuss at their private tour being intruded upon.    She led the pair of you to a slightly balding middle-aged man, wearing a slick black vest and black bowtie while perusing over some pamphlets.    “Signore, Miss Sul and Miss Y/L/N will be apart of the tour you will be conducting today,” the receptionist hurriedly said and bustled off to assist with other guests.    “Ah, welcome to ‘ze Barone Ricasoli! I am Matteo Giordano, ze guide cum sommelier for you today! Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said jovially, tortoiseshell glasses slightly slipping off the bridge of his nose.    “Buongiorno, signore! We’re very excited to taste some great wines today,” Hera greeted.    “Not to forget exploring the castle grounds,” you interjected.    Mister Giordano looked delighted. “You will see plenty of both today! As you might’ve read, we will…”    The two of you chatted for a few moments, immersed in conversation. When you were about to inquire about the residents of the castle, the sommelier looked over your shoulder at something.    “Ah! I think ‘zat is the rest of our merry band, no?” Mister Giordano grinned.    Hera turned faster than you to greet the incoming guests, but as soon as she did her eyes widened comically.    “Jung Jaehyun?” she gasped.    You turned your body to see an incoming group of 3 people walking towards you, but the man at the front made your heart rate quicken.    He was the classical definition of tall, dark, and handsome; your ideal type. Brown, mussed up hair framed features that were as fine-boned as a model on a Vogue editorial, all sharp angles and symmetry. Clad in a navy Brunello Cucinelli sports coat that fit nicely along his broad shoulders and hinted at defined musculature, the man’s long legs strode leisurely towards your frozen self.    Slowing down, the man’s brows furrowed in confusion while staring at Hera.    “Sul Hera?”    She gasped and opened her arms for a hug, which he bent down and returned politely.    God, you hoped he wasn’t one of her former lovers.    “Oh my, it’s so weird I ran into you here! How are you, how are your parents?” Hera gushed.    “Very well, business is doing pretty well these days. My parents? They’re still alive,” he smirked, and goosebumps rose on your arms.    Hera laughed, the delightful soprano ringing along the stone walls of the castle.    Jaehyun smiled and turned his attention towards you, his black eyes piercing.    “And who is this gorgeous lady next to you?” Jaehyun asked, staring into your eyes. It made you want to wilt, but you straightened up, reminded yourself no handsome man was going to ruin you, and returned the favor.    “Goodness, where are my manners? Jaehyun, this is Y/N Y/L/N; she’s been one of my best friends since finishing school! Y/N, this is Jaehyun; his parents know mine pretty well back in Korea.” Hera gestured towards you, her Cartier tennis bracelet twinkling in the dim light. Oh, thank the lord Jaehyun wasn’t one of her hook-ups.    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jaehyun,” you shyly smiled.    “The pleasure is all mine, Y/N,” he grins at you.    He steps slightly out of the way, and you finally take notice of the two men behind him. They were both very handsome in dapper clothing, but they went unnoticed because, well, Jaehyun was kind of a visual wall.    “This is Johnathan Suh the II,” he points at a man with black hair in a yellow polo shirt. “He goes by Johnny, and he’s from the US.” Jaehyun points at another man in a dark green sports jacket, sporting blond hair and looked really lean. “This is Dong Sicheng, he goes by Winwin. His dad is a party member in China.” Winwin smiled cutely and waved at you.    “Nice to meet all of you!” Hera chirps.    Mister Giordano took this as a cue to step in and start the tour. “Well, zat is everybody, so welcome to the Privilege Tour of Barone Ricasoli, the oldest winery in Italy! Established in 1141…”    As he led you through the various corridors of the castle and talking about its history, you found yourself at the back of the group with none other than Jung Jaehyun.    Giordano stopped and went into a storeroom to retrieve something, and Hera struck up a pleasant conversation with Johnny and WinWin, who were standing slightly behind her. The silence between Jaehyun and you were slowly beginning to turn awkward, and you fidgeted with the clasp of your straw bag.    “So, what made you and Hera come here to Tuscany?” Jaehyun asked, breaking the silence.    “Oh! Uh, I’m here for the next 2 months so I decided to go on a road trip with Hera in the Italian countryside,” you beamed up at him.    “Road trip? Did Hera include a driver and at least 3 suitcases?” he queried humorously, lips lifting up in a smile.    You chuckled. “Yeah! Right on the spot. I swear, that girl…” you stared at Hera with affection.    “You’ve been friends with Hera since finishing school? You seem to know her very well,” Jaehyun queried, stuffing his hands into his pockets.    You nodded fondly. “Yup. She was one of the only people I actually liked in school at the time and we’ve been good friends ever since.”    Jaehyun’s reply was interrupted as Mister Giordano came back, 4 white parasols in hand.    “You might’ve known zat we were going to go to through ze gardens today! The Mediterranean sun, however, does not stop for anyone so I procured some parasols for all of you!” He beamed.    You all thanked the man, and as soon as you reached to get one, Jaehyun gently grabbed it from the sommelier’s hand before you could take it.    “Erm, Jaehyun? May I share with you?” you asked timidly.    He chuckled a low tenor that sounded like melted Marchesi chocolate to your ears. “Of course.”    He offered an arm which you gingerly took, and the two of you strode into the bright sunlight.    The two of you pleasantly chatted through the tour of the beautiful gardens, the private chapel, and the small museum, mind only half-focused on the expensive tour you signed up for.    You found out Jaehyun was here for a friend’s birthday yesterday in Florence but decided to take a little detour through the countryside with friends. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about a number of things, discussing various subjects like art or literature to your surprised self. Jaehyun himself was the VP of the North American branch of his family’s prestigious clinics. You mentioned you had graduated with your Master’s from Harvard (“Really? That’s amazing!”) and was currently working as a private manager for a bank, right now on extended vacation. Briefly, the topic of your father’s meddling came to light, but you quickly averted the subject in front of the handsome man.    After going through very fine vintages of wine in the Ricasoli Armory, the group of you got up and parted ways with the jovial sommelier, walking back to your cars. You quickly took a trip to the store and shipped 3 bottles of Chianti Classico to your father, adding a small note on stationery. Johnny did the same thing, claiming his mother wanted some for a party she was throwing. Jaehyun hovered near you, perusing the various trinkets advertising the Barone Ricasoli.    The men graciously offered to walk the pair of you back to your car, a warm atmosphere hovering around all of you. Before you got back into the car, everyone exchanged numbers and promised to keep in contact while in Italy.    Jaehyun’s fingers brushed briefly on your’s while handing your phone back, lingering there a bit too long to be polite. You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you slipped your phone back into your handbag.    “Ciao! I better not see any of you doing donuts on some country road!” Hera waved at the group.    They laughed and walked off towards a Bugatti and a McLaren parked in the shade a few meters from where you were, nudging each other back.    You and Hera clambered back into the G-Wagen, sighing as the leather welcomed your tired limbs into its arms.    “You seemed to hit off with Jaehyun pretty well,” Hera mentioned casually. Her eyes told a different story, probing your gaze.    “Erm, yeah. He was nice,” you stiffly said.    “Y/N, I’ve got to be honest with you, but Jaehyun is married.”    “He’s married?” the color drained from your face.    “Yeah, to a Chinese girl. You might know her. Carolina Xue?”    “Her? He never mentioned it...” you asked in shock. Carolina Xue was one of the brattiest girls you knew from finishing school in Switzerland. Braggadocious and condescending, she constantly paraded the fact her family was listed in the top 50 on the Hurun Wealth Report for China every year as if the girls around her didn’t have equally impressive credentials. She sauntered about every class as if she owned the damned school. A classic fuerdai of the worst kind.    “What do you expect? If I was a guy I wouldn’t mention I was married around the likes of you.” Hera laughed. “But poor Jaehyun! Carolina was such a bitch throughout school! I felt so bad for him when the engagement was announced.”    “Yeah, very sad,” you murmured absentmindedly, feeling as if the floor was swept from beneath you.

   You hoped the wine made it in time to your father’s office because boy, he going to have a heart attack when he saw your credit card bills.    No offense, but Milan wasn’t particularly special when compared to Firenze or Rome. The only thing they had going for them was Duomo and Fashion Week, to be perfectly honest.     And the quadrilatero della moda.     Hera chartered 3 Range Rovers and 5 security personnel for this little shopping trip. Passerby were treated to the truly unique sight of burly men in black suits and earpieces hurrying along the avenue, gigantic bags of top-name brands somehow kept aloft in their hands as sweat dripped down from their buzzcuts. The lead security guard, Davio, mentioned to you that the first and second Range Rover was already full and had to be driven back to the hotel. Hera pouted and shoved 5 more bags from Roger Vivier at him.    At the moment, the two of you descended upon Alexander McQueen’s boutique on the Via Pietro Verri, one of the few stores that did not close down for you. However, they did treat you very warmly, serving champagne and some cake while you were perusing their wares.    You stared at yourself in the mirror of awfully cramped fitting apartment they had set up for you (you knew should’ve just gone to Valentino!). The black lace minidress hung on your body in all the right ways, clinging your body like a glove. The top half was lingerie-inspired, a black bustier confection compromised of strategically placed flowers and made your breasts look really good. Backless, it cinched at your waist with silk bows and flowed out into the regular A-line design, stopping mid-thigh. Alexander pulled through with this dress, though you would’ve really liked a plush chair instead of some modern stone block in the fitting apartment.    “It looks very good, Signora Y/L/N! Very sensual! The men will be falling to your feet if you wear this in public!” the private attendant assigned to you, specifically, flattered from beside the mirror.    “Thank you,” you smiled warmly. Nice as the compliment was, the attendant was only looking for a commission, so you needed a true opinion.    “Hera?” you called out.    No one answered, and you looked behind you to see your finely-dressed friend was not there.    You strode across the small room in your black heels you chose from the store and swept back the curtains separating this room from the rest of the store. However, when downstairs into the main level, you did not see your Korean friend scrutinizing the things on sale, but someone else.    “Jung Jaehyun?” you blurted out.    The man in question, now dressed in a black Tom Ford sports coat, whipped his head up from the ties he was perusing.    “Y-Y/N?”    For a moment, you could only stare at each other in shock. He, in his dashing attire and a slightly unbuttoned shirt that looked so right, was extra yum today.    But damn, he was a married man.    You felt naked as his eyes roamed over your body, spending a little time resting at your chest. You felt the blood rush up to your cheeks as he snapped out of his appraisal.    Words tumbled out of your mouth. “It’s nice to see you here, Jaehyun! What a pleasant surprise.” Christ, you hoped you didn’t sound too eager.    “I-It’s nice to see you too, Y/N. Yes, what an interesting coincidence,” he finally regained the use of his usual suave, deep voice.    The two you exchanged hugs and kisses, the Continental style that had been drilled into you since the days of school in Switzerland. The slight smell of bay rum and musk with a hint of Spanish marjoram wafted towards your nose, and god, you just wanted to melt into him.    “Y/N I have found the most darling mini shirt-dress— Jaehyun?!” Hera gasped as she walked in from the other showroom.    Jaehyun looked up from your face and smiled at the incoming girl. “Figures, if I saw the lovely Y/N here I’d see the likes of you here too.”    Hera rolled her eyes and gave him a polite hug. “Oh stop, you rascal. What are you doing here in Milan? We just saw you a couple days in Chianti!”    Jaehyun laughed. “I had to take a quick trip to Capri, but I’m actually here for a party at the Palazzo Serbelloni tomorrow night. You know Ten Leechaiyapornkul? He’s holding his photography exhibit there with a few friends of his.”    Ten was a good friend of yours from Harvard; he was part of the international expat group you usually hung out with. From what you could remember, he was a talented man with a great sense of humor.    “Ten? Son of that famous folk singer? I think I know of him,” Hera mused, mindlessly tapping the supple leather of her Givenchy Antigona.    “Yeah, him. He and I were playmates were kids before I went to Cambridge and he went to Harvard,” Jaehyun mentioned, stuffing his hands in pockets.     You sent him a surprised look. “How funny! Ten was a good friend from college. He was in the graduating class before me, but we generally hung out with the same group in Harvard,” you revealed. The lace dress you were wearing was completely forgotten.    “Oh, right! You did say you went to Harvard,” Jaehyun snapped his fingers. “Say, why don’t you two come to the party tomorrow? I bet Ten would be ecstatic to see his old college bud at his exhibition.”    “We would love to! But we wouldn’t want to be a nuisance or anything…” you trailed off.    Jaehyun waved you off. “There’s going to be a few hundred guests there, who’s going to care if there are two more? Just give me the word and I can ask Ten to put you on the guest list.”    You smiled. “Lovely! Please give Ten my regards, then.”    “I’ll text you the time.” He looked at his gold-plated Piguet on his wrist and frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you ladies from your excursion, so I’ll leave you to it.”    “Annyeong, Jaehyun! We’ll see you there!” Hera cutely waved.    He nodded back and hurried out the glass stores of the boutique.    Your friend turned back towards you and inspected the black lace dress on your body. She hummed in approval.    “Oooh, yes. I approve. You look hot.”    “I like it too. I’ll buy it then,” you acquiesced, waving over the gleeful-looking attendant to get the check.    As you changed in the fitting room and went up to the desk, Hera seemed troubled by something. She did buy her shirt dress, along with a few belts and heels, but she frowned as she handed her card in.    “Is something wrong Hera?” You asked, buttoning the clasp your Hermes wallet.    She bit her lip. “Y/N… I don’t like the way Jaehyun looked at you.”    You stared at her in surprise. “What?” you furrowed your brows.    She finally turned her attention towards you and lowered her voice. “He stared at you like he would like nothing more than to rip your dress off your body, Y/N.”    You scoffed, secretly pleased and apprehensive at the same time. “So? Not to brag, but I’ve had to field more than a few bedroom eyes in my day.”    Hera sighed then signed her signature on the receipt with a flourish. “I’m warning you, Y/N. Jaehyun has always had a penchant for the things he can’t have, and I don’t want you to get hurt. He’s a married man!”

