#SEA HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT CO-PARENTING

[stormyoceans]

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GbY3oSNaUAAkCN-?format=jpg&name=large

SSSSSTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPKJDKFHKSHFLSHKDHSKDGKSHDJGF THIS IS THE CUTEST MOST ADORABLE THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE EVERYBODY PLEASE CHEER AND CLAP AND CELEBRATE AND BE JUBILANT AND DO A STANDING OVATION FOR SEA'S BIOLOGICAL DAUGHTERS WHOM HE BIRTHED AND RAISED ALL BY HIMSELF THOSE ARE HIS BABIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BRB I NEED TO GO IN THE OTHER ROOM TO DROWN IN A POOL OF MY OWN TEARS BECAUSE OF HOW CUTE THIS IS

[gureumz]

project aphrodite

rating: explicit

member: jungwon

premise: in a post-apocalyptic world, you and jungwon are excellent scientists and are at the relative top of the list of people who are ideal parents for the next generation of this dying world. it's now your job to repopulate this earth so you ask your co-worker to pretty please knock you up.

notes: sci-fi elements, dystopian au, scientist!reader, scientist!jungwon, fem-bodied reader, reader is referred to as a woman, dom!jungwon, breeding, impreg kink (like heavily), dirty talk, platonic (?) breeding, co-workers with benefits (?), idk this is kinda speculative fiction but also suspend your disbelief a bit lol

a/n: first of my 1k follower special! not quite sure what order i'm following here but i hope you stay for the ride nonetheless! enjoy!

it's a strange feeling.

in your line of work, 'strange' is hardly any cause for concern. as a biologist with a concentration in genetics, you've seen all the ways nature does its job. from the familiar concepts almost all people learn about in science class like the basic 'mom-meets-dad-equals-baby' to the eerie methods organisms in the deep sea evolve to survive.

you've learned about it all, pored over each punnett square, stressed over the formulas. so, this shouldn't be anything to worry about.

and yet, you're still worried.

"i mean...what did we expect?" jay speaks up from beside you, eyeing the phone in his hand.

"we're presently some of the world's most brilliant minds so...," he adds, locking his phone before hunching over his desk. to your ears, it sounds as if he's trying to convince himself rather than you.

you scan over the document flashed on your own laptop screen. the harsh fluorescent lights overhead buzz nonstop, going on and on, a background hum all of you in the bunker have grown used to. at this moment, it lulls you into a daydream, vision swimming as you repeat the words in your head.

all government personnel with a status level 7 and higher are recommended to partake in project aphrodite. those falling under level 10 are strictly required. participation at this level is compulsory.

common citizens with a status of 9 to 10 are also required to participate. ample compensation for those successful will be provided.

"you're a level 8. it's not as if you have to," you mutter, fingers digging into your temples.

jay snickers. "how many level 10 government personnel are there in this ruined world? a few hundred or so doctors, another few hundred scientists, even fewer world leaders. that's not taking into account the difference in sex. my information's not up to date but last time i checked, there is a hell of a lot more men than there are women. it's a shitshow waiting to happen."

you turn to meet jay's eyes, not meaning to convey any certain emotion, but the way jay's expression falls leads you to believe that you look way more upset than you're letting on.

"oh shit, yeah," jay curses. "you're a level 10. i forgot."

you sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest of your seat.

"i'm sure they'll release more regulation soon," you begin. "this is just the initial memo. with our world hanging in the balance as it is, no one's gonna let this devolve into some patriarchal anarchy, i hope."

"yeah, of course," you hear jay agree. "most of the proponents of project aphrodite are women, anyway, so i'm sure they'll take extra measures to keep you safe."

you sit up straight, looking at jay once more. "this is the world, huh?"

you and jay pause before sharing a quick chuckle.

"'go make babies, or else,'" you say in a mock radio announcer voice. jay lets out a laugh, his voice echoing off the empty office walls.

the two of you fall into silence, as if retreating to your respective thoughts. all that's in your mind at this moment is your current project, the very thing the few people more powerful than you had assigned for you to do: leading your team in stopping that godforsaken virus ravaging the outside. you've been making steady progress so far, but with the weight of this new responsibility, you're not sure if you could keep the momentum up.

you realize with a passing thought that most of the scientists on your team are level 9s and 10s.

"well," you begin before you could stop yourself. you're suddenly overcome with a feeling of suffocation, the office space seemingly too small and continuously growing even smaller.

"i hope you find someone you'd like to procreate with," you say lightly, pushing yourself off your chair. you quickly gather your things: folders and binders and other loose papers in your arms.

you catch jay looking at you, a pensive look on his face. you stop as you're grabbing your reusable coffee jug.

"no," you deadpan. "not me."

jay's eyes widen, as if realizing he'd said something without really saying anything.

"i—no, wait—i mean...," jay stutters, ears quickly turning red.

you smile, patting jay's shoulder reassuringly. "in case you were thinking about it."

jay's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water and you can't help but laugh.

"these are desperate times, but i'm hoping it's not too desperate," you add. without waiting for a response, you turn towards the door, already making your way to it.

"besides, dr. isa lee seems more your type," you say over your shoulder one last time before pushing the door open and stepping out into the hallway.

---

"hey."

you look up from the microscope, tearing your attention away from the specimen you were examining. your eyes readjust to their normal focal length as a tall figure enters the lab, perfectly crisp white coat hanging off his broad shoulders, thin-wired spectacles resting on the bridge of his tall, straight nose. your lips feel strangely parched as he makes direct eye contact with you and you're left with no choice but to moisten them with your tongue.

"oh hi, dr. yang."

the other scientist chuckles, setting down a stack of papers on a desk in the corner. "i've been here for three weeks. please, call me jungwon."

you swallow. "right. jungwon."

dr. jungwon yang was a new import from the seoul bunker, having come to your own area's bunker merely a few weeks prior. he was immediately put under your supervision, an addition to your already elite team of biologists, geneticists, and virologists. off the bat, you could tell he was a man of many talents, coming up with unconventional solutions and arriving at answers quicker than anyone else.

his presence in your lab made your heart swell. in pride, adoration, or desire, you're not quite sure.

"uh, yesterday's results are in that binder over there, in case you want to go over them," you begin. jungwon walks over to your side of the long table, peering over the slide loaded into the microscope.

ignoring the way he brushes ever so slightly against you, you continue. "the director's dropping by later this afternoon, but i wouldn't be too bothered with that. he's just looking for someone to blame for the slow progress at this point. if only they could get us those materials we asked for..."

"have you read the memo?" jungwon asks abruptly, straightening up. he towers over you, his eyes downcast as he stares at your face.

"of course, you've read the memo," jungwon corrects himself, chuckling. "what i meant was...what do you think of it?"

"it's a government-issued memo, it hardly matters what i think," you respond, focusing back on your work in front of you, although all you do is stare blankly at the moving microorganisms, mind unfocused with how much of jungwon's perfume you can smell.

"it's your reproductive health that's on the line. i'm pretty sure your opinion counts for something," jungwon says with a pinch in between his eyebrows.

oh, a feminist. that's even hotter.

"okay, yeah. i appreciate the new guidelines they put out," you admit, looking back up at jungwon. "though it's the bare minimum, i'm glad they're letting us keep the autonomy of choosing who to...boink."

jungwon laughs at that.

"and free fertility drugs for anyone who wants or needs it. oh, also, thank god they didn't have the brilliant idea of putting a time limit on it. having read some crazy speculative fiction myself, the things people are willing to do in fiction are crazy. who's to say they can't do the same in real life?" you continue.

you don't notice the way jungwon's smirk grows as he listens.

"kind of makes the whole thing unsexy, don't you think?" jungwon cuts in, raising an eyebrow. you blink, unsure of what he's talking about.

"i'm surprised they're not monitoring us with cameras and hooking us up to EKGs and shit," he adds.

"oh," you say with a soft giggle, finally catching on. "i'm sure some people are into being watched."

"are you?" jungwon asks.

"am i what?" you answer.

"into being watched."

a pause.

you shake your head. "how about you?"

"oh no," jungwon says. "i prefer to keep what's mine for my eyes only."

"hm. possessive. that's kind of sexy," you mumble under your breath, a sudden surge of confidence coursing through you.

jungwon just stares at you, but you can see his pupils dance in amusement, taking in your whole face and all your features. you might have imagined it but he seemed to have peeked down at your chest for a second.

"do you think it's attractive for someone to be into lego-building? or at least, used to be into it. i'd give an arm and a leg for a complete lego set nowadays," jungwon asks, leaning against the table, and only now do you notice the veins running over the back of his hands.

you think about whether his arms are just as veiny.

"do you think it's a good trait to pass on an offspring? lego-building, i mean," he presses on.

"uh, yeah. good problem-solving skills," you answer, humoring his question.

jungwon nods. "do you think leadership skills are important?"

you smile, leaning against the cabinet opposite jungwon. you nudge his foot lightly. "i lead a team of scientists myself. of course, i think leadership skills are important."

"you and i both," jungwon agrees.

jungwon shifts, placing his hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

"how about dimples? do you think dimples are cute?" jungwon asks once more, one corner of his mouth upturned. a deep crease on his cheek appears.

a dimple.

"very," you admit.

"i see."

there's a silence that stretches over the two of you, and the weight of uncertainty is daunting as you stare at a spot on jungwon's tie. finally, after a few seconds, you heave a sigh, unable to take the tension any longer.

"this is the weirdest way anyone has ever flirted with me," you declare, looking up at jungwon through your lashes. he's grinning and you nearly shiver at how utterly attractive you're finding him at this moment.

"but it's effective," jungwon says. that was a statement, not a question.

you tilt your head to the side. "how do you know?"

"because you would have blown me off two minutes ago if it wasn't," jungwon reasons, crossing his arms. by doing this, he just made himself appear even wider than he is.

"always so calculated," you say, impressed.

you stretch your neck, easing your head from side to side, watching as jungwon fixes his gaze on the taut tendons of your neck. "are you also this precise in bed, dr. yang?"

jungwon approaches, a large hand resting on your hip. "that's for you to find out."

your breath hitches as you feel his thumb rub through the fabric of your skirt.

"later?" he asks.

"my place or yours?" you reply, fingertips grazing the front of his polo. you can just about feel the slope and ridges of his toned muscles.

"i'd like to be a gentleman, so mine," jungwon offers. "i'll walk you back to your room after."

"i was kind of hoping i wouldn't need to walk back after," you say, a hint of teasing in your voice.

"is that a challenge?" jungwon says, his other hand pressing firmly on your lower back. he pulls you to him and your hands involuntarily reach out towards his shoulders to steady yourself.

a few seconds pass before any of you speak again.

"that's for you to find out," you say.

---

"kind of weird, isn't it?" jungwon asks, panting against your neck.

your back is pressed firmly against one wall of his sleeping quarters, a wide, loft-like room, similar to yours. a luxury offered only to level 10 government personnel, the room gives its occupants enough space and enough privacy.

and boy, did you need privacy.

"what's weird?" you say breathily, fingers threading through jungwon's hair as he kisses down the column of your neck. his fingers nimbly undo the buttons of your blouse and you whimper when you feel him lick at the valley between your breasts.

"coming up to coworkers or friends then asking them to reproduce with you," jungwon responds, tugging your blouse off of your shoulders.

(you both held enough respect for the institution that employed you both, so your work lab coats were neatly thrown over the back of jungwon's couch before anything got too frisky.)

"see, it's the way you say it that makes it weird," you giggle. you pull jungwon back up to your face, kissing him fervently, tongue licking into his mouth.

"oh yeah? how would you say it?" jungwon challenges as he pulls away slightly, his nose grazing your cheek. he licks a stripe on the underside of your jaw.

"please, jungwon," you whimper, playing up the whine in your voice just a little bit. "need you to knock me up. make me pregnant, please."

jungwon grunts in your ear, reaching behind you to rip the zipper of your skirt down. you let the fabric fall to the floor, stepping out of it quickly, revealing the matching red lace panties you had in tandem with your bra.

"yeah? want me to cum inside you so many times that there won't even be the tiniest chance that you're not pregnant?" jungwon says lowly, kneading one of your boobs in his hands.

you nod, hooking a leg around jungwon's hip, pushing your core right up against the bulge in his pants.

"yes," you breathe out, dragging your clothed pussy over his straining cock. "let's be good citizens and have a whole bunch of kids, yeah?"

jungwon chuckles, hands hurriedly working on his belt. you take this time to kiss up his neck, still rutting against him, desperate for any contact.

"come here," jungwon says through gritted teeth as his pants and boxers fall to the floor. he kicks them off unceremoniously, yanking you towards the couch. your eyes briefly catch the flash of white that were your lab coats.

the two of you fall onto the cushiony surface, with jungwon sitting up and you falling a little less gracefully on him. the two of you laugh as you adjust yourself, righting your posture so you could look at jungwon.

"take this off," jungwon commands, pulling at your panties. you swing off jungwon for a moment, pulling off the garment in record time. you reposition yourself over jungwon, his cock standing tall, hard, and painfully red.

"come on, show me how bad you want those kids," jungwon teases, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you roll your eyes. "you gotta help with the diapers."

a second later, you sink down on jungwon, moaning wantonly at how much he stretches you out, filling you up effortlessly. jungwon throws his head back, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth.

"i'll quit my fucking job at the lab if this is how good it feels to make babies with you," jungwon groans, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

you whimper at his words, rocking back and forth on his lap. you angle your hips a certain way, the tip of his cock kissing at just the perfect spot inside you. you shudder, repeating your movement.

"god, you feel amazing," jungwon praises. "so warm, so tight."

"yeah," you respond. you're gliding up and down his cock, swiveling your hips as fast as you can. you clench down around him, the thought of jungwon cumming inside you your only motivation.

"filling me up so good," you add, watching as jungwon screws his eyes shut, neck shiny with sweat.

you move forward, attaching your lips just below jungwon's ear. you suckle on the salty skin, running your tongue over the spot, savoring the way jungwon lets a moan rip out of him.

"gotta let the whole bunker know this one's mine," you whisper as you let up on jungwon's neck. a faint red spot is left in the wake of your lips on his skin.

in a blink of an eye, your whole world tumbles upside down, jungwon's hands forcing you down on the couch by your waist. in a daze, you realize that jungwon has you pinned under him, his eyes wild with a hungry look in them. he pushes your legs right up against your chest, lining himself up with your entrance.

"the moment you start showing, no one in this goddamn bunker will have a single doubt who gave you that baby," jungwon counters, thrusting into you. he gives you no time to adjust, picking up where you left off.

you cry out, trying to anchor yourself on anything your hands can find. eventually, you find purchase in jungwon's shoulders. he feels your nails digging in, and he mutters a soft 'fuck', speeding up his movements, the wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours so incredibly obscene in the confined space of his room.

"give it to me, please," you say, meeting jungwon's eyes as he continues to fuck into you. his forehead is creased, a look of concentration washing over his face.

"cum inside, fill me up as many times as you want, fuck it deep in me," you continue, cradling jungwon's face in your hands, the tender gesture a contrast to how rough he's bein.

"god," jungwon groans, voice breaking at the end as he speeds up, but then he halts abruptly, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan. you feel him twitch inside you and you gasp, clenching down as hard as you can.

"fuck, yes, milk it all out," jungwon says. he starts to thrust up into you again, watching as his cock is slowly coated with his cum spreading all over your cushy walls.

you whine, your fingers finding their way down to your cunt, your middle and ring finger pressing onto your clit. you rub at it ferociously, the idea of jungwon's sticky release inside of you turning you on impossibly.

"i'm getting hard again, jesus christ," jungwon complains but his movements don't cease. he's shaking from the overstimulation but he wraps his arms around you, pulling your limp form up against him.

"rub that pretty pussy for me, babe," jungwon requests, thrusting up into you shallowly.

"make yourself cum while i fill you up for a second time."

---

"so?"

you jump a little at the sudden intrusion. you look up at jungwon through both of your reflections in your bathroom mirror. three pregnancy tests lie in a neat line on the edge of the sink.

"i just started the timer, jungwon," you reply with a laugh. jungwon turns you around to face him, kissing you briefly.

"hm," you say, looking up at jungwon questioningly. "you never kiss me unless you want something."

"well," jungwon begins, hands slipping under your sweater. "we can always kill time while we wait for the results."

you shake your head, but you're already pressing yourself up against jungwon. "you're insatiable, dr. yang."

jungwon winks at you, undoing your bra under your shirt. "you know it."

"plus, you just look too good in this damn lab coat."

[comfortless]

Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

[crazykuroneko]

I knew people are still anxious about how much Louis' involvement will be in the future seasons no thanks to Anne, so let's go back to Day 0.

"I really wanted to write a love story". Yes, Rolin said TVL season is the part he's most looking forward to, but even before looking at The Vampire Chronicles, he wanted to write a romance first. Only after he saw there's enough he could build on from TVC that he said yes.

You can see this from each decision the writers have made so far. And just like how they changed Madeleine so she'd fit the AMC Claudia, they gave AMC Louis a lot more "meat" to go against Lestat (due to the big disparity in the amount of material available on each character, again no thanks to Anne)

So, unlike the books where IWTV is about only Louis' grief and being lost and the rest of the books are just Lestat going "fuck around and find out", AMC IWTV has been about Louis, Lestat, and Loustat since Day 0. And we still have the S2 finale, which Rolin says will show what they'll do with Louis next. Louis we know now is a lot more of Rolin and co's son than Anne's imo (Mark said Rolin feels like a proud parent of them both here), they've been painstakingly building him, so I don't think they'd just sideline him.

(And we already have the confirmation they'll explore the relationship between Loustat + Gabrielle. In TVL, Louis really only has one scene with her)

Added:

There's also this. It's originally in Spanish, I had to look for it first OML

[goodtobeswift]

So glad I’m not the only one getting obsessed over Descendants all over again haha 😅

Sooo how about a Harry Hook reuniting with a crush!Reader who’s picked with the og VK’s to go to Auradon in the first film? I’d imagine one of the parents to be either Madam Mim or Mother Gothel (maybe she went cuckoo and snatched someone else’s kid), but of course it could just be left ambiguous since the entire point of a reader insert is for it to be the reader.

If Harry were close enough to someone to get a crush on them/fall in love I feel like they wouldn’t be friends with Mal and co, so Reader would probably get left out of going to the Isle in the second movie and probably wouldn’t see Harry until the barrier is brought down (and knowing Auradon, Reader probably wouldn’t be able to send letters (if it were me Id probably use interviews/events that broadcast to the Isle to say hi real quick so the Sea Three know they haven’t been forgotten)).

These are just suggestions of course so feel free to write the scenario/oneshot/drabble/etc however you see fit, I’m just a sucker for mutual pining and reunions haha-

If you don’t want to write this request for whatever reason please feel free to just delete it, thank you for taking time out of your day to write this if you do and have a good day ^-^

LOVED THIS IDEA!! i want to think this through a little more bc i want them to meet during the events of the second movie and god is harry pissed when he sees her after six months. she might said she misses her friends back in the isle but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel betrayed.

i think he’d be super snappy, not letting reader explain herself OH ANDi can picture him losing his mind and yapping to uma and gil right after he got the news😭😭 like very much to his dismay he can’t believe he’s still in love

also, if you want to keep requesting or keep expanding this idea i’m super down and i’d like you (or anyone) to claim anon emojis so i can keep up with the asks! bc i got more than i thought (IM WORKING ON THEM DW🫡)

[sunny44]

Co-parenting (Part 5)

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Ex!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Co-parenting is never easy but y/n never thought it would be so hard.

Previous Chapter

The revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a new light on our already complicated dynamics. As Carlos’s words echoed in my mind, I found myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion, longing, and a glimmer of hope danced within me, each vying for supremacy.

But amid the turmoil, one thing remained clear: I needed time to process.

“Carlos.” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know what to say.”

He nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and apprehension.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, Y/n. I didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

Silence settled between us, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of waves crashing against the shore. With each passing moment, the weight of his confession seemed to grow heavier, pressing upon me with an intensity that left me breathless.

“I need some time.” I finally managed to say, my words wavering slightly. “To think and understand things. Not to mention this situation with Max, and I don’t know what we are or aren’t.”

Carlos nodded again, his unwavering gaze as he reached out to gently squeeze my hand.

“Do you love him?” He asks.

“I don’t know, we’ve known each other for a really short time for me to love him.”

“But we were like that.”

“I know, but I knew from the first day I saw you that I loved you.” He looked at me for a few seconds and looked back at the sea. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t love him, things are different.”

“Take all the time you need, Y/n. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

With a heavy heart, I get up from the sand, the cool breeze of the night enveloping me like a balm. As I made my way back to the house, I couldn’t shake the lingering sense of unease that persisted within me, nor the persistent echo of Carlos’s confession.

Entering the dimness of the interior, I found myself drawn to Maeve’s room, where she slept peacefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Looking at her, a wave of love and protectiveness washed over me, mingling with the uncertainty clouding my thoughts.

In the quiet of the room, I allowed myself to reflect on Carlos’s words, turning them over in my mind. The truth of his feelings was undeniable, but what did that mean for us? For our family? And what about Max, whose presence still lingered in the recesses of my mind?

With these thoughts swirling in my mind, I walked to the room I was staying in and lay down, only to be pulled from my thoughts when my phone vibrated.

Max

Max

Hey, how’s your summer vacation?

Me

Hey there

It’s been very lovely

Maeve is enjoying every minute of it

Max

That’s nice

I was about to ask if she was having fun

Me

She is

But I think she’s more excited to tell her friends about it than the vacations itself

Max

What about Carlos?

Me

What about him?

Max

Are you guys enjoying together?

Me

Please, don’t do that

Max

I’m just asking

I’ve seen the news about him and Rebecca and I presumed that they broke up because of you

Me

Yeah, it’s been a strange day

Max

You don’t have to be ashamed of it

I always knew he still loved you

Just the way he looks at you

Me

I don’t know what to say

Max

Did he tell you something?

Me

He told me that he broke up with her because of me

Max

And what did you feel when he told you that?

Me

I felt confused, scared and a lot of things

Max

Do you still love him?

Me

Maybe yes, maybe not

I don’t know how to feel

Max

I really like you and I want you to be happy

So if that means for you to be with him, I’m ok with that

And I also know how good would make Maeve feel

I grew up with a lot of traumas and I would’ve done anything to grow up close to my mom and my sister

Me

But what about us?

Max

I’m still gonna be your friend and I’m gonna be here anytime you need me

But I need you to tell me who do you choose, I don’t wanna catch any strong feelings for you if you still love him

Me

Thank you Max

I’m not gonna decide anything right now, but I promise I’ll let you know everything

I’ll just enjoy the vacation and focus on my daughter and not in my complicated love life

Max

Yeah and I’m part of the complication

Me

A good part

Max

Thank you

Good night and we can talk in person when you come back

Me

Yes, that’s better

Night Max

After the chat I’m with Max, I felt somewhat relieved, but still overwhelmed by the confusion hanging over my love life. As I lay in bed, I realized how complicated things had become and the weight of the decisions I needed to make.

