#regency groom

[houppellande]

Read till end for Byron's memoirs 👀​👀​👀​

Wedding attire of Lady Annabella Byron (nee Milbanke) aka Lord Byron's wife. Yes. THAT Byron. From this simple but tasteful ensemble one can somewhat understand her character (and the fate of the marriage) a bit better.

J. C. Hobhouse, Byron's best man, describes her as such on that day:

[...] Miss Milbanke came in attended by her governess, the respectable Miss Clermont. She was dressed in a muslin gown trimmed with lace at the bottom, with a white muslin curricle jacket, very plain indeed, with nothing on her head. [...]

Miss Milbanke was as firm as a rock, and during the whole ceremony looked steadily at Byron – she repeated the words audibly and well. Byron hitched at first when he said “I, George Gordon”, and when he came to “with all my worldly goods I thee endow”, looked at me with a half-smile – they were married at eleven.

And this Lord Byron's wedding waistcoat, who is said to have belonged to King George the 2nd of England (it was re-taylored for regency fashion), and which Byron wore often.

And now for something completely different! An excerpt from the lost Memoirs of Lord Byron. While the manuscript itself was destroyed, many people read (and copied!) some parts. The editor of The John Bull Magazine (1824, on which the following excerpt was published) has of course made some "mutilations" (aka censorship), but the text seems genuine, and Byron's cheeky prose style manages to shine through. Some (including the Magazine's Author) say that THIS EXACT CHAPTER was the main reason for the burning of the Memoirs.

TW: dubious consent . . .

It was now near two o’clock in the morning, and I was jaded to the soul by the delay. I had left the company, and retired to a private apartment. Will those, who think that a bridegroom on his bridal night should be so thoroughly saturated with love, as to render it impossible for him to yield to any other feeling, pardon me when I say, that I had almost fallen asleep on a sofa, when a giggling, tittering, half-blushing face popped itself into the door, and popped as fast back again, after having whispered as audibly as a suivante whispers upon the stage, that Anne was in bed? It was one of her bridemaids. Yet such is the case. I was actually dozing. Matrimony begins very soon to operate narcotically—had it been a mistress—had it been an assignation with any animal, covered with a petticoat—any thing but a wife—why, perhaps, the case would have been different.

I found my way, however, at once into the bed-room, and tore off my garments. Your pious zeal will, I am sure, be quite shocked, when I tell you I did not say my prayers that evening—morning I mean. It was, I own, wrong in me, who had been educated in the pious and praying kingdom of Scotland, and must confess myself—you need not smile—at least half a Presbyterian. Miss N—l—should I yet say Lady Byron?—had turned herself away to the most remote verge, and tightly enwrapped herself in the bed-clothes. I called her by her name—her Christian name—her pet name—every name of endearment—I spoke in the softest under tones—in the most melodious upper tones of which my voice is master. She made no answer, but lay still, and I stole my arm under her neck, which exerted all the rigidity of all its muscles to prevent the (till then undreamt of) invasion. I turned up her head—but still not a word. With gentle force I removed the close-pressed folds of the sheet from her fine form—you must let me say that of her, unfashionable as it is, and unused as I have been to paying her compliments—she resisting all the while. After all, there is nothing like a coup de main in love or war. I conquered by means of one, with the other arm, for I had got it round her waist, and using all my strength, (and what is that of a woman, particularly a woman acting the modeste, to that of a vigorous fellow, who had cleft the Hellespont,) drew her to my arms, which now clasped her to my bosom with all the warmth of glowing, boiling passion, and all the pride of victory. I pressed my lips warmly to hers. There was no return of the pressure. I pressed them again and again—slightly at last was I answered, but still that slightly was sufficient. Ce n’est que la premiere pas qui coute. She had not, however, opened her lips. I put my hand upon her heart, and it palpitated with a strong and audible beating under my touch. Heaven help it! it little knew how much more reason it would, ere long, have for more serious and more lasting throbbings.As yet she had not uttered a word, and I was becoming tired of her obstinancy. I made, therefore, a last appeal. ‘Are you afraid of me, dearest?’—I uttered, in a half-fond, half-querulous, tone. It broke the ice. She answered in a low, timid, and subdued voice—‘I am not,’—and turned to me, for the first time, with that coy and gentle pressure which is, perhaps, the dearest and most delightful of all sensations ever to be enjoyed by man. I knew by it that I had conquered. 

(Please keep in mind that, while I consider myself a Byron enthusiast, I almost never agree with his choiches/courses of action. If you want my personal opinion, i'll be happy to exchange insights!)

[stormlit]

been cookin' a lil b.ridgerton au for miri in my head. i think she'd be english in it, specifically northern. grew up in an orphanage and then a workhouse after the death of her father, doing everything she could to look after her siblings (and even be allowed to care for her brother). orchestrated a successful escape with her brother and sister when she was 15 (though it was not the first attempt; they called them inmates for a reason), where they ran as far as they could get, right into the arms of a criminal gang. the gang travelled, staying outside towns and going in to do jobs until they were caught by the law and had to move. she hated being a thief, doing as much sewing as she could so she could claim she was paying her way without having to hurt anyone, and desperately wanted to set down roots and belong somewhere.

eventually wound up in london, where miri saw an opening for a seamstress, a legitimate job, and decided that this was her chance...right around the time that a safe, easy job for the gang turned into a bloody massacre, they all became wanted men, and had to scarper. miri stayed, trying desperately to leave that life behind even as criminals love to pop up for assistance from an old friend, she trained and worked hard and now manages a shop in central london, though she much prefers to do the sewing over the customer-facing part. she does more everyday wear than ball gowns, though she does have dealing with the ton, and the other half of the shop is a men's tailors. she can fit a suit as well as any tailor, thank you.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (7) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: snow is pushing his luck with you, but you will not let his attempted slights go by. 

word count: 3,004

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: breaking wedding superstitions, you and snow get in an argument, jealous!coryo, pet name (petal), not proofread

“Oh, you actually look like a bride!” your mother exclaimed as Tigris led you into the sitting room.

“She has always looked like my bride,” Snow said.

When you received word that Tigris had finished making your wedding gown and was ready to start the fitting process, Snow had insisted that it be done at the palace. Another form of control over you, you were sure. 

Tigris, who was helping you gather the skirts, reached over and squeezed your hand, careful not to let Snow see. You did not know what had caused Tigris’s and Snow’s relationship to become so strained. You remembered, at the Academy, that Snow and Tigris were quite close. At least, as close as Snow would ever allow a person to be to him. He was very good at keeping people at arm’s length. The only person that he truly wanted in his inner circle, it seemed, was you. 

“Is there not some saying about it being bad luck for a groom to see the bridge in her gown before the wedding day?”

Of course, you were fine with a healthy smidge of bad luck. This entire ordeal was doused in it. But it also annoyed Snow any time you tried to deny him something, and that was joy enough for you. 

“I won’t come to the final fitting,” Snow said. 

“I don’t think you understand how luck works.”

Snow hummed. He rose from his seat on the sofa and crossed over to you. When he reached for your hand, you allowed him to take it. Tigris took a few quick steps away from you. He lifted your joined hands above your head, and you began to twirl. He hummed again.

“I do not need luck when I have a bride as beautiful as you,” he said. To Tigris, he said, “You have outdone yourself this time.”

“Thank you, Coriolanus,” Tigris said. 

Snow’s lips curved up into a smirk. “Hmm, see how easy it is? Calling someone by their name?”

“Tigris is your cousin. She is family. It is not inappropriate for her to call you by your name.” You looked back at Tigris. Guilt settled in the pit of your stomach for placing her in the middle of this dispute, but Snow started it. You were smart enough to finish it. “You are an incredibly impatient man, Snow. We are weeks away from the wedding. Are you truly that restless for me to say your name that you cannot wait that long? My, it’s a wonder anyone thought you were disciplined enough to be King.”

Tigris tugged on your skirt, trying to urge you to be silent. You wondered if she had seen Snow when his anger was at its worst. Was that why they were no longer close? Because she had looked into the beast’s eyes and was terrified by what she saw? Perhaps you would be better off holding your tongue. Yet, a part of you liked this challenge. You enjoyed discovering new buttons you could push. 

But Snow only laughed, and that alone was infuriating. He looked at his cousin and remarked, “She always keeps me on my toes.”

Tigris’s lips stretched into a thin smile. “Well, I suppose someone must keep you in line.”

“Of which, she is an expert.”

What a terrible expert you must be then. Had you ever kept Snow in line? You had certainly told him off before, made certain he knew how little you wanted this kind of life. But to keep him in line? The thought was laughable. The man was King. The only way he could lose his power was to something so particularly heinous the Electors would be forced to remove him, or if he died. 

Snow reached for your dress, his thumb running over the embroidered designs. His smirk slowly became a smile as he traced one of the roses. “Do you think you could add more of these?” he asked Tigris.

“Of course. I’ll go draw up some more designs,” Tigris said. 

“Can I take this off now?” you asked. At Snow’s nodding, you turned, Tigris gathering up your skirts so that it would not drag across the floor.

You and Tigris quickly reached the room where she had been helping you dress. It was not far from the drawing room. Irritation had been bubbling up inside you the entire short walk. It drove you insane how much control Snow had over you now. How was this fair? Why did you have to be a little puppet that Snow could pull the strings on? 

“He drives me mad,” you said. Perhaps you shouldn’t admit that to his cousin, one of his only family members, but if there was anyone who could understand, you figured it would be Tigris. 

“Coriolanus is a maddening sort of person,” Tigris admitted, shutting the door behind you once inside the room. 

You could not stop yourself. If you could not understand Snow himself, you might gain some insight from his cousin. “Is that why you are no longer close?”

Tigris looked up at you, her pale eyes turning sad. “He changed. After he came back from his time with the Peacekeepers, I mean. Before, I was hopeful for the kind of man he could become. We…We had hard lives before all of this. Coriolanus would never let anyone know, of course. Too prideful. Too sure that he would get us out of ruin. He was successful in the end, but I think he lost a part of himself.”

Your brows pinched together. “Do you know what happened?”

Tigris shrugged. “No one does. He keeps that part of his life close to his chest. All I know is, when I saw him upon his return, he did not look like little Coryo anymore. He looked like his father.”

You had heard stories of Crassus Snow. He was once a friend of your fathers in their youth, but grown distant as Crassus became colder. It probably had something to do with the peasant uprisings. From your understanding, Crassus was as prideful as Snow. Perhaps more. When he was able to enlist, he quickly rose through the ranks until he was a general. He had the power of the army clenched in his fist. He might have won the war singlehandedly had he not been caught in a rebel trap. 

“But…” Tigris paused. She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Well, that just couldn’t do. Tigris couldn’t just begin to put the pieces of Snow’s personality, his motivations, for you, and yank away one of the final pieces. 