   The sunset on the horizon as you sped towards the illustrious Palazzo Serbelloni in a metallic gray Jaguar.    “Hey, Y/N, did I overline my lips too much? I don’t want to look like a Beverly Hills Housewife,” Hera fretted, looking at her reflection in a compact Lancome mirror.    “Hera, you look fine. And you? A housewife? Never,” you snorted, fingering the crystals on your Valentino dress. You had chosen to wear a sleeveless. beautifully-embellished gown to fit the black-tie dress code for the exhibition. Sheer and sunset-golden, it hugged to your body like a glove and the deep v-line exposed your cleavage. You bought it immediately when you saw how beautifully the hand-sewn crystals would glitter in whatever light it was placed in.    The bright lights emanating from the vast windows of the palace Napoleon had inhabited attracted your eyes and you looked through the windshield to see the hulking, neoclassical landmark the exhibition was being held in. Supercar after supercar lined the streets leading up to the event, so impressive even you couldn’t resist letting out a gasp. Men strode suavely down the pavement and groups of sparkling women tottered their way on the uneven cobblestone. The paparazzi made its presence known by the blinding flashes of cameras in the darkening streets, careful not to get too close lest they be sued.    “We can get out ourselves. We wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Hera spoke to the driver. He nodded stoically and turned his attention forward.    A doorman stood imperiously at the brass gate in a pinstripe suit, wire glasses sitting on the tip of his nose as he browsed his tablet.    “Good evening, ladies Names?” he said in a British accent.    “Y/N Y/L/N and Hera Sul,” you said.    He scrolled through the bright screen of his tablet. “Ah! Welcome to this evening’s photography exhibit. I hope you have a night filled with entertainment and amusement,” he nodded.    Hera dimpled at the older man, thanking him. As the pair of you ducked into the brass gate, you could hear the sounds of a few girls begging the older man for entry into the exclusive event.    “Oh, dear. The nerve of these people. Didn’t they ever learn it’s simply not polite to gatecrash?” Hera tutted and shook her head back and forth, curled hair swinging from side to side.    A laugh escaped your mouth as you entered into the central courtyard, decorated to resemble a 1920’s garden party. A helper handed out a pamphlet to you as you perused your surroundings with glee. Tasteful organza streamers hung from the many arches and there were beautiful fountains placed in the middle, seemingly brought in from a museum for this function.    “Y/N, Ten did a great job!” Hera exclaimed. “Do you see how he hid those spotlights behind the tropical ferns? You would not believe how many parties I’ve been to and almost been blinded by those damn lights…”    You nodded along with her reminiscing, flipping through the glossy pages of the pamphlet detailing the art exhibit.    “Glad to know you liked the decorations. Goodness knows most people are here for the party rather than the exhibit, so might as well make it nice,” a tenor came from behind you.    “Ten!” you gasped in delight. He beamed, dressed in a dapper Thom Browne suit jacket and black turtleneck, as he nursed a flute of bubbly champagne in his left hand. You quickly reached over the hug the slender man, flinging your arms around him.    “Why did I have to hear from Jung Jaehyun sending me a text that you were in Italy? I would’ve hand-delivered the invitation myself had I known you were in Milan!” he laughed, kissing you on both cheeks.    “Tennie, it’s so nice to see you! I didn’t really tell anyone I was coming to Italy except Hera here—” you flapped a jewel-encrusted hand towards her general vicinity “ — so that’s why.”    “Escaping your father’s cupid service?” he raised a well-groomed eyebrow.    Your eyebrows creased. How did he know about that?    “Darling, everybody and their mothers know your dad’s search for a husband for his one and only daughter. The dogs have been practically salivating.” Ten rolled his eyes.    You rubbed your temples and let out a sigh. “My god, I’m practically a high-class hooker.”    “Ten, I hope you're not contracting her services!” Johnny’s familiar voice rang out jokingly as he navigated his way through the hoards of people, easily visible because of his tall height. However, your breath caught as you spotted the man next to him.    Jaehyun smirked as he caught onto your gaze, his eyes staring directly into your wide ones as he followed Johnny. Impeccably dressed in his Stefano Ricci suit, he looked like a male model going down the catwalk.    Ten’s eyes scanned the interaction briefly and imperceptibly frowned before turning his attention towards the black-haired American man. “Honey.” Ten eyes seemed to soften as Johnny lent down to give Ten a quick peck to the cheek and stole the champagne flute out of the photographer’s hand. You broke your staring contest with Jaehyun as you looked on in surprise at the display of affection.    “I didn’t know you were in a relationship, Ten!” you marveled while Ten and Johnny stared into each other’s eyes lovingly.    “Yeah, I kind of like this big idiot,” Ten said as he tried to swipe his champagne flute back from Johnny. The American, with his superior height, simply held the glass higher and downed it.    The height difference was so cute.    “Hello, Y/N,” Jaehyun murmured.    “Oh, forgive me for being rude! It’s nice to see you here,” you said as you exchanged hugs and kisses with Jaehyun. His hands slightly touched the sheer fabric at your waist as he hugged you which made your nipples stiffen. He stilled smelled delicious.    “Thank you for being our little liaison, Jaehyun,” Hera piped up from the side as she scanned over the hors-d'oeuvres the waiters were scurrying around with.    “It’s my pleasure.” Jaehyun waved one of them over, an aproned young teen balancing a plate of champagne flutes. He grabbed the flute of one before turning to you and Hera.    ���Would you ladies like one?”    Hera declined, citing she wasn’t in the mood, while you accepted. Jaehyun handed one over to you with his left hand, right hand unnecessarily grasping your wrist to ensure the transfer of the liquid would be stable. Not to be cliche, but his touch truly felt like electric sparks on your skin, arching up your arm and into your extremities.    The conversation lulled as Ten, Johnny, and Hera inconspicuously observed your flustered reaction.    “I’ll see you guys later. Please enjoy the exhibition!” Ten called out as he swept away, Johnny following closely on his heels.    Hera flipped to the pamphlet and stopped at a particular page. “Now, I think we should—”    “Hera!” a voice called out from the entrance.    She reacted more quickly to this man’s voice than to a sale at Bergdorf Goodman, eyes widening in plain horror as she spotted a tall man with good-looking features making a path towards her.    “Holy fucking fuck, Yuta! I gotta go!” she whispered frantically as she shoved her pamphlet at you and sped off into the Palazzo as quickly as she could in sky-high Louboutins. Yuta (or at least the man you presumed to be) barrelled rudely past you and Jaehyun, only apologizing hurriedly as he walked as fast as he could politely could. Yuta accidentally shouldered you in his pursuit of Hera, and you stumbled back, heel catching on to a crack in the stones of the ground.     “Woah there, might’ve crashed into the topiaries,” Jaehyun laughed as he steadied you. You blushed at the close proximity.    “Didn’t you know? Lounging in the topiaries is the new trend this season. Health benefits and all that,” you said smoothly, trying to get your mind away from his lips. As always, sarcasm was your weapon of choice.    “I also heard thanking your savior from social embarrassment was in season too,” Jaehyun quipped, raising an eyebrow.    “Oh, Lord Jaehyun!” you exaggeratedly put a hand to your heart. “I am forever indebted to you, my liege,” you said sarcastically.    “Banish the debt by taking a walk with me, my lady,” Jaehyun smoothly slipped in, a wry grin playing on his lips. He extended a hand towards yours.    What a smooth motherfucker.    Jaehyun led you through the grand exhibits of Ten’s skillful photography, featuring barren landscapes and nude people. From you could recall, the theme of the exhibit was “Bare”.    Jaehyun was a gracious host, skillfully keeping up conversation with you as you scrutinized the beauty of the photos. You have met men like him, suave and charming and thought that they were all that, but it somehow works on Jaehyun. That somehow the aura of arrogance and charm fitted him as well as his suits did. You would’ve done well to remember Jaehyun was a married man, a man shackled to that Chinese bitch from boarding school, but it was hard to even think near him.    After looking at the photographs of nude men with Jaehyun’s eyes boring into the back of your head, you started to walk out of the neoclassical hall, relieved to get away from such close quarters. As soon as your hand reached out for the golden doorknob, the smell of bay rum and Spanish marjoram pulled you into another hallway.    Jaehyun dashed through the velvet ropes cordoning off the hallway, you protesting the rest of the way. He pulled you through yet another set of beautifully-engraved doors and shut them with a resounding bang.    “Jaehyun? Where are we? Why are we here?” you asked, alarmed.    Jaehyun was silent as a grave as he stared at you from his position near the door, eyes contemplative and dark.    “Jaehyun?”    He stalked towards you like a big cat who had found its prey, figurative claws out and fangs bared.    “Do you know how much I want to rip that dress off your body?” he finally responded, roughly.    “Erm… Jaehyun, perhaps this isn’t—”    You didn’t think that pricey finishing school in Switzerland quite prepared you for this situation. Damn Mrs. Accola and her leg-crossing techniques because she did most certainly did not prepare you in the event a married man was trying to seduce you.    “This damn dress and that one from the McQueen boutique on the Via Pietro Verri; as gorgeous as you look in it, I want to see it on the floor,” Jaehyun softly starts out, voice growing rougher and deeper as he progresses towards you. He corners you into the back of a plush couch, and as you frantically look around you can see you are in a library.    Jaehyun is now only a few inches away from you now, so close you can smell his minty breath. You are damn near leaning back into the back of the couch, the hard ridge digging into your back.    He raises a hand and strokes your jaw, noticing your hitched breathing. He lets his other hand wander to your waist, his thumb rubbing the spot were the embroidery fails to cover your skin.    “Jaehyun, you’re a married man—”    “Does it really matter when we kindle to each other’s touch?” he whispers provocatively into your ear.    “But it’s so unfaithful—”    “Y/N, sweetheart, think about it: we’re both here to escape something. Me from my bitchy wife and you from your pesky admirers. Why not just indulge in one sweet release?” His lips drag across your bared neck when he speaks, puffs of hot air and presses of lips dancing along your skin. It played hell on your nerves.    “Agree to me, sweetheart, and you won’t regret it. I promise.”    Maybe it was the alcohol in your veins, the proximity of Jaehyun, or maybe your frustration over your suitors, but you did the most foolish thing you’ve ever done. Sense and rationality be damned.    You agreed.    You feel his lips curl up against your collarbone, and his fingers quickly hiked up your bedazzled dress to your stomach.    “Wow, this wet already? See, I was right,” Jaehyun smugly smiled as his index finger stroked your clit.    “For as much as I affect you, you affect me.” He guided your hand to his slacks, his erection pushing against the soft fabric violently. Your hand wanders to his belt buckle, and your fingers fumble with it to loosen it. It unbuckles and swings from his pants, as you brush your hand up against his briefs.    “This is too slow,” Jaehyun grunts, roughly bending you over the back of the couch.    He pulls down your near-ruined Guia La Bruna panties and takes a moment to take in your exposed core, bared only to him.    “Fuck, you’re prettier than I imagined.”    His penis rubbed slightly against your labia, and you almost buckled from his immense teasing. Seeing the fine tremors in your legs, he chuckled softly and slowly inserted the head of his cock in.    “Jaehyun, please!” you cried out, clutching the throw pillows of the couch.    His cock twitched against the walls of your vagina as he brutally slammed inside without warning, filling you up contentedly.    Jaehyun picked up the pace, his hips slamming a rough and quick tempo better than any vibrator you’ve had. “Fucking slut, you wanted this cock, didn’t you? The minute you saw me at that winery you wanted my dick.”    “Yes!” you groan, tears forming at the edges of your eyes.    “I jacked off to the image of you in just those damn heels you wore in the McQueen, you know that? You, bent over, just in those damned heels as I fucked you over and over until you were a mess.”    You thanked whatever god that was out there that the room was empty and no one was near you, because the intensity of your pleasured moans was loud. Your back arched as you pushed your ass up to meet Jaehyun’s wild bucking of his hips, a lewd slap slap slap meeting both of your ears.    You bit your lip hard as your gripped the throw pillows brutally, sure that nail marks were going to dig into the fine material. His thrusts finally hit that spot, and white-hot pleasure almost rocked you to your knees as you had the best orgasm of your life.    “Please tell me you’re on birth control, sweetheart, please, I want to come into you,” Jaehyun begs. You can hear him gritting his teeth, and you are 500 percent sure the gripping of your walls has him more shaken than he divulged.    “Mmm, yes,” you groan.    “SHIT!”    Jaehyun’s pace stuttered as he rocked erratically into your pussy, balls quivering with his powerful ejaculation. His cum comes out in spurts or long, drawn-out ropes that fill you pleasantly with a sort of fuzzy warmth.    “Yes, take it all,” Jaehyun mumbles, rocking his hips into yours.    The two of you catch your breath, aftershocks of your fierce orgasms clenching at your extremities.    He pulls himself out from you, and a stream of cum travels down your leg. Jaehyun somehow finds a tissue in the palazzo library and he wipes down your swollen core carefully.    You settle the folds of your dress down properly as he adjusts his trousers and crooked collar.    “I wonder what Serbelloni would’ve thought if he knew we were using his precious library for coitus,” Jaehyun laughs.    Your breath caught in your throat. You just shagged a married man. A married man. A man with a ring on his finger and a marriage certificate on file, a man who vowed to stay loyal to his wife through the best and the worst. You just had amazing, mind-blowing sex with the only man you couldn’t have it with. God, you were such a whore.    “This… This can’t happen again, Jaehyun. This is a one-time thing. No more,” you fretted, pacing around the rich carpet of the Palazzo Serbelloni library. Jaehyun stares at you from his perch atop the writing desk with his arms crossed, his eyes glinting.    “Of course. The first and last.”

   The first it most certainly was, but the last, it was most certainly not.    “Oh fuck!” Jaehyun panted as he slammed into your hips one last time. His sweaty chest collapsed onto the white duvet next to your naked body, tired from the exertion.    Being holed up in a ritzy resort on Ischia was in your traveling plans, but the man in your bed was an unknown variable. He had chased you all the way from Milan, intent on cornering you on your solo island-hopping trip and having his way with you. This was his 3rd time catching up.    You stare vacantly at the tan bed-hangings on the ceiling, deep in thought. You were basking in the afterglow of the various orgasms Jaehyun had skillfully coaxed out of you, but the true implications of your actions hit you.    A married man.     Jaehyun, sensing you had gone still, turned his head to you and nuzzled into your neck.    “Why are you so sad, sweetheart? Do you need me to go down you one more time?” he playfully asked, nipping at your collarbone. You squirmed away from him and sat up.    “This is wrong, Jaehyun. Wrong.”    “Wrong?” he lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t kid me, sweetheart. This is the fourth time this has been “wrong”. Weren’t you the one screaming my name when I—”    “Jaehyun!” you exclaimed, lifting the duvet to cover your naked chest.    “I’m just speaking the truth,” he acquiesced, wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled at you gently, trying to lure you back to bed.     You eventually surrender to his ceaseless towing, falling back into his broad chest.    “You know, when my father asked me to look for the right man to marry I don’t it was you he had in mind,” you mused, twiddling with his mussed brown locks.     “I’m generally not,” Jaehyun snorted.    “What do you mean?” you asked.    He let out a breath and wrapped his arms around your waist tighter.    “My...wife,” he pronounced the name with utter disgust “ --was caught having sex with my married older cousin. It was a pretty big deal at the time because Sejun was expecting his second child.”    Jaehyun nuzzled his lips into your messy hair. “In order to cover up the big scandal, my kind family decided to marry the bitch off to me. The unsuspecting nephew,” he laughed bitterly “--who also looked alike to Sejun. My family is the kind who would sell their souls to protect their reputation, damned be the individual who gets in their way.”    “I… I didn’t know,” you breathed out, knowing your father would’ve cut off his manufacturing deal with his family once he got whiff of the scandal.    “Well, now you do.” Jaehyun started petting your hair. “Carolina Xue is the worst wife a man could have. My cousin was lucky she didn’t start leeching off of him once she got pregnant.”    “I always knew Carolina Xue was a whore. She seemed to be destined as one, even in school,” you laughed.    “Did you know she refuses to believe she is bipolar?”    You looked back at him in surprise, the late afternoon sun setting on the horizon. It glinted off his hair like an angel.    “Her parents refuse to acknowledge their dearest daughter has a mental disorder. Carolina nor her parents think it is real and even think less about getting it treated. I have tried in this fucking marriage to give her some help, given her some of the best doctors from the world, but Carolina believes it’s all a one big fucking joke.”

   He gave a great sigh. “I wouldn’t mind if she tried to help herself. Tried to make this marriage work. But no, I have had to deal with her unrestrained mania and drastic mood changes; she constantly screams I don’t give her enough attention, or that I’m too restrictive, or that I’m too this or that—”

   You lean up to press a kiss to his jaw, silently conveying you accepted him for what he was.

   “--Do you remember that time when Anum streaked across the Radcliffe lawn? Her parents got so mad, they were about to move her back to Dubai for good!” Ten and you roared with laughter, tears of joy teeming at your eyelids.    Reminiscing with Ten was always a joy. You finally caught up with each other in a hole-in-the-wall cafe on the beachside in Naples, drinking a cup of coffee in the late morning along with finger foods. The seaside wind blew against your tresses and the cute cotton dress you bought at a vintage store, the laughter and chatter of beachgoers emanating from all around you.    Ten, clad in a St. Laurent Hawaiian shirt, claimed his exhibition was a good success, and some famous contemporary art exhibits were clamoring to show his photography. Taeyong, his good painter friend, even connected him to some good art dealers to sell his photography. You briefly recalled news of a brief hiatus (GO READ MUSE) Taeyong was taking, but moved your mind to other matters.     You sipped at your lukewarm frappuccino, while Ten stirred his coffee thoughtfully. A crease appeared at his eyebrows.    “Ten? Something wrong?”    He was silent for a moment, before putting his spoon down and looking at you directly.    “I need you to completely honest with me, Y/N. Like, crystal clear,” he said somberly.     You frowned, anticipation beating at your heart, but you nodded along.    “Are you having an affair with Jung Jaehyun?”    The aftertaste of the coffee felt bitter in your mouth as you processed his words. Your mouth couldn’t formulate any words to respond.    “Y/N.” Ten said seriously.    “ ...yes,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye.    Silence turned the atmosphere around you into something uncomfortable, the aftermath of such a truth being exposed.    You finally had the courage to look back at his face, expecting to see shock or disappointment or perhaps even anger, but all you saw was pity reflected in his black eyes.    “Oh, Y/N. Even under all your bluster and maturity, you’re still the wide-eyed girl from college I know.”    “How did you know, Ten? If this gets out—”    “Don’t worry about it getting out, Y/N. We’re discreet and no one has picked it up on it,” Ten interrupted. He reached to grab a scone from the tea caddy and set it on his plate. “Johnny noticed Jaehyun was disappearing for extended amounts of time, and coming back tanned and way too smug to be innocent. The plane tickets he had were coincidental to places you were island-hopping.”    “Oh,” you whispered.    “Also, at the exhibition: the looks you two sent each other were way too heated to be of friendly nature. I saw it when he first walked in with Johnny,” He bit into the scone and chewed, before continuing. “The two of you disappeared for an amount of time, so that’s when you screwed, yes?”    That… that was our first time,” you mumbled. Ten blinked in surprise, before collecting himself. “Oh? I thought it had been going on for longer. The two of you have terrific chemistry, I guess.”    “We met at a winery in Chianti. Wine country in Tuscany. Then we ran into each other in an Alexander McQueen boutique in Milan, and you know the rest,” you admitted tersely.    Silence settled over the atmosphere, and you two took your tea quietly.    “Look, I’m not going to tell you to break it off or advise you to continue but heed this: be careful, Y/N. I’m not saying this to warn you about the consequences it might bring into your world, but the consequences you might inflict on your own heart.”