The gentle breeze of the night flowed in through the partially open window, bringing with it a comforting freshness that contrasted with the turmoil in my mind. As I closed my eyes, I allowed myself to sink into a restless sleep, where dreams and worries mingled in a confusing tangle.

The next morning, I woke to the sunlight filtering through the curtains, bringing with it a new day full of possibilities and uncertainties. I decided I needed a moment to clear my mind.

So I went for a walk along the beach, seeking tranquility amidst nature. The sound of waves gently crashing against the shore was comforting, and the smell of the sea enveloped me, bringing a sense of calm and serenity.

As I walked, I let my thoughts wander freely, trying to find clarity amidst the chaos.

That’s when I came across a small seashell in the sand, its vibrant colors catching my eye. Curious, I bent down to pick it up, feeling its smooth texture in my hands, thinking Maeve would like it so I took it with me.

“Mommy.” I heard her voice and turned to see her in a bikini and Carlos in just a pair of shorts and no shirt.

“Good morning, my love.” I picked her up and he kept coming towards me.

It was like one of those movie scenes where the hot guy walks up to the main character in slow motion.

“Look what I found and picked up for you.” I put her down and handed her the shell.

“Daddy, look what mommy gave me.”

“Wow, that’s beautiful.” He smiled at her.

“I’ll see if I can find one for you too.” She stepped back a bit.

“Did I interrupt?”

“No, you’re not interrupting. I was just clearing my mind.” I replied trying to keep calm.

“Can I join you? I needed a moment to get my head straight too.” he said, sincerity in his gaze.

“Of course, feel free.” I agreed, reaching out to him.

We walked together along the beach, letting the gentle sound of the waves guide us. Maeve walked a bit ahead of us trying to find the perfect shells while we walked side by side.

For a moment, the weight of our past conversations hung in the air, but there was also a lightness, a sense of comfort in each other’s presence.

“So, how are you feeling?” Carlos asked, breaking the silence.

“Confused, I guess. With everything that happened… and the things you told me.” I admitted, feeling vulnerable before him.

He nodded understandingly, offering a friendly shoulder.

“I understand. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with my feelings, but I needed to be honest with you.” he explained, looking me in the eyes.

“I know. And I appreciate that, even if it’s hard to understand.” I replied, returning his gaze.

“Y/n, I just want you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what happens. Whatever your decision, I’ll be by your side.” he said, sincerity in his words. “Such as a father, a friend or someone to share life with.”

Those words touched my heart in a way I didn’t expect. It was comforting to know that, despite all the complications, we still had each other.

“Thank you, Carlos. That means a lot to me.” I murmured, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me.

We continued our walk in silence, our steps synchronized with the rhythm of the waves.

…

We returned from the trip and I was still uncertain about my love life. I really like Max, genuinely, he has been nothing but affectionate and understanding, but there’s not that spark that Carlos and I had.

Or still have.

That’s why I left Maeve with my parents and went to Carlos’s house. But I had a surprise when I knocked on his door and Rebecca opened it.

“Hi Y/n, did you come to bring Maeve?” She says smiling.

And it was like my heart broke at that moment, because just a little while ago he was saying he still loved me and that he had broken up with her but the fact that she opened the door of his house makes me think otherwise.

“In fact, I…”

“Found everything?” I heard his voice that was surprised to see me. “Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Nothing I shouldn’t have come.”

“Wait, I was already leaving.” She says. “I just came to pick up my things and I’m leaving. Thank you for letting me come Carlos, I’m sorry they sent these things here.”

“It’s okay.” She waves to him and to me before getting into the car and driving away.“Are you okay? Is it something with Maeve?”

“No, we’re fine.” He’s relieved.

“Well then come in, no need to stay out here.”

“Sure.” Somewhat uncertain I walked in. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew she would be here.”

“It’s okay, actually she asked last minute if she could come pick up these things and since I was home I said she could. But if I knew you were coming I would have told her to come another time.”

“I understand.”

“We didn’t get back together if that’s what you’re thinking. I was serious about what I told you that day.”

“That’s what I came to talk about, actually.” He nodded. “Can you get me some water please?”

“Of course.” He leads me to the kitchen and hands me a glass of water.

“I came to talk about us.”

“Sure.” He says and sits on one of the stools in his kitchen island but I keep standing holding the glass.

“I thought a lot about what you said and I want to try again.” As soon as I said that he froze. “Carlos.”

“I’m listening.” He says.

“I thought about Maeve, about you but mainly about me and my feelings for you.” I took another sip of water. “And I never stopped loving you, we didn’t break up because there was a lack of love or respect, it was the best decision for us at that time.”

“I agree.”

“So I thought a lot about me and what would be best for our family and if you still want I…” he interrupts me and kisses me.

It was like the first time again, the warmth and butterflies in my stomach and the feeling of happiness were amazing.

“I swear I’ll do everything to prove I’m willing to make it work.” He whispered with our foreheads touching. “And I promise I’ll be a better father.”

“You’re already a good father, and Maeve would agree with me if she was here.” He laughs.

“Thank you for giving me another chance, I promise I won’t waste it.”

“I know you won’t.”

“What do you think about picking up our daughter and going out to dinner?” He says and I smile.

“I think it’s a perfect idea.” He smiles and kisses me.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Lovely days.”

Tag list: @ietss @lightdragonrayne @xoscar03 @shobaes @evans-dejong @ggaslyp1 @bingewatche @loaves4me @alinacecee @justdreamersdream @janeholt @rafaaoli @maxverstappendefender @khaylin27 @xoscar03 @d3kstar @iloveallmyboys @bernelflo

Heyy guys, thank you so much for following the story this far. I know many of you wanted her to end up with Max, but I would have to post many more chapters to develop their relationship, and besides, it was never my intention for her to be with Max, Carlos always was the end game. I’m also so busy that I won’t have much time to do anything more than one chapter.

But that’s it, thank you all so much ❤️

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

2 - Mouth of the Lion's Den

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 11.2k

Warnings: Slow Burn, strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, injured/sick child mention, slight canon divergence

Notes: We're in the thick of the plot now. Based on the show but will include direct book elements. Previous Chapter Here.

You used to not travel very well as a child. The first time you left Dragonstone was right at the crux of the seasons change. Summer had ended, and it was a quick Autumn which felt far more like winter the more North you sailed. The sea was always cool, and the north was cooler. When you returned to Dragonstone some months later, Maester Cressen had said that the mix of seasons being the first time you left home is what caused you to get so ill.

What a meeting it was. Lord Stark had told you that it was halfway through your first meal with them when you collapsed. Barley touched anything on your plate which they first thought you just weren’t used to the food. That was until you collapsed onto the floor just as you stood from your seat as you burned up.

Whatever it was, it went through you fast and terrifying to the point where Maester Luwin had told Lord Stark to prepare to send a raven in case the worst happened. It didn’t though, you slept through the fever and by the time you awoke, you remembered none of it. You assumed you fell sick before arriving at Winterfell that’s how little you were really aware of anything.

It wasn’t like that anymore, but as you had sat in your room at the Inn days ago it did make you wonder what could have possibly hit Lord Arryn faster and harsher then that. Despite his age, he was more healthy as an older man then you were at the age of eight. Yet you had survived and his sickness burned through him in one single night.

Perhaps you had too much time that night to think on it, no one really was in any mood to converse after what happened. Once Lord Stark had put Lady down, he had you go find Jory. “Tell him to choose four men and have them take the body back North. Bury her at Winterfell.” He had taken the girls to their rooms, and even in the muffled quiet you could hear Sansa crying through the walls. Arya’s cries would be too quiet to hear, but you were no fool to think her chasing off Nymeria just to save her life wouldn’t leave the child in tears of her own.

So the Inn was silent, save for the low tones coming from Lord Stark’s own room. One where he laid the truth out, what Lysa has sent her sister, what it said about the Lannisters. He asked you what did you notice from before he died, and you were honest. Very little.

Your lord father had kept you away on purpose. He and Lord Arryn distant and secretive, and you had suspected you were sitting on small council meetings not just in his place but as if it would keep you preoccupied from their doings. Which it worked, but it also was not enough to dull you. Lord Stark agreed that it all worked out too seamlessly, Lord Arryn dies suddenly from an unknown illness, Stannis Baratheon urgently marries his firstborn daughter off to a far northern house as he himself flees to Dragonstone.

They both knew something, and what that was, sent your father away on his own accord. Shutting himself back on the grim island and leaving you to the wolves and the lions.

“You’re our family now. You are as good as one of my own daughters, and we protect our own. You stick by me once me get to Kings Landing. Work by my side, you’ll stay in our quarters with the girls until we learn what it is Jon Arryn died for.” Once again, that lingering feeling sat in your gut that walking out of the capital wasn’t going to be as easy as walking in this time around.

Now, sitting atop your horse once more you felt even less happy about being back then you had leaving the north. Your face flat and cold like stone as you rose through the crowds welcoming the King and his company once more. The cart behind you carrying the girls, Sansa no doubt bright eyed and taking in the awe of a place she dreamed would be for her. Arya you knew no doubt, was already wondering just how much she would explore when left to her own curious devices.

Just ahead of you, a page awaited everyone’s arrival. Calling to Lord Stark for a small council meeting at Grand Maester Pycelle’s request. You dared not move an inch thinking about how typical it was that such a meeting wasn’t called by the King himself, despite no doubt arriving before you all had. Oh the many matters of your King Uncle to attend too. So much wine to drink, and so many whores to fuck.

Lord Stark calling back, “Jory, get the girls settled in. I’ll be back in time for supper.” Calling your name, you climbed off your horse as he beckoned you. “You’re with me.”

The Page glancing over his attire and yours as you approached, “If you’d like to change into something more appropriate…” The combination of yours and Lord Stark’s unmoving stare causing him to stammer and backtrack. Any other time you may have considered it, but now you were here in place of your fathers position and spending time dolling yourself up once more looked more and more like a waste of time.

Renly had once told you every time you return to Kings Landing, you seem to be more and more of a splitting image of your bore of a father. He might be onto something in truth.

The Red Keep had not changed, and nothing passed your mind to care to think about it until the doors to the Throne room opened and right at the top looking up at the Iron Throne was just another face you wished not to see so early in the morning. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and twin brother to the Queen, he certainly held all the superior smugness of such titles in his very posture had seemed to arrive far earlier then yourself.

A little nod did not suffice as you wished it did, as he saw fit to open his mouth as soon as you came even slightly close. “Lady Baratheon- or, I suppose it’s Stark now isn’t it? Already quite adjusted to the northern boys afterall, aren’t you?” Barley managing to muster up the weakest of half smiles he only grinned more, leaning in to give a fake too-loud whisper in your ear. “I do hope you weren’t too broken in for your new husband, would hate to break the boys heart before he even had a chance.”

Biting your tongue, you were sure had he not found victim in Lord Stark behind you, the pressure would’ve drawn blood. You didn’t wait, making your way into the small council chamber with little care of greeting those already present, for the most part.

“Ah, the newly named Lady Stark. I must congratulate you on your marriage, always nice to see the young love flourishing. Shame to be torn apart so early on.” Nodding, you managed more of a smile this time. You didn’t particularly trust Lord Varys but considering he was the man who likely knew so much he could tell you what you had for breakfast three days ago, playing nice was better then not playing at all.

“Thank you, Lord Varys. But, he has Winterfell to run and I have my work here. I’m sure Robb understands.”

Passing to the table, you nodded to Grand Maester Pycelle, and saw fit to ignore the other party in the room without any shame in doing so. Not that you would be aware of, but to the others it really was as if Lord Stannis had walked in like normal. The man having no patience for Petyr Baelish as well. If anyone lit your gaze up slightly, it was the smirk of the younger man already waiting by the opposite end.

Renly had no qualms about approaching you with a casualness, and no need to pretend as if either of you cared to be formally civil. “I can’t tell if the north suits you my dear niece, or if it’s just being around this lot making you so much more droll.”

Arms crossed in front of you, an eyebrow quirked up as he held a smirk. You’d hit him later. “Shame you were so busy Uncle, would have been nice to have at least one other family member there to share the festivities with.”

Hardly a secret anymore, most in the court knew of Renly’s private preferences but you might be the only one who knew it without any doubt. The only one it seemed, that he trusted to know as well. Not that his brothers would despise him for it, but certainly the King a bit too crass to not be offensive and well, least to say your father was not exactly a comforting kind of man. He wouldn’t care and he certainly would make you feel as such for it.

“What can I say, so much work, so many laws to look into.”

Your eyes glint, passing right by with a tone only audible enough for him, “Swordplay isn’t a law, last time I checked.” You’d be a fool to think Renly didn’t take advantage of so much of the royal court being away, not to lock himself up in his chambers with a certain flower for as long as he could get away with.

Not that you were in such a position to dare judge.

Your father used to get annoyed constantly by the lack of work Renly was properly given, but it might be he expected too much. Renly had a tendency to be handed easy tasks and get more credit then the nights your own father spent buried in papers in his office would accomplish. Leaning your hands on the top of what was now your seat, you watched the others greet the now approaching Lord Stark.

“We are all praying for Prince Joffery’s full recovery.”

Oh the rewards the gods should bestow upon you for how little you changed your expression. He gets one bite from a barley grown Direwolf and he has the realm on it’s knees pretending to sob at the tragic wounds. You had more scars on you from being hit with sticks and practice swords over your childhood before the spoiled Prince ever reached that age.

Even in Winterfell, you watched him get angry and frustrated at how often Robb would hit him in the courtyard simply beacuse he had no idea what he was doing. The Hound having to remind him even that he demanded they spar just to show off, and he can’t stand there and whine blaming Robb for doing exactly what he asked.

Besides, not that anyone had asked, you’d have to admit that not all bites from a wolf were entirely bad. At least it took as long as it did to get back to Kings Landing, those marks having healed over by the time it became too hot to cover them up then in the northern cold.

Renly’s voice from beside you, “You look tired from the road, I told them this meeting could wait another day but..”

“But we have a kingdom to look after.” Looking over you saw a strange smile on Lord Baelish’s face and so did everyone else if the uncomfortable air in the room was honest. “I’ve hope to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me.”

“She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”

If Lord Baelish could have purposely made things more uncomfortable you think the room might have melted away just to escape it. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard whispers of his affection for her, but it was brazen of him to be so open about it in front of her husband of over twenty years.

Settling in, you sat beside Lord Stark as Renly pulled out a paper, explaining to the council that the King wasn’t exactly a common presence at the small council and most of these matters were left without his input. “My brother has instructed us to stage a tournament in honour of Lord Stark’s appointment as Hand of the King.”

Didn’t take being Master of Coin to know the money wouldn’t be coming from the surplus of the Crown. Grand Maester Pycelle’s frail voice piping up, “Can the treasury bear such expenses?”

As if ordering food from a servant, Lord Baelish waved the concern. “I’ll have to borrow it. The Lannisters will accomodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold, what’s another eighty thousand.”

You felt for Lord Stark beside you, “Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?”

Looking firmly at the table with an irritated grimace, you corrected him for the worse. “Actually, he’s telling you the Crown is six million in debt.” Lord Stark, was in shock at the state, demanding to know how this could happen and once again, Lord Baelish acted like such debt was easily forgiven.

“The Master of Coin finds the money, the King and the Hand spend it.”

Lord Stark beside you sounded as annoyed as you felt on the inside but he was still tinged in disbelief as he looked at the man. “I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm.”

The Grand Maester for all his slowness, had the grace to speak the truth instead of washing it away like the other Lord in front of him. “Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen.”

Sitting up straight, you nor Renly were quite sure if it was his voice that came out of your mouth, or the unimpressed voice of your father who held the same opinions. “The King loves tournaments and feasts, but not the conversation of money that follows. ‘Counting Coppers’ he calls it.”

You admired his determination to reason with the King. Even with both his blood brothers at his side, neither man could settle his indulgences the way Lord Stark may have the ability too. Even now you could hear the ramblings and angry ravings of your father in his office, going about how he was born the wrong family if he were to ever make his brother listen. Many had thought that Lord Stannis would take over as Hand of the King, and you would take his place as Master of Ships in the immediate aftermath of Lord Arryns death.

Your father had been sat on the small council for almost ten years at that point, and had been home less and less as those years passed. The only letters he exchanged anymore were with some of his closest men, and of course, Shireen. You envied her in that sense. Not that she was loved in the way she was, but that she had such a happy innocence about her.

Once Maester Cressen had said she was the saddest girl he had ever met, that he considered that part of his failure to cure her. But she had been cured, just not by him and clearly he took it hard, but she wasn’t sad, not in the way some assumed. She loved learning, and your father had been determined to give her the same education as he had you. Everyday she would run to him once he was in his own quarters, jump onto his lap and go on about what book she was learning to read, and were he not there, she’d scramble to write a letter to tell him.

Few people adored Lord Stannis, but she was always his biggest supporter.

As you entered the very bottom of the tower of the hand, you wondered how much she knew. Did she know Lord Arryn was dead, did she know you were acting in your fathers place, did she even know you were married? She’d be upset to learn she wasn’t there for your wedding. One day when she was just barley older then a toddler, you had been sitting on the edge of a cliff on Dragonstone with Shireen sat in your lap.

Going on about what a highborn lady would do, who she’d marry and what the wedding would be. You planned hers and yours, just two little girls by the waters edge and it saddened you to think that she wasn’t there to see yours. Childishly, you wondered if she’d like Robb.

Walking through the door, you passed some of the Starks household guard, regarding you with a familiarity as you passed. As if you really were family, not just a guest. Maybe it was for the best that she had father with her again, at least he still felt like one to her.

The chambers were quiet, and as you saw what was left of easy food on the table you hadn’t the stomach for it. Sitting down regardless, you lifted some of the plates out of your place, pouring yourself water as you stared at the little flame the light on the table wickered with. Pulling out a small slip of paper from a small pocket, you slipped the seal off, a small direwolf. Looking over the words as you sipped at the water.

Sending a raven was risky for what he was trying to say, but Robb was smart enough to not say anything of anything. Telling you of Bran, and your heart broke at how devastated the boy feels of not being able to walk again. More he tells you of how he has no idea what to even say to make it better, that Bran just needs time to get used to things but watching his little brother be so miserable and not being able to fix it just makes him angry. You knew exactly how that felt, watching your little sibling suffer and being completely useless to them for it.

A slam shook you out of your focus, pulling the letter back suddenly and tucking it away before you looked up to see a somewhat grumpy Arya now at the table with you. “I know my face usually looks like that, but what’s got yours in such a put off state?”

Sighing, she draped her arms over the top of the surface to gently lay her head in them, turned enough to still see you. “I don’t know how you stand it, being here all the time.”

Leaning forward, you mimicked her posture, looking back at her now from a tilted but even eye level. “I’m here because I have to be, not because I want to be. I have a duty, and that needs to be upheld regardless if it makes me miss home or not.”

Pushing up suddenly, Arya’s eyes were bright and bordering on an intense curiosity. “You’d rather be home? At Dragonstone?”

Moving back yourself you paused as you opened your mouth. Closed it for a second, before sighing out as you crossed your arms over your chest. Leaning back against the chair behind you looking at the nothing of importance on the table. “Honestly? I’m not sure where that is anymore.” Her brows narrowed in confusion, “Where I feel at home I mean.”

Were there not such a heavy weight in your heart you may have smiled at how quickly she reacted, and the finality of her tone. “You’re one of us now, Winterfell is your home.” Just as something crossed your mind, it clearly did hers too. Shoulders deflating as she lost the shine in her eyes. “Or, it’s supposed to be.”

Heart reaching out to hers, you knew comforting wouldn’t make it better, or change what hurt in the first place. “You won’t be in Kings Landing forever.” Her eyes flickered to you and then back did they focus into her mind. “Eventually you’ll go back to Winterfell, get restless there too and you’ll either insist someone take you there or you’ll be old enough to just head out to visit on your own. He’ll always want to see you.”

Arya grumbled out, quiet and filled with a twinge of guilt as if she couldn’t decide should you be able to hear her or not. “Not just me he’ll want to see.”

Leaning forward, your back sat straight for the most part as you leaned your forearms against the table again. “There’s five of you, Arya. You have to share your brother with all of them at least sometimes.”

Quieter so much this time, you weren’t sure if you even actually heard her speak but there was a faint sound like, “Not just us,” that you choose to ignore. As Arya herself pushed passed it as well. “Sansa won’t care. She barley ever even calls him her brother.” There was a bite to her tone, and you knew all too well that it wasn’t just about this.

She didn’t find out until the next day about the butcher’s son, and she still hadn’t taken it very well.

You tried softly calling her name, but Arya got louder. Her arms swinging a bit as she gestured in her expressiveness. “She always calls him our bastard brother, not even half brother or anything like he’s not been her brother since she was born. She doesn’t respect him, she doesn’t respect anybody who isn’t herself or the stupid prince.”

Anywhere but the safety of her own walls, you’d scold her for so freely vocalizing her insolence. But she was in her new home, and Joffery certainly was a stupid, vile little creature who got Arya’s new friend killed. People could claim it was the Queen, but you unfortunately knew her well enough that she was far more clever of a monster then that. No, that was Joffery’s angry, immature rage which sent the Hound out against a boy not even in his teens.

Glancing at the door you knew to be both Lord Stark’s room, and if his work ethic was consistent, scribbling away on the too many tasks the King left to his Lord Hand, too busy to come out and hear you. “Do you want my honest opinion? About that night?” Her head nodding fervently, brows narrowed in a manner that looked so strikingly serious like Jons. “It doesn’t matter what Sansa would have said, as soon as Joffery showed up to the Inn bleeding, the Queen already made her mind up. Sansa could’ve told the complete truth and they still would’ve blamed you and Nymeria.”

A flash of sorrow in her eyes made your heart tighten painfully before covering it up with an easier to swallow emotion, “The she shouldn’t have lied! If it didn’t matter she could’ve told the truth about Micah and-”

“And the Queen would’ve done everything the same. And she still would’ve blamed you.” Leaning forward, your voice lowered to something much more serious. “People like you, like us? We don’t do well in places like this. You’re too honest and headstrong, and you haven’t been here long enough to learn how to hold back. And people like the Queen? Joffery? We are exactly who they want to take advantage of.”

You could hear the condescension even now, “She’s as wild as that animal of hers,” And it made you mad all over again. After some time when father brought you here, he ended up being the one to help you with your sword lessons alone in his own quarters, not wanting people like the Queen, or his brothers to have any more reason to look down on you. He wasn’t a popular man, he knew it, but he wouldn’t have these people mistreat his daughter, especially as a young teenager.

“I’m not saying you have to change, or pretend to be something you’re not. But I am telling you, this place has eyes and ears everywhere. Me, your father, Jory, people like that you can trust. You can be angry, and honest and upset around.” Glancing once again to Lord Starks door, you felt ashamed for what came from you next but mincing words was not a trait of the Stannis Baratheon variety of stags.