You reached for her hand. You gave it a gentle squeeze. “Please, tell me. I am going to marry him soon. Do I not deserve to know what I’m getting into?”

“Coriolanus is different now.”

“How do you mean?”

“He’s…kinder with you,” Tigris said as she skillfully undid the fastenings to your gown. 

You stifled a snort. “That hardly means anything. A lion might let a gazelle run free, but that does not mean he is any less a beast.”

“You think I’m a beast?”

You fought the urge to jump. One might think you should have become accustomed to Snow’s sudden appearances. Yet, he always managed to catch you off guard. Instead of revealing your shock, you turned your head to where Snow stood in the now opened doorway. “Only a beast would interrupt an unmarried woman as she is undressing.”

Tigris grabbed your hands, pulling you behind the dressing screen. You maintained eye contact with Snow the entire way, careful to make sure he wouldn’t try to follow you. He already kissed you before the wedding. Who was to say he wouldn’t do something more heinous? Snow was very insistent that he could do with you as he pleased. 

“Does it matter if you are unmarried when I am going to marry you regardless?”

You decided to not deign his question a response. How many times had you had this conversation with him? Telling him to be respectful of societal expectations, him deciding he knew best. Oh, was this what your life would him would be like? Would he ever give you peace? Maybe if you gave him a few children…Though, you supposed, Snow would want more than a few. He seemed the sort of man that desired a dynasty. A legacy that would be firmly cemented. That could only be done if you played your part to the letter. And if you didn’t…

“Why are you here? Besides to be a Peeping Tom.”

You heard Snow chuckle. “Clever little thing, aren’t you? I came to ask if you would accompany me to the opera tomorrow evening.”

“Quite a late invitation, don’t you think? Perhaps I have a date with a suitor.”

Tigris’s head jerked up as she helped you step out of the wedding gown. She shook her head. Well, too late now.

“You would not.” Oh, you could hear the poison leeching into his tone. This was fun. (At least, for now. You imagined he would make you regret this impropriety later.) 

“You seem so convinced that I am going to leave you for Sejanus. Perhaps I have decided to actually give you a reason to be upset.” Tigris helped you into the gown you wore to the palace, trying to put it on you as quickly as possible. You really needed to wait to pick these fights until you were alone. You hated to make her collateral. “It is not very becoming, you know, to be so jealous.”

When you turned to step out from behind the privacy screen, you jumped. Snow was already standing there, his face an amusing shade of red. His usually pale blue eyes were much, much darker. You weren’t sure you could see any blue at all. 

“Take it back.”

“You know what the truth is, Snow. Why should I have to keep repeating it? I am your fiancé. We are going to be married by the end of the month. I have promised you to be on my best behavior. That would include, I assume, not leaving you for another. And yet…The simplest of teasing turns you into a mad man. It was all in jest. A joke about a last minute invitation.”

“It was last minute because I was arranging for a private performance for ourselves and our loved ones.”

You blinked. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Well, you hadn’t expected that. 

“I beg your pardon?”

Snow did not look away from you, never breaking eye contact. He stepped closer. You could feel his breath. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Tigris shuffling around. “You still enjoy the opera, don’t you?”

“How did you know I—?” You shook your head. That was not important at the moment. “Yes. I do, very much so. I…Thank you. That is uncharacteristically kind of you.”

Snow snorted, looking away for a moment as if to collect himself. But when he turned his gaze on you again, his eyes were softer. Back to their usual pale blue. “You cannot even compliment me without an insult.”

“It is so easy to insult you. It is fun to see what will burrow the furthest under your skin.”

He hummed. “For now, let us move on to lighter conversations. Who would you like to invite? So that I may invitations sent out before it is too late for anyone to accept.”

“If the King sends an invitation, anyone would accept.”

“And so too shall the Queen,” Snow said. A fond smile crossed his face. He reached for your hand. His thumb stroked it, in a way that was if your hand brought him comfort. “Who should you like to be there?”

You thought for a moment, considering your options. “My parents, which goes without saying. I have a few cousins that would like to come. The Dovecotes, the Cardews.” You spoke the next name quickly, hoping to hide it in your rush. “The Plinths, naturally. I think we should invite the Ravinstills, as a gesture of good faith. To show the former family mingling with the current.” You hoped that that line would delay Snow’s realization of who you slid into the list of invites. “I don’t want the Creeds there.”

Alas, your efforts were not successful. 

“The Creeds will not be there if you do not wish it. Everyone but the Plinth family, however, will be extended invitations.”

“The Plinths will be there. You said I could invite my loved ones.”

“Our loved ones, petal. I said our loved ones. And, let me make this clear, I bear no love for the Plinths at this time.”

“Because of Sejanus?” you asked. 

Snow’s jaw ticked. “It does not matter why. I shall not send them any invitation.”

“Then I shall send one myself. I shall personally invite them, and I shall ensure that Sejanus is allowed to sit right next to us. If you are doing this as a proclamation of love, then you should not try to hurt me by excluding someone I care about.”

“And you try to hurt me by including someone who is trying to take you?”

“She is not a prize for you to win, Coriolanus,” Tigris snapped. 

You had forgotten she was there. Why was she still there? Anyone else would have run for the hills the second a lover’s quarrel with the King broke out. Of course, she was his cousin. She grew up with him. Tigris probably knew more about Snow’s temper tantrum and their fallout than anyone. Perhaps you should take her presence as a blessing. Perhaps you should worry about what that might mean.

Snow squinted his eyes at Tigris. “Because I have won her. I am only ensuring that no one tries to steal her out from under me.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. 

His attention snapped back to you. “I will ask you kindly, just this once, to please exclude the Plinth family from your list of invitees. If it means so much to you, I will allow his parents to be invited. Just not him.” He paused. “Please.” It almost sounded like it pained him to utter the word. 

“If you do not invite Sejanus, I will,” you repeated. 

Snow’s eyes flashed. You were pushing too hard. Probably. But you could not find it in you to care. Snow was already getting everything he wanted. Was it necessary for him to rip every comfort you had away from you?

“Sejanus will not be invited to sit with us,” Snow hissed. “You cannot manipulate me as you did your mother.”

Did Snow really think that you would bend to his will so easily? Had he learned nothing from all of your spats in school? From how often you went toe-to-toe with him the last several weeks? You knew Snow was not an idiot. Far from it, in fact. He was easily the top student at the Academy, clearing over the children of Panem’s best and brightest with seeming ease. The only person who stood behind him was you. Snow should understand that this was not going to be something you back down from. 

And to bring your mother into this? You were not sure what she told him. It would have been about your engagement ball, of course. That was the only time you attempted to change who your mother believed she could invite to the ball. But you were sure that whatever she told him only further cemented the idea in his deluded mind that you were helplessly in love with Sejanus Plinth.

“He will! Coriolanus Snow, I will not allow you to slight our friend like this. He might be interested in me. And I might have considered a marriage with him if you were not here and my parents allowed it. And I might have fallen in love with him if we did wed. But you are, and it is insulting that you think so little of me—”

“I do not think little of you,” he interrupted. You nearly rolled your eyes. 

“—then, that you are so insecure that you cannot pull your head out of your ass long enough to realize that I will not do anything to harm this relationship, however much of a sham it is, for something that might work out even less than this. My Mama told me you want my loyalty. Well, this is as close as you will ever get to that. Do you understand? I know you value your reputation, and mine, and I know you care about how you, we, are perceived. I may not bend to your every will, but I will not do anything that would reflect poorly on the Crown.”

“I want more than your loyalty.”

“This is all you will get it, and you should be grateful. I could make this a lot more difficult. I could live everything moment to ruin your life. But I am not stupid. I know the security that comes with a title and money. I am grateful that I will want for nothing if I all do is act a dutiful wife. You should be equally grateful for the power and trust of the people that will be granted to you for appearing to be a family man, a good husband, and an eventual good father. This is not a marriage of love, and it never will be. I have accepted the convenience of it all. You should too.”

“I will not invite him.”

Well, there was only one option left to change his mind. If he would not listen to reason, it was time to be irrational. 

You took a step closer to him. Snow squeezed your hand, almost in warning, as if he could anticipate what you were about to do. 

“You will send the entire Plinth family an invitation, or I shall not come at all. Do you wish for your attempts at romanticism to be in vain?”

[fantasyescapes17]

Wings (Part 5, Final)

Your debut in society was as spectacular as one could be, but nobody had prepared you for what came afterward. When you find yourself overwhelmed during your very first season and unable to keep up with the rat race to secure yourself an eligible husband, a curious mentor appears- in the form of notorious flirt and self-proclaimed rake, Mr. Kim Mingyu.

Genre: Mingyu x Female!reader. Regency!AU. You are Jeonghan's sibling so your last name is Yoon but the reader has no other physical characteristics.

Warnings: smoking (don't smoke kids, the characters in this story are from a time when they didn't know how bad it was for their health)

Word Count: 4.5k+

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [You WILL need to read Patience, the earlier installment in this series first in order to understand the character dynamics in this story. Reading Candle before this is also strongly recommended.]

You had attended a handful of weddings in your life, but nothing could ever compare to your sister’s wedding to Mr. Choi. It was not the most lavish or spectacular event of the year. It was a simple ceremony in your local church with hardly twenty people in attendance. 

But no amount of decor or grandeur could have compensated for the utter devotion in the bride and groom’s eyes. The longing, the respect, the unconditional trust they both shared was too large to be contained within themselves. Their love was no game. It was an unavoidable truth. Every single person in the church felt it. Even, to an extent, your mother, who watched the ceremony in silence and did not make any attempt to ruin it. 

By the time the bride and groom departed for their long-awaited honeymoon, your handkerchief was soaked through with your tears.

“I think this has been an emotional week for all of us,” Jeonghan said to you as you both left the church. His voice was steady but you could see the mistiness in his eyes. “A lot of people were involved in making this wedding possible- not least of all, you.” 

You smiled up at your brother. “They had suffered long enough.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “And your suffering?”

You turned away from him quickly, sensing the approach of a topic that you did not wish to discuss. “I must find Jiwoo-” 

“No. Jiwoo is perfectly fine, he is with his governess,” your brother told you firmly, determined not to allow you to escape. “I am not an idiot, sister. I have given up attempting to find out exactly what occurred between yourself and Mr. Kim but my acquaintances tell me that he is on a journey across the English countryside and has been drinking every inn and tavern in his path dry.” 

You flinched at the mention of Mr. Kim. You had been avoiding any news of him; you did not want to even think about the man. 

“Unfortunate,” you said coldly. “Perhaps someone should intervene.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “So you have no intention of intervening yourself?” 