   Jaehyun was sleeping comfortably next to you in a villa, chest heaving up and down with his heavy breaths. Butt-naked, both of you, and sleeping off some great orgasms.    At this point, you couldn’t even try to resist Jaehyun and his panty-dropping smirk. All he had to do was send you a text that he would be at your villa door in Capri at 9, and you just unlocked the door for him. He seduced you with the berries and chocolates provided on the table and romped in bed for a few hours.    It was nearing 7:30, and the golden sunset over the azure waters of the Mediterranean sea. The villa you had checked into was settled high up into the cliffs of the beautiful island, in relative isolation from the crowds of noisy tourists that took up the main streets, Capri was somewhere your parents occasionally went to, claiming that the views were nice but the atmosphere was too crowded. You have seen it hailed as the playground for the rich and the famous, it had become way too infested to be anywhere near remotely peaceful. It was risky coming back here, considering the number of people you knew were coming to vacation on the coast, but you couldn’t resist stopping at Capri one last time before you got married off.    A glinting object caught your eye from the marble vanity table and you sit up, careful not to wake Jaehyun. You squinted closer, and you realized it was a ring.    A Harry Winston, platinum wedding band sat innocently on the marble table top. It was really beautiful from afar, flawless with no imperfections. Yet, it reminded you of everything you couldn’t have.    Jung Jaehyun was a married man. You have repeated this in your head hundreds of times, thousands of times, yet none of them were fully realized until you saw his wedding band on a counter. You knew that when you both woke up and left, he was going to put that ring back on his left hand and flaunt it. You knew he was going to fly back home and kiss Carolina Xue with the lips he used to eat you out. And most importantly, you knew he was never going to be completely yours to keep.    A terrible aching of your heart gripped at your chest, and it physically felt like your heartstrings were being shredded apart.    You gathered up the sheets and wrapped them around yourself haphazardly, more like a sleeveless cocoon than a toga. You carefully stepped out of the bed and onto the Thessalian marble tiles, and onto the balcony. The sun would blind you if you stared at it too long, so you averted your eyes to the glorious gradient of red, orange and yellow as it painted the sky. The cliffs were shadowy, dark masses against the setting sun, and the water glittered like diamonds as it reflected the sunset.    So caught up were you in the magnificence of the sunset, you missed Jaehyun padding towards your figure. His hard chest enveloped your bare shoulders, and he stood behind you clad in only a bed sheet wrapped around his waist.    “Hello,” he rumbled, swooping down to press a kiss to your shoulders. His voice was still rough from his nap.    “Mmm,” you greet.    The pair of you stared at the beautiful scenery. Jaehyun rubbed circles into your forearms, soothing and repetitive.    “Have you ever thought about leaving her?” you ask suddenly.    Jaehyun’s petting stops abruptly, and you hear him stiffen.    “Sweetheart, you can’t ask me to do that,” Jaehyun replies beseechingly.    “But why?” you turn back towards him, looking up at his chiseled jawline and pink lips.    He stares unflappably forward, not even looking towards you. “Babe, there’s too many factors to consider. I can’t just… walk away. My family would immolate me.”    “Ah,” you reply shortly, crushing disappointment washing over you like a tidal wave.

   The helpers had just left, and now you were trying to desperately stuff heavy jewelry boxes into your suitcases. You had trusted the hotel’s staff to pack up some of the less valuable clothing into 5 suitcases, and now you were on your own trying to fit most of your purchases into unforgiving luggage.    “Oooohhh! This is pretty! Where did you get this?” Hera coos as she holds up a fine silk dress. You invited Hera to your hotel, the Hotel Eden in Rome, to help you pack for your trip home but she was less than helpful than you originally thought.    “I got it from a vintage store, some resort collection from Altuzarra in the 90’s,” you huff, trying to fit all your shoe boxes in a steel grey luggage.    “You have to tell me where it’s from! I’ve got to go there cop some pieces,” Hera mentions as she looks at the mirror with the dress on her front.    You look up at her in irritation. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me, Hera? You would’ve made a terrible maid— ”    “Sorry, sorry,” she surrenders, carefully putting the dress back in its linen bag. “Besides, what’s the rush? You seem like you wanna get away from Italy as soon as possible.”    “It’s nothing. I just… missed London, I guess,” you lie, zipping your 7th suitcase with a flourish.    “Missed London?! Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. You went on this vacation to escape London, and now you’re leaving 2 weeks early?! What’s going on?” Hera frustratedly gestured.     You remained silent, carefully stuffing your handbags into another suitcase. Uncharacteristic, but you refused to air out your dirty laundry.     “Y/N!”     You pretended she just did not yell at you and continued your packing process on your hands and knees. This could not get out.     “I guess I’ll have to figure this out myself then!” she huffs.    Your breathing hitched.    “You want to leave Italy early and go back to London as fast as you can, so something tells me that you want to escape from something here that is decidedly far worse than your suitors,” Hera muses, tapping a lilac-painted fingernail on her chin.    “The only reason that would be worse than your suitors is another person, because what could be wrong with Italy? Virtually nothing. And you, wanting to escape from the flurry of social functions and lunch meetings, have been spending some much needed time alone. So, that leaves a select group of people you might’ve wanted to run away from.”    Your fingers trembled as you fidgeted with a key charm, heart pounding in an anxious rhythm. Hera was getting uncomfortably close to your reason to leave, and you wanted nothing more than to leap off the balcony window.    “Okay, so let’s list out a group of people. Hm, Winwin? No, he left for Shanghai right after the winery tour, so he’s out. Ten? Mmm no, you’re pretty good friends and I saw your Insta story with him yesterday. Besides, he’s also in a stable relationship with Johnny and something tells me you wouldn’t want to ruin his relationship so Ten and Johnny are out,” Hera thought aloud, nails drumming on the laquered wooden table.    “A bodyguard? No, haven’t seen you try to flirt. Some Italian model? Nah, that would’ve been all over the news…”    You sigh in relief, Hera getting colder from the truth.    “But what about… Jaehyun?”    You freeze, the Ferragamo dust bag dropping from your hands.    “Jaehyun… I saw how he looked at you. I know what he saw. And Jaehyun… he was always absent from parties the days you were on a solo-trips… Oh my god, why didn’t I see this before?!”    Tears are collecting at your lash line, and your lips are pressed in a hard line in an effort to keep yours from bursting out sobbing. Your head hurt, your eyes hurt, and most importantly, so did your heart.    “Jaehyun… you hooked up at Ten’s gallery. You continued hooking up when you went island-hopping! That’s why you looked so content on your snapchat!” Hera gasped. “Y/N, tell me this: did you or did you not have an affair with a married man?!”    Clothes and shoes and handbags forgotten you pressed the heel of palm to your eyes. Soft sobs escaped from your mouth as you hid your face from Hera. Your silence was enough of an answer for Hera.    “Oh, no, darling...”    She stepped forward hesitantly like she was approaching a feral animal.    “I… oh my god, why him?” Drawn out sobbing filled the hotel suite, as you collapsed on the carpeted floor. The burning feeling of shame, the voices in your head telling you were naive and a homewrecker. But the guilt; oh, it was the worst part of it. You felt it weighing down your shoulder like an anchor and making your head hurt and eyes spin. The voices were screaming, telling you that you were a whore and nothing more. ��  “You… you could’ve picked anyone but him. Oh, Y/N, I see it now. I should’ve protected you, dammit!”    Hera pounded her fist on the wall, a loud bang resounding throughout the suite.    “Don’t you see, Y/N? You’re too naive for this! And now your heart is broken and you’re being sent back to be married to an arrogant son of a bitch!”    Words tumbled out of your mouth like a held-back tsunami, and you told Hera everything. From the night of the gallery to the days spent on the coast, and to the things Jaehyun said to you. Everything.    Hera, during this word vomit, kneeled down to you and took your hands in hers.    There was a full minute of silence, in which neither of you said anything.    “Jaehyun… that son of a bitch. He’s a coward, Y/N, and it’s not that you don’t deserve him; no, it is he that does not deserve you,” Hera finally spat, her grip on your hands tightening. “The next time I see him, I’m going to give him a piece of my fucking mind—”    “Don’t, Hera,” you interrupt. “Even if I want to fling him off the Empire State building, I still love him. I want him to be as happy as he can, especially being married to a bitch like Carolina, and I am fine with being the second best. Leave it be, Hera, because I already have.”    She looked at you sympathetically. She knew the feeling, being in love and never being able to let go.    “Even with your heart broken, only you can still manage to be so kind,” Hera sniffs. “Come, Y/N; let’s pack faster so you can catch your flight and never see the likes of that man again.”    

   Jaehyun lounged on the balcony of his townhouse in Venice, observing the gondolas passing by on the murky water beneath him. It was mid-morning, so the usual hustle and bustle of the historic city were gradually increasing. He took a sip of wine gifted to him by his coworker, but a frown settled on his lips as he did.    His co-worker needed to be fired on his wine-giving skills.    He poured the glass out on a potted plant, not caring about poisoning it. He folded the European financial newspaper in his hands and adjusted the Gucci sunglasses on his nose.    Jung Jaehyun was bored.    And he missed Y/N.    He could rectify that.    He pulled out his phone and dialed Y/N up, putting it on speaker phone. A momentary flash of guilt ran through Jaehyun when he did, reminding him of what an utter arse he was being by effectively using her. But she was so irresistible, dammit.    “Hello?” her sweet voice sounded after the third ring, reminding him of the times they spent in bed talking about the most random of subjects. Her voice was like the tune he heard when his mother sang him to sleep, reminiscent of singers at sleepy coffee shoppes in the Queens.    “Y/N, where are you? I want to meet up.”    “Hm? I’m leaving,” she responded, sounding harried and short.    “Italy? That’s early, I thought you were staying for at least 2 more weeks. Anyway, where do you want to meet up next time?” Jaehyun asked, nonplussed. He put his feet up on the railing and looked at his empty wine-glass. Should he open the one he got from Sicheng now?    “Jaehyun, I don’t think you quite get it. I’m leaving you.”    Before Jaehyun could even think to respond, the line went dead. Wine forgotten, Jaehyun stared at his phone screen, frozen.    “What the fuck?” he uttered aloud.    He frantically tapped on your contact once more, intent on asking what the fuck you meant by those cryptic words, but it went to voicemail. He dialed 3 more times, each time still unsuccessful.    His heart pounded a tattoo on his chest as he ran through his hair. What did she mean, leaving him? Like, leaving… permanently?    Jaehyun called the only person he knew that would have the proper answers.    “Ten,” Jaehyun spoke shortly. “Do you know where Y/N is?”    “Hm? Why don’t you tell me, Jaehyun? You seem to know that more than anyone,” Ten languidly spoke, sarcasm dripping from his lips.    “Ten, I don’t have the patience for this! For fuck's sake, tell me where Y/N is!” Jaehyun seethed. The newspaper crumpled in his hands.    “Well, tell me why and I might,” Ten said sing-songy.    “I… I wanted to ask her about that ancient book she found,” Jaehyun stuttered.    Ten barked out a laugh. “Don’t fuck with me, Jung Jaehyun. I’ve known you since we were in nappies. Also, I know that you’ve been fucking her on the side so tell me the real reason you want to know because if she wanted you to know, you would,” Ten said sharply.    “Oh,” Jaehyun said, properly beaten into silence. How did Ten find out?    “Well, Jaehyun?”    “She...she just told me: “Jaehyun, I don’t think you quite get. I’m leaving you.” and I don’t understand!” Jaehyun exploded, running his hands through his hair once more.    “...huh. She’s left earlier than I expected but go her,” Ten mused.    “Ten!”    “Fine, fine. You want to know where she is? Figure out why. When she said “I’m leaving you”-I hope your Oxford-educated brain can figure what the fuck that meant,” Ten revealed.    “Y/N… Y/N can’t leave. It’s probably just a break—”    “You and I know that’s not true. Jaehyun, she is leaving you. That means no more secret rendezvous or steamy tête-à-tête’s, no more nights spent in bed or times talking about life.”    “How do you know about that?!” Jaehyun breathed out.    “That’s not the answer you should be asking, Jae. It’s why,” Ten stressed calmly.    “Stop playing your fucking mind games with me!”    A loud thump resounded across the line. “Alright, I won’t. I won’t play the games you played with Y/N. Can’t you figure out why, Jaehyun? She’s had enough of the games you’ve played with her and she felt hurt enough to come to me for help,” Ten said chillingly.    “We both knew what we were getting into!” Jaehyun defended.    “Quite right, Jae. I agree: you are both to blame for your actions. But Y/N? She’s the type to fall in too deep. She is one of the most naive girls in our world, and if you knew her at all, you would see that. What you may have seen as a fun little romp on the side, Y/N took it seriously,” Ten spoke cuttingly.    “Like it or not, you broke her heart Jaehyun. She knew this was going to be a fun, illicit affair, but she fell in too deep, so she logically decided to extract herself from it. If you’re just wanting a little action from the side, I don’t see why you’re so concerned about this.”    “So this is what I’m going to tell you: if you are not playing for keeps, stay the fuck away from her. Y/N has a bright future ahead of her, and for her own sake she left you to protect herself,” Ten said with a chilly tone, enunciating each consonant crisply and clearly.    They stayed quiet for a while, each left to their own thoughts.    “The cards have been laid out onto the table, so what will you do?” And with that, Ten promptly hung up.    The rich businessman stared vacantly at nothing, deep in thought.    Why did he want to know where Y/N was? If what Ten said was true, and Y/N did leave Italy to break off their relationship, then why did it matter? Wasn’t it just what was going to happen eventually?”    Jaehyun buried his head in his hands, grasping at the roots of his brown hair. That fucking smile. God, her smile. Why was it every time he saw it on his mind, his hand drifted to his phone to text her? Why was it every time he forgot about everything on his mind when she showed that smile around him?    Y/N might have the body of a goddess, but he found himself craving for the conversation they had after sex. The times where they basked in the afterglow, snuggled tightly around each other’s naked bodies, and they said everything that was on their minds. Hours spent in the Italian sun laughing and bickering with each other.    But the thought of never being able to feel her head against his collarbone, never being able to candidly chat with her about history and literature and art and everything under the sun… it made something inside of him hurt.

   Days passed. You went home. Jaehyun sent you gifts. You denied them. Because you were Y/N Y/L/N, and you would not be bought with cheap little trinkets. Not anymore, because you were a queen.

   “Have you put any thought into what you wanted, Y/N?” Your father’s eyes pierced through you. He talked about men as if they were toys that happened to come in different makes and colors, and you had to just decide which one you wanted from the shelves.    “I… have not.” You averted your eyes, swirling the wine around in your glass.    “I have played your little games, Y/N. You’d best before I do.”    Yet, you already chose the one you weren’t allowed to have.