“Sansa wants to be here, and she wants to be apart of this because she’s naive. As long as the Lannisters give her pretty smiles, and soothing words she will bend to them because she thinks they could be her family some day. That doesn’t make it right the way she threw you and your friend to the wolves,” Arya quirked an eyebrow with a smirk, and you shook your head with one of your own. “Lions- shut up.”

Sighing, she leaned back into her seat. “I don’t hate her, not really. I just..”

“Don’t trust her.”

Glancing up with a bit of a stun, she seemed shocked you didn’t tell her to do anything otherwise. In a sense, you knew what she was feeling.

You loved Renly, he was closer to your age and the two of you always felt more like brother and sister with how easily he could bring out your more playful side in this pit of a captiol. But you didn’t trust him one bit. Not with your secrets, not with your work, and not with the particular companions he had been keeping as of late.

Renly and you were as close of friends as you had in this city, but at the end of the day. It was Stannis who was your father. It was the brother which both others looked down on, the daughter which had far too much of Stannis in her blood and personality to be seen as one of them. Robert didn’t care much for his brothers, but best be said he is lying to himself if he thinks he doesn’t show preference to Renly.

Stannis had always felt he was cheated of Storms End. The ancestral seat of House Baratheon, his by rights. Many times even in your tenure here at his side, he had gone to King Robert singing the same song. Anytime it was mentioned, your father would clench his jaw so tightly, you thought his teeth would shatter. You once had brought it up to one of his men, back on Dragonstone that he seemed to take it as a slight.

Ser Davos Seaworth had just looked at you with a somber look, one that was as sympathetic to his lord as he was offended on his behalf. “I think, my little lady, King Robert had meant it as a slight.”

It was the same here. Arya suffered, was threatened and attacked, her own direwolf having to be sent away just for protecting her master, and her new friend murdered for just agreeing to play duel by the river. Sansa had lost Lady in the Queens injustice, but she still got to walk the capitol and be treated like the princess she dreamed of being. While Arya was looked at as wild, untruly, and thought less of without being given a chance.

Falling back into the present, you sighed deeply. “Why do you think my Uncle Renly fits in here, when I stand out as much as your father does?”

Arya too, glanced at the closed door. “Because he plays along?”

“And I do my duty.” Sipping at the water once more before continuing. “Sansa is your family, and you shouldn’t forget that. You need each other, but I’m not asking you to trust her. Not the way you do your father, or Jon-”

“Or you.”

In those two words, your heart missed Shireen. She and Arya were alike in a lot of ways, Shireen a little more reserved but the same eager and honest spirit. You smiled, unsure if it was warmth of how Arya saw you, or yearning for the little sister you barley had seen grown up so far.

Silence between you was comfortable for a moment, until of course, Arya found something to blurt out. “Father caught me with Needle.” Raising your eyebrows, she slunk down a bit. “Needle’s my…it’s my sword. Well sort of a sword, it’s small and thin, but it’s supposed to be for my size. Anyways, he knocked on my door and I didn’t really notice that I didn’t bother hiding it. Or maybe I didn’t care if he saw me with it. He let me keep it, but he says I shouldn’t play with swords.”

Shrugging one shoulder, your voice was strangely casual. “They aren’t toys.”

“I know that!” You laughed at how defensive she got. You had a feeling you weren’t the first or even second person to tell her that. “You can use a sword, why shouldn’t I?”

Smiling to yourself, you refrained from specifying that the only reason you started to be trained on how to use one, is beacuse a certain dark haired, grey eyed boy had snuck up behind you and hit you with a practice one when no one was around to scold you two for it.

“Will you teach me?”

The letter in your pocket begin to weight you down, you needed to ask Lord Stark about it before morning. You had another small council meeting early on and you didn’t fancy being kept out of the dark again. Standing up, you ran your hand playfully over her hair as you passed. “That’s up to your father. It’s late, go get some sleep.”

Turning to approach Lord Stark’s room, you missed the feeling glance from the small Stark watching you leave. Something in her eyes that knew things which you couldn’t have guessed she was privy too, but just added to her growing admiration all the same.

As you guessed, the man was sitting at his desk writing away when he called for you to enter. Shutting it gently behind you with a polite, “Lord Stark.”

Chuckling, his hand paused before shaking his head slightly and continuing. “You’re allowed to call me my name, you know. I think marrying my son gives you the right to at drop the titles in private.”

Nodding once as you approached, “I’ll try to remember that.” He knew you wouldn’t.

When you hesitated, he looked up at you with a questioning look. “What is it?”

You stood unsure for another moment before quickly moving to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk, pulling out the letter. “I heard from Robb.” Lord Stark- Ned, leaned forward curiously. “Nothing new, just updating me about Bran, how he’s fairing as Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’m assuming you’re not just here to make small talk.”

Well it certainly wasn’t your skill that was true. Inhaling a slow breathe, you looked straight at him to just ask what you needed to confirm. “Lady Catelyn was here, wasn’t she?” His brows narrowed deeply as he reached a hand out, taking the letter from you.

Skimming over, he smiled amusingly as he reached the end. “You two talk in code often?”

You failed to prevent the smirk on your lips before you had noticed it was even forming. “Only when we’re talking about things we’re not supposed to.”

“And how often is that, exactly?”

You only shrugged. You, Robb, Jon, and later Theon, would get into trouble a lot when you were younger. But when you would leave, you and Robb figured out a way to talk about things that would certainly get you punished if your father ever found out. So you started writing in almost childish imagery. Hence the end of his letter, saying to ask his father about “some stray kitten I saw running around the halls the other day.”

Folding the letter, he handed it back to you. “Clever. But he’s right. I shouldn’t keep this from you, and Robb clearly doesn’t want me too.” Leaning back he pulled something from his desk, what looked like a blade with a rich ornate handle to it. Placing it on the desk you leaned forward to look closer as he explained. “A man came into Brans room some night after we had all left Winterfell. Told Cat no one was supposed to be there, that it was a kindness.”

The bite in his tone was angry and spiteful even if his face remained steadfast. Like he was lost in thought, he seemed to trail off in his head before coming back. Telling you of the man trying to kill him, how he had almost killed Lady Catelyn in the process, and the direwolf which ripped the assassins throat out. “Bran’s wolf had saved his life..”

Leaning forward you felt a horror bubble up inside of you, Bran was a boy of ten who would do such a thing? Voice weaker, cracking a bit at the look of almost shame or guilt in his eyes forming. “Lord Stark?”

Head shooting up to look at you, like those words, that specific title speaking of the wolves clicked something in his head that he didn’t know how to feel. “The direwolves, when we found them in the woods…Jon had said something. That my children were meant to have them..”

Jon hadn’t included himself. There were five pups, two girls and three boys and Jon had purposely not counted himself as one of Lord Stark’s children in order to prove they were meant to go to them. He had found Ghost off to the side all on his own, so quiet Jon wasn’t even sure how he had heard Ghost’s tiny cry when not a soul other had.

Lord Stark still lost in his thought, “If the Gods sent those wolves…I killed Sansa’s..” Just as fast as he lost himself in a spiral, he took back the reigns and pulled right back out of it. “Everything adds up but I don’t know to why. Lysa telling her that the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn, Jaime Lannister being the only man who didn’t join the hunt the day Bran fell and strands of blonde hair in the tower when I could tell you for a fact no one had been in there for a very long time.”

He tapped his fingers at the blade and you felt a weight in your throat trying to fight against the words. “The blade?”

Lord Stark laughed meaninglessly. “The blade belongs to Tyrion Lannister.”

For all that you knew him, and for as different as he seemed, you couldn’t find it in your heart to see such traits past the blood of who he was and who his family was. “How do you know?”

The answer, you liked even less. Lost in a bet to the Lannister during a tourney, the previous owner knew who it now belonged to without any doubt, beacuse it’s previous owner was Petyr Baelish.

You were finding it increasingly hard to figure out who you didn’t like more in this city. Luckily for Tyrion Lannister he in fact, wasn’t in the city so he found your newfound anger towards him unobtrusive. Not as lucky for you, sitting at the small council you found too many men in the room you didn’t trust as far as you could throw.

Lord Varys avoided much interaction with you has he did your father, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fully aware of every step you had taken in this city and no doubt others. You dared not think about how much he really knew, not that it mattered much now, but you didn’t appreciate the concept of lording information over another head to make them dance.

Lord Baelish was as trustworthy as he was kind, meaning none. A self serving worm who had no care for anything or one that didn’t give him either money or power. Though, you did consider him to be the less offensive to look at only if in comparison to the bloated faced man standing before the council.

Lord Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch was nothing short of an insult to the eyes. Patchy facial hair that didn’t quite sit well over the slight pudginess of his face that wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t also always plastered with a high and mighty look as if he knows better. Standing before you, speaking of his struggle to keep the peace in the streets.

His voice covered itself in slime. “It’s the Hand’s tournament that’s causing all the trouble, my lords.”

An exhaustion sat in Lord Starks shoulders, his tone annoyed as his posture to the idea. “The King’s tournament. I assure you the Hand wants no part in it.”

Your father didn’t care for Lord Stark personally, but at least they would agree at such a waste of expenses. Being Master, or in your case, acting Master of Ships didn’t mean you were not painfully aware of how much spending your assets should be restricted of just to amuse the growing relentlessness of the King.

Slynt continued. “Call it what you will Lord Stark, the city is packed with people and more flooding in everyday. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings, and a drunken horse race down the Streets of Sisters.”

Your eyes narrowed, voice loud and yet even with little emotion behind it. It unnerved many how similar you were to the unwelcoming and bluntness of your lord Father. “Discipline should lie with the capabilities of a commander. If you cannot keep the King’s peace during something as innocuous as a tourney, perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone whose ability we can rely on.”

Oh the fire in his eyes as he glared at you, spit coming from his mouth as it did his worse. His chest and cheeks puffing like a frog. “I need more men.”

Lord Stark had the final decision however, and you would never dare go against or even speak up against it. Such a thing was not your place, nor would you let it be. “You’ll get fifty, Lord Baelish will see it paid for.” Your own harsh gaze, bordering on a glare peeling over to the Master of Coin seemingly surprised by the notion. Lord Stark’s order firmer then ever. “You found money for a champions purse, you can find money to keep the peace.” Turning to Slynt, “I’ll also give you twenty if my household guard until the crowds have left.”

Giving more men to the one who didn’t know how to command them with fairness was not quite how you felt about such actions, regardless of how the rest of the council didn’t agree. Was it too harsh of a stance, or was it a firm position influenced by what you already knew was incompetence. Janos Slynt was not someone trustworthy, but as long as he got paid he would do the bare minimum.

You and Lord Stark sharing a glance as he relaxed somewhat. “The sooner this is over the better.”

Lord Varys leaning forward, tone as even and light with hope as he could paint it. “The realm prospers from such events, my Lord. They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.”

Legs crossing over the other you sat back in your seat. “It’s not glory those men need more of, Lord Varys I can assure you. They have quite enough of that to go around.”

Lord Baelish leaning far too close to make eye contact with a sly grin. “And yet it puts coins in many a pocket, my Lady. Glory has filled every Inn throughout the city, and the whores are walking bow legged with every step.”

Grin growing more detestable as you looked from him with an uncomfortable glare. Your dear Uncle did not help the matter as he spoke up, a laugh in his lungs doing so. “We’re fortunate my brother Stannis is not with us. Remember when he proposed to outlaw brothels? Robert had asked if he’d like to outlaw eating, drinking, and shitting while he was at it.”

The force to not roll your eyes tested your every power of will. Every sense of faith in a man like your father that they assumed he had suggested or done so on Dragonstone for the superficial. Many Lords in the capital were keen on keeping your father at an arms length and you couldn’t help but speculate how much was truly just his personality, and what was fear deep down.

Afterall, he had two living children, and four which had passed before they could become your brothers. Clearly it wasn’t sex itself that was what he disliked about the premises.

Lord Stark looked to you instead of bothering to even entertain this discussion, calling your name. “You haven’t heard from Lord Stannis have you? He has not formally passed is place on the council to you, I’d have to guess he intends to return from his visit at some point?”

Neither of you said it to the current company, but Lord Stark didn’t quite appreciate the treatment of his new daughter by marriage. Sending you off to be wed out of nowhere, not accompanying or letting your mother or sister come to see you married, and then dragging you away from his son after one night to act on the council in his unexplained absence.

It was unfair to you and Robb, and it also sat rather suspiciously that you had been kept so terribly in the dark with this, and whatever your father had been investigating with Lord Arryn.

Lord Baelish’s tone was as mocking as ever, looking right at you. “No doubt he’ll return as soon as we’ve scourged all those whores into the sea.” You could hear Renly laugh somewhere to your left.

Standing abruptly, you smoothed down your skirt and nodded stiffly. “Until tomorrow, my lords.” As you stepped away you muttered uncaring if you were heard or ignored. “I’ve heard quite enough about my father and whores for one day.”

Renly’s laughter bothered you the whole way out of the small council chamber. You and Lord Stark had business to inquire of Grand Maester Pycelles but you found yourself perfectly content with waiting out of ear from mocking of your lord father for one day.

Words from the night before long since burned in the light of one of your rooms candles, in your pocket now sat one of you own writing and a new one sent to you. A raven from Dragonstone had surprised you only as long as it took to see the neatness of the letters.

Shireen was outraged that she missed your wedding. Had asked a million questions, what did you wear, who attended, did Winterfell have a nicer sept then they? That one you were going to have to explain another time that in your new life, you found more peace in the way the Starks followed that of the old gods. More questions of what is the capitol like with the new hand, was Robb as handsome as she was picturing. A question which even in the privacy of your own room, made you fluster a bit.

Only your dear sister could have you ready to spill about a man your married too, in ways like you were still a girl her age with a petty crush. Her letters always long, and always excited to hear what her well travelled big sister was doing regardless of how little you ever wanted to tell the truth of it anymore.

She was just a child, a rather innocent one at that. You wondered what father told her of the reason behind his sudden return home. Thinking to the two girls you returned to the city with, they too, were too young to have to be around this den of masks and liars. At least Arya’s needle was a bit more of protection then that of Sansa’s naivety.

Grand Maester Pycelle’s office was unbearably stuffy. The scents, the thick air and the mixture of whatever liquids sat both around the surfaces and tucked away into cupboards did not make the heat of summer any easier.

His frail voice seeming having gone on for far too long, “The smallfolk say the last year of summer if always the hottest. It is not often so, but it can feel that way does it not? On days like this, I envy you northerners and your southern snows.”

Both you and Lord Stark standing by his desk, it felt as if he was ready to dismiss before why an audience was requested in the first place. “I’ve been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn.”

To his credit, the Grand Maester had the patience to look surprised by the subject but not suspiciously so. “Lord Arryn? His death was a great sadness to us all. I took personal charge of his care, but I could not save him.”

Eyes narrowing slightly with a tilt of your head, you considered back to your own insights. “Did he seem sickly to you before the fever hit him? He hasn’t seemed like himself for some time but it never struck me like a physical ailment.”

Considering the idea, the Grand Maester himself looked a tad shamed. You doubted there wasn’t much he could do, and yet you could see similar feelings of confused failure in like your own once Maester Cressen. “His sickness truck him very hard, and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Arryn often came to me for counsel.”

Lord Stark bluntly asking, “Why?”

Your insides rolled over at how indigent and offended the man instantly became at Lord Stark’s mere question. Nothing but worry over pride and image for such people. “I have been Grand Maester for many years. Kings and Hands have come to me for advice since-”

Voice raising enough to speak over him, you cut his tongue back down with the sharpness of your own tone. “Why did Lord Arryn seek you out, the night before he died? What did he want?”

The answer, only brought more questions.

Bringing you and Lord Stark closer in his office to a shelf, many large tomes sat across them as he shakily dragged one onto his desk. Landing it down in front of Lord Stark with a thud. “The lineages and histories of the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms. With descriptions of many high lords, noble ladies, and their children.”

Watching Lord Stark pull off the metal clasp and tossing it down, the book was loose and not well made but the pages inside were vast on thick paper filled to the brim with words in many styles of writing in many degrees of faded letters. Flipping through multiple pages until he landed on one at random, Lord Stark begun reading out one of the passages.

“…blue of eye, brown of hair, and fair complected. Died in his fourteenth year of a wound sustained in a bear hunt.”

Head tilting as he sat back down, “As I said my Lord, a ponderous read.”

“Did Jon Arryn tell you what he wanted with it?”

A slight shake no, of his head. “He did not, my Lord. And I did not presume to ask.”

Skimming the pages, you barley glanced at them before looking up to meet the Grand Maesters eyes but did not find him hiding much behind them. Nothing pertaining to the conversation at least as Lord Stark continued his inquiry. “Jon’s death, did he say anything to you during his final hours.”

Instinctively he denied, “Nothing of import, my Lord.” before pausing his hand raised as if to collect his thoughts within them from his older mind. “There was one phrase he kept repeating. The Seed is Strong, I think it was.”

Your eyes narrowed, “The seed is strong? What does that mean?”

No curiosity in his eyes, “The dying mind is a demented mind, Lady Stark.”

Whatever he said right after, was missed in the brief second of childish notions, much like what Shireen always tried to dish from you. Some familiar just called you by your name, others stuck to the simple My Lady, others such as Ser Jaime Lannister only switched between names in mocking as if there was something usual about a highborn lady taking on the House of their husband.

But hearing Lady Stark so casually, shouldn’t have clicked such a second of girlish glee as it had. You pulled yourself together though, hoping neither noticed your stammer of formality. Lord Stark beside you continuing, “And you’re quite certain he died of a natural illness?”

Grand Maester Pycelle seemed taken back, alleviating guilt at how quick his confusion at such a suggestion was at least ticked a name off your list. “What else could it be?”

Lord Stark seemed like he however, knew what his answer was. “Poison.”

Unwilling to think of such a crime, he shook his head in denial. “A disturbing thought…I don’t think it likely. The Hand was loved by all, what sort of man would dare-”

Your eyes and Lord Stark’s flickered to the other for just a moment, your voice without accusing if only in pure read of your words. “I’ve heard it said poison is a woman’s weapon.”

“Yes. Women, cravens…and eunuchs. Did you know Lord Varys is a eunuch?”

The spinning of mistrust once more, not the game neither you nor Lord Stark cared to get involved with now or ever. Enough was on your plate as it was. There was no conceivable thought of what Lord Varys would gain from murdering Lord Arryn in your mind. Then again, Lysa had named the Lannisters and yet you too had no idea what would be gained by that either.

Nor what trying twice to murder an innocent ten year old boy wold gain. But the signs all pointed to the golden lions.

Finding Arya near the top of the steps balancing on one foot, you smiled. Taking the tome from Lord Stark to his office for him so he could inquire what her dancing teacher had her practising now. Earlier he had commented to you that it felt like everyday Arya came back with new bruises or scratches with a worried furrow in his brow.

You simply had held back a smirk, “If I recall that’s exactly how everyone found out I was learning to sword fight when I was her age.”

Lord Stark had laughed much easier, running a hand over his stubble. “It took us that long to find out because you and Jon would sneak out at night so neither of you would get in trouble.” The first few lessons did have a lot of Jon hitting you harder each time until you got fed up and learned to block properly. “You should be thankful it was me who caught you and not Cat.”

You were twelve at the time, Jon fourteen and even all those years ago still far stronger then you. You couldn’t have imagined how much trouble he would’ve gotten in were it now your own father who caught you two one night.

Sitting now at Lord Stark’s desk, you had been mindlessly flipping through the book. Pausing at random pages before coming across the current accounts of Baratheons. The King first, and his children, then your lord father and his. Including all four which never made it, and a sickening description of Shireen as “disfigured” from her greyscale.

Renly when he thought neither or your father in ear had often referred to Shireen as “that ugly daughter of his” and you hated it. She would’ve been far worse had your father listened to the other Lords. Send her off to old Valyria to be of the stonemen before she infected the whole of Dragonstone.

Dancing over her name with your tapping finger, you told yourself not to. Biting your tongue before your weakness overtook and flipped to the pages of the current Starks. Glancing down to Lord Eddard Stark, then that of Robb did you pause. Shireen asking if he was handsome and certainly the drollness of a Maesters documents did nothing to answer that.

But your eyes skipped down. Looking to the description of Eyes of Grey, black of hair and the beginnings of the letter ‘S’ coming into sight did you slam the book shut with an angry huff. Your best friend for so long, and now his memory tainted with feelings which you both were forced to tear away from.

You’d love to just think of Jon the way you could Theon. Fond memories that weren’t anything more, and none which made the flutter in your stomach getting used to your new husband feel shameful. Hearing Lord Stark’s footsteps you stood up from his seat, leaning against the wall to the side with your arms crossed your chest.

Closing the door behind him, “Do you know a Ser Hugh of the Vale?” Head jolting back you found nothing with such a title and name until Lord Stark elaborated. “He was Jon Arryns squire.” Your lips parting in recognition you turned to look back at him confused. “He was knighted after his murder.”

“Knighted for what?”

Tilting his head he almost smiled. “That’s what you’re going to find out.”

Ser Hugh as it turned out, was exactly the kind of glory seeker you knew didn’t need more cheers and gold bolstering his ego. Down in the open field where they set up the tourney, you recognized him at least while he was in much more average attire. Still nicer then what you recalled he wore as a squire.

“Ser Hugh?”

Your footsteps towards him quick and long, your voice not shouting and yet projecting enough to startle those around as the man turned annoyed towards you. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

Busy taking steps, yes a task needing great concentration to a man of his calibre. Your eyes narrowed in the bright sun making you look far less tolerant of such an attitude. Renly once had said that between the flowing dresses, the light fabric of an equally as long cardigan with hair that looked far nicer unrestricted by whatever styles these girls in the capital pretended were fashionable, you might actually attract a suitor once in a while were it not for you being a perfect copy of your father’s morose and drab glare.

“I’m here on behalf of Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King-”

Not giving you a second chance, he waved you off. “Well run along and tell your master if the Hand wishes to speak to me, he should come himself. Knights don’t have time for a servant girls questions.”

Turning and stepping along the path you resisted the urge to see his head smash into the wooden railing he walked beside. There was no point in arguing, he seemed unlikely to be honest if he did answer any questions, and you and Lord Stark had a much more promising visit far down in the streets of the city.

“He said he’d only be willing to talk to the hand himself. A knight such as him.”

You and Lord Stark glancing at the other with a vapid smirk, of course how could you have been such a fool to dare ask anything of a well seasoned warrior such as Ser Hugh of the Vale. Intrepid Knight of Half a Day.

“Ah, a knight. They strut around like roosters down here. Even the one who’ve never seen an arrow coming their way.” The armoury Lord Baelish had directed you towards approached quickly. Sounds of yelling and barters all around and children play fighting in every direction.

Many eyes looked towards the pair riding down the path. Either such a sight was unusual to them, or perhaps all too similar. The Lord Hand and Master of Ships travelling down the poor city streets looking in the same places for the same people, only months after the last pair did the same to no known success.

“We should be careful out here alone, my Lord. There’s no telling which eyes belong to who.” Glancing at him, he seemed unaffected by the idea. Climbing off your horse as he did too, you both steeled in a natural air of cold confidence. Working beside Lord Stark for you was easy, you couldn’t however imagine such an easy pairing in Lord Arryn and your own father.