You stared at your brother in disbelief. “And what exactly do you expect me to do, Jeonghan? Do you consider me responsible for Mr. Kim’s health? Should I be following him around taverns and begging him not to imbibe? Please tell me how I could possibly prevent a fully grown gentleman from making poor choices with his time and money.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “I expect nothing from you. But when you react so strongly to a simple suggestion, it makes it difficult for me to believe that nothing occurred back in London.” 

“I do not wish to talk about it-”

“You must at least tell me what he did-” 

“No, I must not. I love you, brother; but please, stop this line of inquiry.” 

Jeonghan’s jaw clenched. It was not anger- he was simply frustrated, being too used to single-handedly solving the family’s problems. Having been left in the dark was difficult for him, but it was not enough to convince you to talk to him about your experiences in London. 

You wanted to put them far, far behind you. 

“Jiwoo!” you called out to the young boy. He was walking with his elderly governess, looking rather tired and sleepy. “You look quite exhausted; shall we go home?” you turned to his governess with a smile. “I can take Jiwoo from here. Mr. Choi would have informed you that he will be staying with me at the Yoon estate until the couple are back from their honeymoon.” 

The governess nodded and handed Jiwoo over to you. “Of course, my lady.” 

Jiwoo blinked up at you. “When will father be back?” 

“In a week,” you promised him. “But we shall have lots of fun together until then. Are you excited?” 

Jiwoo grinned up at you, looking a little more awake. “Yes.” 

“Come along, then- the carriage is waiting for us. Let us go home.” 

Jeonghan and your sister-in-law were still conversing with other wedding guests near the church so you went ahead and climbed into the carriage with Jiwoo. The carriage could double back for the others- the church was only a few minutes from the manor. Jiwoo cheerfully told you about his studies and his new pet frog, Bernard during the short carriage ride to the Yoon estate. 

You sensed that something was wrong as soon as the carriage door opened. There was a strange horse munching on the immaculate lawns near the manor entrance, and a servant-maid came running up to you, looking somewhat agitated. 

“Miss Yoon,” the maid said hurriedly. “Mr. Kim Mingyu arrived earlier this morning. I tried to tell him that everyone was at the wedding, but he insisted on waiting in the drawing room! He said he wanted to speak to you in particular, and I did not know if that was appropriate-” 

You took a deep breath. Your chest felt tight. You had known that you would have to face Mr. Kim Mingyu again, but you were not prepared for it to be right after your sister’s wedding while your emotions were still raw. You had expected that you would have more time to prepare for that particular encounter. 

Then again- Mr. Kim had never been so easily predictable. 

“I will handle it,” you told the maid calmly. “Please take Jiwoo upstairs. He is quite tired from the wedding, I am sure he could use a nap.” 

The maid took the young boy away and you allowed yourself a brief moment to regain your composure before walking into the drawing room. 

Mr. Kim was seated in an armchair, but he leapt to his feet as soon as you entered the room. He looked almost worse than he had the last time you saw him in London. He did not reek of whisky anymore but his bloodshot eyes, pale face and dry lips told you that his last drink had not been very long ago. Mr. Kim's handsome face was marred by fear, and his dark eyes looked anxious.

“Miss Yoon-”

“Mr. Kim,” you greeted him coldly. “I must assume that you were not aware of my sister’s wedding or you would surely have not come while the family was busy celebrating an event that you were not invited to.” 

Mr. Kim stared at you for a long moment in absolute silence. His hands were shaking and he bowed his head. 

“I-I was not aware of your sister’s wedding, allow me to offer my congratulations,” he said finally.

“The couple has already left for their honeymoon. You are too late to congratulate them.” 

“Ah.” 

“Was there a reason behind this unexpected visit?” you demanded. 

“I-I had to speak to you.” 

“Then speak.” 

There was a long silence that ensued. Your heart was beating at an unnatural rate. You could see the agony in every inch of Mr. Kim’s posture and as he bit his lip and ran his fingers through his hair. A part of you- the part of you that had fallen in love with him- ached to see him like this. But there was another part of you that remembered your own wounds and pain, and swiftly suppressed any sympathy that you could feel for him. 

The large grandfather clock in the corner of the room was ticking loudly. 

“Do you have anything to say?” you asked after an entire minute had gone by. “Or is it your intention to make me wait in silence all afternoon?” 

Mr. Kim cleared his throat. He was avoiding your gaze. “I am sorry. I-I had planned what to say to you, but somehow the words felt…” 

“Empty? Rehearsed?” you demanded. “Or perhaps you thought that your mere presence would be enough to move me, and that words were not necessary? Was it not you who taught me some vacuous nonsense about the art of silence?” 

He looked pained. “No, of course not-” 

“If you are struggling to find something to say, Mr. Kim, then allow me to spare you the effort. There is nothing that you could say that would ever make me forgive you."

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, wide and horrified. "Please don't say that-"

"I am not in the habit of lying."

"I am not here to lie to you," he insisted hotly. 

You clenched your fists and glared at him, almost challenging him to try and manipulate you again. 

"Then go on, Mr. Kim. Prove that you are not merely the rake that the world sees you as. Say one thing to me that is not some attempt to contrive or manipulate me. A single sentence that is not rehearsed, and that truly comes from your heart."

Mr. Kim took a deep breath and stepped closer to you. "I-I have been thinking about what I said to you, and-"

"No, try again," you said coldly. 

"I never meant to hurt you-"

"That is clearly a lie. Try again."

His face was beginning to turn red. "I was overwhelmed by my emotions and-"

"Excuses, excuses."

"I love you!" he burst out finally. His face was red and he was breathing heavily. "I love you, Miss Yoon, I love you so much that I cannot contain these emotions inside of my heart and this love overwhelms my thoughts, feelings, self-respect and every rational part of my mind. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in this world."

The confession was loaded. It hit you like a train- even you could not maintain your strong facade in the face of those heated words and Mr. Kim's dark, passionate gaze. 

"The right words," you said quietly, your voice cracking. "If only you had said them two weeks ago."

Mr. Kim's shoulders fell. 

"I know that I have no right to stand before you like this," he said passionately. Mr. Kim stepped closer to you and reached for your hands, grasping them tightly. "I have been a monster. I have hurt you and manipulated you, and wronged you. I am sorry."

You pulled your hands away from him sharply. 

"A simple apology cannot fix this mess, Mr. Kim."

"I know-"

"This is not some unintended mistake. You did not step on my foot or mispronounce my name. No- you manipulated me and played with my emotions over a period of months. Was any of it real? Or was it all a game to you?" you asked, your voice cracking. 

He looked torn. "It started as a game- I was so used to the thrill of the seduction. I saw a chance to woo the reputed Miss Yoon. The belle of the ball, the jewel of the ton, the most sought-after young debutante of the season, it was just such a tempting challenge…"

You felt sick. "Of course. It was a game to you. As I was warned so many times by everyone around me- I was young and naive, the ripe target for a rake."

He stepped away from you and took a deep breath. 

"There was a thrill," he admitted shamefully. "In getting to know you and discovering the little things about you, your vulnerabilities and strengths, how I could use them to make you fall in love with me. I showed you a side of me that I hoped you would fall for."

You said nothing. 

"But I never meant to hurt you," he insisted hotly. "You are blinded by your insecurities so you don't see certain things… I don't think you're aware of how beautiful and desirable you are. The whole ton was in love with you. You were the season's jewel, renowned for your beauty and approved by the Queen herself. It was a competition for your heart. You had so many suitors, and you could have had any bachelor you chose in a heartbeat. I never really expected you to fall in love with me. I thought you would marry someone else by the end of the season as you'd planned and it was a game, a harmless little game…"

"Harmless?" you demanded angrily. "Harmless for who, Mr. Kim?"

"I was wrong," he insisted. His face was red and he had turned away from you to pace the room. "I did not see that you were falling in love, I did not realise how dangerous my own feelings for you were becoming. Until the day we kissed in the gallery and I was forced to accept that this game had gone too far and gotten completely, utterly out of hand…"

You said nothing. Your throat felt heavy and you swallowed. 

Mr. Kim came over to you suddenly. He kneeled in front of you and his dark eyes met yours. You could see the pain, the love, the emotion that bubbled underneath the surface of his gaze.

"I made a mistake," he whispered. "Many mistakes. But I love you. I need you in my life. Nobody else- nothing else in this world can make me as happy as you make me. That is my truth."

You looked down at him. "And me?" you whispered. "How am I to be happy, Mingyu?"

"I will do anything in my power to make you happy," he promised vehemently. 

You shook your head. It was not enough. It would never be enough. Declarations of love and words of affection were quick to sway but you had been manipulated by this man before. You loved him- loved him with your entire heart but it was not enough. 

"I watched my sister getting married today," you told him shakily. "Do you know how long she and Mr. Choi have been waiting to marry?"

Mr. Kim blinked. "A few years?"

"Almost five years. My sister gave up her prime years in society for him, destroyed all her other prospects and waited for so long. I never understood how she could take that risk and wait so patiently for him without a shred of regret. I think I finally understood it today. That feeling they share… it's something more than just love, Mingyu."

He waited silently for you to continue. 

"It's trust," you finished. "And it doesn't matter how much I love you, because my trust in you is broken."

He recoiled as though you had slapped him. 

"Of course," he said quietly. "I understand."

"Then we are done here."

"No," he said firmly. "No, we are not done. I have not come here to give up so easily. If I have broken your trust then I will repair it. Even if it takes a year, or five or ten…"

You shook your head. "You can't be serious."

"I will prove to you that what we share is nothing less than what your sister shares with Mr. Choi," he promised. "I will wait until your trust in me is restored, I will show you the parts of me I was too ashamed to show you before. I will fix this."

You swallowed. "A bold promise."

"I know you don't believe me," he said quietly. "You do not need to. I will prove it to you."

"You can't-"

"I will," Mr. Kim said firmly. "I will tell you and show you how much I love you every single day until you choose to believe it."

"And if that day never comes?"

"Then let them engrave it on my tombstone."

You shook your head in disbelief. "Mingyu, really…"

"I love you."

—------------------------------------------------------

Joenghan was confused and wary when he discovered Mr. Kim had arrived uninvited during the wedding. But  since nobody would tell him exactly what was happening, he hesitantly extended an invitation to Mr. Kim to stay at the Yoon estate as long as he was in town. Mr. Kim accepted gratefully. 

You awoke the next morning to the sound of loud laughter; Mr. Kim was teaching Jiwoo how to ride a pony in the gardens. You quickly dressed and went downstairs to tell them to be quiet, and that it was far too early to be waking up the entire town. 

"Look; I am riding!" Jiwoo cried excitedly as he managed to control the pony without help. You could not resist a smile. 

"I see you and Jiwoo are having fun," you said to Mr. Kim drily. 

Mr. Kim smiled. "You speak of Jiwoo often; I thought befriending him might be useful. He promised to do anything for me if I taught him to ride one of the ponies, so I am simply keeping my promise."