   The glare from the monitor hurt your tired eyes after staring at it for hours on end, and you buried your head in your hands. Your fingers probably skewed the neat bun you had forced yourself to comply into, but it didn’t matter. A helpful little assistant of your father’s had compiled you a profile of each potential suitor’s faces and bio, along with additional information. The whole mechanization of this process was so disjointed like you were hiring an employee at the firm. This wasn’t how Austen or Bronte described the process of getting married. This love wasn’t the birth of whirlwind romance that swept you off your feet or the kind of love that gradually crept on you, but it was the love for money that spawned this trip in futility.    Your phone alerted you that a new client— interested in opening an account at the bank— was scheduled for a meeting in 10 minutes. The documents, brochures, and paperwork were already neatly organized into piles your mahogany desk, and all they awaited was a signature.    The intercom buzzed, and your new assistant’s voice came through the speaker. “Miss Y/N? The client has arrived early. Would you like me to entertain him, or would you like me to bring him in?”    You rubbed your temples and quickly minimized the tab with the suitor profiles, and brought up your file for new accounts. You slid an emblazoned folder, helpfully filled and sorted by your assistant, towards the seating side of the desk and kept the other one near yourself. You checked your makeup and rubbed the possible wrinkles on your clothing you may have possibly incurred while sitting down, and took a deep breath.    “Please send him, Charlie. I’m sorted out.”    “Yes, ma’am.”    The folder in your hand only listed the client as Jeffery Jung, a man in his twenties that had a net worth of more than a hundred million. He had listed, through a secretary of his, that he wanted to open a numbered (private) account and was ready to provide the necessary documentation. You needed to identify his origin of income to be certain before you could discuss investment options with him.    The door of your cracked open silently, your fresh-out-of-Harvard intern/ secretary bustling through with horn-rimmed glasses and a mass of papers in his arms.    “Mr. Jung, it’s a pleasure to…”    You stood up, a pleasant smile plastered to your face, only for it to be frozen in place when an uncomfortably recognizable figure strode confidently through the door. Your limbs stiffened in shock when fucking Jung Jaehyun entered your office in his fucking suit and fucking smug smile, not a strand of hair out of place.    “Hello, Miss Y/L/N. It’s a pleasure,” he grinned as if the past few months never happened. In order not to make a scene, you gathered up all your dignity (as much as you could for someone who was a mistress) and shook his large hand that was so familiar from the times he ran it over the curves of your hips or the planes of your face.    “Pleasure. And thank you, Charlie,” you nodded at your assistant, who recognized his cue for dismissal. Inclining his head slightly, he bustled back to his desk outside.    You turned your eyes to Jaehyun, whom you discretely observed under the guise of being polite. He looked good, a bit paler than when you had last seen him in Italy but was as handsome as ever. Jaehyun looked like a proper Wall Street man, clad in a stone gray suit with a navy tie that looked like it was made of charmeuse. You mentally approved.    “Would you like any tea? Coffee, Mr. Jung? Perhaps some light snacks?” you said pleasantly, sitting down in your chair. He followed suit, settling his well-built figure into one of the armchairs in front of your desk.    You had to be professional. Courteous. Polite. You didn’t know Jaehyun, he was just a client. Just a client.    “I’m afraid not, Miss Y/N. I just had a pleasant afternoon tea down the street at Brown’s, and am, as a result, quite full,” he said. His word choice was stilted, more formal than when he had casually spoken to you during... then.    “That’s nice, I like their raspberry and pistachio brownies,” you hummed. “However, I wouldn’t like to occupy your time any more than necessary. You expressed interest at opening a private account?”    “Yes, I’d like to. For management and investment purposes.,” he replied, staring at you intensely. Unnerved, you averted your eyes from him and stared at a point behind him.    “As you may know, the LNBC bank maintains a high level of privacy for our numbered accounts’ holders. That being said, this account requires a deposit of 285,000 Euros and will also garner an annual fee of 2000 Euros. LNBC also only does transactions in euros, so if you have any currency exchange issues, we have individuals on hand who can help with that.”    “That’s fine,” he said, running a contemplative eye over your figure.    “I will also need your passport to verify your identity plus valid proof to verify the source of your income.”    Silently, he pulled a manila file folder out of his briefcase and handed it to you. Seeing all the necessary documentation in it, you proceed to grab the new forms.    A moment passed in awkward silence, filled with only the scribbling sounds of your fountain pen on the folder. You could feel his gaze on you but ignored it.    “Y/n,” he said.    “Mr. Jung, is there a problem?” you murmured, concentrated at the task at hand.    “Y/n, don’t be like this,” he said quietly.    “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” you said calmly, not meeting his eyes.    The fountain pen was rudely swiped out of your writing hand and your head snapped up, finally meeting his gaze for the first time in months.    “Look at me, Y/n.”    “I am, Mr. Jung. However, please do refrain from calling me by my first name—”    “I can do whatever the hell I want when I’ve seen your naked body writhing under me,” he said scathingly, gripping the pen tightly.    Your mouth trembled and then finally settled in a tight line. Your heartstrings physically ached from seeing him here, in your office, smack in the middle of London. Staring at you as if he was a starving man in the desert and he had finally found the oasis.    “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Jung,” you replied stoically. “Now, with—”    “Dammit, stop calling me that!” he burst out, breathing heavily. He calmed down and said calmly, “Do you remember that time when I made you scream so loud the people the next suite over complained? Do you remember that time you couldn’t move a muscle on that resort on Elba? Do you remember that time when I told you about—”    “Fine, Jaehyun! I fucking do! Everything, okay? What the hell are you here, you piece of shit?” you retorted, the pent-up bitterness seeping out like an oozing infection.    “You said it,” he replied smugly, a strangely content expression washing over his features.    “Answer me! Are you here to wreak havoc on my life again?!” you angrily sneered.    His lip curled. “Wreak havoc on your life? Ha! Look what you’ve done to me, woman! My life is ruined because of you!”    “Shut the fuck up, Jaehyun! You have miss perfect and prissy hanging off your arm like some sad, untrained dog! Your life is absolutely fucking fine while I’m going to be married off to some bastard, cast off like some whore,” you retorted, pitch and tone progressively getting higher.    “Is it really, though? How can it be fine that whenever I close my eyes I see your face and hear your voice and I can’t go to sleep, I can’t concentrate!” he clenched his fists, teeth gritting at the force of his frustration. He was on his feet now, eyes flashing with anger.    “I told you it was over, Jaehyun, so it’s not my problem anymore. Go do something about it. Don’t come to me.”    He was unsettlingly silent for a moment, a lapse in his angry bluster.    “You want to know why I came here? I came here to see if I could see you one more time before I could let you go marry another man, after your refusal of my gifts, only to realize I couldn’t when I saw your eyes for the first time in months. Dammit, Y/N, nothing is right anymore!”    “You think it’s all about you, huh? Tell me, Jaehyun, have you ever had the sinking feeling of realizing the man that you were falling in love would never return your affections? That he would never give up anything for you because he was too much of a coward?!” you spat, standing up.    “You fell in love with me?” he whispered, eyes wide.    Your eyes widened at your mistake. You revealed your cards too soon.    “Fell. It was in past tense. Just— please leave,” you said striding over to the door, hands trembling. He spryly lept for your wrist and turned you back towards him.    “I call bullshit, Y/N. Your eyes have always been so easy for me to read, even if it isn’t for others. You still love me,” he said.    Your eyes shuttered. “Does it matter anymore, Jaehyun?” you whispered brokenly. “I refuse to be the woman on the side. Leave this office for me and for you.”    “It does matter. It always will for me, because I fall for you every single day,” he whispered, rubbing a thumb over your wrist.    You shoved him away from you. “Me? The homewrecker? Go home, Jaehyun. It’s done.”    “Come back to me, it’s not over!”    “No, Jaehyun. You will forever be under the thumb of your family. How can I give up everything for a man like that? So please, Jaehyun, don’t drag this out and just leave,” you begged. Your eyes were watering.    “Fuck, what do you want me to do? Beg? Get on my knees for you?!”    You scoffed. Jung Jaehyun? On his knees for you? A laughable thought.    The thump of his knees on the carpet echoed around the room, panging in your heart. You snapped your head to behind you to see the prideful, confident, cocky Jung Jaehyun on his knees. The man who seemed to have the world in the palm in his hand on the floor. Head bowed down as if in prayer. Looking utterly defeated.    “Jaehyun…”    “Y/N… I thought you were just a pretty face when I first met you. I knew I wanted you. But I never realized how much. You… you left me. I quickly figured out I couldn’t function without you. I couldn’t eat. Sleep. You are the only thing I’ve ever really wan— needed. Y/N, please give me a chance and forgive me. I’m sorry, okay? Give me another chance to lay in bed with you under the sun. Another chance to make you laugh with stupid dick jokes. Another chance to make you smile,” Jaehyun begged from his position on the floor    “Carolina,” you whispered, trying to stamp down the fluttering feeling of hope in your chest.    “I already sent them weeks ago. The divorce documents. Carolina will be silenced. She’s already pissed off too many powerful people.”    “Your family.”    “Whether they agree with me or not, it doesn’t matter. I can support myself because I am my own person, something you’ve made me realize. I will marry you and have kids and they have a say in it. Not anymore,” he promised.    “My father.”    “He will accept me, so help me god, I will stage a fucking coup d’etat to get his approval. Anything for you.”    You were well and truly silenced, having nothing you could say to him. Jaehyun slowly stood up and approached you. He gathered your trembling figure in his arms.    Snuggled into the crook of his neck, you whispered, “Me.”    “This time, I’ll get it right. I can’t promise I won’t hurt you, but I can tell you I won’t intentionally hurt you.” He looked down and smiled. “I need you, you know? To keep smiling for me. I love you too much to let you go.”    You lifted a hand to his face, thumb tracing over his cheekbones and lips.    “Me too, Jaehyun.”

   The rising sun came over the azure blue waters of the horizon, casting beautiful red and orange lights in your villa room. You stirred, feeling warm and snug but still feeling the slightly cold sea breeze come in through the balcony doors. A muscled arm was thrown over your waist, the owner’s hard chest pressing against your back. You turned over, the soreness between your legs a bit debilitating but faced him.    The man slowly blinked open his eyes, looking at you dazedly before his gaze sharpened. A smile crept over his lips as he tightened his grip around your naked waist. You could feel a mirroring smile playing on your lips too.    “Good morning, Mr. Jung.”    “Good morning, Mrs. Jung.”    It was paradise.

[paigenotblank]

The Woman in the Fireplace

Pairing: Ten x Rose

Rating: General Audience

Tagging: @doctorroseprompts for a few prompt fills including angst and GitF fix-it from a while ago.

AO3  TSP

Pushing buttons and spinning knobs, the Doctor twirled around the console as he brought the TARDIS into the vortex. He glanced at Rose who had her arms crossed and her lips pressed tightly together.

She wouldn’t look at him.

“Can you show Reinette where the bedrooms are?”

Rose’s jaw dropped and if looks could kill he rather thought he’d be in the midst of a regeneration.

He snapped his eyes to Mickey and grinned. “Mickey? Once she’s settled we’ll go somewhere brilliant.”

“What? Me?” Mickey’s gaze slid to Rose. “Oh, erm, sure, Boss.” He gestured for Reinette to follow him.

She cleared her throat and dropped a meaningful glance at her bag.

Mickey rolled his eyes, but leaned over and picked up her things. “This way.”

The tapping of Reinette’s shoes on the grating couldn’t drown out the beginnings of the row starting in the control room.

“What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Seriously? Not even an inkling, Doctor?”

“Just say what’s bothering you.”

“I thought I...I thought this was my home too.”

“What? Of course, it…”

Mickey sighed and walked Reinette farther into the ship. After a few twists and turns Mickey arrived a series of doors. “Guest rooms, pick the one you like best.”

“And which of these is the Doctor’s room?”

“The Doctor’s room?”

“My suite should be near his in case he has need of my service.”

“Erm, I don’t know where the Doctor’s room is, not even sure he has one. Rose’d probably know.”

Reinette tapped her chin. “Well, I normally prefer my privacy, but I suppose he could visit me in my room. Is that his arrangement with Rose?”

Mickey stammered. “I don’t...that’s...uh, I don’t know!”

“Very well, I’ll ask her later. It’s always better for everyone when the mistress and the advisor are on harmonious terms.”

“Erm. Just pick a room, then I’ll show you how to get back to the Doctor.”

--

The Doctor strode out of the TARDIS and turned back toward the door with a smile. He held out his hand and waited for daintily placed fingers to grasp his own. He steadied Reinette as she stepped through the TARDIS door and down onto alien terra firma for the first time. She stopped short and gasped at the light lavender sky, hands fluttering to her chest. Rose sighed and brushed passed the elegantly dressed Frenchwoman. Mickey followed quickly behind her.

The Doctor rocked back on his heels. “Welcome to Lupacund. Home of the Seven Waterfalls of Splendor. Each fall contains a different colored phosphorescent bacteria that creates a rainbow when they mix in the plunge pool.”

“Oh, but that sounds exquisite!”

The Doctor offered Reinette his arm, and with a smile she placed her hand at the crook of his elbow. Rose’s eyes narrowed at Reinette moving as close to the Doctor’s side as she could given her full skirts as they headed down the narrow path. Aware of Mickey’s smirk, Rose squared her shoulders and stalked after the Doctor and Reinette.

“Oh, ho.”

Rose glared at her friend who was biting his lip in glee. “Don’t say it, Micks. If you want to live, don't say it.”

“Who me? I ain't sayin’ nuffin’ ‘cept maybe, ‘I told ya so.’”

“Mickey!” Rose punched his arm.

“Nah, Rose. You need to hear it. He's a bloke like the rest of it. No better, even though he likes to act all smug and superior. Moved his mistress in right under your nose. You don’t deserve that, do ya?”

Rose pushed past Mickey with her head down and moved further down the path ahead of the Doctor and the Frenchwoman.

Mickey tried to catch up to Rose, but she just moved quicker.

“Babes! Come on! Don't be like that.”

Reinette turned to the Doctor. “Lover’s quarrel? I thought-”

“”What? No! They’re not...no!”

Her eyes darted between the two other humans. “Hmm.”

“What’s that mean? What ‘hmm?’”

Reinette watched as Mickey chased after Rose. “I’d wager he was once and that he’d like to be again.”

The Doctor’s voice squeaked, “No...just no. He...she…” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

Reinette slowed and studied the Doctor. “You’re jealous.”

“I most certainly am not.”

She patted the Doctor’s arm. “It’s okay, he may wish to be her lover, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you. You have nothing to worry about.”

“She doesn’t...I...we’re not like that.”

“She’s not your mistress?”

“What? No! She’s not interested in me like that.”

Reinette threw back her head with laughter. When she had quite recovered herself, she glanced slyly at the Time Lord. “Doctor, I’m the French Court’s foremost expert on matters of the heart. I, Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, a woman of humble birth, secured for myself a marquessate and the most honored position as lady-in-waiting to my Queen. And if that wasn’t enough, I also hold the ear and the heart of the most powerful man in France. I accomplished all of that by using my faculty in reading others. I think I know of what I speak.”

“But I...that’s...that’s the French Court. Rose is different. She’s...she’s not for me.” He glanced longingly up the path. “She deserves better.”

Reinette once again placed her fingers upon the Doctor’s arm as they continued onward. “People are people, whether they’re at Court or the streets of Paris or traveling the stars in a little blue box. If you desire her, then I will help you get her between your sheets.”

“What? I don’t...I mean...but...why?” The Doctor tilted his head and wrinkled his forehead. “Why would you help me? I thought you fancied me with the way you kissed me earlier.”

Reinette looked at the Doctor in confusion. “Kissed you?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my! Doctor, that was more than 20 years ago. I was 16 and feeling my oats. Presented with the hero of my childhood, well, I couldn’t help myself. Granted you’re still a handsome and powerful man, but those days are behind me. I have not put the cutlery away for anyone in quite some time.”

“Huh?”