“Let them look.”

Tobho Mott greeted you both with upmost respect, seemed to be much more relaxed with your presence then he did mention of your lord father. Lord Stark beside you prompting the conversation moreso. “What did Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis want?”

“They came to see the boy.”

Lord Stark saying he’d like to see him as well, Tobho nodded and turned into the forge where the consistent smashing of metals stopped banging. “Gendry,”

Easy to see from his demeanour, it was clear he was likely either incredibly lowborn, or even a slave must to your dismay. He didn’t look at either you or Lord Stark in the eye, standing straight and respectable, but did not think he had the right to make eye contact.

You stood still, trying to see what it is that would be on any interest to the lords before. Not just that, what was seen which scared your father back to Dragonstone, and Lord Arryn into the grave? The three men went back and forth for a while over the ornate bulls helmet which he had made himself, easing the pair into the inquiry.

His voice didn’t give much away, but a tint of attitude which wasn’t unfamiliar. Taller then, you, his hair was dark to the point of a deep brown and by your guess would be a a little younger then you. Lord Stark changed subject, “When Lord Arryn came to visit you what did you talk about?”

Not looking still, your eyes narrowed as something pricked at your skin. “Just as me questions is all, milord.” Next asked if your father had ever questioned him, was a rare moment that made you break a smirk and eyes lit up with an amusement not often seen of you in Kings Landing. “No, he never said a word. Just glared at me like I was some raper who done for his daughter.”

Mott turning and raising his voice. “Watch your tongue boy. This is Lord Stannis’s own daughter you’re speaking too.” Turning to you with sincere apology in his eyes you couldn’t seem to look away from Gendry. He apologized, but you only found yourself looking at him with a more scrupulous gaze.

You tried, but whatever pricked at your skin settled over every corner of it until you wanted to twitch with unease. Lord Stark spoke for you, sensing that you were seeing something close to what he was slowly putting together. “What kind of questions did Lord Arryn ask?”

“About my work at first. If I was being treated well, if I liked it here. But then he started asking me questions about my mother.”

You spoke up before you could stop yourself. “Your mother?” Gendry specifying he meant just who she was and what she looked like, you continued to speak first unable to keep the intensity away out of your gaze on him. “What did you tell him?”

“She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, she’d sing to me sometimes.”

You couldn’t say why it clicked, but it did. Stepping forward you were sharper with him then you may have intended, “Look at me.”

Meeting your eyes, you felt that sensation shiver through your body like you had just been tossed in a river. There was no denying what it was you were seeing. Had you not known better, you could’ve mistaken Gendry for your own brother. The green eyes wide and bright, hair so dark and thick, the strength in resemblance of his facial structure and all linking back to why the snark of attitude pinged at you.

Almost in shock you leaned back, glancing to Lord Stark who briefly flickered to meet your eyes with an unsettled understanding of what you were seeing. You didn’t like what you were feeling in any way. Lord Stark handed him back the bull helmet, “Get back to work, lad.”

Diligently, he left further into the forge and the hammering started once again as Lord Stark spoke quietly to Mott. “If a day ever comes that boy would rather wield a sword then forge one, you send him to me.”

Coming up to Renly’s quarters, your head was in a spin and something told you to go anywhere that wasn’t where all your questions had laid. Knocking on his door, you almost jumped back in surprise by the one who actually answered.

Taller then you with a darkish dirty blonde hair rung up into curls that most girls you know envied with passion, Ser Loras also stood before you shirtless in a manner you amusingly knew a certain young redheaded Stark would’ve had her cheeks turn just as red at the sight off. Luckily for you, the shock on his face and the smirk on yours already knew the story better.

Walking in as you brushed past him, you raised your eyebrows at your Uncle now rushing to cover his own chest as if you were stupid enough not to know. “My Lady, apologies we were just-”

Turning to Loras beside you, you smirked wider with a playful squint in your eye. “Ser Loras, a word of advice. If you wish your private affairs to remain private, maybe don’t answer my Uncle’s door when you’re both still shirtless and this one’s still in bed.” You nodded over to the annoyed Renly.

Loras couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or horrified, but left as soon as he could be considered half way presentable. Door closing behind him, you walked in further, leaning against Renly’s desk. “I know discretion isn’t your strong suit Renly, but maybe if he’s trying to keep it a secret at least pretend you two aren’t locked up in bed half the time.”

Rolling his eyes, he reached passed out to pour himself wine. “Aren’t you missing your tournament?”

Shaking your head at his offer of a glass to you, “Oh am I Hand of the King, now?”

Glaring, he rested beside you against the desk as he sipped. “Spending enough time with him, it’s easy to mistaken I suppose. Much like my dear brother seemed.” Glancing beside you, you said nothing as he continued with mocking joy. “Jon and Stannis spend an increasing amount of time together only to stop when one of them dies and the other runs away out of reach. Only difference is the Hand this time is a wolf, but the Stag stays the same. Or are you a wolf now too?”

Pushing off smug with himself, you crossed your arms. “I married into a house of wolves, my name is theirs now, I suppose yes dear Uncle I am a wolf now if such a distinction matters.” Titling your head you were far less amused now and much more openly accusatory. “Does that make you a rose, or just a stag stupid enough to let roses tie themselves around him?”

He glared at you, “My relationship-”

“I’m not talking about Loras. Not for that. I’m talking about the less time you spend doing your duty the more I seem to find you spending time whispering with the Tyrells.” The guilt on his face grew tenfold as you slammed more to the open air. “You didn’t hide very well what your plan for his sister was, Margaery was it?”

Oh you hit a wound. Renly face twisting into a snarl unbecoming of someone like him. “Plan?”

Crossing your arms you didn’t move an inch but your eyes trained on his with scrutiny. “What was it my father said you planned, trying to make dear Margaery, Robert’s whore?” He paled but you didn’t let him blabber. “Everyone in the seven kingdoms knows he’s got enough of those, so I have to ask why exactly try to send the pretty girl from Highgarden into the bed of our well rode, drunken King, and then you yourself having the same ride by her own brother?”

He shrugged, but did not do well at hiding his anxiety. “You and Stannis are missing out, Tyrells are quite interesting in bed.”

You raised your eyebrows. “So are wolves, I’ve found.”

“Did you come here for this or what?”

Pushing up you walked more to the middle of the room. “No, actually I came here to ask if you’re going to the tournament tomorrow.”

Renly’s eyes flickered side to side, “Most likely. Why?”

You shrugged, losing all pretense of suspicion for now. “Just wondering if I’ll have someone to talk to who doesn’t make me want to tear into my palms.” Renly laughed, telling you this was the wrong place for that.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, for a brief moment he looked actually concerned. “I know I joke about it, but the capital doesn’t suit you does it?” He smiled when you shook your head no. “You know every time you came back from Winterfell you looked miserable. You hated coming back here and each time you come back a little more fed up then the time before.”

You said nothing as you looked blankly at him. There was nothing to deny, coming back here was always the worst and it never stopped being the worst until you were back with the Starks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to your wedding.”

You shrugged. Not the answer or even emotion he expected, but you were just looking at him.

The wide bright eyes, the shape of his cheeks, jaw, the colours in those eyes and the darkness of the thick hair he was so bad at letting grow out just like your father. All you could think of was what in those looks scared your father out of the city.

What did he find in those looks that was so bad it got Lord Arryn killed. You and Lord Stark had many clues but no hints except for one glaring one. You had returned to the horses, nearby where Jory had been waiting.

When he asked if you two had found anything, you hadn’t been quite the same since realizing what Lord Stark had. All you could see when looking at Renly now, was what Lord Stark told Jory then.

Something that had no right being a clue to such a dark mystery and yet here you were, standing before water as murky then ever only this time it was your own kin that was being told as the dangers to look out for.

Gendry wasn’t just a tiny clue of no meaning, somewhere in Lord Arryn’s death was a page about finding King Robert’s bastard son.

[carlzy-berryz]

Neo 3 ^^

Ref sheet done, lol. This took forever ahhh!! Ik it's not the neatest, but it gets the job done XD.

I'll go into more detail under the cut.. (lore)

Everleigh used to live in Inkpolis Plaza but her family had to move to the Splatlands a couple years back, to take care of her grandma. Her life kinda changed from then XD. The treatment for her grandma was expensive and turf war just wasn't cutting it anymore... so her parents suggested Salmon Run (Everleigh had no idea what this was at the time) but she agreed, nonetheless, after all if it pays well it can't be that bad, right?

Well this is where she developed weird "attachment issues" to the salmonids, she thought they were cute (especially smallfry), and wondered why so many people wanted to take their eggs, they didn't deserve that... So she started slacking off, not getting quota on purpose, giving eggs to snatchers, not reviving teammates ect... nobody ever suspected her though..

How she met Waffle..

One day at the end of a shift, Everleigh noticed an injured Smallfry near the shore, struggling to move, she went to help him but she could hear the helicopter about to leave, so she put him in her bag and scrambled back. She looked after him for weeks and weeks, feeding him, giving him a place to sleep, going on morning runs all to get his strength back! It wasnt easy though, as she had to hide him from everbody, she even took him to work (while bribing him with food as a reward, lol) he just stayed in her bag the whole time!

Eventually he was back to his bubbly self and fully recovered which meant Everleigh had to return him to the sea... She had always intended this, but she had grown far too attached to him, she couldn't stomach the thought of a co-worker killing him.. so she decided to keep him and named him Waffle!

The day she became an agent...

As usual she was on her way to work with Waffle, she was about to walk up the stairs when she heard a voice, it was coming from a manhole, she looked over and a strange old man was signaling her to walk over, he disappeared down the manhole and they follow him...

*I'll spare you the whole story mode Alterna plot you already know what happens XD*

After defeating Mr Grizz she knew for a fact she couldn't work for him anymore. She told her parents that she wanted to quit but they wouldn't let her, they said it was too much money to give up, then they started guilt tripping her saying things like "you really don't want to help your grandma..?" This made her feel terrible and she reluctantly continued working for a few more weeks... until she just couldn't take it anymore, she stomped into grizzco, slammed her things on the desk and shouted "I quit!" and she never set foot in there again. She traded the gold scales she'd earned over the years to a random octoling for money, (she sure wouldn't need those anymore) and managed to pay for her grandma's treatments! She now lives with her grandma and Waffle in a small apartment and works full time as an agent, getting paid now by the captain! She rarely speaks to her parents and will leave the apartment when they visit.

Side effects of becoming an agent..

.She doesn't have much time to do things anymore as she's always busy doing missions

.Her hair now looks a little fluffy, this is due to all the fuzzy ooze she fell in..

.She kinda developed ptsd from fighting her way through the missions.

.Feels like she can't meet Waffle's needs and doesn't want to overwork him.

These are just a few things, but she can't say she regrets anything, after all, it was her release from everything. She made new friends, defeated Grizz, participates in turf and anarchy again (with the other agents) and best of all she's happier now, that's what really matters!

That's about it really, sorry for the long story, 😭 I just wanted to get it out there since she didn't have much character development before, so if you made it here,thank you so much for reading the whole thing, I appreciate you!! ^^ I apologise if it didn't really make sense...

Here's a close up of Waffle as a reward XP

🫶

[surrogate-fawn]

The Purple Butterfly

((Drabble/Short story based on the backstory of a rp with @mittysins of Fawn's second surrogacy.))

{This drabble is Part 3 in a series of drabbles based on the story Mitty and I co-authored. This story will not make sense without reading the ones that come before it.}

[ Part 1 - The First Goodbye ]

[ Part 2 - Quartz and Sea Glass ]

[ Part 3 - Here! ]

Author's Note: A real-world initiative is mentioned in this story called The Purple Butterfly Project.

TW: Miscarriage, infertility, mentions of cancer, mentions of past abuse, pregnancy complications, past stillbirth/infant loss, grief and heavy emotional trauma.

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

Living with the Tariqs, I got to experience what it was like to be around a baby after it was born -- and every pounding headache that came with it. 

Suri was a little spitfire as soon as she hit the atmosphere, and if she was unhappy the whole house would know it. The farmhouse wasn't all that big, and the guest room where I slept ended up sharing a wall with the nursery. So, you can bet I got woken up each time her parents did. 

Those first couple nights, I would lay there in bed until Ray or Tess could stumble their way down the hall and quiet things down. Yeah, I wasn't very useful. I didn't have much of a choice, though. It was a miracle I could walk myself to the bathroom with how sore I was after Suri squirmed her way out of me. 

It wasn't just soreness from the waist-down, either. 

Being around a constantly crying newborn had an . . . unexpected effect on my body. After the birth of my son, aside from a little bit of colostrum, I had never produced breastmilk. I guess hearing Suri cry to be fed every few hours triggered something, because I suddenly had a full milk supply with nowhere to go. 

Luckily, the Tariqs had a home remedy for everything. A couple of wet washcloths over upturned bowls in the freezer made some conveniently-shaped ice packs. Without those puppies, it felt like my breasts were filled with molten lead. So, my hands were occupied most of the day. 

I felt guilty, watching either Ray or Tess get up from the couch to tend to their daughter while I was able to sit there with my hands on my boobs and continue watching TV.  

I wasn't Suri's parent, but the fact I was the one who got her there made me feel like I had to help out. 

Once I started to recover, that's exactly what I did. On a night when Suri refused to stop crying, I got up and poked my head through the cracked nursery door. 

Tess was there, looking exhausted and defeated as she held Suri on her shoulder. That baby had been screaming in her ear for at least half an hour. She jumped when she turned and saw me in the doorway. 

"Hi, Tess," I said with a sympathetic smile. 

"Hey, doll," Tess sighed, continuing to bounce Suri up and down while she paced the room. She spoke a little louder than she needed to, likely 'cause she couldn't hear herself think. "I'm sorry she woke 'ya. I got no idea what 'ta do." 

She sounded like she'd given up. This was how she was spending her night, and she'd resigned herself to it. 

I thought about waking Ray, but his paternity leave ended in the morning. He had to be up in a few hours for his civil engineering job. Even with what little I knew about salary work, I knew eight weeks of unpaid leave for a brand-new baby was bullshit. Ray would've taken the full twelve weeks, but the city was jumping down his throat about finishing the blueprints for an overpass project on-time. Tess was about to be left alone with a two-month-old for the sake of ten fewer minutes of traffic. That wasn't fair. 

"Tess, lemmie take her for a while," I said, walking into the room. "You need a break." 

"It's fine," Tess insisted. "She'll calm down . . . eventually." 

I held out my arms. "Tess. Give 'er." 

The purple bags under Tess's eyes made her look twice her age, and her pale yellow hair was a rat's nest hanging down her back. She was at her wit's end. "Okay." 

Suri weighed almost nothing as I settled her against my shoulder. It still amazed me how small babies were. They seemed so much smaller when you actually got to hold them. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked Suri. My ear started to ring as she wailed into it, her cries high-pitched and distressed. I started patting her back like I'd seen her parents do. "What's wrong, baby girl? What's got you so upset?" 

Tess collapsed into the glider in the corner of the nursery, her hands rubbing circles into her temples. "I've changed her. I've fed her. I've prayed over her. I've got no idea what my own baby needs!" 

"Well, I've got no idea, either," I shrugged, my toes digging into the soft sherpa rug by the crib. I continued patting Suri's back. Her feet were pressing against my chest, as if she were trying to pull herself upright. 

"But I'm supposed 'ta know!" Tess whimpered. She ran her fingers through the knots in her hair. "I'm her mama! Mamas are supposed 'ta know what 'ta do, but I can't even calm her down!" 

"You're not a bad mama, Tess," I said, offering her a smile -- despite the continued screaming in my ear. "Trust me, I know what a-." 

The screaming was cut short with a small 'gurk', and I froze when a wet glob of spit-up slithered down my back. 

". . . think I figured it out . . ." I said, my smile now pinched.  

Suri grumbled, and I carefully held her out in front of me. Her face was still red, but her expression was pure baby bliss -- milky spittle on her chin and all. 

"Did you have a tummy ache, baby girl?" I asked. "Is that what was wrong?" 

Tess shot up from the glider, sending it bumping into the wall. "Oh, Fawn, I am so sorry!" she said, taking her daughter out of my hands. She took the burp cloth off her shoulder, as if suddenly remembering it was there, and handed it to me. "Here, clean 'yaself up." 

"S'alright," I chuckled, cringing as I wiped up the gobby mess. "I've got other shirts. At least I got her to stop crying." 

Tess looked down at the baby in the crook of her arm, and then back up at me. "Wanna try a hand at gettin' her 'ta sleep?" 

Long story short, that's how I found my new job as the Tariq's live-in babysitter.  

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

I wasn't expecting to do surrogacy again, at least not for a long while. The Tariqs were paying me a decent wage for domestic work and were kind enough to not charge me rent -- so long as I was saving a certain amount of the money each week. The last post I ever made on the surrogate agency's forums was an announcement celebrating Suri's successful home birth. After that, I let my profile go dark.

Not only did hiring me allow the Tariqs to keep their promise of helping me on my feet, it also gave them an extra set of hands around the house while Ray was at work. Tess and I worked out a system where I would work on smaller tasks while she took care of the most pressing matters. If she was feeding Suri, I was cleaning the kitchen. If she was cooking dinner, I was changing a diaper. If she had to do yardwork, I was keeping Suri entertained.  

I learned to prepare formula, wash bottles, change diapers, and play peek-a-boo like a pro in no time. 

Bath time was always a tag-team effort, though. Suri was a splasher, and her favorite bath toy was a rubber turtle called "Squirta Turta", so we usually ended up as soaked as she was. 

When Suri was being weaned off formula, we made homemade baby food with the vegetables in the garden. Turns out, placenta makes a great fertilizer. I wondered if Mom had ever used it in her flower beds -- she'd had five of them to work with by the time all of us kids were born. I wished I could ask her. I wished I could ask her about a lot of things. I also wished Suri could eat her mashed squash without trying to wear the bowl as a hat, but I didn't get that wish, either. 

This was my life for two wonderfully chaos-filled years, and I was mostly content with it.

Mostly.

I wanted to go to college. That was always my plan for after high school, but . . . plans had obviously changed. My grades hadn't been anything to brag about, so I knew from the start I'd have to pay my own way through. I had two years' worth of savings, but I didn't want to dip into it, yet. That money was meant to be the down payment on a house someday. What would be the point of spending all my money on school if I'd be right back to square one afterward? That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to get my degree and start my life over -- I'd been waiting long enough.

After sitting down with Ray and breaking down the costs of school, I realized I barely had enough to pay for one term. There were some small scholarships I could apply for here and there, but I wasn't about to rely on winning them. There were hundreds of smarter students out there vying for the same pile of money. What chance did I have?

I mulled it over for several days without saying a word to anyone, but eventually I made up my mind. When I did, Tess was the first person I told:

"I'm gonna get pregnant again."

I announced it out of the blue as I was helping Tess with the after-dinner dishes. She was at the kitchen sink, washing. I was at the counter, drying.

The steel wool in her hand scraped to a halt. "Pardon?"

I hunched my shoulders a bit as I toweled off a plate. "I'm gonna find another couple that needs to 'rent a room'. It'll be able to pay for my degree. In full. All four years."

Tess continued washing, but she didn't acknowledge what I'd said at all.

"So . . . what do you think?" I prodded, setting stacks of dishes in the cabinet.

Tess grimaced into the soapy water, concentrating way too much on the pan she was scrubbing. "Shug, I dunno," she said. "Do 'ya really wanna do that 'ta 'yaself so soon?"

"Whatd'ya mean 'so soon'?" I scoffed. "Suri's up toddling around the house. Isn't that when most moms get pregnant again?"

"'Ya ain't a mom, yet, Fawn," Tess said, her tone lovingly blunt -- the tone that can only be learned by disciplining a toddler.

I flinched a little, but I crossed my arms over my chest to hide it. All she'd done was state a fact, but it still bit.

"I'd like to be," I mumbled. I gazed out the kitchen window and saw Ray out in the backyard with Suri. He was blowing bubbles, and she was reaching up to grab them with high-pitched screams of laughter. She chased them as they swooped lower to the ground, and then stomped on them with her tiny flip-flops when they touched the grass. "Someday."

"I know, doll. That's why I'm concerned." Tess set the pan on the drying rack. "Pregnancies are risky. Wouldn't 'ya rather have as few of 'em as possible?"

"I've had two and they went just fine," I said with a shrug. "I'm young, Tess! Isn't now the best time to use what I got? I can charge more, now that I've got experience. No student debt and money left over to save for a house! Trade nine months in exchange for the rest of my life? How could I pass that up?!"

Tess didn't say anything for a long time, she just dunked a chili pot in the dishwater and started scrubbing. I stood there in uncomfortable silence until she said:

"School can wait, 'ya know."

"No, it can't!" I protested.

"Ray and I can pay what 'ya need for classes when we start tryin' again," Tess said. "What on Earth's the point?"

"Point is," I huffed, leaning my hip against the counter, arms still crossed over my chest, "I'm almost twenty-four and I've got nothin' to show for it!"

"Fawn, 'ya gotta think about-."

"I'll still be able to help you guys out, Tess," I added. "Don't worry about that."

"It's not us I'm worryin' about," was her deadpan response.

It was frustrating as hell, but I wasn't too angry at her. I knew why she wasn't a fan of the idea.

The three of us had recently discussed growing their family in the future. The Tariqs wanted to wait until Suri was a little more independent before welcoming a second baby, so that plan was at least two more years out.

Following that conversation, we'd decided not to return to the surrogate agency we used the first time. The agency was helpful with the fine print and legal stuff, but the Tariqs had not been too thrilled to learn that a desperate, homeless, childless young woman had been allowed to become a surrogate of theirs.

"I can do it independently," I said, pleading my case. "I know how to be careful."

Tess turned to lock eyes with me. "Fawn . . . I just need 'ta know you're doin' it for the right reasons. I don't like the idea of 'ya going through all that for nothing but a stack'a cash."

"It's not just for money" I insisted. "I wouldn't go through it again for anyone, not even you guys, if I didn't find it meaningful."

Tess didn't seem any more at ease with my promises. "I just don't want 'ya health 'ta suffer. If 'ya do this, you're choosin' 'ta put 'ya body through a lot in such a short time."

I didn't argue. She was right. "I know."

Tess turned back to the sink, sighing while she rinsed out the pot. My toes curled inside my shoes.

"I want to help another couple while I still have the chance," I said, trying to justify my decision -- partially to myself. I could sense how strong Tess's disapproval was, and it was giving me serious second thoughts. "If I can't be a parent right now, I want to make it possible for other people to be parents. It makes the wait feel . . . less long."

Tess dried her hands on her long bohemian skirt and turned to gently hold my shoulders. "Doll, it's 'ya own choice. Ray and I can't stop 'ya from doin' whatever it is 'ya wanna do."

I nodded, my eyes cast down. I didn't need their permission, nor had I been asking for it, but some support would've been -- .