You stared at him in disbelief. "And this does not seem manipulative to you?"

"It's hardly manipulative when I am being completely honest about what I am doing," Mr. Kim protested with a charming smile. "I do have to use some methods to win your heart, my dear Miss Yoon. I cannot simply sit here and expect my handsome face to do all the work."

"So this is your new tactic?" you demanded. "You will tell me what you are doing as you attempt to manipulate me?"

"One might call that honesty."

"One might call it brazen shamelessness."

"Call it what you will," he replied lightly. "I believe the arrangement benefits everyone involved. Jiwoo! Come back here!"

Jiwoo rode the pony back and dismounted before running over to you. Mr. Kim quickly took the pony's reins and calmed it down. 

"Did you see me riding Chocolate?" Jiwoo asked excitedly. 

You smiled at the boy. "I did. You did an excellent job! You must be very hungry after all that riding. Go inside and have breakfast- I will join you in a moment."

Jiwoo nodded before reaching into his pocket. 

"Mr. Kim asked me to give you this," the boy added before running away. 

You unfolded the sheet of paper that Jiwoo handed you. You were not sure what you had been expecting- but certainly not the words 'I love you' scrawled in Mr. Kim's familiar penmanship. You went over to him and raised an eyebrow.

"What is this?" you asked him. 

Mr. Kim blinked. "A love letter."

"Rather low effort, don't you think?" you asked. 

He chuckled. "Well, I had no choice. You are already familiar with all my flowery prose and poetry- you have my notes on the subject. I was worried you would see anything taken from there as ingenuine; therefore, I have chosen the path of simplicity and honesty."

You could not bite back your smile. "I see."

Mr. Kim turned his attention away from you and gave the pony an apple that he was carrying in his pocket. "I thought it would be best to befriend Chocolate the pony as well, seeing as he is one of your happiest memories. Luckily he is not much harder to sway than Jiwoo- he just needs a few apples."

"Don't overfeed him," you warned. 

"I will be careful. Let me put him back in the stables and then I will join you for breakfast. Speaking of which…"

You looked at him. "What?"

"That stableboy of yours doesn't still work here, does he?"

Your eyes widened in horror. "Mr. Kim!" you scolded him, appalled.

He grinned. "All right, all right. I had to ask."

"Unbelievable."

Perhaps it was because you knew how weak Mr. Kim made you,  you tried harder than necessary to resist his ensuing attempts to win your trust back. You were not going to make it easy for him to hurt you again. 

Your heart was already his- there was never a moment where it belonged to anybody but Mingyu. But your head was cautious, suspicious, ever-doubting his words and actions and intentions. 

Mr. Kim spent most of the winter either at the Yoon estate or nearby. He was always near you- his attention devoted to you, hanging onto your every word and making small gestures to win your heart. It soon became clear to your entire family that Mr. Kim Mingyu was desperately trying to woo you. Even once he returned to his own estate, he wrote long letters to you multiple times a week. 

Then came the season. 

—-------------------------------------------------------

Your second London season was far less exciting, but far more enjoyable than your first had been. The absence of your mother (she had chosen to stay in the countryside) and your newfound confidence made things easier and less stressful.

There was also a new set of nervous, pretty young debutantes for the ton to fawn over. You were not surprised to find yourself no longer one of the most desired young ladies of the ton. But Mr. Kim was not deterred. He continued to court you openly and while he was around, it was difficult not to feel like the most beautiful woman in the room. 

Mr. Kim was determined to make you fall in love with him all over again, and he succeeded. He accompanied you to every ball, promenaded with you when the weather was nice, and made it known to the ton that Mr. Kim was no longer a rake- he was now a much reformed man in love. 

He also showed you things that he claimed he would never have shown anyone else. One interesting evening was spent with both of you going over his finances, where you discovered just how much money Mr. Kim had invested in his art gallery, and how much he had lost over cards to your brother. 

"You do have a gambling problem," you scolded him. "No more cards for you, Mr. Kim."

He proceeded to sit miserably and empty-handed at the edge of the card tables in the assembly room for the next week, until you finally told him that you did not mind him playing a little. He was promptly made fun of by some of the other gentlemen but it did not seem to bother him- he only beamed at you across the room as they laughed about how you were not even married and controlled his finances already. 

As the weeks and months passed, you fell in love with Mr. Kim a second time. It was the same, and yet also different. 

He was still an excellent dancer, a charmer and could still make your heart skip a beat with his playful smile and dark twinkling eyes. But this Mr. Kim was more clumsy, more honest and less sure of himself than the suave rake you had fallen for the previous season. 

You were now privy to the less perfect sides of Mr. Kim. His frustration that the art gallery was not doing as well as he had hoped, his gambling habit, the hesitation that sometimes appeared in his eyes when he was unsure of himself. He confided in you about the struggles he had faced when his parents passed away while he was still young. You fell more in love with him when he shared these parts of him with you. 

The Mr. Kim you had initially loved was only an image, a small slice of the Kim Mingyu you had now grown to love and understand and even trust. 

"So," he said to you one evening as you both shared a Cuban cigar on the balcony of the Duchess of Graham's manor. There was a large celebration happening inside that you had both snuck away from. "We find ourselves back on this fateful balcony where we first met."

You smirked up at him and snatched the cigar from his fingers before taking a drag. "You mean where you found me crying on the floor."

Mr. Kim shrugged. "I didn't want to bring it up…"

"I think I've changed a lot since then."

"You have," he said quietly. He gave you a small smile. "I know I only made things more difficult and it's not my place to say, but… I am proud of you."

You bit your lip. "I am proud of myself too."

"Good," he said with a nod. 

"But I should probably stop smoking."

"Probably."

"Shall we quit together?" you asked him. "We've only been doing this as a way to spend time with each other, and I think we are rather past needing to find excuses to be alone together."

Mr. Kim looked amused as you put out the cigar on the railing. 

"If you think we should quit, then I am not going to argue," he said lightly. 

You nodded and hummed. "And perhaps we should stop meeting on other people's balconies like this."

"Now you are making me worry."

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small book- it had been entrusted to you by Miss Ella Williams, who had gifted it to you for your use since you were one of her few unmarried friends. You showed Mr. Kim the pages with his name and the lengthy list of ladies he had courted. 

He winced. "I feel a sudden urge to defend myself by pointing out that yours is the last name on that list- but I am sure you would not be standing here if it wasn't."

You giggled. "True," you said. 

Then with a swift move, you ripped Kim Mingyu's page out of the book and pressed the end of your cigar against the page to light it on fire. The paper smouldered and slowly burned into a small pile of ash. 

Mr. Kim was watching you closely with his dark eyes. 

"I am scared to ask why you just burned my page," he said warily. "Should I be worried?"

"This book will probably get passed onto one of the newer debutantes," you replied simply. "Not only is the information outdated, I wouldn't want any of them to think you were an available bachelor."

The corner of his lips curved upwards. "I see. I take it that I am no longer an available bachelor then."

"Are you?" you challenged him. 

"Absolutely not."

You kissed him. Mr. Kim stumbled backwards in surprise but his back hit the balcony railing and he embraced you firmly before returning the kiss. His lips were clumsy yet eager as they covered yours and one of his hands slid into your hair. 

"Marry me," he whispered hotly against your lips as you pressed your body against his. He seized your waist and held you tightly as he whispered again, pushing you for a response. "Marry me, please."

You pressed your forehead against his and nodded, breath mingling as your own fingers slid into his hair and caressed his neck. 

"Yes-yes, of course-"

"Come closer, my love-"

The door to the balcony opened suddenly. You pulled back- but Mr. Kim's arm stayed around your waist and you could only turn awkwardly in his grasp to see who had discovered you. 

It was the Duke of Graham, eyes wide and his ears turning red as he realised what he had walked into. 

"W-we're engaged," you blurted out quickly, in explanation and a desperate attempt to convince the Duke of Graham, a man you had never even met, that you were not creating a scandal in his home. You could hear a small chuckle from Mr. Kim over your shoulder. 

"All right…" the Duke said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Erm, Congratulations?"

Oh god. 

—----------------------------------------------------

[monster-disaster]

Request: Chimera inspired monster

Not necessarily a traditional chimera, just a monster that you mish mash together yourself since you’re the author! I wanna make sure you have a lot of creative reign to design the creature how you want to!

Scenario/Plot: A retelling/inspired story of Beauty and the Beast, but female reader agrees to be his bride from the very start. She has abandonment issues and just yearns to be loved by anyone who’ll take her. And reader found her monster groom to be very attractive from the beginning. She’s just enjoying her life living in opulence with a man that’s fully devoted to her. *Cute shenanigans ensue between the couple, that ends in a Gomez and Morticia Adams romance*

Not sure if this’d be good for NSFW, or just a super fluffy romance would be better!

It's spring, and I'm in my historically inaccurate Regency Era. I hope you will enjoy it!

chimera!Lord Elohim x human!Reader Good to know: no warnings, and I can't promise anything, but there is a chance that we will meet Lord Elohim again because I have more ideas for their pair

A soft 'thank you' slips past your lips as the carriage door opens, and a hand reaches out towards you, offering help. Your fingers find a firm grip as you step out onto the gravel path, gathering the soft fabric of your dress to pull it out of your way. The pebbles creak under your shoes, mixing with the bustling noises of the others around you. Your gaze scans your surroundings, finding a few familiar faces among the guests. The ladies are adorned in their latest gowns, following the fashion and expectations of their titles. Their necklaces and earrings glint and shine under the warm light of the lampions and candles like the stars in the dark sky above you. In contrast, the men appear dull in their dark coats and trousers.

"Y/N?"

Your attention shifts from the guests to the mansion before you. Your gaze sweeps over the sturdy walls and delicate carvings and details. Candles glow in every window, dancing and pulsing among the lush vines that climb the grandiose building.

"Y/N?"

A slight frown pulls on your brows as your attention pauses at the wide window above the entrance door. A tall shadow stands firm and straight. The lights streaming out from the house make it impossible to see clearly.

"Y/N!" Your gaze tears away from the sight as an arm curls around yours, pulling you away from the next carriage in the long row of arriving guests. You need a moment to drag your focus away from the window. The back of your mind still lingers on the dark figure, though. "Mother?" "What are you doing?" She asks. Your frown again with confusion this time. "What do you mean?" "Come." Despite her small, delicate form, your mother has every power in her body to drag you into the house after showing the man standing at the door your invitation. "Wow!" Your amazement escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your eyes are on the chandelier hanging from the painted ceiling. "Don't be so crude!" "I'm not!" You reply, looking at the older woman with an amused smile. It's so easy to rile her up. "Come on! Don't tell me you are not surprised." She looks around more discreetly than you. Her attention lingers on the wallpapers with golden details, lush plants, and framed paintings. "I mean…" You can't help but laugh. "See?" "Well, the King was generous," she hums quietly, making sure you are the only one who can hear her while the others come and go around you two. "He saved his nephew," you reason. "He almost died."