“Sex. I thought you knew that? I stopped actively being the king’s mistress nearly a decade ago, though I still retain the title of maîtresse-en-titre. My health is simply not up to it, and Louis accepts that I find other women for him to share his bed with. At one time I made a very good, some might say, ‘excellent,’ bed partner, but these days I make an even better friend and advisor.”

“Ah. Erm, I’m sorry?”

“Sorry?” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “What a typical masculine response. What is there to be sorry for? I have a life many desire and it is of my own making. I am highly sought after for my guidance and valued for my cleverness. How many women can say that? No, I’m very happy to be where I am.”

“Right. Sorry.” He quickened his pace. “Come along, the falls are just ahead.”

--

Rose leaned over the railing and watched the different colors coalesce in the plunge pool. It was one of the most beautiful sights she’d ever seen, but she couldn’t enjoy it. Her mind was racing with thoughts of the woman who had captured the Doctor’s complete attention. Each astute observation, each brief touch on the arm, each tinkling laugh drew the Doctor’s eyes and fascination. Rose felt as though she was being swept away by the tide, moving further and further from the Doctor with no hope of ever surmounting the ground that was lost.

Reinette was one of the most accomplished women in history and what chance did Rose have in competing with that? It didn’t help that she was also brilliant and beautiful. She looked at the older woman, dressed in the most extravagant dress Rose had ever seen - all shimmering gold silk, edged in lace, and dripping with pearls. It even had a row of bows that ran from chest to waist, each dotted with tiny diamonds. It truly was a gown fit for a queen, uncrowned or not.

Rose looked down at her ratty trainers and hated herself just a bit for feeling bad about them. She squared her shoulders. She was Rose Tyler, best friend of the last Time Lord, and fine...he might never love her the same way she loved him, but at least if they had to run for their lives, she knew she’d be able to make it back to the TARDIS in one piece.

“Well?”

Rose was startled out of her musings by the Doctor’s question. She hadn’t even heard him approach and caught sight of Reinette speaking with Mickey out of the corner of her eye. “Sorry? What?”

The Doctor leaned back against the barrier and swept his arm toward the waterfall with a smug grin. “What do you think? Impressive, yeah? A great first trip for Reinette.”

“Yeah.” Rose tried to plaster a smile onto her lips, though she wasn’t sure how successful she was if the Doctor’s confused frown was anything to go by.

She pushed passed him and headed for the trail that would take her down the hill and away from the suffocating sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Rose?”

She ignored his question and ran until her lungs burned.

--

Twenty minutes later, Rose heard a rustling and jumped up from her seat at the base of a large tree. She brushed the dirt from her trousers and stood expecting to see the trio she’d left behind. It was a few minutes later before they came bursting, laughing and smiling, into the clearing to where Rose waited. When they noticed her standing quietly, their laughter died down.

Rose’s face burned in mortification and her gaze dropped to the ground. “Hey.”

“Rose, is everything-”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Sorry, can we not talk about-”

Reinette screamed as a group of native Lupacundiens burst from the brush and surrounded her and Mickey with spears. The wolf-like humanoids stood upright and wore loincloths, but were covered head to toe with fur.

The Doctor tensed, his eyes darting between Rose and Reinette.

The largest of the Lupacundiens lifted the bottom edge of Reinette’s gown with his spear. “You’ve enough wealth here to feed our pack for years. Give it over or come with us.”

“Oi! Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to take what don’t belong to ya?”

All eyes turned to Rose at her outburst. When the members of the pack took notice of her, their eyes widened and they sniffed the air. Several of them stepped back and away from her, while others dropped to their knees.

The Doctor used their distraction to siddle closer to Reinette. His movements didn’t go completely unnoticed and the leader dragged his eyes away from Rose to pin the Doctor in place. He lifted his spear toward the Doctor’s throat, and Rose, brave and impulsive, pushed the Doctor back as she jumped in front of him. The spear’s tip punctured her shoulder, before the Lupacundien could draw it back. She looked down at the tiny bead of blood in shock. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she collapsed in a heap on the ground.

Everyone froze.

“Rose!” Mickey was the first to rush to Rose’s side.

The Doctor’s eyes filled with rage and gave everyone a glimpse of the oncoming storm. “She’s not the sort to faint at the sight of blood. What did you do to her?”

The leader of the pack stepped back and away, shaking his head. “Nothing!”

“You must’ve done something!”

“We rub the tips of our weapons with lybb, but it’s harmless. Just meant to bring luck to the tribe on our hunting trips.”

“Lybb? What’s that?”

He pointed to the plant that was scattered in abundance around the forest.

The Doctor plucked one from the vine and smelled it before touching it to his tongue. He mentally broke down the leaf’s chemical composition. “Barconitine. It’s poisonous to humans. If anything happens to her-” He took a step forward.

“Doctor!” Mickey sat cradling Rose’s head as she started convulsing.

The Doctor leaned down and felt for her pulse - it was beating erratically under his fingers.

The natives fled the moment he turned his back.

The Time Lord scooped her up into his arms and ran full tilt toward the TARDIS.

--

The Doctor had stopped the bleeding and healed the small puncture left behind by the spear tip. All he needed to do now was keep Rose hydrated and alive until he could find an antidote to the poison currently coursing through her system. The Doctor moved around the med bay looking for anything that would neutralize the effects of the barconitine.

He ran across the room to the long row of cabinets and, flinging open the doors, he pulled out row upon row of chemicals.

His eyes darted over all glass phials lined up on the counter. He ran his hands through his hair and spun around in a circle. “Where is it? Where is it? Where is it!”

The TARDIS monitor began blinking with a photo of plant found native to this world.

“Hey, Boss?”

“Mickey! I need to go back into the forest and look for that plant.” He pointed at the screen. “It should save Rose.”

The younger man warily eyed his listless friend. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea-”

He boggled. “Saving Rose?”

“Oi! That ain’t what I mean. It’s just...what if something happens while you’re gone? I don’t know how to use any of your fancy equipment in here. Let me go look for the plant, so you can watch after Rose.”

The Doctor scoffed. “I have an eidetic memory. How will you find the right one?”

Mickey crossed his arms and glared at the other man. “Fancy time and space ship an’ you’re tellin’ me this thing doesn’t have a printer?”

The lights flickered at the insult.

“Right! Fine! But you’ve gotta hurry. It’s a...a miracle she’s still alive as it is. The longer it’s in her system, the- Just hurry.”

“You got it.”

The Doctor dashed to the monitor, his fingers flying over the keyboard. In no time at all, a photo of the plant he needed Mickey to find was printing out. He pressed it into the other man’s chest. “Go. Please, and-”

“Hurry. I know. She’s my best mate. I won’t let ‘er down.”

The Doctor decided to use the time he had waiting to put together the rest of the serum. With one last glance at Rose, he moved to his work space and began mixing ingredients.

--

“Mickey.”

He turned at the sound of his name. Reinette stood from her place on the jumpseat. “Sorry, Can’t talk. I gotta go find this plant for the Doctor.”

“Let me come with you.”

“It’s not safe. You saw what happened to Rose.”

“She saved my life. Let me help save hers.” With Mickey prevaricating, she pushed the point. “It’ll be faster with us both looking.”

His shoulders drooped and he nodded. “Yeah, alright, fine. But you listen to me. If I say ‘run,’ you run.”

“Very well.” Reinette held out her hand to Mickey and he looked at it for a moment before shaking it.

Reinette tilted her head at the motion and when he released her hand she placed it on the crook of his arm.

The two made their way through the forest keeping their eyes open for the miracle plant.

They’d reached a clearing and the both of them were on their knees searching through the brush. A rustling noise had Mickey jumping to his feet and stepping in front of the Frenchwoman.

A little grey-furred, stoop-shouldered woman walked into the glade and stopped short at the sight of the two off worlders.

Reinette calmly got to her feet and curtsied to the elder. “Madame, our friend is in trouble and we desperately need to find this herb.” She grabbed the picture from Mickey and took a step toward the older woman.”Might you know wh-” Mickey grasped her upper arm, halting her. “Please, remove your hand from my person.”

“We don’t know if she’s dangerous.”

Reinette shook Mickey off of her arm and continued to the other woman’s side. “Forgive him. Our friend was attacked and he’s a little on guard.”

“Oi! What did I say about listening to me? This is me sayin’ ‘run.’”

The wolf woman turned her cloudy-blue eyes on the golden-haired foreigner. “You are friends of the Lupa-Ca?”

“Lupa-Ca? I don’t...I don’t know what that is. Mickey?”

He shook his head.

“Lupa-Ca is one touched by the Blessed Wolf Mother. Your friend has something of the wolf about her.”

A shiver ran through both Reinette and Mickey at the words.

“That’s real nice an’ all, but our friend, Rose, is lyin’ dyin’ on a metal table, unless we can find this plant.”

“Please, madame, is there anything you can do to help us? I can pay.” Reinette ran her hand over the bodice of her dress. “This gown is worth a king’s ransom. It’s what the pack was after when Rose was hurt. I’d gladly give it to you for your aid.”

The wolf’s eyes glinted. “I will help you, but only for the Lupa’s favor. The gown however you can give to the tribe for safe passage during your stay. Come along.”

The old woman began shuffling along a path headed further away from the TARDIS.

“Eh, grandma. Where’re you takin’ us?”

Reinette elbowed Mickey in the ribs and glared at him.

“I have what you seek in my home. We must go to the village. The Golden One can negotiate your safety with the pack leader.”

“We don’t have much time.”

“Then you’d best stop wasting it, eh? Either you come or you continue looking on your own. But I will tell you that plant only grows on one tiny patch of land sacred to our Goddess. It is land protected by the pack. I wish you the best of luck in acquiring it.”

Reinette hissed under her breath, “Mickey, apologize.”

The old woman’s ears twitched and she smirked.

Mickey flushed and mumbled. “Sorry. Lead the way.”

--

The Doctor jumped to his feet as every alarm in the medbay began screaming. He dashed to check Rose’s vitals on the monitor. Her heart rate and blood pressure were plummeting. He gazed frantically around the room eyes searching out something, anything, he could use to save her.

Her tugged at his hair. “Stupid, stupid, Doctor!”

He ran to the cupboard where he’d last seen a 31st century defibrillator and started digging through it.

While the Doctor’s back was turned, Rose back arched and a soft golden light began shimmering along her skin. Her mouth opened and with a gasp, glittering particles were expressed into the air and absorbed by the coral struts along the perimeter of the room.

She inhaled and crumpled back onto the table.

The sudden quiet of the alarms had the Doctor panicking.

He spun back around, the device clutched to his chest.

After sprinting back to Rose, he glanced at the monitor. “Please, please, please.” He held his breath as he pressed the device against her heart and shocked her.

The quiet of the medbay suddenly broke with a soft “beep beep” from the monitor. He collapsed onto his chair next to Rose.

He reached his shaking hand out and grasped hers. He brought it to his chest and tried to gain control of his breathing.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Do you hear me, Rose? Never again. I don’t know what I’d do if-”

He kissed her fingers and clenched his eyes closed.

--

The tiny old woman was digging through a trunk in her sitting room, while Mickey was sprawled in a chair and tapping his fingers on the table top. Reinette stood dressed only in her undergarments with her head held high and the poise that one would expect of the Uncrowned Queen of France.

“Ah ha!” The old woman held up a small, blue bottle in triumph.

Mickey jumped out of his seat. “You found it?”

“Yes. We can get back to your friend now.”

“Finally!” Mickey headed for the door and held it open while waiting for the two women. He shifted impatiently.

--

“Mickey! You took your bloody time.”

The Doctor was dragging Mickey into the medbay before he’d even finished opening the door. He stopped short at the sight of the native woman and spared a quick glance for Reinette. If he thought it odd that she was wearing only her chemise, underskirts, corset, and panniers, he didn’t comment on it.

“Oi. It wasn’t as easy to find at you thought it was.” He gestured to the older woman. “Needed some help, but we’ve got it.”

The old woman handed the Doctor the glass bottle. “A tincture made from chur leaf.”

“Ah, thank you.” He took the bottle from her and tilted his head. “And, erm, you are?”

“Graillen. The village healer.”

“Brilliant! Thank you.”

The Doctor jumped into action and added the chur extract to the potion he had started earlier.

Graillen walked over and sniffed at the liquid. “You need more thralp oil.”

“I did the calculations myself.”

The old woman crossed her arms. “You need more thralp oil.”

The Doctor dipped a finger in solution and placed a drop on his tongue. He smacked it against the roof of his mouth and closed his eyes. His tongue darted out and licked his upper lip. His eyes shot open and he reached for a phial. He added three more drops of the liquid.

Graillen sniffed again and nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Now it’s perfect.” The healer walked over to where Rose was lying - pale and still. She pressed her paws to her chest and closed her eyes.

“Oi! Don’t touch her.”

The old woman ignored him and instead lifted her head toward the ceiling with a howl. Graillen took a few steps back before turning toward the Doctor. “Give the Lupa-Ca five drops under the tongue - morning and night - and she will be fine within the next several lunar cycles.”

“How could you possibly-”

“The Great Goddess decrees it so. Your mate doesn’t need the potion to live, but it will speed the awakening.”

“I- What? Awakening? What do you mean she doesn’t-”

“Do it now before I leave, so I can make sure you do it properly.”

“I’ll have you know-”

Graillen’s eyes narrowed to slits and she growled low in her throat.

The Doctor huffed, but walked over to Rose’s supine form. His expression softened as he glided his fingers over the smooth skin of her jaw. He gently cradled the back of her head and exerted the slightest pressure on the back of her neck to tilt her head backward. Using his free hand, he opened her mouth and ran his thumb along the fullness of her lower lip. He reached for the glass dropper and counted out each drop as they fell into the cavity under her tongue. With one last caress, he slowly withdrew his hand from under her head and made sure she was settled comfortably on the small pillow. He pressed his lips to her forehead, before turning to face the others in the room.

“Happy?”

The old woman smirked. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on her and make sure you are taking proper care of her.”

“Hmpf!”

Her chuckle followed her out of the medbay door.

The Doctor gestured for Mickey to follow her. He nodded and sensing the Doctor’s mood tried to get Reinette to go with him. She shook her head and stepped closer to the Doctor. He grumbled under his breath, but left them alone to chase after Graillen.

The Doctor sighed and dropped into the chair next to Rose. “Can I help you, Reinette?” He watched as the other woman examined Rose. “Were you wearing that earlier?”

The Frenchwoman looked down at her undergarments and then back at the Doctor. “You really are alien aren’t you?”

“To me you’re the alien.”

She rolled her eyes. “At one time, I was the most desirable woman in France, but you didn’t even notice that I’ve been standing around in my undergarments.”

“Oh. And why’s that?”

“I gave my gown to the villagers so that Mickey and I could move freely while we were out looking for the chur leaf.”

The Doctor raised his eyes in surprise. “Thank you. For doing that for Mickey...and Rose.”

Reinette bit her lip. “Tell me about her...your Rose. If I’m to help you, I’d like to know a little about her. I can tell she’s courageous with the way she stood up to the warriors, but tell me of the woman...the woman who was able to win a Time Lord’s heart.”

“She didn’t-”

Reinette tilted her head and waited.

The Doctor sighed. “Hearts.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve two hearts. And they’re both hers. I haven’t- We’ve always denied- She doesn’t even know.”

Her lips quirked. “That you have two?”

He huffed out a little laugh. “No, she knows that. She knows more about me than anyone else when it comes to things like that.”

“They why do you assume she doesn’t know you love her?”

“I’m not the easiest person to… I’ve never told her.”

“Doctor, the language of love is not confined to spoken words.”

The Doctor pondered Reinette’s statement and startled when she clapped her hands together.

“Now, tell me about her.”

“Rose. She’s my...my Rose.” His lips spread into a small smile. “Met her by accident. Was a different man back then, broken by a war that had gone on far too long. She changed me, made me better.”

The Doctor pulled up a chair for Reinette, and he spent the rest of the afternoon telling her of their adventures together all while holding Rose’s hand.

--

A few mornings later when Graillen was making her daily visit, Mickey escorted her into the medbay, while Reinette, hands on hips, argued with the Doctor. He sat next to the bed that had been moved into the medbay to make Rose more comfortable and gripped her hand like a lifeline.