"Just know that we'll be here 'ta help 'ya," Tess continued. "Anything 'ya need, just ask. If you're gonna do this, I want 'ya as healthy and happy as possible."

I nodded again, this time with a smile on my face. "I'd appreciate that."

Tess wrapped me in a hug. "But please, shug," she added, patting my back, "don't put 'yaself through too much."

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

"Easy there, doll. I've got'cha."

Tess held my curls back as I wretched into a blue emesis bag. I'd started growing my hair out in the months it took for this surrogacy to be arranged. I hadn't been thinking ahead.

I'd thought I was in the clear after I had to have Tess pull over on the highway so I could vomit up breakfast, but the antiseptic smell of the hospital kicked up my nausea again. I'd made it through the halls, but by the time I'd sat on the exam table my stomach had enough.

I choked on thick saliva and spit a mouthful of colorless bile into the bag. "Okay . . . okay, I'm good now," I spluttered as I lifted my head. I cinched the bag and handed it to the technician without looking them in the eye. "Sorry."

"Don't be," the tech laughed, "morning sickness is par for the course in here. I'll be right back, just make yourself comfortable." They dragged the privacy curtain closed behind them as they left the room.

Tess wet a paper towel in the hand sink for me. My skin was clammy and cold even before I wiped the towel across my face -- so I wasn't left feeling any better. My hands had a tremor so deep inside the tendons it registered as numbness. I raked my front teeth over my tongue to scrape away the acidic taste.

I hadn't really needed that blood test. I'd known the IVF had worked when I woke up clinging for dear life against the Earth's rotation. My head hadn't stopped spinning since, and it was two damn weeks later. The doctor overseeing my IVF had sent me in for a six-week ultrasound -- which was earlier than I'd ever had one done before -- because my hormone levels were "suspiciously high" this time around. Whatever that meant.

I'd been pumped full of fertility drugs like a chicken with GMOs for a solid four months by that point. No shit my hormones were off the charts, especially now that I was pregnant.

"It's never been this bad," I groaned, coughing on the burn in my throat.

"Yeah, that's why the doctor wants 'ya in here," Tess said with a chuckle.

"I hate it," I scowled. "I want the old morning sickness back."

"Each time is different," Tess said. "I had it once or twice before, but when I was pregnant with Ravi it never really went away." Any time Tess mentioned her angel baby, a little bit of the light left her eyes -- and I saw it happen again right there in that ultrasound room.

Tess helped me pull off my jeans and tucked my discarded underwear inside the back pocket for me. I covered my hips with the paper blanket just before the tech came back into the room.

"Looks like we're ready to start!" they chirped, taking their seat between me and the rolling ultrasound cart.

"Hang on a sec," I said, pulling up the FaceTime app on my phone. "The parents really wanna see the first ultrasound."

"Ah," the tech said with an understanding nod, "is this a surrogate situation?"

"My second time," I said with a proud grin. I pointed at Tess, who was folding my pants over the back of a chair. "I carried her baby first. Most amazing thing I've ever done."

Tess beamed at me. She was smiling, but the shadows on her face were a bit deeper than normal.

"Really now!" The tech exclaimed, keeping their peppy tone as they typed my info into the computer. "It's rare I see surrogate mothers as young as you. Bless your heart!"

"She's a trooper, that's for damn sure," Tess said, "but, God love 'er, she's been so sick."

"I'm sure your care provider can prescribe something for that at your follow-up ," the tech told me. "It won't feel this bad for much longer, sweetheart."

"It's worth it, though," I said. My phone bubbled with the ringtone of an outgoing video call. "These guys will be amazing dads."

The tech smiled at me. "I have such respect for traditional surrogates. That's a lot of sacrifice."

"Oh, no," I corrected them with a small hand wave. "This isn't traditional. These are the bio parents."

I hadn't willy-nilly accepted the first eager couple I'd found online. I'd put half a year's worth of thought into carrying this pregnancy. The Tariqs always gave me my birthday off, and I'd spent that entire day talking to prospective parents. I wanted to prove to them that I was taking this seriously; if I was doing this just for the money, I wouldn't have cared whose baby I carried. I wanted to vet my options and choose a couple that I well and truly felt honored in helping -- and the Gillespies were exactly that.

My phone screen flashed with a mixture of bright pixels before the video came into focus. An odd pair of men sat beside each other in what appeared to be either a kitchen or a dining room -- perhaps it served as both, they lived in a small condo. One was a tall, tanned athlete with a dark stubbly beard and a sculpted figure rippling beneath his loose-fitting tank top. That was Silas. The other was a willowy, ramen-haired man with thick blue octagon frames on his glasses and the quote, "It's only a passing thing, this shadow" from The Two Towers tattooed on his forearm. That was Owen.

"Hey, guys!" I said, holding my phone up and giving them a wave.

There was a slightly-too-long pause due to lag, but both guys lit up with smiles and greeted me in unison. I saw the tech looking at the screen from the corner of my eye. I could see the math trying to play out in their head.

"You don't mind if we record this, right?" Silas asked. They must've been watching from a tablet, because he reached his finger under the camera and swiped a few times as if he were checking a separate app. As he lifted his arm, a crescent of silvery scar tissue became visible from under his shirt.

I saw the tech look back to their computer with a subtle nod of their head. God love 'em, they must've been too nervous to ask.

"Go ahead! It's a special occasion," I said. "I'm gonna hand you over to Tess. We're about to start."

"Yay, Tess!" Owen said with a clap of excitement. He waved as I passed my phone over. "Hi, Tess! Where's Ray?"

"Hi, boys," Tess said with a soft grin. She adjusted herself to be closer to my side. "Ray's workin' from home today so he can watch our 'lil darlin'."

Of course the Tariqs had wanted to meet my new clients. They said it was because they wanted to vouch for me as a caring and capable surrogate; but I think it was mostly to judge the couple for themselves. The Gillespies had both Tess and Ray's number as my emergency contacts, which came in handy when they needed help with some legal paperwork.

Silas and Owen were my age, both of them twenty-four. They'd poured all their savings into the process of hiring a surrogate and had none left over for a lawyer. At the Tariq's behest, all three of us had stayed up late on a call to talk the Gillespies through the steps of writing a surrogacy contract. Silas and Owen seemed to hold a lot of respect for the Tariqs after that.

While Tess had the camera on her, I reclined on the table and put my feet in the stirrups. The paper blanket gave plenty of privacy -- which was good, because I didn't want my clients to see the long plastic wand the tech was prepping while it was in there doin' its thing. I'd never had a transvaginal ultrasound before, but apparently it was the only way to get a view of the Gillespies' baby so early.

I couldn't help but tense as I felt the rounded tip of the wand slip inside me like butter, aided by the warm jelly I was used to having on my belly. I could feel the blood flooding my face as the curved device slid under my public bone and pressed against a part of my anatomy that hadn't been reached in years -- though not for lack of trying, I had short fingers.

"Relax a little more, please," the tech said.

"Sorry . . . not used to this."

Don't judge me. I was living with my employers. The idea of one of them finding an adult toy in my room -- or worse, their daughter finding it -- made me shrivel.

I felt a subtle buzz inside my tissues when the device turned on. I bit the inside of my cheek.

"Okay, let's have a look at that baby," the tech said as they began angling the wand.

Tess flipped the phone around so the dads could see the action. I saw Owen grip his husband's bicep and pull him closer. The room was silent for a moment while the technician moved the wand around my pelvis.

"Can we listen to the heartbeat?" Owen asked, hugging Silas's arm.

"Not yet," the tech said, eyes glued to the screen. "Their little heart is only a few cells big right now. It's too quiet to pick up, but we'll hear it in a few weeks."

Owen and Silas shared a grin. I could see their story written on their faces and in the way they looked at each other. They'd been dating since high school, the odd-ball pairing of bookworm and athlete. After graduation, a preemptive doctor's appointment before Silas started testosterone saved his life:

Cervical cancer, stage two. The doctors had no choice but to take everything, but Silas chose to freeze a few of his eggs before the surgery. He'd gotten into non-competitive bodybuilding to deal with the effects of chemo, and it'd been his favorite hobby since. Luckily, Silas had been cancer-free for years -- Owen had gotten his first and only tattoo in celebration.

Now that they were newlyweds, the Gillespies were choosing to start their family right away -- knowing the frozen eggs wouldn't last forever. We'd lost a lot of hope when most of the eggs didn't thaw right, meaning we only had one shot at this. The Gillespies were more than open to adoption, but . . . having a baby together was something they'd hoped for since before Silas's diagnosis.

I'd known I wanted to step up to the plate as soon as I heard their story. I was proud to be helping such a sweet pair of guys have their much-wanted family. When I saw the way they looked at each other in that moment -- the excitement and love of a dream finally coming true -- I secretly hoped doing this for them would grant me some sort of karmatic favor.

I hoped one day I'd share that same ecstatic smile with someone, for the same happy reason.

The tech hadn't said anything for a while. They kept moving the wand from side-to-side between my hips and squinting at the screen. They took several images, judging by how often they hit the same loud button on their keyboard. They hadn't even turned the screen around, yet. I couldn't wrap my head around the baby being so hard to find -- not with the ultrasound wand jammed so far up.

"Are they hiding from 'ya?" I asked with a joking lilt. Something was starting to sink inside my chest.

"No, I see them," the tech said. They squinted harder at the screen. "Just taking their picture for the doctor."

"That's a lot of pictures," Silas commented from my phone speaker.

"Well, I . . . just want to make sure," the tech said. Their keyboard clacked as they took another image.

It felt like I'd swallowed lead. "Sure of what?"

The tech finally tilted the screen so the rest of the room could see it. In the grey-and-white fuzz on the monitor, a round dark void was highlighted in a bright yellow square. Resting in the void was a blurry white bean with a small flutter in the curve of its shape.

"So, here's the gestational sac," the tech said, outlining the yellow square with their cursor. They circled the cursor over the fluttering movement. "That's baby's nice strong heartbeat right there." 

"Silas, oh my god!" I heard Owen cry. "Look! We made that!"

The tech turned the wand slightly and the image on the screen rolled to the left. The same black void and white bean slid into view, except now it was upside-down. The tech once again circled their cursor around the flutter. "And this is another nice strong heartbeat."

 "They have two hearts?!" I gasped in panic. I realized how stupid I sounded after it was too late. "Or is it . . . ?"

The tech flicked the wand from side-to-side, and each time they did a little black void with a bean remained on the screen. It took a few back-and-forths for me to realize those weren't two different angles of the same image.

"Holy shit . . ." I wheezed. My hand covered my throat, as if that would loosen the strangling tightness that was setting in. "Holy shit . . ."

“What? What’s wrong?” I heard Silas ask, his voice glitched and laggy.

“Boys, can ‘ya see?” Tess asked, holding my phone closer to the screen. “Can ‘ya see that?”

I wanted to turn my head and see the parents’ reaction, but I could not move my eyes from the ultrasound. The Gillespies were quiet for a minute as the tech continued to swivel the image from side-to-side.

“How many embryos did you transfer?” the tech asked.

“There were only two that made it,” Silas answered. I could sense the moment reality washed over him. “Wait . . . wait, are they both there?!”

“Yep,” Tess said. I have no idea what emotion was in her tone, but it had a glaze of forced excitement. “They both took root.”

“I can’t quite get an image of both of them,” the tech said. “I’m trying, but it looks like they’re on opposite walls of the uterus. That flipped one is way up there, too. They’re hanging onto the roof like a bat.”

“A bat bean,” Owen said. His voice was flat, like the quip was a reflex.

“So . . . twins, right?” Silas asked. “We’re having twins?”

“Congratulations!” the tech chirped.

My pulse was pounding under my hand. That lump of lead was sitting hard in my guts, right alongside those two tiny beans. Two. Two beans. Holy shit. Two.

Tess turned the phone towards me and I saw the moon-eyed shock on the Gillespies’ faces. “Fawn, honey?” Tess prodded. “Wanna say something? What’dya think?”

“I . . .” My saliva felt thick and hot in my mouth. My tongue fell numb and it nearly flopped down my throat as I shot up on the table, my legs still up in the stirrups. “I think I’m gonna be sick!”

Tess jumped for a trash can. She aimed the camera at her face while I loudly wretched in the background of my clients’ first family video.

“This explains a lot,” Tess told the fathers with a sheepish grin. “Two times the baby, two times the morning sickness.”

The Gillespeies were quiet for a while, an awkward pause with only the sounds of my suffering to fill the void.

“We’re having twins, Owen,” Silas finally said, just as I was pulling my face from the trash.

“Yeah . . . wow,” Owen’s voice answered.

I heard a subtle thumping from their end, like one of them was bouncing their leg. The tempo was frantic.

“What’s wrong, Owen?” Tess asked. She held the phone to be more level with her face. 

All I heard was a harsh sniffle.

“C’mere, you big softie,” I heard Silas say.

“Don’t cry, honeybun,” Tess said. “It's a blessing!"

“I’m happy!” Owen insisted over the phone. “I’m so happy!” His voice was muffled, like he was hiding his face in his husband’s shoulder. “This is . . . whew! This is overwhelming!”

“No kidding,” Silas said with a laugh.

“No fucking kidding,” I said with my head in the trash.

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

It took a few days for the shock to wear off. The anti-nausea pills cleared my head so I felt less like I was walking in a fever dream. Once that edge was taken off, it made reality slip in a little smoother. I was pregnant with twins. There were two little jellybeans inside me that would be two full-sized babies in eight months. That was fine. Yeah, that was fine. That had to be fine. If it wasn’t fine, I was going to start losing my mind! So, it was fine.

I mailed the printouts of the ultrasounds to the parents. They had the digital pictures I took, but those physical copies were what really mattered to them. The three of us had never met in person. They lived hundreds of miles away, in Michigan. They wouldn’t be flying down to Tennessee until it was nearing my due date, so any physical memento of their babies I could send to them was much appreciated.

I wanted the Gillespies to feel included in my pregnancy as much as possible, even if they couldn’t be with me in-person. Each week I’d take a picture of myself turned sideways in the bathroom mirror and sent it to them. I basically sent them the same picture four times in a row. There was nothing much to show except for the tummy flab I’d collected my first two times around the block. By week ten, though, I could feel that familiar little lump starting to form below my navel. I had slightly too much of a pooch for there to be any trace of a bump, though.

Almost three months in, I was surprised by how normal my pregnancy was – aside from the intense bouts of nausea I relied on my medicine for. I’d thought having twins inside me would up the difficulty level, but up to that point my life had changed very little. I still got up every day to housekeep and nanny for my allotted shift, and I did so with the same ease I did before. The only change was how much of an eye Tess kept on me. It was very annoying.

“Fawn, no!” Tess trotted up beside me and took hold of my hips. “‘Ya don’t need ‘ta be up there.”

“Stop it!” I gasped as the stack of plates in my hand jittered. “Don’t grab me like that if you don’t want me to fall!”

Tess gently pulled me down from the stepstool I’d been using to reach the cabinet. “I can take care of those,” she said, taking the stack of dishes.

“Jesus, you’d think these were your babies,” I muttered.

“It’s easy now, doll, but you’re not far off from those little ‘uns hittin’ a growth spurt.” Tess climbed the stepstool and I rolled my eyes behind her back at the oh-so-dangerous foot and a half of height she stood above. “I can go ahead and take over the chores ‘ya need help with.”

I shrugged, lifting my hands and then letting them slap down onto my thighs. “Alright. Want me to take over Suri while you handle the dishes?”

“Yes, and I’ll be wiping down the countertops and stove with bleach. So, I don’t want either of ‘ya in here until I say so.”

“Right. Grabbing snacks.”

Arms full of Cheerios, applesauce pouches and beef jerky, I joined Surinder in the living room. She was watching one of her preschooler shows on TV from inside her pop-up play tent. Her toys were strewn all over the floor – the living room had become her territory and she marked it with Duplo blocks and miniature plastic food. 

I bent over to start picking up and I grunted when the ligaments around my waist pulled tight. Tess was right about the babies, I hadn’t gotten round ligament pain so early before.

It wasn’t long before Suri crawled out of her tent and patted my leg to get my attention. “Fa! Fa!” she called my name until I turned around and acknowledged her.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Go! . . . Go potty!”

“You gotta go potty? Okay, let’s go-oh!” I winced as I stooped to pick her up, my hands flying to my sides. There was that ligament pain again. I rubbed my hands into my lower belly, trying to work out the tension in my stretching muscles. “Let’s walk to the potty.”

I kept feeling that growing pain. I got a charlie horse in my back as I was helping Suri in the bathroom. That nerve-deep pain flared up in a ring around my hips as I sat down for dinner, but a slight adjustment in my posture made it nothing more than an annoyance. I went to bed that night safe in the knowledge I would wake up to another day of normalcy.

I woke up to my alarm, bright and early as always. I woke up to that ring of pain around my hips as I stretched out under the covers. I woke up to the sensation of wet fabric, something sticky plastered against the curve of my rear and up my lower back. I woke up to blood, both crusty brown and damp red, on my pajamas and sheets.

I woke up wanting to scream. Instead, I tip-toed past Suri’s nursery and padded down the hall to her parents’ room. I knocked once before opening the door. I was like a child needing to be comforted from a nightmare, appearing in the Tariq’s doorway and softly whispering their names until they stirred.

“Ray? Tess?” I leaned a little harder against the doorframe as I watched their silhouettes sit up in bed. “Can one of you drive me?”

Tess yawned. “Where, doll?”

“The ER.”

With the yank of a chain, Ray’s bedside lamp clicked to life. I didn’t need to scream. Tess did it for me.

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

Ray held my hand while we waited in the emergency room. I’d cleaned up and changed clothes – Ray had lent me a pair of his sweatpants, just in case I bled through my pad. All that remained of my pregnancy was sealed in a sandwich box on my lap. Tess suggested I take the large clump of blood and tissue I’d found in my underwear with me for the doctor to look at, but I hated holding that box knowing someone’s lost dream was inside.

Tess hadn’t come to the hospital with us. She stayed at the house until her parents arrived to take Suri for the day and then met us in the waiting room. I sat between them, resting my head on Tess’s shoulder while both of them wrapped an arm around me. We waited like that for over an hour.

Most of that day is a scrambled signal in my memory. There was a lot of waiting. A lot of fluorescent lights and white-beige walls. We watched TV together in the room they put me in, but I don’t remember what we watched. Only one memory of that ER visit is clear:

A nurse came in and confirmed what we already knew. They’d found the stringy prototype of a placenta in the tissue I’d passed, along with one of the gestational sacs. That was concerning, though. One. They’d only found one of the twins. There was a possibility I needed surgery, so they had to go in and see what was left. The Tariqs weren’t allowed to follow me as I was wheeled down to radiology.

The ultrasound room was dark and warm, the only light coming from the idle monitor of the computer. It was easy to close my eyes and drift into a trance as the tech smeared gel over my lower belly. I’d been scheduled for my next ultrasound in two weeks. I didn’t think I could handle seeing how empty I was.

“Did everything clear?” I asked, resting my hands over my sternum. Even if I didn’t want to see it, I still wanted to know if they were gonna have to scrape me out.

“I can’t say for certain until the doctor has a chance to look at these,” the tech said. “I’m just here to take pictures.”

I wished this was the same tech from my first ultrasound. I could’ve used their friendliness.

“I stopped cramping a while ago,” I said, “so hopefully it’s over.”

The tech rolled the wand up from my groin and I felt it press on the solid lump in the front of my hips. They were pressing hard – trying to get a good image, I assume – but eased off as they moved the wand just below my navel.

“Ope, no. Wait,” the tech said, “there’s the other one. Gosh, that one is way up there.”

Bat Bean. That’s what the Gillespies and I had been calling Baby B. We’d been calling Baby A “Jellybean”. I wondered what their real names would’ve been. My throat closed up and I had to stop wondering.

“Oh . . . my . . .” the tech said, nearly in a whisper. Then, much louder: “Well, hello there, little guy!”

“What?” I asked, opening one eye in hesitation.

I saw their face in the light of the monitor, saw the crescent moon of a smile below their reflective glasses. “It’s kicking!”

“What?!” 

My neck arched and suddenly I was staring at the high-def image of a grey gummy bear on the screen. Nubby limbs twitched as the oval-shaped body curled and uncurled, swimming around its bubble of fluid like a tiny fish. The bulbous head turned and I watched in utter amazement as Baby B’s whole body flipped over in a summersault.

The tech hit a key and a steady whop-whopa-whop-whopa played as a line of white peaks and valleys appeared below the image. “And we have a heartbeat!” they announced, all monotone gone from their demeanor.

I must’ve been in a state of shock, because my memory after that moment is almost entirely blank. I have a vague recollection of signing some paperwork and a surgeon standing over my bed, listing off possible side effects. I remember a needle going into my arm, and then my memory is a void.

My memory restarts at the point I woke up in the recovery ward. Please understand that before this point, I had never had any kind of knock-out juice. I’d never had surgery before. So, please don’t make fun of me when I admit that I woke up crying. My vision was blurry, my head was in a vice, my anti-nausea medication had worn off, and it felt like I had a cactus in my vagina. 

I saw a silhouette at my bedside, a woman’s silhouette with a ponytail of dirty-blonde hair. For a second, I thought my mom had forgiven me – I thought that someone, somehow, had reached her. I thought she cared enough to be worried about me. I reached out to her, craving to feel her hold me again. I felt horrible. I wanted my Mama to make it all better.

“M-om?” I mewled, my mouth slow and dry. 

I touched the woman’s arm, causing her to turn towards me. She wasn’t my mom – just a nurse who styled her hair the same way. “No, sorry. I’m not Mom,” she said softly. “She’s probably waiting for you outside.”

I knew she wasn’t. I felt more tears trail down my neck.

“Just lay back and try to wake up a little more,” the nurse told me, “then we’ll let your family come back and see you.”

I dipped in and out of a fugue state, gradually returning to reality as the drugs wore off. Although I couldn’t remember much before surgery, I was inately aware that my cervix had been sewn shut. There was no telling what had caused me to lose Baby A, but Baby B was still considered at-risk. Sealing the exit shut was the best bet to keep ‘em in there. The fact I was still pregnant at all after so much blood loss and cramping was miraculous. Just to be safe, they hooked my IV up to something that would stop my uterus from contracting. 

When I was awake enough to feel hungry and ask for food, the Tariqs were allowed to come sit with me in my cubicle of curtains. Tess sat on the side of my bed while Ray tried to nap in his chair. It’d been nearly twelve hours since we arrived at the hospital and we were all exhausted. I barely had the energy to lift spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup to my mouth. After I’d gotten some broth and crackers down my throat, and Tess and I had run out of small talk, Tess leaned in and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered into my ear. “I know what you’re feelin’, and it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

They weren’t empty words – far from it. Tess had been where I was time, after time, after time. Only, for her, it was worse – those lost children were her own. Then . . . there had been Ravi. I didn’t want to imagine how his loss had felt. Well . . . perhaps I could make a light comparison, but I at least knew my son was alive and well somewhere. I wrapped my arms around Tess in return, blinking back tears.