The ballroom is already buzzing with life as you and your mother continue further into the mansion, her arm still linked with yours. "Wow!" "Y/N!" You don't even bother with a reaction. You're too busy taking in the green walls with their glinting decor, the flickering candles, and the sturdy wooden furniture. The windows, wide and tall, are framed with dark curtains, offering glimpses of the garden behind the mansion filled with lush greens and flowerbeds. From what you can see, the whole house is elegant and stylish, with the obvious preferences of its male owner.

"I will bring us something to drink," you tell your mother when you see the familiar form of your neighbor coming your way. The woman's face is red with excitement, and her eyes shine with news and the latest topics to gossip about. You already know most of them anyway. "Thank you, dear," your mother replies, letting go of your arm to face the other woman.

The excited voice of your neighbor soon disappears in the cacophony of the soft music that is quiet enough to give space for the chatter in the room. Young couples dance in the middle in each other's arms, whispering and swirling at the melody while the others stand around with drinks. Their voices mingle together to the point you can't understand them.

Maybe it's for the better.

After the King bestowed a title, fortune, and lands upon a monster who saved his nephew from certain death on the battlefield, it became impossible to avoid the whispers circulating through the streets and social gatherings. Allowing monsters to earn wealth and find a way to integrate into human society, primarily through the military, was one thing; however, granting them titles and authority was an entirely different affair. The Ton found themselves uncertain of how to react without angering the King.

They don't dare to express their opinions to the monarch; they are not dense, after all. Yet, they can't readily accept the monster into their social circles, either.

Then, a week ago, everyone received an invitation from Lord Elohim, putting many between a rock and a hard place to your utmost amusement.

As you survey the room full of people of the society close to the King, you notice that their curiosity outweighs their resentment. For tonight, at least. The lack of your surprise is understandable; you are sure this party will provide rich fodder for gossip for weeks, if not months. You glance back at your mother and her friend, already chatting in hushed whispers. Yes, you think, it's already started. It started even before the night began.

The table is pushed next to the wall between two windows. Your eyes scan the various drinks, cakes, and fruits, all fresh and ripe. You're about to reach for two cups when your attention shifts to an archway nearby. Through it, you glimpse a narrow corridor and another open door with a tall bookshelf. Your hand hesitates in mid-air, halfway to the drinks.

You shouldn't.

Your gaze sweeps over the guests, observing everyone having a great time. People continue to dance under the watchful eyes of the wallflowers and eager mothers, while the men chat in small groups.

Your mother would kill you.

As you stand still, unnoticed by the others, you find yourself repeatedly turning your attention back to the door outside.

It would be really rude of you.

You take a few tentative steps away from the table, still focusing on the people around you. A few of them smile when your eyes meet, but nobody stops to start a conversation with you.

Just a quick glance, you tell yourself as you slowly back out of the ballroom. Nobody will know.

The corridor appears much darker in contrast to the ballroom, and when you step into the other room, you have to light a candle you find on the small table next to the door.

The small library is much simpler than the other rooms of the house you've had the chance to see. The walls are hidden by bookshelves, with two sofas and a small coffee table in the middle. From there, you have a full view of another part of the garden spreading out behind the mansion.

You move quietly and slowly with the small, burning candle in your hand. The floor creaks under your steps. The dancing flame warms your face as you lean closer to read the spines of the books. The soft glow illuminates the line of your eyes and the slope of your nose. Most of the books are worn and faded.

You glance at the entrance every now and then, making sure nobody has noticed your absence yet. The noises of the music and the guests seem far away through the half-closed door.

You should go, though.

You nibble on your lower lip until it's red and slightly swollen as you reach up to the shelf. The book you grasp is dark red with a golden title. You can see that it has been regularly read.

Just a peek, you try to convince yourself, and you'll be ready to go.

Before you know it, you're sitting on one of the sofas with the candle on the table and the book on your lap.

Your mother will definitely kill you.

"It's from a friend." The deep voice coming from the door almost makes you jump out of your skin. You grab the books at the last moment before they slip from your lap to the ground. "Oh!" Your heart throbs in your throat as you gasp for air. "He wrote it," he continues, stepping closer. His hands are behind his back. The dark blue coat stretches on his broad shoulders. "While he was traveling."

You have seen monsters before. Even though humans are not particularly fond of them, they are not banned from cities and towns. At least, not anymore.

But you have never seen anything like him before.

Your eyes rake over his tall, sturdy form. At first, you think he is a rakshasa, with a thick yet lean body and a dark mane around his head, but there are goat horns peeking out of the thick fur. And instead of the delicate lion tail, a crocodile one swings behind him, dark green and covered in scales.

"Lord…" You gasp again, standing up from your seat. You can't hide the surprise in your voice or wipe it away from your face. Your fingers are tight on the book, still open. "Lord Elohim," he says with a slight bow. "And you are…" "Lady Y/L/N," you tell him. You are still so overwhelmed by him that you forget your manners entirely. You stare at him openly without shame. He is barefoot. The white shirt he wears is a bit bigger than him, showing off a bit of his chest, and tucked into the creamy-colored trousers that hug his lean waist perfectly. A slight grimace pulls on his face, letting you see his sharp canines. "I'm not doing it right, am I?" He seems easy and amused. Even a bit awkward. Your tense posture relaxes a bit. Your shoulders fall. "I mean," you dare to tease him with a small smile. "You should be outside, socializing, but I shouldn't be here either. And for that, I'm sorry." "Don't be," he says, stepping even closer. Your breath hitches. "I love being here too, so I understand." His gaze runs over the shelves full of books before his attention falls on you again. "How do you like it?" He nods to the book still in your hand. "It's interesting," you tell him. "I didn't know orcs have such a rich culture." There is a glint of amusement in his eyes. "How many orcs do you know?" Heat creeps up on your cheeks. "None." "You can take it with you," he says, motioning to the book again. "It's really good." "Oh, I can't…" "You can," he says immediately. "I'm offering." He is so close that you have to crane your neck to see his face. The male is handsome, with his almost black snout and golden eyes. The realization shocks you. You didn't think monsters could be so attractive. "Well," you clear your throat. Your nose is full of his scent. Warmth and nature. "Thank you." You put it down on the table next to you, though. Maybe you can sneak in before you have to leave and take it home without your mother noticing. She wouldn't be happy with you leaving the ballroom and being alone with a man, monster or not. "You are here with…" "My mother," you tell him. "She is outside… where I should be." He grins. "Me too." None of you move. "Do you want me to introduce you?" You ask him. You can't just leave him here. Not after he offered you his book and was so kind to you. "It can be scary around the ton for the first time." There is something wolfish in his smirk that makes your insides tremble with excitement. You understand, though. You don't think there are a lot of things that can scare him. "Thank you," Lord Elohim says in the end, holding up his arm for you to take. He is warm under your touch as you accept his offer.

Your heart flutters at his closeness.

Eyes fall on you the moment you step into the ballroom on Lord Elohim's side. Your fingers tighten on the curve of his elbows, and he squeezes your hand softly as a reassurance. The room gets quiet as you make your way to your mother through the crowd. Her eyes are wide with shock as you approach her. "Mother," you smile at her, not caring about the heavy gazes on you and the monster. "Let me introduce Lord Elohim." Your mother curtsies, taking back the control over her face. A soft smile appears on her lips, and she looks up at the tall male. "My Lord." "Lady Y/L/N," he bows, still holding onto you on his arm. His paw-like hand is warm on your glove-covered skin. "Please," he straightens, looking around the room. "Continue. Enjoy the night."

His words are followed by silence, and everyone needs a few seconds to regain their composure and focus on their business. Quiet murmurs ripple through the guests, the music starts again, and the weight of the others' attention lifts off your shoulders a bit. Not entirely, though.

"Thank you for the invitation, my Lord," your mother says. You know she feels awkward even though she is really great at hiding it. "I hope everything is for your liking." "Of course," the older woman nods. Before another tense silence could fall on your small company, you turn to the male. He is already watching you, and you can see your mother's eyes widening with fear about what you plan to say. You understand her. "It would be really gentlemanly of you to ask me to dance." You hear your mother gasping, but your focus is on Lord Elohim and his sharp canines as he smiles at you. There is something satisfied and cheeky in the curve.

His golden eyes bore into yours as he gently tugs on your hand, leading you to the couples dancing in the heart of the ballroom. You're aware of the gazes fixed upon you, analyzing your every move, yet you couldn't care less. Your attention is consumed by the chimera before you. His paw-like hand trails from yours, grazing over your arm until it settles on the small of your back, drawing you closer until you're enveloped by his embrace. A tingling sensation courses through your entire being. A sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it. "Are you alright, my lady?" The rumble of his chest echoes within yours.

Are you okay? You're uncertain. Unable to tear your gaze away from his, you feel like a raw nerve, sensitive and on the verge of bursting as he encloses you against himself. The air around you grows hot and heavy, causing your chest to ache and throb.

A smirk plays on his lips. "Are you thinking of running?" Lord Elohim teases, regarding you like a deer he often spots in his garden at dawn. With wide eyes and slightly parted lips, you gaze up at him. He's certain the soft skin of your cheeks would be warm under his touch if he dared to act as he desires despite the attention of his guests. Oh, how he longs to send them all home and keep only you for himself. The pretty little lady with the tendency to sneak around.

"No," you breathe out, fighting for air when you find your voice, holding onto his shoulder more firmly as if he is the only one who keeps you on your feet. You can feel the softness of his mane on your fingertips. Your other hand is in the air in his grasp.

It takes a moment for you to register the orchestra and your body's response to the gentle melody. You move mindlessly under Lord Elohim's guide. Swaying back and forth, you follow the male's lead on the dance floor. His embrace envelops you in warmth, leaving you feeling giddy and breathless as he twirls you, pulling you back to him moments later. You smile up at him, on the verge of laughter.

"You're quite the dancer," you compliment him. "Well, thank you," he hums, his gaze still firmly fixed on yours. "In that case, I hope you won't mind if I ask you to dance with me again." And a few more times.

You don't answer immediately. A sense of certainty washes over you, Lord Elohim will be your lifelong dance partner. The thought fills you with excitement for your future as you stare up at him. It seems like the gold of his eyes swirls under the lights that dance in sync with you.

"I'd love to dance with you some more, my Lord."

For an eternity, if it's possible.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Thanks you everyone who read the intro!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The main hall is bright and spacious. As alluded to by its name, Jade Hall is adorned in varying shades and cuts of the stone. Gilt frames, golden trays on glass lamps, crystal sconces housing amber flame, veined marble, and polished stone. 