“You need to eat something.” She gestured at the untouched tea tray on the counter. “Have you slept or even left this room in days? You can’t keep this up!”

He stuck his lip out in a pout. “Time Lord. Don’t need to sleep all the time like you apes. And I’ll eat when I’m hungry.”

The healer cleared her throat and when all eyes where on her, she made her way over to Rose. She checked Rose’s breathing and eyes, before sniffing along her body. She nodded at the Doctor. “She’s progressing nicely. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She slipped from the room and Mickey started to follow her, but ducked his head back into the room.

“Hey, Boss.”

“Not you too, Mickey.”

“Nah. I don’t much care what you do. It’s just I was thinkin.’ What would Rose say if she could see you right now? My bet is that she wouldn’t be too happy that your not taking care of yourself.” He shrugged and left to walk Graillen out.

The Doctor squeezed Rose’s hand before releasing it and pushing to his feet. He quietly made his way over to the tray Reinette had prepared for him and spread jam over the cold toast. He shoved it into his mouth and washed it down with cold tea. He shuddered at the slightly bitter taste. Without turning around, he addressed Reinette. “I still don’t need sleep.”

She threw her hands up in the air and stormed out of the room.

--

Mickey snorted at the picture the Doctor made - seated in his chair, hair mussed, mouth ajar and drooling, his head pressed into the curve of Rose’s waist, clutching her hand, and sound asleep. He stepped aside, to allow the old woman entry into the medbay, and softly told her, “I’ll wait for you in the control room.”

She nodded and quietly made her way to Rose’s side. As the old woman began her examination, Rose’s eyes fluttered opened. She squeaked when she noticed the healer standing over her.

The old woman raised her paws and was quick to introduce herself. “Do not be frightened, Lupa-Ca. I am Graillen, the village healer. You had a bad reaction to one of our plants and have been in a healing coma for days.”

“A healing coma? I thought only Time Lords did that?” Rose glanced down at the pressure against her waist and a smile tugged her lips upward.

“Your mate created a potion to help your body work the toxin out faster.”

Rose ran her fingers through the Doctor’s hair. He hummed and pushed his head closer to her body.

The old woman smiled. “He hasn’t left your side once since I’ve been coming. It is unusual to see such devotion in a husband amongst my people. You are a very lucky woman.”

“Oh, he’s not my husband.”

“Consort then. The point still stands.”

Rose shook her head.

Graillen walked toward the exit. “I’ll let your friends know you’ve woken. Rest for the remainder of the day and I’ll check in with you one last time before you leave.”

“Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure we don’t leave until I’ve had a chance to say goodbye.”

The older woman bowed her head and then slipped from the room.

Rose reached down and gently shook the Doctor’s shoulder. “Doctor.”

His eyes sprung open and he sat up abruptly. His eyes scanned the room until they fell on her.

“Rose!”

He lurched from his chair and embraced her in a hug so tight, she groaned.

“Sorry!” He released her immediately and sunk into his seat.

“‘S okay.”

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. A bit confused. Graillen, a sort of humany wolf, just left. Said she was a healer?”

He entwined their fingers and nodded. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

She stared down at their hands and her brow furrowed. “Hmm. Mickey called about some weird goings on at a school.” Her eyes light up as they met his. “Oh, and we ran into your old friend, Sarah Jane.” She looked down again. “Then Mickey came with us afterwards. Erm, we landed on an abandoned ship and met…” She pulled away from him and placed her hands in her lap. “We met Madame de Pompadour.”

The Doctor’s hearts were breaking at the loss of her hand in his. “Rose.”

“You invited her on a trip. An’ we ended up on a planet with this, er, waterfall? A waterfall that looked kinda like a rainbow?”

“Lupacund. That’s where we are right now. We were, uh, attacked. You jumped in front of me. Why would you do that?”

She started picking at her nails. “I...I don’t know. I just wanted you safe.”

“Rose, I can regenerate. You can’t. What if you’d…” He couldn’t even say the word.

Teary eyed she met his gaze. “Not much of a loss, yeah? You’ve got-”

“What?!” She sniffed back tears she refused to let fall. “You don’t really think that. Do you?” At her continued silence, he gaped. “You...I...I can’t lose you. You, Rose, you’re important to me.”

She choked out, “You’d manage. 900 years of experience. You don’t need me.”

“I always need you.”

“You...you have Reinette now. She...she’s a better fit for you, yeah?”

“How can you say that?”

“I’m not stupid. I can see the writing on the wall.”

“I know you’re not stupid, but I don’t know what you’re talking about? What’s Reinette got to do with you and me?”

“She’s brilliant, beautiful, and accomplished. She’ll probably be the best traveling companion you’ve ever had.”

“But Rose, you’re all of those things, too. And she could never be the best companion I’ve ever had.” Rose looked up at him. “Because you are. Well...” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?”

“Erm, you’re more than just a companion to me.”

“Really?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Yeah.”

Rose started crying and the Doctor jumped up to embrace her. “I thought you wanted me gone an’ that you regretted telling me I could stay as long as I wanted an’ that she was going to replace me.”

“Never. I told you, you can stay with me forever and I meant it.” He buried his face against the crook of her neck. “My Rose.” He held as tightly as he dared. “She reminded me of you, and I hoped you’d see how amazing it is to share that with others. You brought me back to life with your awe whenever we go somewhere new and I wanted you to be on the other side of that. But it was just a one off! Just one trip.”

“You should have said.” Rose sighed, her warm breath tickling his ear. “Don’t see how I might get the wrong idea? Especially since you asked Mickey along, then Reinette, and I don’t know, I felt like everything was different. You were…different.”

“I…” The Doctor took a moment to try and see how the last week would seem from her perspective. His stomach sank when a little voice whispered in his mind that he knew he intentionally pushed her away. Because he was scared. Scared of his feelings for her, scared of her feelings for him, scared of the thought of losing her, scared of her finding out how how unworthy he is and leaving him. Of course, she would see right through him. He clung to her tighter. “Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but then I did. I don’t deserve you.”

“Doctor you’ve gotta stop with that. Especially since it makes you do stupid things.” She pulled back from their embrace, but left her hands on his upper arms. “And if you want me to stay, really want me to stay with you, then you need to treat me like I live here too.”

He blinked in confusion. “But you do live here.”

“No, I mean, you can’t just be inviting people along whenever you feel like it.”

“But I let you bring Adam and Jack.”

“I asked you if they could come, I didn’t just invite them. I would never do that to you. You might not have been happy about it at first and, yeah, Adam turned out to be a plonker, but it was ultimately your decision to have them along.”

The Doctor snorted. “Well, it is my ship.”

Rose began chewing on her thumbnail. “I know, I do. And I’m not trying to change that. It’s just...is the TARDIS my home or am I just a guest here? When Mickey asked to come along, I know he kinda put us on the spot, and I know I said it was okay, but you didn’t even ask with Reinette. You just brought her back with you, an’ I felt like...like you took away my home. My security. Is this just a place where I’m allowed to sleep until I die or is this my home where I live?”

“Rose!”

“We both know how this is gonna end. You said it yourself outside the chippy the other night. Humans wither and we die.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m sorry if it hurts, but you can’t keep pushing me away because of something I have no control over. You need to decide whether you want me here for as long as I have, because that’s how long I intend to stay, or if you don’t. I’m not gonna let you keep hurting me. I’ve been in a relationship like that and I’m not doing it again.”

“I’d never-”

“You did.”

He blew out a breath. “Rose, of course, I want you here. For...for as long…” He ran his hand down his face. “I’m so tired of fighting it. Fighting what I feel. You are...Rose, you are the most important...my best friend. More than my best friend. I mean you are my best friend, but you are also so much more than that to me. You’re my...my hearts. You have my hearts.”

Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.

“What I’m trying to say is...Rose Tyler, I love you. I never want you to leave me. I...I’m absolute rubbish without you. Don’t know how I managed for as long as I have without you.” His mouth crooked up in a half grin.

Her smile wobbled. “I love you, too.”

“Aww, that’s no reason to cry.”

She laughed and pressed her face into his shoulder. He ran his hand lightly over her back.

Wiping her eyes, she pulled away. “I don’t mind traveling with others. I loved having Jack around, but I need to know that any future companions will be a joint decision?”

“Yeah. I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes...900 years of phone box travel where it was only me making the decisions, but I’m going to try. And if I hurt you again, tell me so I can fix it. I want to share a life with you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

She curled into his side. “Forever then.”

“Forever.” He brushed his lips over hers, once, twice, before the door banged open and Mickey rushed in.

“Rose! You’re okay!”

--

Hands clasped between them, the Doctor and Rose strolled to the village to thank the healer for her help. Mickey and Reinette followed behind, giving the two their privacy.

“Um, Boss?”

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder at the younger man. Mickey and Reinette has frozen in place as dozens of wolves began edging out of the forest and onto the path the group were traversing. These weren’t the native wolf-people, but animals similar to Earth’s wolves and seemed content to weave amongst the foursome.

Rose shifted closer to the Doctor. “What’re they doin’?”

“I...I’m not sure.”

“Are they dangerous?” She pressed herself into his side, her hand moving to rest on his collarbone.

He looked around at the silent yet curious creatures and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why’re they all watching me? It’s makin’ me nervous.”

At Rose’s pronouncement, the largest of the wolves began pushing others away from her. When they were some distance away, the animals sat and waited.

Mickey looked around to make sure no more wolves were in their way. “Okay, that was weird.”

The Doctor grabbed Rose’s hand. “Let’s get to the village.”

The wolves slowly followed after the friends, but made sure to stay back a distance.

Four off-worlders being trailed by the native wolf population attracted the attention of the villagers. As they made their way to Graillen’s home, many Lupacundiens joined the unusual procession.

After Reinette pointed out which door was the healer’s, the Doctor stepped forward and knocked.

“Graillen!” The Doctor grinned widely.

Rose reached out to take the old woman’s paws. “We just wanted to come and say ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye.’”

Graillen bowed her head. “Lupa-Ca you’ve blessed us with your presence. It was my honor to serve you as I could.”

“I don’t...Lupa-Ca?”

“You hold the mark of our Blessed Wolf Mother. She visited us through you and with it came her blessings.”

Graillen grabbed the Doctor’s arm for support as she lowered herself to her knee. “My Goddess.”

One by one the other members of the tribe followed. The wolf pack yipped and howled.

Rose started shaking her head. “Oh, but-” She cut herself off when the Doctor, with love and affection in his gaze, dropped to one knee.

Reinette glanced around and tugged on Mickey’s sleeve. “Come on.” She swept into a curtsy so deep, she appeared to be almost seated.

“Oi! I’m not bowin’ to Rose. Known her since we were kids.”

Reinette sighed, her eyes darting to the Doctor. “Friends change.” She looked back up at Mickey. “And sometimes it is we who have changed, giving us a different perspective of our friend. Both are natural. We can’t let our limited perspectives blind us.”

“Blind us? Blind us to what?”

“That your childhood friend isn’t waiting around for you to grow up.” Reinette pointed to the ground next to her and Mickey grumbled, but ultimately dropped to one knee. Her smile lifted into a smirk. “Or that here your friend is a Goddess and deserves your respect.”

--

The Doctor patted the side of the TARDIS and turned to his human companions. “Home sweet home.”

Rose gave him a toothy grin and he beamed back at her.

Mickey pushed between them to enter the magnificent timeship.

Reinette cleared her throat and waited for the Doctor’s attention. “Speaking of home, Doctor, I'm ready to return to mine.”

“Oh, but I haven’t even taken you to-”

Reinette grasped his hands. “I think I'm meant to see the stars safely from my window. I was looking for something, but in the wrong place. I ran away from a good man to chase after a childhood fantasy.”

“Ah.” The doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets and nervously glanced at Rose.

She gave Reinette a cheeky smile. “King of France. Not too shabby.”

Reinette laughed. “Indeed. The best to be expected for a simple Frenchwoman-”

“Simple!” The Doctor choked.

“-like myself. But you, Doctor, Lord of Time, deserve a goddess.”

Rose blushed and Reinette cupped her jaw. “Many years ago, I thought him a lonely angel, come from the heavens to rescue me from a life of tediousness. The truth was he wasn’t alone, he was waiting. I mistook that stillness for solitude. Let him worship you as he so clearly desires.” Reinette leaned in and kissed first one cheek and then the other. Before pulling back, she whispered in Rose’s ear, “It’d be a sin not to take advantage of such long and agile fingers.”

Rose’s eyes widened and she couldn't stop a laugh from bubbling forth.

“Oi! What’d she say?”

Rose fluttered her eyelashes at him and smiled his favorite tongue touched smile. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

Reinette stepped up to the Doctor. “Thank you for this one incredible adventure you've taken me on. I'll never forget it, nor either of you.” She leaned in a kissed the Doctor once on each cheek. “And, Doctor, wouldn't it be a miracle befitting a goddess if Rose wasn't as fleeting as you seem to think?”

“Yes, but why-” He swallowed hard and licked his lips. “Why would you say that?”

“I was thinking of your tale of the Bad Wolf. It strikes me as strange that the power that could cause a Time Lord to change his face would have no effect whatsoever on a mere human. Perhaps the Lupacundiens recognize her for the goddess she actually is?”

The Doctor’s jaw dropped and he spun toward Rose.

Her eyes grew round. “What?”

“So many things should have killed you - the vortex, the Barconitine, the bite from the upyr fly last month - but you're still here with me and wonderfully alive. Oh, Rose.” He pulled her to him and dropped little kisses all over her face. “Give me this, Rose, just give me this one thing.”

Rose pulled back. “Doctor, don’t you know, I'd give you everything if I could.”

“I know. And for one shining moment you controlled the universe.”

She gasped. “Do you think?”

He wrapped her up in his embrace and smiled before tilting her head back and kissing her for all he was worth.

[devillain]

GET TO KNOW THE ADMIN !            

NAME :   you must be at least at friendship level 5 to know this

NICKNAME :   bas, bas no!

FACECLAIM :  mun fc could be 1992 racetrack, carlos from the book 1 graphic novel, little red riding hood from into the woods etc.

PRONOUNS :   she/her

HEIGHT :   5′9

BIRTHDAY :   august 11

AESTHETIC :  uh... neat and clean, but soft. i like greys and greens. comfort is number one, but make it neat and modern. Some wood is okay. I love the smell of wood, campfires, and fireplaces and smoke when its cold.

LAST  SONG YOU  LISTENED TO :   Who Wants to Live Forever - Queen

FAVOURITE  MUSE (S) YOU’VE  WRITTEN : carlos (obvi), philippe duc d’orleans (here), slightly from peter pan (here), luke castellan from pjo (here) [ also my first tumblr muse ever ], link from breath of the wild (here), racetrack from 1992sies (here), charlie la bouff descendants oc (here), athelstan from vikings (here), munkustrap from cats (here), curt mega from spies are forever (here), and once upon a time i wrote eggsy unwin.... basically all my current muses.

GETTING  TO KNOW THE  ACCOUNT :

WHAT  INSPIRED  YOU TO TAKE  ON THIS MUSE :  his story tbh. i came to the fandom late, and honestly i had no idea what i was getting into so before i watched the movies i read the wiki, and his life and story jumped out at me. Then I watched d1 and d2, and fell in love with Ben and Gil and Harry so it came down to who do I want to RP. It wasn’t an easy decision. I love French history and I love Ben alot. I ruled out Harry cause if I am going to write a Peter Pan esque muse I’m gonna write a lost boy which I do. I ruled out Gil because I just cannot do it justice. I have tried with other muses and have failed, and Gil deserves better. So it came down to Carlos and Ben. It was a hard decision Carlos’ back story called out to me, and putting all my french history knowledge and love for the language into Ben inspired me. I chose Carlos cause I didn’t have a muse like Carlos. I write the brother of Louis XIV, and I write Athelstan which when combined give me the characteristics of Ben that I love, so I get what I feel for him out by writing those two characters. So I decided to go with Carlos, and have never looked back.

WHAT’S  YOUR BIGGEST  INSPIRATION WHEN  IT COMES TO WRITING :   For Carlos in particular Mr. Robot.