“No, Tess,” I said, my face covered by her long flaxen hair. It smelled like her mint shampoo. “I’m sorry you went through this so many times.”

Tess held me tighter.

“Have you told them?” I asked.

“No. We wanted ‘ta hear what the doctor said first,” Tess said. “Everything’s lookin’ okay with the baby right now, but he wants ‘ya on bedrest.”

“Can you . . . please call them for me? I don’t want to hear them . . .”

“I will,” Tess said, patting my back. “I’ll go outside and let them know.”

“If they ask which one it was . . .” I sniffled and choked back a small sob. “. . . tell them we lost Jellybean.”

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

I continued to send the Gillespies bumpdates every week. I never missed a single one. I continued mailing them printouts of their baby’s ultrasounds. We never talked or chatted about what happened, nor did we discuss medical updates about Bat Bean. For those, the Gillespies waited for either Ray or Tess to contact them. I didn’t want them to associate me – the woman carrying their one and only child – with talk of heartbreak and loss. I wanted Silas and Owen to be excited when they saw an email from me, not dread clicking on it. Ray and Tess stepped up to be the bearers of heavy news for us. My doctor had me going in for ultrasounds every two weeks, which meant a lot of baby pictures from me and a lot of medical updates from the Tariqs.

My stomach remained flat for quite a while, with just the slightest bump in my lower belly for weeks. But one morning, around fifteen weeks in, I swear I woke up looking like I’d swallowed a cantaloupe. I guess the baby had finally hit that growth spurt Tess had predicted.

His name was Milo Bennet Gillespie. Silas and Owen named him shortly after we discovered he was going to be a boy. Owen was a fan of classic books who worked at Barnes & Noble, so I had no doubt he was the one to choose the middle name. Sometimes we playfully referred to Milo as “Bat Bean”, but that nickname faded out in favor of his real name. I worried over him – a lot. I bought a home doppler online so I could check if his heart was beating. Whenever I noticed he hadn’t moved for a while, I would pull up my shirt and rub the doppler on my bump until I heard the whoosh of his pulse. The doctors kept saying everything was looking good with him, but I worried.

I was essentially given leave of my housekeeper duties until Milo was done cooking. The doctor wanted me off my feet, so I spent most of my days on the couch watching cartoons with Suri. She was observant enough to ask about my big belly in her two-word-sentence manner. Unsure how to explain the situation, I told her there was a small person living in my stomach and that his name was Milo. I even took her tiny hand and let her feel where Milo was wiggling around. She didn’t like that very much, it freaked her out and she ran to her mother. I didn’t want her to get excited for a baby that wouldn’t be coming home with me. That wouldn’t be fair to her . . . or to me. 

It wasn’t the best experience, being pregnant without the baby’s parents there. When I was growing Suri, her parents were there with me at every doctor’s visit. They took me on day trips just for fun and to make sure I had enough to eat. They were able to put their hands on my belly to feel their daughter kick, and put their lips close to my skin so she could hear their voices. Milo didn’t have that. His daddies were hundreds of miles away. They’d never felt him squirm around, only I had. He’d never heard their voices close-up, just over the phone . . . maybe. The clearest voice he’d ever heard was mine . . . and my voice wasn’t going to follow him home.

Although I had the Tariqs there to support me and love me, I felt alone in my pregnancy. Milo was just a little visitor in the household – we had no toys or bedding or bottles for him, all of that was with his fathers. After he was born, no one would mention him – his future didn’t involve us at all. I was the closest thing to a mother Milo would ever have . . . and I wasn’t going to be a part of his life. 

It was an experience I’d had before, with the last baby boy I’d held under my heart.

It took a toll. It really took a toll.

Before I knew it, I’d blown up big as a barn. I no longer had a lap when I sat down, my belly nearly reaching my knees. Milo was a big boy – the doctor estimated he was around nine pounds – and he was squishing all the fluid in my body into my lower half. My legs were hot and heavy and my feet were too swollen for my shoes, so I shuffled between the bathroom, kitchen and couch in flip-flops. God, I hated being on my feet. I spent my days either dicking around on my laptop – using my belly as a desk – or watching TV while sprawled out on the couch. 

Surinder got really upset with me one day, when I refused to play tag with her. Ray and Tess were very mindful of how much Suri “bothered” me, but I never considered it bothersome. I loved Suri, she was practically my niece. I was sure to let her know that I wanted to play with her, but my “belly buddy” was making me too tired. I made up for it with lots of hugs and kisses, and I promised that once I was feeling better we’d play tag as much as she wanted.

As soon as I hit thirty-seven weeks, I was on high alert. I’d warned my doctor that I delivered before my due date at least once before, but he wanted to keep Milo in there until he was full-term. So, he refused to remove my stitches. As miserable as I was, I agreed. I wanted Milo to bulk up as much as he could, even if it added to my discomfort. If I could give Silas and Owen a perfect, healthy baby . . . maybe it would make up for what happened. 

My body had failed one of their babies – and so help me God I was gonna force it to nurture the other! I was determined! I would make it to forty weeks!

Yet, I would not.

I pulled myself off the couch one afternoon to grab a snack and my knees almost folded. I leaned against the arm of the couch as a deep downward motion slid over my organs. My lungs were slowly relieved of their crushing burden and they eagerly filled to their maximum. I lifted the weight of my belly with one desperate hand because I had a blaring instinct about what was happening.

“Milo, don’t you dare!” I muttered under my breath.

Like a Duplo block clicking into place, Milo’s head slipped into my hips. My belly visibly dropped, I felt it shift to hit heavier in my hand. Almost immediately, I felt the baby’s heft sitting directly on my sutured cervix. I groaned and pressed my thighs together. The pain throbbed between my legs, sharper than I’d ever felt.

“Hey, Ray?” I called, knowing he was upstairs in his office.

“Yeah?” his distant voice rumbled through the ceiling.

“Can you bring me my phone?” I called. “I need to call the doctor.”

A few minutes later, Ray thumped down the creaky stairs with my cellphone. He paused when he saw me leaning over the back of the sofa, kneeling with my thighs apart. “You okay?” he asked, handing me my phone.

“I need to call the doctor and tell him I need my stitches out, like . . . tomorrow,” I said, unlocking the screen. “Milo’s in my hips, he’s not gonna wait another two weeks.”

Ray rubbed my lower back, scratching his goatee in thought. “Is he going to wait until tomorrow? You’ve been having cramps, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re irregular as hell,” I said, putting the phone up to my ear. “I’ll be in labor soon, but not that soon.”

I was wrong. I was so wrong. I was so horribly wrong.

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

“Silas? Hi. Yeah, it’s Ray.”

“Fuck! Oh, fuck!”

“We have a situation. Fawn’s having contractions and you boys need to get on a plane right now.” Ray ground his knuckles into my back while I wailed face-down on my bed.

I gripped a bag of frozen peach slices in a towel between my thighs. My arms hugged all my pillows to my chest beneath me, and I buried my head between them to yell my way through this latest contraction. My belly was squeezed into a perfect sphere, peeking out from under my shirt as it hung down to my mattress. The contractions were actually pretty mild, all things considered. They didn’t hurt that bad at all. 

However! My body was forcing Milo down hard against my cervix. That pain was far, far worse than the contractions. His head was grinding against a closed exit, but the sheer force was spreading that exit open anyway. The baby was a battering ram and my cervix was a fortress door, splitting apart around its locks and bars with every slam. 

“Fuck, I want these stitches out!” I cried into my pillows. “I want them out!”

“Yeah . . . yeah, you can get a refund on the tickets you already bought,” Ray continued on the phone, and on my back. “I’ll book a room for you, don’t worry about that. Just focus on getting here. Bring an overnight bag for each of you and some basics for the baby. I’ll pick you up from the airport, don’t bother with an Uber.”

Tess walked into the room, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hair thrown into a messy bun. “Everything’s in the car,” she said. Her hand squeezed my shoulder until my posture relaxed and I lifted my head from the pillows. “You ready to go have a baby, ‘shug?”

I nodded. Tess helped me to my feet and I waddled down to the car doubled over and holding my belly up. Even without a contraction, the pry and pull on the strings holding my cervix closed was constant. My seam was literally about to pop. I had to recline the passenger seat as far as it could go so I could somewhat lie on my side. My contractions were regular, but very far apart; so, thank god, I didn’t have to deal with any while cramped in the car.

My chest tightened when we pulled into the hospital parking lot. I knew I’d be having the baby here. I’d prepared for it, but thinking about it was so different from doing it. Because of the complications with this pregnancy, I had no choice but to deliver in the same maternity ward I’d walked into years ago. I . . . didn’t like thinking about what I went through in that ward. 

Tess came around to my door to help haul me out, but I didn’t move. I stayed on my side, staring at the clouds hovering above the cars – they were painted with the summer sunset. 

“‘Ya want me ‘ta get a wheelchair?” Tess asked, leaning on the open car door.

“Yeah,” I sighed, resting my cheek on my hand. “Tess, I don’t wanna go in there. I wanna do this at home.”

Tess looked over her shoulder, scanning the hundreds of windows looming ten stories over us. “Me neither,” she said, then turned and hustled toward the hospital entrance.

At eleven-thirty that night, I found myself sitting on a birthing ball in a stagnant delivery room. The only light was the yellow wall lamp mounted over my bed – anything brighter and my head would pound. A monitor belt was pulled snug around my belly, leashing me to a gaggle of machines beside the bed. An IV bag of pitocin hung from a hooked pole beside me, the tubes trailing down to a needle taped in place on the back of my hand. 

I bounced on the ball, my hands braced on Tess’s knees while she sat on the side of the bed in front of me. I felt my torso squeeze and held my breath. The monitor beeped, registering a contraction.

“Blow the pain out,” Tess crooned, ghosting her fingertips up and down my arms.

I grabbed her knees and rotated my hips on the ball. A small “Ack!” bubbled up from my throat before I sucked air in through my nose and forced it out through pursed lips. I blew hard until my lungs went flat, then filled them again and continued the process. Salty water leaked from my shut eyelids and slid in thick droplets down my neck and back. I blew so I wouldn’t scream. I knew I could scream, but I didn’t want to come unglued only a few hours into active labor. Hell, my water hadn’t even broken yet. 

I could still be in control of myself, even if this birth was not going according to plan.

I was hoping labor would be smoother after the stitches were out, but they’d only caused more complications. I’d dilated quickly regardless of the sutures, already three centimeters open when the doctor snipped the strings. He’d gotten to me too late, though. The stitches had ripped small tears in my cervix as Milo’s head pulled them apart. The swelling was immense – within minutes I was sealed shut again and my labor stalled. Hence, the pitocin.

The pitocin hijacked my body, forcing it to crush inward on itself like a soda can in a hydraulic press – at a strength and speed beyond what felt natural. I had never felt labor this intensely! I would desperately cling to any self-control I had in that beige nightmare of a room.

“Mmmmh,” I hummed through my nose, my hip swivel morphing back into a bounce as the contraction eased.

“Good job,” Tess grinned at me. “You’re doin’ so good, Fawn.”

I moaned and leaned back, bracing my hands on my hips as I rode that birthing ball like a rodeo star. “Have they landed yet?”

“Doll, they ain’t on the plane yet,” Tess said. “The only direct flight they could book on such short notice leaves at one-fifteen. Ray’ll call us when they take off and when they land.”

“God,” I huffed, my chin falling onto my chest. “They gotta be here. They can’t miss this!”

“Everyone’s doin’ their best and that’s the only thing they can,” Tess said. “It’s only an hour flight. They’ll be here in time, don’tcha worry.”

My hair had grown past my shoulders during my pregnancy, and it was suffocating me. I lifted my auburn curls off my flushed neck to cool down. Tess watched me for a moment before pulling the elastic band from her hair. A cascade of blonde fell down her back, sun-bleached highlights vibrant even in the low light. Without a word she came ‘round and gathered my frizz into her hands. A few flicks of the wrist and she had my hair up in a damp, poofy bun.

Tess kneaded the back of my neck for a while. I rested against her, letting her work my muscles like dough. Milo kicked, causing a dull ‘thump’ on the doppler.

“Fawn,” Tess broke the silence, “there’s nothin’ wrong with askin’ for pain relief.”

“Don’t want it.”

“Doll, I can tell it’s hurtin’ like hell. You’re hooked up ‘ta stuff that could rocket a foal out’a ‘ya.”

“I’m. Fine.”

“Just ‘cause ‘ya managed before doesn’t mean-.”

“I don’t wanna be stuck in that bed!” I cried. “I don’t wanna lay there like a lame horse ‘til they strap me up in stirrups! I’m NOT doing that again!” 

I pulled away, using the bed’s railing to lift myself to my feet. My hand wrapped around to support my lower spine, exposed by the untied loops of my hospital gown. Tess picked up the absorbent pad on the birthing ball, folding it over to hide the bright spot of blood where I’d been sitting. I saw it, but it didn’t scare me – I knew it was from all the swelling. She retrieved the pink water cup from the table and let me drink from its straw.

“I had my baby here, too,” she finally spoke. She sat back down on the bed and smoothed her hand over the starchy sheets. “The beds feel the same.”

“Ravi was born here?” I rocked myself from foot-to-foot, holding onto the railing to keep steady. “I didn’t know that.”

“Four years ago as of January,” Tess said with a nod. “I was in here a few months before ‘ya, ‘shug. Who knows? Maybe they had us in the same room.”

God. Had it been four years already? I had a four-year-old somewhere out there and he had never seen my face. What toys did he like to play with? Did he watch the same preschooler shows that Suri and I watched together? What were his favorite foods? I wanted to know all of that. I wanted to know him! I wanted to know the sound of his voice, the color of his eyes, the texture of his hair . . . or his name.

A scar somewhere in my chest ripped open and I swear I could feel a black void pouring over my ribs like paint. I held my breath. Tears dripped from the tip of my nose and onto my belly. I was in so much pain, but not from labor. My soul was bleeding – the wound as raw as the day it was carved.

In my mind's eye, I saw myself reaching for my son as the doctor held him up. I saw my arms cradling his little naked body against my chest while he took his first breaths. I saw my lips pressing kisses into his bald, wrinkly scalp while my eyes cried phantom tears onto his skin.

None of that had happened at all – but it should have! I should have been given the chance to say goodbye – to look into his eyes and tell him how much I would always love him, even if he couldn’t see me. No, not even that. He should have stayed my baby! I should have gotten pregnant by a different man – a good man. I should have been on the pill instead of relying on his father’s cheap, oversized condoms that were probably expired. I should have fucked up my life less. I should have made a thousand better choices, so he could have stayed my baby!

I screamed along with the frantic beeping of the monitor, but all physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional. I’d cried through my heartbreak once before, but being back in that damn ward, in an identical room, brought all my grief pouring back out. Tears and liquid snot flowed down my face as I white-knuckled the bed’s railing to keep me upright. I gulped full lungs of air, only to wail and scream and sob until they were empty.

I think Tess knew my tears were from deeper down than they seemed. She leaned close and gently took hold of my contracting sides. Her palms rubbed large, soothing circles into my hardened womb. Her sympathetic eyes never left my face.

“Good girl,” she crooned. My eyes were blurry with salt water, but I thought the skin around her eyes looked red. “Scream it all out.”

“I want my baby, Tess!” I cried. “I . . .” my shoulders jerked with a sob, my diaphragm spasming from lack of air. “I n-never got to ho-hold him!” Another hiccup. “H-He’s going to think I . . . think I didn’t w-want him! But I . . . I wanted h-him so much!”

“Hushhh,” Tess shushed me. She wiped my face with the scratchy hospital blanket. “Hush now, doll. Calm ‘yaself down and get some air in.”

“Okay,” I nodded, still choking on sobs and panting for breath. “Okay . . . okay . . .” The awareness of the contraction began creeping into my brain. “Ohh . . . ohh . . . oh, shit!”

Blinded with tears, I threw my arm out to grab onto Tess. I balled her shirt collar in my hand and restarted my “blow the pain out” technique.

Tess continued massaging the sides of my belly, waiting to speak until she felt my muscles start to uncoil. “Are ‘ya sure you don’t want somethin’? I can call the nurse.”

I sniffled and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Able to see again, I realized I hadn’t been wrong. Tess had been crying. My hand released her shirt, and my arm snaked around her shoulders to pull her into a hug.

“Tess . . . I just want you.”

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

Three-thirty in the morning. We hadn’t heard anything from Ray, and even less from the Gillespies.

A nurse had been in to check me twice in the last hour. Milo was still in his comfy water balloon and that seemed to be cushioning him from the extra-strength contractions. I nearly started crying again when they told me his heart rate was fine and I could continue to labor on my own. With how damaged my cervix was – and how many liters of pitocin they’d given me – I’d been terrified of an emergency C-section.

By then I’d lost the use of my legs, but I refused to stay on the bed for more than a few minutes – usually just long enough to pull my knees back and let a nurse stick her fingers inside me. With the help of an orderly who’d come to swap out my IV bag, Tess had taken the mattress off the bed so I could have something soft to lie down on without feeling trapped.

I’d taken to half-lying on the floor with my arms and upper body resting on the birth ball. I couldn’t keep myself quiet during contractions any longer. Making low, rumbling noises like a cow in a ball gag was a must. It was how I was surviving. Between those moments, I was just tired. It was a relief that I couldn’t feel my cervix anymore, but that was likely because it had effaced. My eyes were heavy and full of grit, but the sixty-something seconds I had between contractions didn’t allow me to sleep.

At that point, I was beyond the mental capacity to worry about Silas and Owen. Milo and Tess were the only other people who existed in the world as transition’s brutal hand crushed me in its fist.

In hindsight, I think that’s why I didn’t panic when the pressure set in.

Tess was kneeling on pillows on the other side of the birthing ball, humming a lullaby to relax me between contractions. Her tune tapered to a halt when I shifted my hips, one leg pulling up to my side. “What’cha need, ‘shug?”

“I feel him.” I stated it like a bland fact.

My eyes were closed, but I felt Tess’s hand touch my shoulder. We’d already decided what we’d do if this happened before the Gillespies arrived.

“Alright, doll. It’s alright,” she crooned. “Lemmie come around.”

I heard the soft ‘pap pap pap’ of Tess’s socks traveling in an arch around me on the faux wood floor. Her weight settled on the mattress by my feet.

“Promise I won’t touch,” she said. “I’m just eyes.”

I grunted and rolled my leg outward to open my hips. Oh, I knew that pressure so well by that point. I knew better than to doubt my body. More pitocin mixed with my blood, drip-by-drip, through the needle in my hand. I wasn’t sure if someone should’ve removed it by then, but whatever. I was gonna use it to my advantage.

The monitor around my belly beeped. I pressed my toes down and pushed before I truly felt the pain. Milo kicked the doppler again, like he realized he was finally being evicted. After a solid ten seconds, I relaxed with a nasally whine.

“He’s coming, Tess.”

“I know, doll.” Tess gently nudged my foot to a more grounded position. “Soon as I see ‘im, I’ll call a nurse. Ain’t no one gonna put ‘ya in that bed, I’ll make sure’a that.”

I scooted up more into a half-squat, one arm draped over the ball and the other wrapping around my knee. Chin-to-chest, I used the rest of the contraction to bear down against the familiar sensation of a baby sliding down my passage. I took frequent breaths between my efforts so I wouldn’t get dizzy, panting a small “Uh . . . Uh . . . Uh” with each exhale.

I didn’t need to throw my all into pushing, the contractions were doing most of the work. Maybe that pitocin was a blessing in disguise – I don’t know if I had the energy to make progress without it. Five pushes in, and I felt my inner walls stretch around the baby. My quiet whines and grunts escalated into growls as the pain grew sharper, and I flowered open wider.

“Damn, he’s huge!” I moaned as I eased off my most recent push. Forget “Bat Bean”, the fucking Chicago Bean was coming out of me!

“Remember, you’re pushin’ out the sac, too,” Tess said.

I hugged my hiked-up leg closer to my side, teeth gnashing in my skull as my face turned purple with effort. “Ugh!” I released a small bark of pain during a brief pause, then spent the rest of the push with a low growl in my chest. 

My labia brushed the crease of my thigh, the skin bowing out and preparing to stretch. I felt the inner structure of my clit get crushed as the mass of the baby pressed its way down. It was something I’d felt before in the past during childbirth – but never to the extent that it fired electric shocks of nerve pain down both legs. My toes curled as a ghostly, stabbing pain assaulted the arches of my feet.

I relaxed against the ball with a loud huff of air. “Tess, rub the bottoms of my feet,” I begged, my head falling back against inflated rubber. Thank god she did it without question, I was too embarrassed to explain.

Two contractions later, I was mid-push when a gout of hot water splashed onto the mattress. My focus was broken by the release of pressure, and I leaned forward to peer over my belly. A saw an expanding area of wet sheets between my thighs, darkening the color of the mattress as more amniotic fluid drained from me.

“He’s makin’ his way out, doll!” Tess grabbed the blanket and bunched it up around my rear to soak up some of the mess. “You’re openin’ up!”

“Ahh!” The arm holding my knee in place flew down to pry open my leg, fingers pulling at the skin where my thigh met my groin. My body pushed for me and my perineum thinned out and spread over the head as it dropped past my tailbone. 

“Fuck, Tess!” I whined, vocal chords straining. “Fuck, he’s hurting me!”

“Take it slow,” Tess said, patting my thigh. “Let it stretch.”

I arched back against the ball as my lips bulged outward with the size of Milo’s head. The arm draped over the ball was numb, but it was the only thing keeping me upright. The room reverberated with a roar I didn’t realize was mine as I felt that all-too-familiar fire blaze to life. My entire world shrank down to that inferno between my legs. The only thought in my head was to push down into it. My fingertips migrated beneath me, pressing against the hellfire in my perineum as the flesh pulled dangerously tight. I was aware Tess got up from the floor, but I was blind and deaf to the world.

The ringing in my ears muffled the sound of the door bursting open. My eyes flew open in surprise as a gloved hand gently nudged my fingers aside and cupped my perineum. A scrubbed nurse knelt in front of me, a mask covering her face from the nose-down – but even then, her eyes smiled at me.

“Good job, Fawn!” the nurse praised me. “Baby’s crowning. You’re nearly done!”

I flinched when someone else took my leg and hiked it up to my side. It was Tess. I finally understood she must’ve run and got help. I thought I heard a cell phone ringing, but no one else reacted to it. I accepted the fact I was hallucinating.

I threw my arm around Tess’s waist, unaware my fingers were coated in blood, and held tight as I pushed again. I gasped deep and screamed as I felt myself make quick progress once the top of his head breached the air.

“Don’t stop, doll. He’s comin’,” Tess said, her lips brushing my scalp.

Sweat stung my eyes, so I kept them squeezed shut. My whole body trembled, my nerves going haywire as Milo surged forward with a massive, unstoppable push. I felt the little bump of his nose traveling through the pouch of my perineum.  The nurse palmed the crown of his head, trying to let me stretch easily over his brow.

A loud slam caused everyone to jump, and the bright light of the hallway sent a migraine through my skull. The nurse turned to scold the two men scrambling into the room, but Tess saved the day:

“They’re the parents!” she cried. “They’re stayin’!”