The large plinths at the base of the staircase seem unsuited to the statues atop them. Curling snakes of shining gold with great jade eyes and long curved fangs. A long rug of eastern patterns and tassled edges leads the path to the steps, arched and lined with curling banisters.

"Madam," the groom addresses your mother, "I will show you to your chambers."

"Thank you, sir," she accepts nobly as you give a dignified nod.

"You may refer to me as Parson, I am the master's personal groom. He has tasked me with your welcome."

"Oh how gracious," your mother remarks with a fawning grin, "he sounds like a true gentleman."

"He keeps an orderly house," the groom affirms.

"Immaculate," she looks around with her hand to her chest, "ugh, absolutely resplendent."

The groom bows his head and waves towards the stairs before proceeding. Your mother trails him and you follow after her. You glance around at the tall portraits, a woman with loose golden hair with a single haloed braid around her head. Another of a man with dark hair and thick beard, gleaming blue eyes, and an indomitable square jaw. His clothing belongs to a previous season.

You ascend and ease out a stunted breath, exhaling in short spurts as your heart races. You continue down a wide corridor, a standing jade vase beside a whitewashed table beneath a bowl of white lotuses floating in water. A peculiar decore but quaint.

A set of double doors is presented to your mother as the groom faces her with another respectable dip of his head, "Lady Thea, I will allow you to accommodate yourself. Then I shall show the younger to her own chambers. You will be summoned for lunch."

"Thank you, sir," your mother preens, "you must send my gratitude to your master. The duke is very generous."

"Yes, my lady, I will be certain to inform him," he avows, "lady," he looks at you, "you are not very far, just the very next."

He leads you onward as your mother enters her rooms with a dreamy sigh. Her mood has lightened since you left your father's estate. Perhaps being far away from home has cleared her mind of mourning.

You are stopped before a door carved with winding vines. The groom steps back to allow you to pass.

"My lady, if you require anything, there is a bell you may ring and I will be certain you are attended. I will have your maid join you shortly, and your luggage."

You look at his shoulder and attempt a smile, it might look more a grimace as your cheek strain. You swallow and muster some strength, "thank you, sir." Your last word floats at the end, not quiet a sharp R, more aw sound.

"Most honoured, my lady," he responds without pause, "and welcome home."

You bat your lashes and slowly turn to the door. You try to restrain your nerves as they swirl to a maelstrom. Home, is this truly it. Are you truly to be the Lady of Jade Park. Married to a man in place of your sister. An imposter.

You march through the door and the groom pulls the door shut in your stead. You bring your hands up, folding them over your chest. You have a blackness in your heart. You feel as if the world is empty. As if you're lost in it. As if you don't belong to the land of colour and light and life.

It is as much grief as it is dread. You miss your sister, you long for the past, and you fear the path ahead. The unknown is underlined with a certainty, deep inside, that you will as ever be less than you should.

🔹

There is a knock at the door. You break from your trance, reluctantly releasing the window sill and turning away from the sight of birds winging over the gardens. You sweep to the door and open it, facing the servant in their evergreen attire. A man with lines in his cheek and a dourness that darkens his sockets.

"My lady, lunch is served," he declares in a brittle timbre.

You nod and thank him, mouthing the word as your voice refuses to rise. You are taken down the corridor and the man fetches your mother from her chambers as well. She emerges with the aroma of roses. You suspect she was anxiously primping all the while.

You descend the stairs, the noise of the kitchen and shuffle of servants drawing you around to the sunroom near the rear of the house. A round table is set near the tall paned doors, open to let in the summer air. There are tiered trays of cut sandwiches, a tureen of creamy soup, a plate of colourful pastries and sugar cookies, along with a silver tea set and elaborately painted porcelain dishes.

You are shown to your seat and sit with some trepidation. It is only you and your mother amid the rush of servants. Where is the duke? Has he seen you and changed his mind? Is he not eager to meet you?

You keep your hands in your lap, squeezing a fold in your skirt as your mother admires the high ceilings and embroidered edges of the tablecloth. She comments on every detail; the thick brocade curtains drawn to the side, the settee with the knobby birch feet, the round-bellied fire stove set into an alcove; a mixture of eras mingled in a most natural allure.

"Parson," the deep voice chokes you and you shakily tilt your head, peeking form the corner of your eyes as you hear the approaching steps, "how can I be tardy when I am the host? Do not pester me."

You rise as your mother does for the entrance of the duke. For it must be him. He as good as announced it and his appearance all but confirms it. Tall, sleek, with a chin set high, and a nose just short of aquiline. He is handsome, pale, but sardonic. His green eyes remind you of the jade stones set into the serpentine statues near the stairs as he considers the table first then deigns to glance between you and your mother.

He approaches her and bows, his posture eased but refined.

"Lady Thea," he proclaims, "what great effort you did take to be here. No doubt a strenuous journey in this heat."

"Your grace, how generous of you to welcome us," your mother responds, "and I do apologise that our arrival was so delayed."

"Mmm," he shifts and lets his eyes wander to you, "and I regret the news of your firstborn."

"We hoped she would strengthen but... we also did not want to renounce our contract. My husband is a man of integrity."

"Surely, he is. I did think him much so when we met," he says as he strides towards you, fully turning in your direction. He offers a smaller bow, "you do look rather different than your sister."

You blanch. You don't know what to say. You thought he hadn't met Edith.

"However, we cannot always trust a portrait's likeness," his eyes flit in a way that unsettles you, "and I do know how different siblings can be."

Your mother gives a small hum, a reminder and reproach at once. You fix your shoulders and do your best to meet the duke's demeanour. You bow.

"Yaw gwace," you raise your head slowly.

You see the subtle twiddle in his long fingers, the way he brings them to touch the trim of his jacket, the tick in his jaw. The long breath that says more than he ever could. He leans back on his heel.

"Honoured to welcome you both," his tone betrays his judgement. How could he not notice? How could he not hear it? You are defective, not only in appearance but all else.

"And we are so grateful to be here. That we can continue on in this union of our names," your mother sits as a servant holds the back of her chair. The duke lowers himself as you do the same, watching the table.

"Mmm, yes, I have yet to discuss the amendment with my father but I'm certain they care not for which daughter I wed."

His meaning is clear. You are not as stupid as many believe. His father will not care but he very much does. Your insides freeze, cold and stiff, and you feel as if you might shatter. It is as bad as you expect, yet expectation rarely meets reality. No, it is worse. To sit and stew in being unwanted.

🔹

You sit at the vanity, watching your lips move. Over and over in the silent repetition. Slowly, painfully working at curving them, shaping them just right. In your head, you imagine the words clearly. ‘Your grace’. 

You still and stare at your reflection. You summon your voice and pronounce the words aloud.

“Yow gwace,” you declare to yourself.

You try again. And again. Anon until your mouth aches from your endless attempts to get it right. The words are wrong. Two simple words and you can’t say them. Two syllables. You drop your head forward as you plant your elbows on the table and catch your forehead.

You see the duke’s disappointment. You feel it still. How could he not be utterly repulsed by you? He alluded to a portrait, no doubt he was sent an image of your sister, and how he would have been surprised to find her even more attractive than the artist’s rendering. But in you, he is entirely dissatisfied.

You blow out a long exhale and prop your chin up on the heels of your hand. You look at yourself through bleary eyes, tears wobbling just on the edge. You sit back and drop your hands, smoothing the front of your dress and over your skirts.

The embroidered brooch draws your gaze. The oval pendant your sister made you, a blue bird on its face. Your most treasured piece. She reminded you of it when you said your farewell and you assured her you could never forget it. She asked you to wear it at the wedding.

You cradle it in your hands and give a bittersweet smile. You think of those days you played in the pastures and hopped over the fence where the sheep chewed on grass. How she would fearlessly run between the thick-bodied beasts as you worried for being bit. She has always been the braver of you two.

You pin the brooch to your dress and admire it in your reflection. You push your shoulders back and force a smile. You look yourself in the face.

“Yow gwace, I am so honawed to be yow wife.”

Your words hang like a noose. You throw your hands up and grunt in frustration. Stupid! You sound insipid. No matter how you try, or how the words sound in your head, they just come out all muddled.

“Edith,” you whimper, “I cannot…”

You lean forward and hold your head once more. You sit, ears thrumming, temples pulsing, your whole being hot with despair. The futility floods you and makes it hard to breathe.

There’s a knock at the door. You push yourself up, dizzy as you teeter on your feet. You swallow and stand as straight as you can. You lift your chin.

“Come in,” you beckon firmly.

Doreen lets herself through and you can’t help the relief that flows through you. You could not face your mother or the duke or another stranger. You lower yourself back to the stool and rest an elbow on the table, sideways as the maid eases the door shut. She lingers there, her hand on the oblong handle, as if she thinks to pull it open and flee.

“Doween,” you murmur as concern winds its way up your spine and tingle in your nape.

“My lady,” she faces you and you hear a sudden shriek. Your mother.

Doreen lowers her lashes and puts her hand to her chest. A shroud falls over you, even as the sunshine casts a yellow glow through the room, even as birds titter without, and ornaments sparkle all around. Her tone says more than any words can. You slump and stare at the maid’s wool collar.

You feel along the front of your own dress and clasp your fingers around the brooch.

“Edith is dead,” you say before she can.

She sniffles and comes forward. You shy away, turning to the vanity as you unpin the pendant. You lay it down and stand. The maid halts, hovering as you walk to the window. The tweeting of the sparrow grows to cacophony then silence all at once. The sky fades and the greenery hazes to an ugly smear.

You told Edith you would be brave. So you must. You can never replace her truly, but you can keep your promise. For her.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored Extra Scene - 15

[Set in : After chapter 36]

Warnings: Explicit language, drinking, Regency era social norms, mentions of sex

“Remind me again why we are meeting here instead of the gentlemen’s club?”

“Oh come on now,” Anthony told Elias as the barkeep brought three bottles and two glasses to their table.  “You had me drink that god awful wine before your wedding, I have to pay back the favor.”

Elias eyed the bottles suspiciously. “Jesus Christ, what is in them?”

Anthony grinned and wiggled his brows.

“Three words, my friend,” he said, holding up three fingers. “Oxford. Christmas. Holiday.”

A look of realization dawned on Elias’s face and he groaned, slipping a little in his chair.

“Oh God no…”

“Simon went straight home, you and I stopped by an inn before getting to London,” Anthony said. “And decided to get drunk.”

“Mm, couple hours before you left me to go upstairs with a lady of the night?”

“I left you with a lady as well, I didn’t leave you alone.” Anthony corrected him. “But before all that, we came up with quite literally the worst drink combination in the world to get drunk faster.”

“Anthony, I was still drunk when we got to London man,” Elias said. “We had to stop the carriage five times on the way so that we could throw up.”