FAVOURITE  TYPES OF THREADS :  Angst, I am knife cat, knife cat is me. I will sell my soul for angst.

BIGGEST  STRUGGLE IN  REGARDS TO YOUR  CURRENT MUSE : I am not as smart as him, nor do I have all of his baggage (which is the best way I can describe this post about him). I have to do alot of research for that kind of stuff. Another big struggle is making sure that people do not see my Carlos the way the fandom does, he is very far from the soft boy the fandom likes to portray he speaks his mind and is a bit of an ass at times which the fandom doesn’t like to see him as, they see him as a bit of a doormat, so making people ignore their own interpretations of carlos to pay attention to what I am writing is really hard because I don’t want to step on toes or turn people away.

tagged by : stolen from @hookedreign​

tagging : everyone!

[komorebirei]

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 15: Indulge

(AO3)

I’m already out… it can’t hurt. I’ll just see if she’s home, Chat Noir reasoned.

He did a swift about-face by the Louvre and made his way back toward the Ȋle Saint-Louis.

It was Sunday evening, the sun was still out, and he had just finished his brief meeting with Ladybug. Nothing remarkable, as usual, but it was nice to get out and stretch his legs.

The week had been particularly busy, with deadlines looming, and Adrien had been working into the evening nearly every day, taking breaks only to spend time with Kagami or his father.

That meant no clandestine rendezvous with Marinette.

Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t incessantly think about her. All he had been wanting to do all week was to don the magic suit, vault across Paris, and throw twigs at his Princess’ balcony doors until she came out.

However… self-control.

Now, though, fate had brought him somewhat near her apartment, and in the supersuit no less, so he latched onto the excuse to indulge in a visit.

As he crossed the Seine, his enhanced hearing picked up something subtle in the air. Music, if he could call it that.

When he arrived, the French doors were thrown open, and he could now clearly hear the sounds of a piano coming from within.

“Princess,” he called out, trying to sound suave instead of desperate.

The sound of the piano stopped, and Marinette’s head peeked out the door. Her eyes immediately locked onto his as he perched on the branch.

“Why, Princess,” he affected a dramatic tone, “I decided to go out on a limb and hazard a guess that you were home. And how happy I am that you are! You look radiant, sweet Princess.”

“Oh, Minou,” she rolled her eyes and indicated with a gesture that he was welcome to her balcony. “Such a clown, as always.”

“Well, this humble jester would be delighted to have the honor to make his Princess laugh.” He bounded onto her balcony and gave her a deep bow.

“Chat, you’re too much!” Marinette laughed, shoving him lightly.

Chat Noir melted under her touch. Do that again, Princess. He trailed her as she made her way back toward the French doors. “Did I hear a piano? I didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t, as you can probably tell. Though, I’m trying to learn.” Marinette shrugged and looked over her shoulder at Chat, one hand on the door. “I just got home, so I was unwinding a little before getting down to work. Wanna come in?”

Chat nodded gratefully. “You have to work tonight?” He tried to recall whether he was supposed to know she worked at Gabriel or not, and decided to play it safe. “Where do you work, Princess?”

“I’m an intern for Gabriel… and it’s not that I have to, I really just want to be prepared. This week we’re presenting winter concepts and I want to put together a few fabric samples to demonstrate my ideas, since some of them might be hard to understand from just sketches.”

“So thorough. I love that about you, Marinette.”

She turned to look at him, and her blue eyes were so clear that he was afraid for a moment she could see him through the mask, that the way he’d said it was too ‘Adrien’ and not enough ‘Chat.’ Did he cross the line? Friends complimented each other like that, didn’t they?

“Well, then, Princess,” Chat grinned, laying it on thick to cover his insecurity. “Back to the topic of piano. What piece are you learning?”

“Well…” Marinette twisted a lock of hair between her fingers in an adorable nervous gesture. “I mean, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1? I read online that it’s a good piece for beginners and I thought it was pretty… I kind of know how to read music from playing the violin for a couple years in école, but it’s been a while and I’m extremely slow.” She giggled nervously as she made her way to an electric piano that was set up on the side of the room.

“Is this piano new?” Chat hovered behind her as she sat down on the bench.

“Yeah, I just got it this week.” Marinette continued to play with her hair self-consciously. “Kind of an impulsive purchase, but… I’ve been wanting to learn an instrument for a while. I love music, and it’s nice to have a hobby for when I need a breather from designing.”

“Hmm… that makes sense.” Chat smiled at her fondly. “Why piano?”

Marinette blushed, inexplicably. “Piano’s a good instrument… I mean, a lot of people start with piano, right?” She laughed—the kind of laugh intended to diffuse embarrassment.

Chat cocked his head, curious about the reason behind her obvious discomfort.

“Okay, I’ll admit it.” Marinette twisted on the bench to face him, wearing a sheepish expression. “The reason I picked piano is… I have a friend who plays the piano. Since I’ve known him, I’ve paid attention to piano music more, and it’s inspired me to start learning.”

Chat’s breath caught. Could that friend be him, perchance? Was the dusting of pink on her cheeks only a result of his rose-colored glasses, or was she really blushing? “Ah… really?”

“Yes, he plays very well. It’s because of him that I love the piano.” Marinette’s eyes crinkled in an earnest smile, then she turned back to the keys and laid her hands on them tentatively.

Chat Noir was afraid to ask who that friend might be. At least, uncertainty allowed him to indulge in hope that he had inspired Marinette in some way. He reached out and raised one of Marinette’s hands slightly, careful not to scratch her with his claws. “Raise your hands and round your fingers. Like this.” He demonstrated with his own hand.

Marinette looked at him in awed surprise. “Hold on, Chat Noir, you know how to play?”

“A little…” He shrugged in faux modesty. “I’ve played since I was five, after all.” He gave her an exaggerated wink to show he was being light-hearted and was only pretending to boast.

“Oh, I didn’t know!” Marinette squealed. “Play something!”

He lifted his hand and waved his fingers. “Can’t, Princess. Have you seen these clawsome paws?”

Marinette pouted.

He probably could have played, but there would be a lot of clicking, and he’d scratch her brand new piano. Plus, he didn’t want to dissuade her from trying. He grinned. “Maybe if you meet me as a civilian.”

“Don’t be silly, Chat. Okay, at least help me then, and don’t laugh. I’m horrible.”

“No, you’re just a work in progress. Now, enough attempts to get out of playing.” He nudged her. “Go ahead.”

She played the opening chords, with long pauses in between, looking back and forth between the sheet music and her hands. When the melodic line was supposed to start, she abruptly folded her hands in her lap. “Ugh. I can’t.”

“What are you talking about, Princess?” Chat cried. “You were doing great!”

“That’s as far as I’ve gotten so far.”

Chat stroked his chin. “It might help if you started memorizing measure by measure, so you don’t have to figure out the notes each time. When I was first learning, I took it slow figuring out the way the piece was supposed to sound and where my hands were supposed to go. I couldn’t play anything up to speed until I had it memorized. But the more you get used to processing the score, the easier it gets to sight-read.”

“That seems like a good tactic—I’ll try. Thanks, Chat.” Marinette smiled. “Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with this.”

“I’m not bored at all, Princess. I’m actually really excited you’re learning to play. If you want to continue, I’ll help you.”

“Help me?”

“Put your hands on the keys. Let’s pick up where you left off…”

When she did, he shifted her fingers around so they were on the right keys, and nodded. She pressed. He tapped the fingers on her right hand one by one to indicate the melodic notes. She followed his lead.

They continued like that for some time, not speaking. The stuttering rhythm of chords played out of time was the only sound that filled the space.

“See? You played the whole first page. That’s not hard, is it?” Chat’s hand lingered on hers.

“I guess not.”

Chat let go and stepped away painfully. “Keep practicing, Princess. You’ll be amazing in no time.”

“I don’t know about that, but… thanks for your help, Chat Noir.” She gave him a bright smile. “Would you like some macarons? Maman brought some over when she came to visit this morning.”

“Sure, Princess. Yes, please.” He caught himself before saying, ‘I missed the Dupain-Cheng macarons’—Chat Noir hadn’t ever had any, not even during that misguided brunch eight years ago. He took a seat at the table—solid polished wood, stained a rosy brown.

“With tea? Or coffee?” Marinette called from the kitchen area.

“Whatever you’re having.” Chat played with the cuffs on his suit and looked around her apartment. He had been so distracted by his revelation last time, he hadn’t really paid much attention to his surroundings.

The space wasn’t large, but it felt bright and inviting. The white walls were decorated with framed fashion illustrations by other designers, among which Chat Noir recognized his father’s work. White shelves built into recessed areas of the walls were lined with books—mostly related to fashion or art, but there were some novels and books of poetry as well. “Milan Kundera?” he asked, glimpsing a title he didn’t expect to see.

“I love his writing!” Marinette piped up cheerfully. “It’s beautiful. The Unbearable Lightness of Being really left an impression on me.”

“I read it a few years ago. I don’t remember all that much about the plot, except that I really liked it.”

“It wasn’t so much the plot that I liked about it,” Marinette mused. “More the way he described things. And captured the essence of people and emotions.”

Chat nodded, making a mental note to read it again.

The palette of Marinette’s decor had expanded beyond the pinks of her adolescence. Splashes of color brightened the room—an orange armchair, a fuschia vase. A string of colorful mini paper lanterns dangled from one corner of a curtain rod to the floor.

The flat was clean, cheerful, and warm, just like Marinette.

She soon joined him with macarons and two cups of tea. “I hope this is okay. Oolong tea—I don’t put sugar in it, but I can get some for you if you want…?”

“No sugar. Thanks, Princess.” He grinned, accepting the refreshments. The macarons were green and pink-orange. “What flavors are the macarons?”

“Matcha and passion fruit.”

Chat Noir couldn’t stop grinning. “My favorite!”

“Which one?”

“Uh…” Chat Noir wondered how common it was to have passion fruit as a favorite flavor. Marinette had already found out today that he could play the piano. How many clues could he get away with dropping before she figured him out? Though it was tempting the test the answer to that question, he decided to play it safe. “Both? I like them both.” He picked a matcha one to eat first.

Marinette looked pleased about this. She took a nibble of a passion fruit one. “Weird combination I guess, but the creamy bitterness of the matcha offsets the tangy sweetness of the passion fruit. That’s why I asked for these two flavors. Plus, the colors look pretty together. Don’t you think, Chaton?” She winked.

“You have the best taste, Princess.” Chat Noir smiled at her tenderly, disarmed by the wink. Taking a sip of oolong tea, he fell silent, contemplating a question that had he had been wanting to ask her. Of all people, she seemed like someone who would have a good answer. “Marinette, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He hesitated. Even though it was a perfectly normal concern, he still didn’t feel comfortable talking about this to anyone. He bit his lip.

“What is it, Minou?” Now she looked worried.

He gave her a small smile to allay her worries, but it fell away before he spoke. “How do you help a person heal from losing someone?”

Marinette put down the macaron she was eating. “Chaton… is this why you were so upset the other day? Did you lose someone?”

“I…” Chat Noir balked. He hadn’t really thought of it that way—his mother had already been missing from his life for eight years. “Yes, but… it’s my father. He hasn’t been taking it well, and I want to help him, but I have no idea if I’m doing it right.”

“Oh, Minou…” Marinette sighed and pursed her lips, looking down at her hands. She seemed to be considering very carefully what to answer.

“Sorry to dump that on you,” Chat Noir murmured, wishing he could take it back.

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” she emphasized. “I’m just trying to think. I’ve never lost anyone in my immediate family, so I’m not entirely sure what it’s like… but when Maman’s mother passed away, she used to write a letter to her every night. She’d put the letters in this special box. After a year of doing that, she burned all the letters… I was really young at the time, so I didn’t fully understand, but she always seemed happier after writing a letter. Maybe something like that might help.” She shrugged apologetically. “Sorry I don’t have any better advice.”

“Hmm…” Chat Noir pressed a finger to his lips in thought. “No, that’s a good idea, actually.”

“Are you okay?”

He looked up to see Marinette gazing at him in concern. A smile sprang to his lips automatically. “Of course, Princess, don’t worry about me!”

In spite of his words, she got up and circled around him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. He felt her cheek press against the back of his head, and the vibration of her voice as she spoke: “Don’t forget, I’m here for you. If you’re ever not okay, just come and I’ll give you hugs and snacks.”

Chat Noir’s heart was doing somersaults, but he played it cool. “Snacks, Princess? You just sealed the deal.”

“Silly cat.”

He squeezed her arms. He’d trade all the snacks in the world to hug this girl for the rest of his life.

It was when that thought popped into his mind that a moment of clarity hit Chat Noir. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for him to be thinking of another girl this way, and not his girlfriend. He hadn’t even thought about Kagami all night—he couldn’t live a lie anymore. He couldn’t keep pretending with Kagami that nothing had changed, and that he felt the same way she did. It wasn’t fair to her. It would be kinder to break up with her than to continue doing this.

“What are you thinking about, Minou?” Marinette’s voice near his ear was soft as feathers.

His insides were churning as if he’d ingested poison. “Ah… nothing. Just… grateful that we’re friends.” He stood up, dislodging her arms, leaving his macaron half-eaten and tea barely touched. “Sorry, but I need to go. Thank you so much for everything.”

Marinette looked at him in alarm, sensing his agitation. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Princess.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. I just… sorry. I can’t stay.” He made his way toward the balcony doors, mind buzzing with the sense of wrongness and determination to make things right.

“Wait!” Marinette ran after him, panic rising. “What happened? If it’s my fault—I’m sorry!”

His heart broke at the thought of leaving her distressed and worrying about his sudden departure. Spinning around, he caught her in his arms and embraced her tightly, breathing in her scent. “You did nothing wrong, Princess,” he murmured into her hair. “There’s just something I need to fix. See you later…” Kissing the top of her head so lightly she probably didn’t feel it, he released her and left through her balcony without looking back.

[qvintcssence]

Task || 002 — About the Mun.

01. what’s your name/alias you go by ??

Stephanie, but I go by Steph or S. 

02. what’s your age ??

Well—if Dani’s ancient then I am prehistoric. If you insist on a precise number, I’m 30.  

03. what’s your zodiac sign ??

Aquarius.

04. what’s your ethnicity ??

Dudes, I don’t even know my blood type let alone my heritage. What I do know is that I’m whiter than casper. 

05. what’s your nationality ??

American. 

06. what’s your favorite band and/or musical artist ??

Hahaha, cover your ears, Cody. It’s Taylor Swift. 

07. what’s your dream job ??

My absolute dream job would be writing either as a novelist or showrunner. That said, I’m really passionate about teaching, and can’t wait have a classroom of my own. 

08. what’s one place you would love to visit ??

My favorite city in the world is New York City, but I really want to visit Germany. 

09. what’s your favorite tv show ??

Oh goodness... I’ve seen and loved way too many. If we’re talking ultimates though, I’m going to have to say Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 

10. what’s your favorite movie ??

Remember the Titans. I am a sucker for sports films. I literally cry the whole time because they are just that moving. 

11. what’s your favorite song ?

I don’t really have a favorite. I go through stages of listening to songs on repeat over and over again and then not revisiting them until some time later. Right now that includes “Don’t Throw it Away” by the Jonas Brothers and “Church” by Aly and Aj. 

12. what’s your favorite sport ??

Baseball! I am a huge fan of the Cleveland Indians, though I’ve recently started stanning women’s soccer. How about that Christen Press though? 

13. what’s your favorite food ??

Italian. I’m garbage for pizza and pasta. 

14. what’s your favorite face claim to use ??

Hmmm. A few months ago I would have said Eliza Taylor without a doubt, but I’ve really taken to playing with Tasya Teles and Daniel Sharman as well. 

15. what’s your least favorite face claim ??

I get very uncomfortable when people roleplay with child actors and/or children in general. 

16. what’s your favorite character of yours to play ?? which do you think you’re most like ??

I have been with Rory for several years now, so I definitely feel like I know her the best. She’s very near and dear to my heart, so she’s probably my favorite. I love all my kids though. They’re all so different, and they provide me with such a unique perspective! 