I couldn’t pay attention to anything going on around me. With a roar of effort, I bore down until I heard the wet little ‘shlip’ of Milo’s head pushing free into the nurse’s hand.

“Owen! Silas! Here, now!” Tess ordered.

I heard two more bodies thump to the ground beside the floor bed.

“We’re so sorry, Fawn!” I heard a familiar voice yell – a voice that belonged to a man I’d only ever heard through the static of a screen.

“Later, Owen!” Tess snapped. “Focus on your baby right now! Do not miss this!”

I didn’t care about anything – I knew this baby was on his way out right then and there! Nothing else in my mind or body would function until he’d made his journey earth-side! I clung to Tess, who pressed my leg back wider as Milo’s thick shoulders started to press out of me.

“Push, doll. Push on ‘im hard,” she encouraged me softly, her voice like warm honey.

The nurse began pulling down on the baby, forcing his shoulder to pry my public bone out of place to come through. I don’t quite know what the sound I made was, but it didn’t sound human. The nurse pulled upward, and . . . 

“And we have a baby!” the nurse cheered as Milo’s body gushed out onto the mattress. A small trickle of leftover fluid followed his feet.

“Holy shit.“ My whole body relaxed as soon as that relief came.

My eyelids slid open when I heard that little guy make the sweetest newborn cries I’d ever heard. For a big baby, he had a small voice. Thin, blonde baby down was plastered to his scalp, and even while he was all squished and blotchy I could tell he looked like Owen.

“Oh, look how sweet!” the nurse sing-songed while she toweled Milo dry. “Isn’t he a perfect little man?”

A second nurse mysteriously appeared in the background. I peeked around Tess and saw the extra nurse fanning Silas with a laminated paper while he sat slumped against the wall, looking dazed. Owen kept looking at his husband over his shoulder, but his attention was constantly pulled back to his son.

“Oh . . . hey, guys.” I sleepily waved to the fathers. “When did you get here?”

Owen glanced back at Silas, who was rubbing his forehead and seemed to be coming around. “Just in time.”

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

I flipped through the pictures in my phone while I rode home with Tess. Milo and I had stayed in the hospital for a few days for observation. I’d needed a few internal stitches (wow, real shocker there) and they just wanted to keep an eye on Milo because of his troublesome gestation. At first, there was a little bit of concern because of how lethargic he was – but his bloodwork was fine, so I guess he was just a sleepy lad. He wasn’t awake in any of the pictures the Gillespies and I had taken.

There were countless photos of Milo being snuggled by all of us. Ray and Suri had popped in to see me the morning after I gave birth – mostly for Suri’s sake, she’d woken up crying over not being able to find me at home. I had a picture from that morning of Tess holding Milo in the room’s armchair while Ray held Suri up so she could see what my “belly buddy” looked like. Suri somehow looked confused, disgusted and amazed all at once. My favorite picture was the one Tess had taken of me and the family together. I was sitting up in bed and holding Milo while Silas and Owen sat on either side of me. All of us – except Milo, who was asleep with a binky in his mouth – were smiling wide at the camera.

One of the first pictures in my album was of Milo swaddled like a burrito a few hours after he was born, fast asleep in the baby cot beside my bed. His name, weight and time of birth were written on a card taped above his head. Beside that card was the paper cutout of a purple butterfly. 

In Silas’s first picture with his miracle baby, he was pale as death but still smiling. He’d needed to sit down for a while after passing out, but he’d held his little boy nearly every minute in that chair. He’d held Milo while they performed his medical tests, only allowing the nurses to take him away for his first bath. In the picture I’d taken after that, Silas was gazing at Milo with all the love in his eyes that a father could give – and Milo was wrapped in a fresh blanket with an embroidered purple butterfly on the corner. The Gillespies had brought that blanket with them.

At first I’d thought the purple butterfly cutout was just a decoration choice the hospital had made; but when Milo’s first gift from his parents had the same image, I’d asked why it was showing up so often. Turns out, that hospital had adopted The Purple Butterfly Project – an initiative that offered support for patients who had lost a child in a set of multiples. The cutout on Milo’s cot was meant to celebrate the life of his “flown-away” twin, as well as make staff members and visitors aware that he was the wingless half of a pair. It took on the burden of explanation, so Silas and Owen could bond with their son without worry.

My phone buzzed with a new message from my clients. It was a selfie Owen had taken of himself and Silas at the airport, with Milo snug in a sling around Silas’s chest. The picture came with the message: “Thank you for blessing us so deeply! We hope the joy you’ve given us will be repaid – with interest! Milo is going to be showered with love every day of his life. You’re more than welcome to keep in touch with our family, Fawn. We’re happy to let you watch Milo grow up with us. Love, Owen and Silas.”

I locked my phone and sat it face-down in my lap. “Hey, Tess?” I asked, watching the road unfurl beyond the windshield as we traveled the rural roads. “When will it be my turn?”

Tess glanced at me. “For what?”

“Being happy,” I deadpanned. “I’ve made three different families happy. You and Ray, the Gillespies . . . and my son’s parents. I just wanna know when my turn is.”

The rest of the car ride passed in total silence. When we parked in front of the farmhouse, Tess turned to look at me while she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Doll, there’s somethin’ I want ‘ya ‘ta see.”

Going upstairs was a herculean task with how stiff and full-body sore I was, but Tess held my hand and walked with me step-by-step. She brought me into the master bedroom and sat me down on her side of the bed. Tess opened her bedside drawer and pulled out a wooden box that was roughly the size of a checkerboard. She plopped down beside me and stared at the box in her lap for a moment before saying:

“I haven’t opened this since we brought it home. I couldn’t. But . . . I think now’s the time.”

I watched as Tess lifted the lid of the box, revealing a carefully folded fleece blanket with pastel stars printed on it.

“What is it?” I asked.

Tess lovingly took the small blanket in her hands and began unfolding it. Beneath the layers of fabric was a blue crystalline teddy bear sculpture holding a silver heart between its paws. Tess picked up the bear and held it in her palm – that’s how small it was.

“This is Ravi,” she said.

Once light hit the silver heart at a different angle, I saw the engraving on it: “Ravi Idris Tariq”, with a single date underneath. Tess turned the bear over in her hands so I could see the second engraving on its back: “I carried you every second of your life.”

“I wrapped ‘im in his blanket,” Tess said, her thumb stroking the bear urn’s head. “It made it feel more like I was puttin’ him down ‘ta sleep instead’a . . . y’know.”

I was too stunned to speak.

Tess set the baby blanket in the box and – tiny urn still in-hand – got up and walked to her closet. A quick rummage, and she returned with a different fleece blanket. This one was pastel rainbow colored and was covered in white stars, an inverse of the other.

“These came as a set,” Tess said. “We donated everythin’ he never got to use, except for this. This one’s special.” She rubbed the blanket on her cheek. “I prayed over this one. I asked Mother Gaia ‘ta allow my baby’s spirit ‘ta be linked to this earthly object, so that I could hold it and it would be the same as holdin’ him.”

Tess re-joined me on the side of the bed, clutching Ravi’s urn to her heart while she cuddled and kissed the rainbow blanket. “I still miss ‘im. I miss ‘im a lot,” she said. “Having this connection to him helps.”

After a minute, Tess set both blankets and the urn inside the wooden box. Then, she took my hands into her own. 

“Neither of us got ‘ta hold our little boys,” she said. “Mine was already in the arms of Mother Gaia, and yours was in the arms of his mama before you had the chance. That’s what’cha told us, right?”

I nodded, silent and enraptured. Tess smiled at me.

“Well, when you’re feelin’ more ‘yaself, I’ll teach ‘ya how to use my sewin’ machine,” she said, giving my hands a gentle squeeze. “You’ll pick out the fabric and you’ll make a baby blanket. That’ll be his baby blanket, ain’t no one else’s. I’ll ask Mother Gaia ‘ta bless it for ‘ya. When you feel all that love buildin’ up with nowhere to go, hold it. Hold your baby. He’ll be able to feel it, no matter where he is.”

I returned her smile, but my throat was almost too tight for me to speak. “I’d like that.”

We made a small shrine for Ravi’s urn on the mantle that night. Ray and Tess had Suri help set it up, explaining the existence of her elder brother to her in a way she would understand:

“Mama had a baby in her belly just like Fawn did,” Ray said, lifting Suri up so she could drop a few cut flowers from the garden beside the tiny blue bear. “That was before you were born. You were just a twinkle in Mama’s eye back then.”

“Where the baby?” Suri asked as her father plopped her back down.

“This is the baby,” Tess said, tapping on the silver heart between the bear’s paws. “He had ‘ta go back ‘ta Mother Gaia while he was still in my belly. This is where his body sleeps.”

I lit a few jarred candles and placed them on the mantle. From my back pocket, I pulled out the laminated purple butterfly cutout that had been taped to Milo’ cot at the hospital. I placed it upright against the mantle wall, so that two purple wings appeared to be sprouting from Ravi’s bear.

It wasn’t my turn to be happy, yet. I had a long way to go before I could start making my own dreams come true. Maybe school could wait a while. Maybe the money I’d earned throughout my surrogacy could be put to better use.

Maybe I was sick of staying on the path my own stupid choices had led me down. Maybe it was time I started making the choices I’d wished I’d made earlier.

I was tired of living in the shadow of grief Alexander had cast over my life. I’d lost everything because of him . . .

. . . but I was ready to start taking it back.

~ END ~

[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 6

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* So much more fluff with no apologies in sight. But also, discussions of death/deceased parent, investigations, and medications. Summary: A stressful breakfast is followed by even more stressful meetings for King Javier, but the sharing of a drink together each night is becoming tradition. Notes: Warning tags are DELIBERATELY VAGUE this week, my darlings. If you want a full disclosure of tags, containing spoilers, feel free to slide into my DMs before you read.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

The two days that pass seem to be in a push-and-pull relationship with time. Appointments drag, the clock seems to tick slower and slower every moment, but then the second that you have time with Javi time flies past you in a blink. A few guests have arrived to stay at the palace during the official week of mourning so your meals have been more formal, but you’re starting to settle into the routine. Today is different, but it will be good. Today your brother is arriving, and you practically run to the breakfast room after Flores helps you dress in an appropriate black dress with subdued jewelry. To go out you’ll need a hat and veil, but that will wait. For now, you’re eager to see Javi again after having spent another night in his arms in your bed.

Javi has already had a meeting. Three of them, in fact. Finding it highly irregular to have Lucas demanding an audience before breakfast, he had told his man to have him come to his dressing room. Discreetly staying behind to attend the meeting as his cousin had raged that the King’s body has not yet been displayed for his state funeral.

“Good morning.” His eyes light up when he sees you rushing towards him with a smile on your face.

“Good morning, mi amor.” It doesn’t matter to you that other people are in the room already, you walk directly to his arms and kiss his cheek. “How has your morning been?”

“Interesting.” He murmurs quietly and glances over at where his cousin is making himself comfortable at the breakfast table by demanding hotter tea.

His gaze tells you everything it needs to, and you offer him a pinched smile. If you were wary of Count Lucas Gutierrez of Ibiza at first glance, you can readily say now that you loathe and wish you could avoid the man. He is demanding, slimy, and arrogant. A narcissist. And of course all the things that go hand-in-hand with that. Instead of remarking on it though, you nod, and take your place to Javi’s left side at the table. “I have the first meeting with the wedding planner after lunch today,” you remind him conversationally as a footman sets your plate in front of you and another immediately appears to pour your coffee. Being served is still new and uncomfortable for you but you thank both men for doing their duties. “And Sebastian is arriving this morning.”

“Is it wise to bring in a foreigner?” Lucas has obviously been listening, even if he is a few seats away. Removed from his normal seat and pissy about it. “I mean,” he gives a flat smile that is meant to be charming but there is a cruel light to his eyes. “The position as personal assistant to the queen is one of high honor. What message would it send to give it to an American?”

“That the future queen is cognizant of the importance of family and the connection between the crown and her own parents, and that is why her brother has had the appointment.” Maisie drolls, sipping her own coffee as though Lucas were no more than a fly on the wall. “He is not getting a cabinet appointment, he will be managing her calendar. They are very different things.” Additionally, Julius has already arranged a member of staff to be the support person for the approaching wedding and coronation, to make sure that cultural expectations are met. The whole thing is actually remarkably well organized right out of the gate.

“Besides.” Javi adds. “The Queen’s personal assistant is just that – personal.” He smiles at you. “Just because I was comfortable with keeping Julius on does not mean that I could not have chosen someone else. There’s not been a Queen’s personal assistant since my mother’s death.”

“It will be a very smart decision, I am sure.” Maisie nods as if to dismiss any more question of the topic and picks up her fork to start eating only after the king does.

The way that Lucas smiles makes Gabriela stiffen beside you and her head ducks down even more towards her plate. Aware that his smile is not meant to be comforting. “Of course.” He coos, syrupy sweet. “I am only looking out for the optics of your reign, cousin. It is a heavy burden to carry for anyone, especially you.”

Looking up, you frown to see Gabriela looking spurned and Lucas gleaming with slick confidence beside her. If this keeps up you’ll be seating them on the opposite side of the table at meals. “All the more reason to surround ourselves with people we trust,” you tell him with a breezy air that belies the fact that you don’t trust him as far as you can throw him.

The silence over the breakfast table is a second too long before Lucas answers. “Of course.” He agrees, waving his hand like it was the natural answer.

“I trust everyone will be prepared for the formal processional to the cathedral tomorrow?” Javi had insisted on delaying the ceremony for a proper examination of his father’s body to be performed, and as such it will technically be a day late. The examination is necessary, though, to everyone’s mind. Everyone except Lucas, but Javi will have to tell you about that later.

“It should be today.” Lucas scoffs but shakes his head. “King Miguel will lie in state for the country to mourn.”

“We will be prepared.” Maisie assures you, steadily ignoring Lucas as she eats her breakfast. “Gabriela and I will be beside you, princessa.”

“I appreciate you both immensely.” Without admitting it in front of Lucas, you are fully grateful for their presence in your first true appearance as princess. So far the country has only heard your name, nothing more.

Javi is thinking along those same lines. “I am sorry that your first appearance must be my father’s funeral.”

"There are far worse circumstances we could be in, amor." You set your hand over his on the table momentarily and give it a supportive squeeze. "I am glad you don't have to face the occasion alone."

“It has been a difficult time for us all.” He smiles softly and is happy that you don’t let Lucas get to you. The man’s anger at the examination of his father’s body surprised him and now he doesn’t know what to think. Delaying the viewing by a day isn’t too much to ask.

"Have you decided how long you will wait to crown your princess?" That thought, at least, is happy, but it is surprising coming from Gabriela. Firstly because you did not think she would want to contemplate Javi committing to you more fully, but also because she rarely speaks when her husband is present.

“I have not decided.” Javi admits. “We could do the coronation on the same day as the wedding. But I do not know if Margarita would want that.” He knows a wedding day is special, and a coronation is as well. He doesn’t want you to feel as if the wedding is overshadowed by the affairs of state.

“Apologies, your Majesty.” Maisie smiles easily, not wanting Gabriela to feel embarrassed in front of her husband. “The Contessa is eager to celebrate a new princess. We know that the wedding is still being planned.” In fact, both women are an integral part of the planning process already. “But to elevate the princessa to Crowned Princess can be done simply, no?”

“Yes, you are right.” Javi sends Gabriela a small smile. “Perhaps we should crown the princess the day after the King’s funeral? Give the people a little light in such a dark time? What do you ladies think?”

“Very appropriate.” Maisie praises, looking pleased with the change of topic. “Perhaps in the gardens? It would be lovely, and very lively.”

“When your mother was crowned, there were sweets and a string quartet.” You remember reading all about it and seeing the pictures in online archives. “Maybe…we could pay tribute to her in a small way? Use the rose garden as she did?”

“I would like that.” Javi nods, swallowing harshly as he thinks of how considerate you are. “You should wear her tiara.” He suggests. “Unless you would like to pick another. Her first tiara was always her favorite. It has been in the family for over four hundred years.”

“I will wear whatever you like best.” Sentimental value, cultural value, all of it is wonderful. What matters most to you is making the statement that you are here to support Javi as he cares for his people. Your people. “I will add a meeting with the appropriate members of our staff for this morning. That is one less thing from your plate, querido. Maisie and Gabriela will help me make sure that it is perfect.”

“Tonight, perhaps we can visit the dungeon?” He asks you with a smirk. “That is where the Royal Jewels are kept.” He explains after a moment when it’s obvious you are confused.

“After dinner?” You suggest with a smile. If you go off together after dinner then there will be no detaching yourselves from other – presumably last minute – questions or issues. You can simply climb into bed together afterward.

“I think that is a perfect way to end the evening.” Javi hums and Maisie can’t help but giggle. “Of course it is.” She announces to the table. “It’s every girl's dream to play with priceless, royal jewels.”

The entendre is not lost on you, and you almost choke on the sip of coffee you had just taken. Narrowing your eyes at her across the table, you manage to barely swallow your smirk. “I am sure the Crown Jewels will be treated with the utmost respect,” you answer, knowing that Javi is not likely to be in the mood for anything besides more cuddling on the night before his father’s funeral.

“The utmost respect.” She agrees with a small wink, ignoring the way that Lucas pouts because the conversation is not going the way that he wants.

Julius appears, oblivious to the barely contained giggles radiating from yourself and Dama Maisie, and moves to Javi's side silently. "Your Majesty," he murmurs only when he has reached the space between you and Javi at the table. "My apologies for the intrusion, but your next meeting is in a few minutes."

“I am afraid I must leave you.” Javi stands and leans over to kiss your cheek.

“Cousin, I can attend in your place.” Lucas jumps to his feet, abandoning his own breakfast. “So you do not have to worry about such things.”

There is a moment where the entire table pauses, all heads turning to look at the count in confusion. The outburst is entirely unprompted and more than that, it is unwanted. "The king can attend his own meetings, but your generous offer to help is duly noted." Turning back to Javi, you place a kiss on his cheek in turn and give him an encouraging smile. "If you are able to join us for lunch I will be very happy to see you, but otherwise we will catch up on our meetings at supper tonight. Have a good and productive day, mi amor."

He nods and along with Julius, quickly disappears out of the breakfast room. “That was odd, was it not?” Javi asks his assistant as they walk down the hall. As his father’s assistant, he would be around Lucas more when the count was working closely with King Miguel.

“I wish I could agree, your Majesty.” Julius walks half a step behind him, as is traditional, but makes sure to keep his voice low. “But it is far from the first time that the count has offered to take up royal duties unsolicited.”

Javi stops and turns towards Julius with his head tilted slightly, a frown on his face. “He was often around the palace.” He realizes. “Did he spend much time asking for additional duties from the king?”

Careful not to sound as though he is passing judgment of any kind, Julius does nod and urges the king to keep walking. “He has been desirous of a cabinet position,” he explains as matter-of-factly as possible. “For quite some time.”

“What were the king's thoughts on this?” It’s easier to think of his father as ‘the king’ right now. Allowing him to compartmentalize like Miguel had told him he would need to once he had taken the throne.

“That…” Julius pauses, recollecting King Miguel’s exact words with care. “Until he could be desirous of the position because of an urge to help instead of an urge for power, it would not be allowed.”

“I see.” The journey to the room where he was having his meeting continues as he thinks about this carefully. “Who is the meeting with?” He asks, the meetings over the past days jumbling together through his grief.

“This is the cultural attaché, your Majesty.” It does not phase him one iota that the new king seems to have forgotten — having constant demands on your attention would make any man’s memory blur. “With the sculptor who will be creating the statue in your late father’s memory. They are bringing miniature models for you to choose the tribute you think is most appropriate.”

“I see.” He knows that it is important he chooses the best one. “The meeting with my father’s doctor is later today though?”

“It will be after the attaché.” Julius replies with a nod. “I knew you would be anxious to hear the results, so it will be this morning.”

“Good.” Javi nods. “After that meeting, I wish to speak to the cabinet members. Convey the information myself.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Toying with the king’s schedule is nothing new to his assistant. He will make whatever King Javier needs happen with the least fuss possible.

“Are we pushing anything too vital?” He is aware that he will be incredibly busy during the transition, but he wants to give any news to his cabinet personally. Most of them served with King Miguel and he felt he owed them that courtesy.

“Not if you do not mind taking a working lunch, sire.” Just because King Miguel had a habit of working through meals did not mean that King Javier would be the same way, and Julius wants to make sure he knows which rules are hard and fast for the new monarch. If meals with his fiancée are a priority, Julius will do everything he can to make it happen.

“I think that as long as you can assure that I have dinner with Margarita, then working through lunch should not be an issue.” He knows that he will have to make some sacrifices and changes, especially in the early days of his reign so he is successful.

“That is what will happen, then.” Filing away that lunch meetings are acceptable but dinner with the future queen is a priority, Julius nods and walks with the king into his office. “I will show in your next appointment, sire.”

The king’s working office isn’t a throne room like so many envision. Perhaps in the days of old, but the large office is functional. The desk is nearly three hundred years old, made from hardwood that has been lovingly polished and maintained. The heavy leather chairs that sit in front of it are meant to be comfortable and yet be slightly imposing. He had been in them many a time and can attest to that when his father was still sitting on the other side.

Julius escorts an elegant woman of around thirty into the room along with the cultural attaché that Javi has met many times at various events over the last ten years or so. Both parties show their reverence with a deep curtsy and a bow, respectively, and the woman carries a large case in her nervous hands.

“Good morning.” Javi is nervous as he shows her over towards the separate area that is less formal than the desk. The couches and coffee table were picked by his grandmother, although his mother had them recovered after he was out of his toddler phase. “Please, sit. Would you like a refreshment?”

The woman shakes her head politely and manages a smile. Her case is heavy and she sets it on the floor to open it carefully. “Thank you for making time for us, your Majesty. We know your schedule is a busy one.”

“A statue in honor and celebration of King Miguel is very important to me.” He promises as he watches her carefully. “His reign should be memorialized for the people.”

"In that, your Majesty, I believe we are in agreement." In extracting her figurines from her case, she sets them carefully on the coffee table between her and the king. "The late King Miguel, may he rest in peace, was very involved with the growth of King's College on Menorca. They have offered us a place on their campus for his tribute with your approval."

He takes his time, wondering how many hours have been put into these figurines. Picking up one and his lip trembles slightly when he sees how perfectly it resembles his father when he was a younger man. “They are exquisite.”

"I—thank you, sire." The young woman is very aware of her own abilities, but the unsolicited compliment makes her practically tremble with pride. "I was a recipient of the arts scholarship at King's College that His Majesty King Miguel, may he rest in peace, made in your mother's name after she passed. So you see...without their generosity I might never have been able to pursue my dream. And so this means a great deal to me, as well."

“Then it is fitting that you create this statue.” He’s touched by the story. “And include that story underneath your name on the plaque.”