“Yeah yeah—what was the recipe again?”

Elias heaved a sigh. “Quarter glass of ale, quarter brandy and rum for the rest of the glass.”

Anthony chuckled and started pouring the ale into the glasses before putting down the bottle and grabbing the brandy again. Elias let out a whine, eyeing him as he filled the rest of the glass with rum and pushed the glass in his direction.

“On one hand, if I die of poisoning I would be leaving Cece a widow,” Elias commented. “On the other hand if you die, you can’t marry my sister.”

Anthony nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Cheers then,” Elias said and clinked his glass with his, then took a sip and groaned. Anthony took a huge sip as well and grimaced, clearing his throat.

“Jesus, this is terrible.”

“I feel like this is worse than that wine,” Elias said before taking another sip again. “Good thing is, we’re going to get drunk very soon so we won’t even notice it.”

“Mm hm.” The drink burned Anthony’s throat as he took another sip and leaned back. “Better work fast.”

“I heard you told my sister to hire a third seamstress.” Elias said, making Anthony shrug his shoulders.

“She wants a long veil.”

“Oh I know,” Elias said. “She basically woke up talking about that thing, and didn’t stop until Aunt Lavinia said ‘Go tell Anthony about it’. Didn’t think she would just say “Alright!” and leave the breakfast table right at that second though.”

Anthony chuckled, that familiar warmth filling his chest.

“And I certainly didn’t think your solution would be that,” Elias said. “One would think you can’t say no to her even before the wedding.”

Anthony tilted his head. “Is this coming from the man who bought his wife a museum as a wedding gift because she liked a painting there?”

Elias snapped his fingers. “You make a good point,” he said. “Still waiting for the paperwork. By the way, I can help you with your wedding gift if you want.”

Anthony waved a hand in the air. “I already handled it.”

“Oh, what did you get her?”

“A house.”

“By the countryside?”

“In Paris.”

Elias blinked a couple of times. “You bought her a house in Paris,” he repeated and Anthony nodded.

“Yeah, she loves it there,” he said. “I figured she’d like one for when we visit.”

Elias gawked at him, then raised his glass slightly. “Well thought.”

“Thanks,” Anthony said and took a huge sip, then sat up straight. “Alright, are you ready?”

“Hm?”

“You know why I brought you here right?”

“Aside from poisoning me?” Elias grinned. “I do have a guess, but you should ask me either way.”

“Will you be my best man?”

Elias heaved a dramatic sigh.

“You know historically speaking, best man’s duty was to defend the groom if someone attacked him?” he said. “Or get involved if someone tried to stop the wedding?”

“Mm hm.”

“I’m the one who might attack you during the wedding in order to stop it from taking place,” Elias pointed at himself. “Goes against the whole point.”

“Your father might attack me or try to stop the wedding as well,” Anthony stated. “It’s not just you.”

“True that, he still doesn’t like you.”

Anthony tilted his head. “Eli.”

Elias smiled before rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “Assuming my father will be walking her down the aisle, I’d be honored to be your best man.”

Anthony let out a chuckle and clinked his glass with his. “Thank you.”

“I still cannot believe this,” Elias grumbled. “I was serious about her living with us after marriage, you know.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Anthony said and thought for a moment, then took a huge sip of his drink, then motioned at Elias to do the same.

“Hm?”

“You’re going to want to be at least tipsy for what I’m about to say to you.”

“Why?”

Anthony put his glass on the table. “First of all, I want you to know that I do not want to have this conversation with you either.”

“What?”

“…Someone needs to talk to her, Elias.”

“Talk to my sister?” Elias asked. “About?”

Anthony raised his brows and shot him a look, and as soon as it dawned on Elias he made a face.

“Are you trying to make me punch you?”

“Not really.”

“You will only hold hands after the wedding, I forbid anything else—”

“I’m serious,” Anthony cut him off. “Your mother apparently didn’t get the chance and she doesn’t know.”

“And how exactly do you know that she doesn’t know?” Elias asked tersely and Anthony heaved a sigh.

“Are you going to listen to me or do you want to be dramatic first?”

Elias threw his hands up and motioned at him. “Anthony, you’re talking about—”

“I know she's your sister and I know I'd want to punch any suitor of my sisters if they wanted to have a conversation with me about this,” Anthony said. “However, I love her so I can take a punch after you hear me out because this is important.”

“No promises on the punching but alright.” Elias grumbled. “Go ahead I guess.”

“I don’t want her to walk into that room clueless or worse; scared out of her mind because of some gossip she might hear at the wedding breakfast,” he said. “And I would have explained it myself but—”

“You will do no such thing, you’re not even married yet! I swear to God…”

“But as far as I’m told,” Anthony continued as if Elias hadn’t interrupted him. “It’s better if she hears it from a woman first. Tell Cecily or your aunt,” he paused for a moment and made a face. “Or I suppose I can tell my mother but I do not want to have that conversation unless I have no other choice.”

Elias downed his glass and shook his head, then poured some brandy into his glass.

“I’m going to pretend this isn’t about my sister and tell you my feelings on the subject at large,” he muttered. “I don’t think mothers are the best bet here.”

“Why?”

“I told Cecily before her mother did.”

Anthony tilted his head. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“For the first time?”

“Mm hm.”

“I mean I figured she had an idea, considering how you two were back in Stormview but…”

“Yeah and it’s a good thing I told her before her mother, that woman was about to scar my beloved for life.” Elias took a huge sip of his brandy. “Apparently she told Cecily that it’s a chore that had to be performed throughout the marriage but she could just lie there and focus on something else if it got too unpleasant.”

Anthony grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Cecily asked me the next day if we were doing something wrong because it did not match her mother’s description so as I said, mothers might not be the best idea now to think of it. Apparently they tend to give wrong information.”

“Or no information. Don’t you remember what happened to…” Anthony snapped his fingers. “Morris and his bride? Her mother let that poor girl marry him without any explanation of what would happen, then—”

“She rode back to her parents’ house and asked for an annulment on the wedding night because he wanted to take her gown off,” Elias finished his sentence for him.

“Exactly.”

“Jesus Christ, I guess it could’ve been worse,” Elias scoffed and shook his head. “But I still cannot believe you have the audacity—”

“Just tell Cecily to talk to her,” Anthony interrupted him. “Please.”

Elias gritted his teeth and nodded as Anthony downed his drink to fill it again.

“This conversation never happened,” Elias motioned between them and Anthony raised his glass.

“I forgot about it already.”

“Good,” Elias said. “Now, do you want me to tell you more about how much my father hates you or do you need to finish your drink first?”

[random-brushstrokes]

Edmund Blair Leighton - Till Death Do Us Part (1878)

This delightful oil on canvas was composed by the great Regency painter Edmund Blair Leighton. Like many of Leighton’s genre scenes, Till Death Us Do Part is a humorous portrayal of male-female interaction. Walking down the aisle of their wedding ceremony, a beautiful young woman in a period dress links arms with her new husband, a gentleman several years her senior. The artist exhibited this work at the Royal Academy in 1879, and when he first sent it to the Academy, he gave it the incisively sarcastic title “L.S.D.,” standing for the Latin phrase “librae, solidi, denarii.” The phrase translates to “pounds, shillings, pence,” suggesting the woman is marrying for money rather than affection.

Elaborately detailed, the monumental canvas is filled with wedding guests who whisper and flash disapproving looks, wearing comical expressions ranging from worry to dazed confusion. The bride casts her eyes downward as the “well-wishers” look on, avoiding the gaze of a particular young man to her right. Was this forlorn fellow her true love? The scene does imply that it was they who were once to be married. The old groom (humorously painted as a self-portrait of the artist) stares ahead, his face blank, oblivious to their connection. Although no one looks happy on this occasion, Leighton is able to infuse the work with the rich narrative detail and his trademark sense of humor that make his canvases an absolute pleasure to view. (source)

[horizon-verizon]

Actually, Henry VIII did consider it. In 1525 the fact that it was extremely unlikely that he would have a legitimate son by Catherine of Aragon was staring Henry in the face. He was 33 years old, and his wife was 39. She had given birth to a stillborn daughter in November 1518, when she was almost 33, and had not conceived again. Although there were stories of women giving birth in their early 40s (Eleanor of Aquitaine, wife of Henry II of England, gave birth to the future King John when she was at least 42 years old), in fact the menopause often came in the early 40s at this time. But Henry knew it was not his fault, apart from the fact that the medical knowledge of his time placed the blame for the success of pregnancies and the sex of the baby entirely on the woman, there was also the fact that his mistress Bessie Blount had given him an illegitimate but strong and healthy son in 1519.

His first option in 1525 was to legitimise this son by Bessie Blount. Stranger things had happened, and it might be possible. However, the main method was for the parents to marry and then petition the Pope to legitimise their offspring. He obviously could not do this, for not only was he himself married to Catherine, Bessie (unsuitable to be Queen in any case) was also married, to Sir Gilbert Tailboys, by whom she had 3 children, including two sons. Anyway, on June 18 1525 Henry created his son Duke of Richmond. This title was highly significant, having been claimed by Henry Tudor before he became Henry VII. This does not necessarily mean Henry was seriously considering petitioning the Pope to legitimise the boy, it was intended as a signal to all that he was keeping his options open. It was widely rumoured that he was considering seeking a dispensation to allow the boy to marry his half-sister Mary. However, Mary was only 9 and the boy only 6, so it would be a long time before they could possibly have a child, with the possible problems such as the first child dying or being a girl, then needing to live to be perhaps 17 to rule without a regency, it was too long to wait. The following month Mary was sent off to live in the Marches of Wales with a lavish entourage, but not named Princess of Wales.

His second option was to acknowledge Mary as his heir and try to find her a suitable husband, who would expect the Crown Matrimonial, and to be King, with the crown eventually passing to their son. Given the English aversion to the idea of a foreign ruler, the selection presented some difficulties. Mary was in any case only 9 years old at this time and a valid marriage could not be contracted for at least 3 years.

His third option is a variant of the second, not to name Mary as heir but to marry Mary off as soon as possible to a suitable groom and then wait for her to bear a son who could be named heir. This had a lot of problems, and it is no surprise Henry did not go for it. Firstly Mary was only 9, and was small and young for her age, she would probably not be in a condition to conceive and bear a child for at least 6 years, perhaps longer. Although Henry’s grandmother Margaret Beaufort had borne her only son at the age of 13, she had been a robust specimen, and she had never borne another child, or even, so far as we know, been pregnant. There would have been a serious risk of Mary dying in childbirth and the child not surviving. And then the first child might be a girl. It might be at least nine or ten years before she had a son, and another 15 or 16 before that son would be ready to rule without a long regency which might well bring a return to civil war, too long to wait. Henry could not expect to live another 25 years. It also depended on her being willing to be passed over in favour of her own son, and on the willingness of her husband to forego the crown matrimonial, an unlikely prospect in a suitable groom.