I don’t know if I’m really like any of my muses. If I had to pick one, I’d say Matt because I too cannot speak around girls. Haha I don’t have him anymore though, so maybe Ashton or Jonas. 

17. what’s your sexuality ??

 I’m a lesbian because women 😍

18. what’s the last movie you saw in a cinema/theater ??

Ugh. I feel so set up by this question! I took my niece and nephew to see The Secret Life of Pets 2 today, and it was pretty cute. 

19. what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had ??

The summer before 7th grade, I broke my leg and shattered my growth plate sliding into home plate. I was safe though, and we won the game! Too bad my pain tolerance levels are like zero, and it was the worst pain I’d ever felt. #embarrassing

20. what’s a random or interesting fact about you ??

This is the question I struggled with the most. I’m boring, y’all... I have a baby brain tumor that I call a ‘brain buddy’ because he’s not really doing anything up there but chillin’. Also, I once wrote a feature length Power Rangers Film when I was 12. I still have it! 

21. do you listen to music while you write ??

Sometimes! If I do, it has to be very mellow because I get distracted very easily. If there is a song that really fits the moment or inspired me to write the moment, I’ll listen to it on repeat to keep the vibe. Otherwise, I’ll listen to instrumentals or Sleeping At Last’s album titled “Atlas.” 

22. are you a morning, day, evening, or night writer ??

It all depends on when I have time. I honestly get my best writing done on pen and paper while I’m at work with fewer distractions, but a lot of times, I get inspired at night. I also did a lot of writing while substitute teaching, so it all just depends on if the situation allows for it and how focused I can get myself.  

23. have you ever roleplayed intoxicated ??

Yes, it’s embarrassing. Don’t do it! 

24. what language or languages do you speak ??

I only speak English fluently, but I can read French decently well.

25. how long have you roleplayed ??

I started role playing way back in the days of message forums and MSN chat. It was power rangers, and I was 14 so... 16 years. Damn. 

26. favorite roleplay genre ??

Honestly, genre isn’t important to me. Give me a story worth telling, and I’m in. I just need plot. Everything else will fall into place. 

27. one sound you hate & one you love ??

I fucking hate the sound of metal against metal or metal against teeth. Anything that gets that loud screeching noise is a big no from me. 

I love the sound of heavy rain and thunder storms. 

28. do you believe in ghosts ??

I’m fairly certain that no less than three of my former houses have been haunted, so yes. Yes, I do. 

29. do you believe in aliens ??

Sure, why not? I find it harder to believe that the galaxy exists with only us. 

30. do you believe in true love ??

Yes, I do. I believe in reincarnation, and soulmates, and finding each other in each and every universe. It might not be forever, because bad things happen, but it is a constant. 

31. do you hold grudges ??

Not really. I get all hopped up about something for like 10 minutes and then forget about it. No use staying angry over something you can’t change. 

32. do you have any obsessions right now ??

I’m forever obsessed with Harry Potter, but I’d say I have a few other currents. The 1OO, Women’s Soccer, Cleveland Indians Baseball, and Resident Evil are the ones that come to mind. 

33. do you drive & if so, have you ever been in a crash ??

Double yes. I ran over my fence post backing out of my drive a few years back, and I’ve fallen victim to the icy Ohioan roads a few times. I also side swiped a truck merging into a lane and also pulling into a parking spot, but listen... I’m not that bad of a driver! Not-So-Fun Fact: All three of the weather induced accidents occurred on February 11th—a day before my birthday. 🙃 These also all occurred before I was 25... minus the bad park job. 

34. do you like the smell of gasoline ??

That’s a no. (Dani, that’s gross!)  

35. do you prefer writing fluff, angst, or smut ??

Honestly, I love it all. Not a huge smut writer, just because it feels a little too personal with the person you’re writing with, but I’m not opposed to it as long as everyone is over 18 and comfortable writing it. Angst and fluff get me hook, line, and sinker though. I live for it! 

36. are you in a relationship ??

I WISH.

37. grab the nearest book to you and turn to page 23, what is the 17the line ??

“I have buried one friend to-day,” he thought: “what if this should cost me another?” —The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson.

38. put your playlist on shuffle and list the first four songs that pop up:

“Let’s Get Married” by Bleachers, “There for You” by Martin Garrix & Troye Sivan, “Star Maps” by Aly & Aj, and “Maps” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs. 

[chiseler]

The Madness of Ken Russell

Critical thinking in Britain has always taken the view that Ken Russell was a wild, ill-disciplined talent who ultimately went artistically mad: this was also the view in the film industry. The only major disagreement was about when he went from being merely excessive to being balls-out crazy: different parties chose different tipping points.

(WAIT! WHO CARES ABOUT CRITICS?)

(Bear with me: in Russell’s case, the critical consensus serves as a valuable reverse barometer.)

Russell, a suburban boy, former merchant seaman and Catholic convert, made a few brilliant short films with his wife and fellow genius, costume designer Shirley Russell, before landing a job at the BBC’s flagship arts program, Monitor. His stint here taught him to fight, and placed him under the stern patronage of producer Huw Weldon, probably the only authority figure he ever respected. Many good fights were enjoyed. When Russell joined the program, there was an absolute ban on dramatization and re-enactment: the most he was allowed was to show a composer’s hands at the piano. By the time he finished up on the show, he’d managed to twist it out of shape to the point where he’d been allowed to make complete dramatic works in the guise of documentary. These TV plays are highly cinematic, kinetic and bold: like Kubrick, Russell had a love of both stark symmetry and dynamic movement. Control and its opposite.

Russell found actors he liked, including Oliver Reed, with whom he enjoyed a strange kinship: both were heavy drinkers, both affected a casual attitude to their work, though Russell was never ashamed to call himself an artist. Ollie became the John Wayne to Russell’s Ford (in a roiling, nightmare vision of classical cinema).

The point when Russell moved out of TV is the first moment his detractors choose to mark his decline into self-indulgent craziness. He made a modest, eccentric comedy, French Dressing (with mounds of inflatable girls piled up like Holocaust victims) and a wild, idiosyncratic spy movie, The Billion Dollar Brain, a Russophile anti-Bond movie full of flip humor and Eisenstein homages. Critics saw these films as work-for-hire, as perhaps they were, and largely discount them. They are quite brilliant.

Women in Love is counted by others as the last pre-madness film, and its relative sanity can be attributed to the control exerted by its writer-producer Larry Kramer. Russell’s excesses are held in check, it is argued, and the tension between its creators was productive. It’s a very good film, but I find it too sedate in places, though the vivid color and Shirley Russell’s bold designs, and some scenes of genuine wildness and invention stave off actual boredom.

The Music Lovers, his dream project, expanding the TV composer film to the big screen and color, is where a real case for craziness begins to be made: the choice to explore Tchaikovsky’s homosexuality now seems mature rather than lurid, but Ken is undeniably pushing the biopic into unfamiliar terrain: fantasies of decapitation by cannon-shot, a filthy madhouse, a demented honeymoon on a train rocking like the Starship Enterprise, complete with crotch shots. Maybe even worse, from the critics’ viewpoint, Russell, who had directed one TV commercial before walking away from that business in disgust, co-opted the visual language of the shampoo commercial to depict the images conjured by the composer’s music. Russell was in love with romanticism but saw through it too. Ironically, the filmmaker constantly castigated for unsubtlety injected an irony into the film that critics missed, taking the soppiness at face value and not seeing how the concealed satire blended perfectly with the overt caricature and phantasmagoric visions.

Still, the subject was respectable, but with The Devils, Russell managed a film maudit that took decades to be reappraised, and earned him criticism of a uniquely vociferous sort, admittedly in keeping with the hysteria of the film itself. An account – or channelling – of a 16th Century witchcraft trial in France, the movie didn’t so much push as cremate the envelope as far as sex, violence and blasphemy were concerned: Russell, who had converted to Catholicism in his youth, lost his faith while making this one, converting to an animist worship of the Lake District, a religion of his own devising. Well, he did have a substantial ego.

Russell was upsetting: apart from the torture, abuse and madness, the film threw in discordant tonal shifts, creative anachronisms and deployed all of his cinematic influences, which prominently featured Orson Welles, Fellini, Fritz Lang’s German silents, and the musicals of Busby Berkeley, which supplied the top-shots used to depict the rape of Christ on the cross, a scene cut by the censor and lovingly preserved by the director for a future restoration, still explicitly forbidden by the film’s backers, Warner Brothers.

Asides from his crisis of faith and crises in his marriage and his dealings with the studio, Russell was also knocking back the wine. “Better before lunch,” was his prop man’s characterization of the director. Production designer Derek Jarman recounted Russell asking him, “What can I do that’ll really offend the British public?” “Well you could kill a lot of people,” mused Jarman, “but if you really want to upset them you could kill some animals.” A plan was then devised to have King Louis with a musket blowing the heads off the peacocks on his lawn: the birds were to be fitted with explosives at the neck, like Snake Plissken, but Russell backed away from this extreme, even by his standards, approach, and instead had the target practice performed with a man dressed as a blackbird, and the King saying “Bye-bye, blackbird,” and Peter Maxwell-Davies’ remarkable score quoting the popular twenties song, and that infuriated the critics just as much as actual bird-blasting would have.

Less amusingly, Russell was also guilty of unsafe practices involving the naked girls and rowdy extras: the stories here get really dark. As does the film: a demented masterpiece that shows Russell for once engaging with the political: a film about corruption that uses physical disintegration alongside social and spiritual rot.

Just to confuse us even more, Russell made The Boy Friend the same year, an epic music and a miniature at the same time, allowing him to recreate Busby Berkeley’s pixilated fantasias in a seedy English theater. It’s light and charming, but Russell’s version of these qualities was not recognized by the critics, and it’s true that his wit is clodhopping, his whimsy grotesque, everything is overplayed, in your face: but you have to climb aboard the film, get into its spirit, and then it really is a very lovely reversal of the usual nightmare.

The seventies brought more composer films, Mahler and Lisztomania, and also the rock opera Tommy, which earned Russell slightly better reviews as his boisterousness was judged more in keeping with the material (critics, it seemed, could not stand the idea of a filmmaker responding to classical music for its passion and energy, its rock ‘n’ roll qualities, rather than for its assumed civilising effect). Russell got away with showing Ann-Margret humping her cushions while slathered in feculent chocolate sauce, shot Tina Turner with a 6mm lens to uglify her as she thrashed around a steel sarcophagus studded with hypos, and put Elton John on ten-foot platform shoes.

Lisztomania is another movie that’s seen as marking the decline into lunacy: its producer, David Puttnam, hugely impressed by Russell’s flare and his ability to shoot Mahler after half the budget fell through, felt that ultimately the relentless negative press knocked his enfant terrible off-balance. Instead of rolling over in submission, Russell perversely doubled down on the excess and became a parody of himself. And he had already been a parody to begin with (but a parody without an original, unless we take him as a combined burlesque of all his cinematic influences). I’ve always adored Lisztomania, which knows it’s going too far, knows its japes and conceits are ludicrous and indefensible, knows it can’t get away with Roger Daltrey as Liszt and Ringo Starr as the Pope. And just. Doesn’t. Care.

Valentino, which marked the end of the Russell marriage (there would be a bunch more), was dismissed by Russell as the fag-end of his first British period, “everything about it was bored and boring, including me,” but it’s actually rather good. Nureyev as Valentino (well, he was used to being called Rudolph), Russell as Rex Ingram wielding a megaphone the size of a cannon. The twenties, as lived by Rambova, Dorothy Arzner, Fatty Arbuckle, or as dreamt by Mad Ken.

Russell had made his career in Britain at a time when the industry was in collapse: he largely missed the explosion of energy that marked Swinging London, the British new wave, and the only kitchen sink he liked was the one he was always throwing in. Now, the domestic business seemed to have expired of ennui, senile dementia and blood poisoning, but Hollywood beckoned. Russell was bottom of a long list of directors who all turned down Paddy Chayefsky’s Altered States, a late-mid-life crisis film about sensory deprivation tanks and psychedelics which takes John C. Lilley and fuses him with Dr. Jekyll. Russell took it on despite being forbidden from changing a line of dialogue, but got his revenge by having his actors speak fast -- like Jimmy Cagney fast, not so much throwing away their lines as firing them like tennis balls. And by having them eat at the same time. And by expanding the hallucination sequences until they took over the movie, so that they were all anyone talked about. Druggie audiences would hang out into the lobby, Russell gleefully reported, posting a sentry in the auditorium who would yell “Hallucination!” whenever one was starting, and everyone would rush back in to get a hit of audiovisual delirium.

A bit like Women in Love, Altered States benefited from the creative clash between director and writer (who took his name off the script in protest at Russell’s backhanded fidelity), but the reaction among respectable types was mainly a theatrical eye-roll: the maniac was up to his old tricks. Crimes of Passion, starring Kathleen Turner and Anthony Perkins, was next, with she as a Belle de Jour career girl by day, working girl by night, he as an insane sex-obsessed preacher, some forgettable soap opera type as leading man, the whole thing soaked in neon colors and spliced full of Bearsley and Hokusai, whom the American censor duly deleted in horror. “They cut out anything to do with art,” observed the filmmaker.

And that was it for America, save occasional pieces for HBO, progressively more televisual, the locked-off symmetrical winning out over the kinetic. Russell returned to the UK to make theatrical features, and again you heard the cry off “Whatever happened? He used to be good!” Gothic dealt with Byron and the Shelleys and the birth of Frankenstein, and was fruity, literate, dirty good fun. The Rainbow was a return to Women in Love territory, on a lower budget and with less energy and star wattage: Russell declared it his best film since that imagined zenith, and a few critics wanly agreed. The Lair of the White Worm was another journey beyond the pale, thrusting some of the same actors into a ludicrous vampire and snake goddess phallic farrago with Hugh Grant and a kilted Peter Capaldi attempting to snakecharm with bagpipes. A vampirized policeman gets his head impaled on a deco sundial. Marvelous. And the sequence was rounded out with Salome’s Last Dance, which stages Oscar Wilde’s biblical wet dream in a Victorian brothel, an inspired no-budget solution and a film which, unlike Altered States, really respects its words, lingering over them, rolling them salaciously over its tongue. Add in also Ken’s episode of Aria, in which he stages Nessun Dorma as an accident victim’s operating room hallucination, with porn mag model Linzi Drew, a new Russell favorite, in the lead.

Time was running out, the budgets shrinking like a Fu Manchu death chamber, the ceiling pressing down and clearly constraining what Russell could achieve, despite his continuing ambition. Lady Chatterley’s Lover for the BBC scored huge ratings, and he was never asked back. Commercial television’s top arts programme, The South Bank Show, run by Russell’s old screenwriter from Women in Love, Melvyn Bragg, kept him going with more-or-less annual commissions: he’d come full circle, or did when he moved back to home movies, shot in his garden or in his favorite Soho pub, which he hoped to “flog on the internet.” The symmetry of the career, its ourobousness, is more pleasing to contemplate than it must have been to live, though the last marriage lasted and was happy, and the ever-moving critical pendulum had reached the place where people were starting to say that The Devils and some of the other seventies work was really good, actually.

I can admire everything up until the final home movies, and maybe I’ll come round to them: Russell was right to admire all his earlier films. He spent decades more or less brushing off French Dressing, then saw it on TV and thought, “This is a masterpiece!” which it is. But only a minor one compared to what was those around it. Seaside-postcard humor, musical comedy performances, pop art imagery, Wagnerian and Stravinskian soundtracks, a defiant rejection of subtlety. “I don’t believe there’s any value in understatement […] This is the age of kicking people in the balls and telling them something and getting a reaction […] Picasso was not restrained, Mahler was not restrained!’” His detractors thought he should be, possibly in a straitjacket and with megadoses of Thorazine, but Russell was a volcanic eruption in cinematic form, a purple-faced tyrant of the Stroheim school, a demonic force driven to possess reels of celluloid and make them glow in the dark with a sugar rush radiation that has yet to decay. He was too big, too vulgar, too beautiful, too nasty and too beautiful for a national cinema mired in lethargic literary-theatrical respectability. “The visual arts have never had a foothold in England,” he sneered.

Ken!

Life is not a Ken Loach movie. It is a Ken Russell movie.

by David Cairns