His fourth option was to rid himself of his present wife and seek another. Since he had convinced himself that their reproductive failures were down to her, this presented the best option. It should also be the quickest, and that was important. Kings regularly got rid of an infertile wife with the full connivance of the Pope and married another. Henry was aware that at the time of their marriage questions had been raised about its lawfulness, but in his eagerness to marry Catherine he had simply swept them aside. Now he went back to them.

Writers on the subject, especially novelists, often suggest that Henry only became interested in ending his marriage to Catherine when he passionately fell for Anne Boleyn, but this is not true. He began to explore his options LONG BEFORE any involvement with Anne began, while he was still probably pursuing his affair with her sister Mary. Henry’s break with Catherine of Aragon, and his break with Rome, are often blamed on his love for Anne Boleyn. Novels show a tendency to treat Henry rather like a modern film or pop star, discarding wives at a sexual whim. In fact it was his lack of a male heir which drove this development, and later drove his break with Anne Boleyn. Had Catherine and Henry had a surviving son she would have remained securely queen for the rest of her life. There would have been no vacancy for queen unless Catherine died, in which case Henry would presumably have made another marriage to a foreign princess. And had Anne Boleyn successfully borne a healthy son, again she would have remained queen for the rest of her life.

Anon is answering my question.

This is very fascinating, thanks, anon!!

[thevelaryons]

Baela and Alyn would’ve been better off as friends not as a couple.

I kinda agree??? But at the same time I do have to say that it’s not like they married in the best of circumstances.

“The girl must be wed, and soon,” he told the King’s Hand, “else I fear that she may bring dishonor down upon House Targaryen, and shame His Grace, her brother.”

[…]

The Hand sent her back to her rooms, posting guards at her door to make certain she remained there until the regents could convene.

Yet a day later, he discovered to his dismay that Baela had fled the castle by some secret means (later it was found she had climbed out a window, swapped clothes with a washerwoman, and walked out the front gate). By the time the hue and cry went up, she was halfway across Blackwater Bay, having hired a fisherman to carry her to Driftmark. There she sought out her cousin, the Lord of the Tides, and poured out her woes to him. A fortnight later, Alyn Velaryon and Baela Targaryen were married in the sept on Dragonstone. The bride was sixteen, the groom nearly seventeen.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents

Baela was about to be forced into marriage with a much older man she clearly did not want. Alyn, as the head of house Velaryon, holds a powerful enough position that he can defy the decisions of the king’s council (to some degree). He’s also the same age as Baela and someone she was previously acquainted with during the war. Therefore, he might be more sympathetic to her plight. So it’s not a surprise that Baela sought out Alyn’s help. If her circumstances had been different, then yeah, she might not have made the same decision but it’s not like she had many choices.

I think the reason Baela & Alyn had a stormy marriage is partly because of how it happened in the first place: it was a marriage of convenience. Not a love match where the two would already have affection for each other. Not even a politically arranged marriage either in which they would feel a social obligation to each other. They got married because Baela was escaping a forced arrangement. It’s worth mentioning that the marriage didn’t even happen right away when Baela sought out Alyn. But two weeks later. Dragonstone is right next door to Driftmark and any number of fast sailing ships could’ve made travel time really short (a day or two at most). Baela was on the run but it took two weeks after the fact for that wedding to occur. So I do wonder if perhaps Alyn might’ve had some reluctance to marry Baela at first. Ultimately, he did choose to marry her in order to help her out. But that original reluctance would somewhat explain the strife that developed between them.

Both of them might’ve wanted different things in their relationship, and when they see that their spouse’s views don’t align with their own, that marriage of convenience would grow inconvenient.

Though it’s not all bad. They do try to work things out:

Yet in the end they reconciled, as they always did.

— Fire & Blood, The Lysene Spring and the End of Regency

[route-to-eutopia-if]

Will gender of ROs matter? I saw Vegaris has different manners in the butterfly effect post. Can u introduce them more?

It does matter! And that’s because 1) the society treats them differently and 2) their personality for either counterpart cultivated from how people treated them in the past. It’s a two way street situation. Simple as it may sound, it is also because of their race/species/social status

I will talk about each of the ROs more in upcoming teasers. But for now

From strikingly different to almost the same;

Vegaris

F!Vegaris and M!Vegaris are smh almost two separated beings—That is because their position as an Alter and how they perceive things growing up in the society where most Alters are viewed as another class of creatures. The way they carry themselves is different. Female Vegaris can be a bit more carefree, especially around you. But Male Vegaris will be on-guard and rarely relax himself around other people. There’s a reason why both behave the way they do. And yes, I cannot say yet bc it’s major spoiler.

Sandalphon

First of all, the reason why both Sandals are so much different in their manners, their behaviors (mostly internal turmoils) is because their different positions as one’s mother and one’s father.

F!Sandalphon will always be judged upon if she shows any emotions towards people esp her kid, being a single-mom in the parliament full of men is not easy. Her opinions often taken as less valid just because of her role as a guardian and a mother. She wants to spend a lot of time with D but couldn’t—if she does, it will allow people to criticize her as fragile. Being a mother without a partner already tainted her image as a failure so she couldn’t afford to do that.

Overall, F!Sandal is more on edge than her counterpart. Hence, whenever she’s near you (and if you do choose your sex as a female) she looks way more relaxed and true to herself.

M!Sandalphon thinks he has to be there for his kid, but because of his duty as a Dean of Regency, he tends to suppress himself from doing things that’s not aligned w his duties (like showing that he cares when it’s not that necessary) and against his public image. He may look like a cold father to D and can appear to be a bit distant to others, but he will always have soft spot for you. Since you’re forbidden to leave your own place, he always does things that he couldn’t do with D to you (just like his counterpart-self), and you may take it like he is smh trying to redeem himself through you.

M!Sandal is a bit harder to read since he is so consumed by social standards that were forced upon himself that he looks like he has lost himself along the way. But he is more calm when it comes to D’s matters while F!Sandal will be a bit more protective and upfront.

In conclusion, both of Sandalphon really needs a warm hug. But they just don’t know that they do.

Dana/Darren

Just like the other two, Dana will behave a bit more careful and collected meanwhile Darren radiates with perfectly built (but also glass-like) confidence because of social norms on their respective gender.

Dana’s list of groom candidates exhaust her but she cannot let it get her. Meanwhile she is not allowed to act like she doesn’t care either so it’s hard to place herself in a position where she would be neither considered as ‘too emotional’—nor ‘not rigid enough for a Dean’s daughter’. So once she’s granted the official permission with her Chosen husband-to-be, she behaves accordingly to her part and now projecting more confident than she ever was. She has a lifeline to grasp now. And she couldn’t afford to fail like her mother/father.

Darren is not that different in that regard, he was just forced to hide that he is afraid of what came after, internally speaking he is even more unstable than his counterpart because he never learnt to deal with not being ‘the Face’ of Stargazer community unlike Dana who suspected that she will need to face the reality of not living up to your own name ever since she was a girl due to her parent’s reputation. But both are equally acting on a role that does not fit themselves, and always working hard to protect their image.

It seems like I can more about the latter two because it was expected from their intro descriptions. But Vegaris is… I can’t really say anything before the demo is dropped. So sorry, Anon!!

[adrianasunderworld]

Bridgerton au: Clara Cristalería

Clara is a former Diamond that never married. Everyone thought she would find an excellent match, and seemed to have found love in a dashing young gentleman, who was visiting from a foreign fae kingdom. Their wedding was supposed to be one of the biggest events of the season, only for the groom to run only a few weeks before the ceremony with another woman, leaving young Clara distraught and heartbroken.

Clara had to briefly (well for fae at least) leave town for a while out of embarrassment for being jilted. But also because of the rumors spreading that she had been compromised. Which turned out to be true. Clara did sleep with her fiance before the wedding, only for him to leave her right afterwards. So she left for Briar Valley with her mother for many years, by the time they finally returned to town, any humans that would remember the scandal were long gone.

Clara did not go searching for love, and instead found love in her work. Funding schools for underprivileged girls, and charity work that allowed her to travel now and then. She also has mentored many of the girls in the ton, and they view her as an aunt-like or motherly figure that is always looking out for them.

In the time the au takes place, Clara has taken in a young woman named Lily at the request of an old friend, and is currently her guardian. Clara is also hosting her old friend Lilia for the season. Along with his son Silver, Malleus, and Sebek.

Clara begins to reconnect with her old friend, Dire Crowley, who has returned to town for the season. And the two have started to become very close. But will her former fiance returning to town ruin what could be a budding courtship?

🩵💎🩵💎🩵💎

"There are few in the Ton who do not know of Lady Clara Cristalería. A refined woman, known for her grace, kindness, charity, and beauty. This former diamond still shines brightly. So much so, that despite her not taking a husband after all these years, many gentlemen still come to call in the hopes of being The One that changes her mind. With her entertaining a slew of guests this season, this author wonders if she may finally find such a gentleman." -Lady Whistledown

Bonus sketch inspired by a picture I found of a regency gown

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

[nasturtiumsforbreakfast]

Having a small kinda regency-kink-apparently brainmelt about how I am quite literally a blacksmith's son. and my mum was a stablegroom for years. like I know exactly how both those jobs work, I have done them (as a teenager, assisting, y'know, but still)

not to be like. weird. I was just thinking about like royalty kink vs regency and how there's all sorts of different um roleplay type stuff you can get up to I guess and thinking like my main thought is being a Fancy Victorian ValetTM but other servant stuff also Works yeah what other dynamics could I think/write about

and then I was like that's not even roleplay tho like I am a blacksmith's son. I am a stablehand. Or, I mean, I was like 15 years ago. Still.

Hear me out tho like listen tho I mean in dynamics n stuff, blacksmith vs groom, 'smith wins out 90% of the time, don't it?

... possibly mostly because it's about 1000x warmer in a forge compared to a stable, and lifting someone/being lifted to sit up on an anvil/workbench is Way Hotter than laying in an itchy af hayloft, innit? Trust me, city folk, it definitely is

And it's not like Hygienic so I wouldn't, obvs, really, but I do think it'd be hot to leave soot/coaldust fingermarks on someone tbh

Like. Hm.

I guess

Warm forge firelight winter outside gettin' manhandled by a big strong man who knows how to use his hands (confident with it, y'know) and is warm (and mildly sooty) to the touch, smell of leather and coalsmoke

vs

Bright stable sunshine summer outside gettin' manhandled by a wiry strong man who knows how to gently control animals (y'know, definite in his movements/moving you) and is warm (and mildly muddy) to the touch, smell of leather and horses

oh oh we can do polls now huh