"If I may, sire?" The young woman picks up the figurine that depicts King Miguel standing, with one hand resting over his heart and the other holding a book in its palm. He is wearing his most habitual choice of crown and there is a flower in his breast pocket. "The flower is called a Gloria cosmo," she explains, pointing it out carefully. "For Queen Gloria, may she rest in peace. And the book..." She smiles shyly. "I wondered if you might know his favourite book. It is not something that was widely known."

He smiles softly, knowing this is the one that he wants for him. “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” He answers quietly, his thumb brushing over the figure. “I think that I wish for this to be the statue, but—” he looks up at her. “I wish to ask a question.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” The artist nods immediately. “Anything.”

“I want to know how much for all of the figures. These.” He asks, biting his lip. “I want to buy them.”

“Your Majesty I could not possibly.” Within seconds she is shaking her head and motioning for him to take the figures right away. “It would be my honour to give them to you. And the final statue will have a likeness of Marquez’s masterpiece in his hand.”

“No, I must pay you.” He insists. “You have spent considerable time on these.”

“Perhaps…” A small smile graces her lips thinking that the new king might cherish these statuettes of his father, made by her own hands. “Perhaps you might remember my name when the guest list for a royal event comes up. Your Majesty is one of the only people in the world who can actually pay in exposure.”

He cocks his head to the side and he hums. "I see." He leans back and weighs the figurine in his hand as he looks towards the others still sitting on the edge of the case. "Then I will have another request of you?"

The young woman looks to the man she came in with – the cultural attaché who had worked with King Miguel for numerous years. When the man seems be as confused as she is, she simply turns back to the king and nods. "Of course, sire."

"The princess, my— the future queen, will be Crowned in the gardens the day after my father's funeral." He explains. "I would like you there. And if I may ask another favor, I would like a figurine of that moment. Her first moment wearing the Crown of Mallorca." He gives a small smile. "As a wedding present to her."

She melts in her seat, one hand over her heart in almost the same expression as the statue she has created. "It will be a momentous occasion," she murmurs, quietly in awe. "And it is a very romantic gift. I will make certain that it perfect."

"That, I must insist on there being payment." Javi tells her. "No matter how much you offer it as a gift."

"As your Majesty wishes." It will mean a great and meaningful commission for her, to have done two pieces for the crown, and she nods gratefully. "If there is anything specific you wish to be included in the image, it would be useful to know ahead of time," she tells him then, taking out the sketchbook that she had brought in case the king did not approve of any of her designs and she needed to start from scratch. "A material you might prefer, or a favourite stone of the princess's?"

"I think we should use local limestone." Javi frowns slightly and looks towards the artist with a curious expression. "Would that be too hard? Too soft? I had thought marble, but I think that it would be more symbolic that way."

"Limestone is perfect because it is soft." The young artist assures her king. "That is what makes it desirable for my craft. I will plan to use limestone as you suggest, sire. It will be a beautiful tribute to your princess." She, like everyone else in the country, was surprised to hear of a princess's existence but that surprise has become intrigue. No one ever thought that Prince Javier would settle down, and now it seems that he has found his match.

"Good." He sits back, relieved that he had chosen correctly and a small hum of pleasure comes out of his throat. "I will make sure that my assistant gets your contact information and you are formally invited."

"Thank you very much, your Majesty." She is beaming at him as she clasps her empty case shut again and stands with the older man who had shown her in. She curtsies again and it is surer this time – the nervous shake of anxiety gone from her posture and replaced with excitement.

"Come," Julius motions toward the door they had entered mere minutes ago. "I will collect your information and make sure you are added to the formal invitation lists." He will, without mentioning it for now, add this charming young woman to all of the guest lists for the foreseeable future. It will be good to have new faces in attendance and especially those who represent the next generation of the kingdom's future.

Javi continues to stare at the figurines of his father, noting the craftsmanship and the way that he can practically see his father's face in the material. Making him miss the man even more and he sighs as he picks up the entire set to bring over to the bookshelf behind his desk.

When Julius returns a few minutes later, he is nearly silent while he observes the new king at his desk, only clearing his throat when he is certain that he will not disturb or frighten the young king with his appearance. "The royal physician is here, your Majesty."

Theres a slight sense of dread that curls in the pit of his stomach, wanting to make him refuse the visit. As absurd as it is considering he had asked the doctor to meet with him. Insisted upon it. Now that the moment is here, he cannot shy away from it. A document with his father's seal is under his fingertips as he looks down, admiring the decisive signature. "Send him in." He nods, pushing down the childish fear and facing the truth to come.

Julius nods, retreating for only a moment before reappearing with Dr. Garza. The man's presence is a familiar one for Javi, as he has been the Royal family's primary physician for nearly ten years, but today he is nervous and his movements stunted. He almost looks scared. "Your Majesty," he murmurs, bowing deeply to the new king.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me.” Javi is very aware that the doctor is a very busy man and just because he is king does not mean the people come at his beck and call. His father has continuously reminded him that the monarchy was there to serve them, not the other way around. “Can I offer you a drink?”

"I think it would be best...to abstain, sire." Dr. Garza steps forward again and Julius motions for him to sit, but the doctor remains standing. "I am scheduled to examine your fiancée after this meeting and I would hate for any impairment in my judgement to lead to an undesirable result."

At first, Javi frowns, immediately wondering if there is something wrong in the short time you have been apart. Only to realize why the doctor would be examining you. "I see." He clears his throat and knows that he shouldn't argue against the tradition, knowing that you have been run through full physicals already in the US, but of course his own country would demand their own examination.

"I am sure the princess is in perfect health. It is only a matter of custom," the doctor assures him, but shifts nervously again on the rug.

"Is there something upsetting you?" Javi asks, motioning towards the couches in case the doctor wished for a more informal setting. Some do no like to feel as if they are called onto the carpet, he knows that too well.

"Your Majesty, the final examination of your father..." Dr. Garza gulps down a heavy sigh. "It yielded something...unexpected."

"Had the cancer spread?" He asks softly, his eyes betraying the hurt of losing his father so quickly after finding out about his sickness. If only there had been more time.

"Well...yes...sire." Garza licks his lips nervously and extracts an envelope from the pocket of his jacket which lists all of the official findings in medical specificity. It is his job to put those findings into layman's terms. "The cancer had spread. With what I found, I would have optimistically have given your father three-to-six more weeks. However...the advancement of his disease is not what I was referring to as unexpected."

Three-to-six more weeks. Less time than he had been told, more time than he had. Javi looks over at the figurines on the bookshelf. "What else would be unexpected?" He asks softly, unsure of much medically.

"There was a medicine found in your father's blood work that was not prescribed to him." Though Garza hesitates to use the term drug, that is technically correct. He just knows that it has negative connotations so he says 'medicine' instead. "It is a prescription medication that neither I nor any of the doctors at the hospital ever recommended or prescribed for him. And it..." Garza shifts in his seat. "It is not something that we would have recommended for him either, given that it often does not interact well with the chemotherapy medication that he was properly prescribed."

Silence fills the office for a long moment, Javi absorbing the news and feeling the way that his stomach churns. "He was...he was poisoned?" He manages after a moment. "Is that what you are telling me? The king was murdered."

"It is not strictly what I would call a poisoning, sire." Dr. Garza interjects quickly, feeling panic strangle his own heart in a moment of intense irony. "But we need to determine where and how the king obtained this warfarin. You see..." Gods help him, he has to explain this to the man's son... "It was in the bottle that he had in his pocket. But the label was different. So either the king had replaced his diazepam with the warfarin that caused the blood clots that killed him...or someone else did."

"My father did not like taking medication." Javi reveals, frowning as he looks down at his hands, trying to think of what could have possibly happened. "He took what he had to, but he – he wouldn't – there's no way he would change his medications out." It feels like his chest is tightening and he shakes his head. "I— no, he couldn't have – Julius—" He turns towards the man who probably spent more time with the King than anyone else.

"An investigation will have to be opened." Julius advises solemnly, the tightness in his voice betraying just how troubling he finds this fact. "This could only have been done by someone close to the king, so I can only imagine that the royal guard will want to undertake the investigation personally. And as quietly as possible." He shakes his head, knowing that he will be a primary focus on the investigation early on. He hardly ever left King Miguel's side for the last few months. "As quietly as possible, sire," he advises again. "Or else whoever did this may flee."

Javi's eyes close and he takes a moment, needing it to relearn how to breathe. "Make it happen." He orders, opening his eyes again to look up at his assistant.

"Yes, your Majesty." Julius motions to Dr. Garza that the meeting is over, ushering him from the room, when he returns a moment later after escorting the doctor out of the ante-office, he returns with a solemn, drawn expression. "I would not mention this to anyone beside the princess," Julius cautions, knowing that the new king has chosen his wife-to-be to keep his secrets. "We cannot yet know who was involved."

"I don't know if I can tell her." Javi admits. The truth of this is just too horrific, but he doesn't know if he can honestly keep it to himself.

"This is a heavy fact to carry on your own, sire." Julius warns, though he understands that it is difficult to process. Or to speak the words aloud. "I would offer myself to keep this secret, but I know that I will be investigated heavily because of how close I was to your father. They will suspect me immediately simply because I had access to him." Shaking his head, Julius stands in front of the young king and his voice turns firm. "May I speak freely, your Majesty?" He asks with caution.

"I don't believe that you would have murdered my father." Javi admits quietly, not really meaning to speak his mind, but he is too off kilter to guard his words right now and he would rather be frank. "You loved him, there would have been nothing for you to gain." He frowns and remembers that the other man had asked to speak freely. "Yes, please speak your mind."

"That was all I was going to say," Julius murmurs, sitting down across from the younger man with a soft, melancholy smile. "That I loved your father very much, and that all of the best things in my life were things that he had had a hand in. He encouraged me to better myself, even in his employ, and even introduced me to my wife. I—" Julius shakes his head again. "I cannot possibly express my gratitude for everything your father did for me. So no, your Majesty. I never would have wanted him to leave this world. Not ever."

He had never known that. Not that his father had caused the introduction between Julius and his beloved wife. "I know." Javi nods. "I know that you would never harm him. But I need to know who would."

"Unfortunately, there are many candidates." It is not something anyone ever likes to contemplate – the thing that would cause someone to actually commit murder – and Julius shifts in his seat to look King Javier in the eyes. "But we will find the person who did. I am sure of it."

"I will be investigated as well." Javi seems almost surprised when he realizes that. "They will look into me for my father's death."

"Yes." Again, Julius nods. "And your princess, as well. But you will both be quickly eliminated. They will only suspect you formally so that they can say they overturned every possible angle." He does not believe that the young king had any hand in the misdeed whatsoever and he knows that the guard will not believe it either.

"Perhaps it is a good." He leans forward and wipes his face with his hand. "Looking at everyone. I don't want this person to get away with this."

"I cannot imagine that anyone does." Reluctantly, Julius stands again and smooths the trousers of his suit carefully. "I will bring the Head of the Guard to you, unless you would like some time to yourself before having that discussion?"

"Give me two minutes." Javi tells him quietly. He knows that he cannot fall apart, not now. He will wait until he has time alone with you.

"Of course, your Majesty." Julius goes out, intent on ordering a cup of tea from the kitchens to be delivered to the king immediately. There are some things that are just good for the soul, and that includes tea when one is upset.

The window of the study is actually a set of French doors that lead off to the rear of the palace, overlooking the gardens. He wonders how many times his father had decided to take a stroll to clear his mind.

For a few moments he stares off into the middle distance, contemplating taking a walk himself, before his personal cell phone buzzes in his pocket. It is not often that he gets a message there since few people actually have the number, but when your name flashes across the screen it is the best possible scenario for someone contacting him.

Margarita: Just wanted to see how you're doing and make sure that you're remembering to breathe. Te amo, querido! Julius says you're working through lunch, so I will see you for dinner tonight. ❤

He smiles down at the screen, already feeling slightly relieved at the message you sent him. Not knowing how you manage to do it, but you had an uncanny knack about putting him at ease. He takes a breath and types back his own message.

I am looking forward to dinner and even more, to sleeping in your arms again. I love you.

******

After breakfast, Flores quietly comes to your left shoulder and leans down. “Your Highness, the plane is twenty minutes out. Would you like to meet it on arrival? I can have one of the drivers take you in the car or in the boat if you would prefer.” She asks softly, making sure an obviously curious Lucas cannot overhear her.

“The boat would be wonderful.” To show your brother his first glimpse of the palace the same way you saw it sounds perfect, and it will be a little faster than taking a car. More direct, at least. Given the fact that you’re supposed to meet with the royal physician this morning, you can’t dally too much in picking up Sebastian.

“Of course, your Highness.” Flores loves the role of temporary assistant but doesn’t begrudge the addition of your brother to help manage your day to day affairs. She will be working closely with him and wonders what he is like. Hopefully he will be as kind as you are. “I will have the footmen travel to the airport with a truck large enough to carry back any and all personal items your brother might have brought.” She curtsies slightly and quickly backs away to carry out her tasks.

“Well, it seems as if that is my cue.” You had sat at the breakfast table with Maisie, Gabriela, and Lucas a little longer after Javi left for his meeting but it is time to get the day rolling. “Ladies, I will see you soon. Good morning, Count.”

Lucas narrows his eyes, wondering where you are scurrying off to. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark. “Gabriela.” He grunts. “Let’s go for a stroll in the gardens. It has been a while and I miss my wife.”

No one at the table believes that for a second, but Gabriela dutifully stands and excuses herself to follow him out the door. Maisie, left to her own devices until you return, decides to go and see what information she can put together on the style and color choices from the last few royal weddings as a resource for you. Reading and research are one of her strong suits and it will keep her busy for a time.

As promised, when you reach the dock, the same speedboat that had brought you across the small channel is waiting with a driver that is in a water friendly version of the drivers for all the palace cars. “Your Highness.” The swarthy man’s coloring is indicative of a man who spends his life on the water and he bows respectfully before he steps into the boat to offer you assistance climbing aboard. “The tower radioed. We will arrive five minutes before the jet lands if we push off now.”

“Thank you very much.” You are careful getting into the boat in a dress and heels but the man keeps you steady, waiting until you are seated to start off for the private landing strip at the airport. The sun is bright today but the weather is not too hot, making the breeze that blows over the water as your driver cuts through the waves seem very refreshing. If it were not for the impending funeral, you might be tempted to call the day’s atmosphere perfect. But there is much to do before perfect can even be thought of.

There’s not to be much conversation as the boat slices through the water but the driver cannot help but look back to check on the newest Princess. Curious about you and he smiles when he sees that you are soaking up the sun with your head back and your eyes closed for a moment. It seems as though you have a bit of the Prince’s spirit and that is a good thing in his opinion.

Sea air helps immensely as you try to shake off the mood Lucas left over the breakfast table, and by the time Valentino – you asked his name – cuts the boat’s engine at the dock you’re feeling much better. Sebastian’s arrival is only five minutes away and the only thing to remember is not to squeak and run down the strip to hug him. That would be…slightly less than dignified.

“I will wait with the boat, your Highness.” Valentino tells you before motioning towards the boat. “Would you like a drink while you wait?”

“If you tell me that you have a bar stashed in his boat somewhere, I shall be very entertained to see that one day.” You smile, and when the older man chuckles, you laugh with him. “Thank you, Valentino, but I am just fine. I will return to you with our other passenger in a few minutes.”

“Yes, your highness.” He smiles and bows again. There is a small bar built into the back of the control panel and perhaps the prince will show you since he loves to drive the boat around. For now, he will wait for you to return.

The jet is just taxiing on the runway when you reach it, and the difference between this morning and when you arrived a few days ago is stark. This morning you are wearing mourning clothes and a modest veil, but nothing in the world could disguise the ring on your finger or the way the guards on duty snap to attention when they see you. Your face has already been in the tabloids, so it is not exactly difficult for them to do so. Instead of saying anything you merely stand politely by, waiting for the door to open and expel your brother into the morning sun. Hopefully he’s slept on his flight. There is a lot to do today.

Sebastian adjusts his suit that he had quickly changed into. The jet had the bonus of a bedroom in it and he had been extremely grateful for the chance to try and sleep since he knows the first few days will be chaos. He will be learning a new regimen and new country in addition to dealing with a king’s death. Nodding to the stewardess, he thanks her and exits the jet, immediately looking around for his baby sister.

Stepping out into the middle of the runway once you see the familiar line of your brother’s trusty black suit, you give him a very polite wave instead of hopping forward like you want to. You’re on display now, and manners are everything, so as soon as Sebastian is in front of you, you mouth “Bow” at him silently. He looks at you with a half smirk before acquiescing, and only after that do you step forward with open arms to give your brother a hug.

It is very different having to bow to your sister, but Sebastian makes up for it with the crushing force of his hug. “God I missed you.” He admits, observing propriety by not swinging you around like he might have before. “How are you doing? How is he doing? What can I do to help?”

“I missed you too, Sebby.” The admittance and the force of hugging him is an enormous relief and you barely manage to stop yourself from giggling. “We’re doing pretty well, all things considered, but there is a lot to fill you in on. Let’s get back to the palace and I’ll get you as up-to-speed as I can until we’re alone. There is a lot going on.”

“Of course.” He nods and takes your arm. “Um…where is the car?” He asks, looking around and not seeing one.

“Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to give you the coolest arrival I possibly could?” You grin at him and steer him toward the docks, waving your arm grandly in presentation. “Valentino is taking us back in the boat, and you’re going to get the best view of the palace from the water. I promise.”

“Wow, seriously?” He asks, a boyish grin on his face as he takes in the sleek lines of the speedboat. “That’s mighty fancy, your Highness.” He teases. “All for little ol’ me?”

“Javi picked me up in it when I got here a few days ago.” And the mortification you felt at not recognizing him immediately is still burned into your brain. “But I figured…if you’re going to be working and living here, you might as well get the perks of how beautiful it is right off the bat.”

“That’s…incredibly romantic for a …how did you once put it?” Sebastian hums evilly. “I think you said that he was ‘a soulless, boring, impotent, stuck-up prick’.” He knows you were drunk and venting all your fears, but the soft smile on your face when you mention ‘Javi’ must be pounced on like only a sibling can.

“Oh my god, do not say shit like that out loud in public anymore,” you hiss, stifling a laugh because you know he’s quoting you exactly. “And for the record? I haven’t slept with him yet. I mean I’ve slept with him, like actual sleep, but his father just died. The mood is not exactly sexy.”

“But you want to.” That is surprising, considering you used to compare yourself to a sacrificial virgin having to be dragged to the marriage bed. You hadn’t been amused when he reminded you that you weren’t virginal.

“I—” Honestly you can’t even deny it, and you end up shrugging right before you get to the boat. “I really do. But I’ve waited this long. A little more time won’t kill me.”

“This long?” Your brother barks out a laugh. “He must be amazing.” He smirks. “My baby sister looks so happy.”

“He’s…really kind of extraordinary, if I’m honest.” You fluster as Valentino helps you into the boat and you settle back in your seat again. “I am happy, Sebby. I know it’s different than what I expected, but maybe that’s a good thing. Having my expectations subverted works for me, apparently.”

“Apparently.” He snorts, leaning back and watching you for a moment. “So, how are you handling it? You said you’re happy, but how’s the stress?”

"Some aspects are surprisingly less stressful than I had anticipated, others are more so." Motioning for him to sit down beside you, you thank Valentino as he sets off for the palace again without a word. "Like the first thing you'll be present for?" You murmur to your brother, lowering your voice. "Is an examination with the royal physician."

“Oh boy.” Seb pulls out his phone and opens his calendar. “Your last period was two and a half weeks ago, right?” He asks, confirming a date and then looking up at you for your answer.

"Yes, it was, and I am not going to pretend that your magical ability to always have chocolate and ice cream in the apartment at exactly the right time is not half my motivation for making you my personal assistant." That makes both of you laugh, and you get momentarily distracted by the shine of your engagement ring in the sunlight before you look back at your brother. "I'm...I'm honestly really glad you're here, Sebastian. The more I think about it, I don't know if I could do this without you."

“You’ll be running circles around me in no time, Princess.” He tells you with confidence. “You’ve always had the uncanny ability to immediately master something if you really want it. And this?” He cocks his head at you and gives you a brotherly smile. “You’ve decided that you want this.”

"I really do." It's almost a shock to your system to hear it put so bluntly, but you can't deny it. "He's wonderful. And he's going to be such a good king. Anything I can do to help him, I want to do all of it just to see him be brilliant at something so enormous."

“You will be brilliant at it as well.” Sebastian promises. “You have been born for this and now your heart is in it as well.”

"I think you'll like him." As the speedboat rounds the corner and the palace comes into view, you reach over and squeeze your brother's hand. "But first? Welcome to your new home."

“Oh wow.” His eyes widen and he has to stand, taking in the view is the magnificent palace, imagining that if it’s this stunning on the outside, it will be even more so on the inside. “It’s – you’re literally living out a fairy tale.”

"I really am." That releases a torrent of giggles from you, and you have to gather yourself up quickly to be princess-like again. Sebastian's reaction is everything to you, and you can't help but gaze up at the palace with the same awe. "Your room is technically in the staff wing but Javi let me choose the room myself. It's basically the size of our old apartment inside the palace."

“As it should be.” He decides, adopting a snooty tone playfully. “Seriously though? I’ll be fine anywhere as long as I have internet.”

"Fastest internet I've ever experienced in my life." You promise him as Valentino turns the speedboat around the corner of the cliffside and toward the dock for private palace use. For royal use. "Hopefully I'll get to introduce you to Javi's assistant fairly quickly. Julius is invaluable and I know you two have e-mailed back and forth a little but he really is just a miracle in human form."

“Who is your maid?” He asks, scrolling through his information. “Flores? She would be the one to ask about attire and things like that until I get my bearings?”

"Flores is a godsend." As the palace gets closer and closer, you feel yourself taking a surprising breath of relief. As if you had missed it for the thirty or so minutes you were gone. "You'll meet her right away. Between the two of you I really think you'll be able to cover all the bases pretty easily. And then there's my ladies in waiting for all the other bits of guidance."

“Ladies in waiting.” Shaking his head, he marvels over the way your life has changed. “I’m sure I will get to know them as well.”

"It's a whole new world here, big brother." You hum as the speedboat comes to a graceful stop at the dock. "And I think you're actually going to like it."

******

Dinner is stuffy and formal due to new arrivals in the palace. Extended family has come to the capital and will be staying through the funeral and your crowning, though they were polite enough not to interrogate you directly at the table. As soon as you could politely get away, you took Javi's arm and happily let him lead you away to have a cocktail together on your balcony. Another pitcher of that delicious Clover Club Cocktail and two glasses will be waiting for you to unwind with.

Every step towards the seclusion of the balcony that he has been sharing with you brings a little nervousness for Javi. It's a good possibility that it would become a tradition, one that he would enjoy immensely and tonight his heart is heavy with the knowledge that he has. Although he knows he needs to tell you, it's not something that he wants to start, keeping secrets. But how does one tell them that they will be investigated for a king's murder?

"You seem distracted, querido." It's just a small observation, but he had seemed to have a dark cloud over his head all through dinner. "If you do not have the energy to go to the vault after your day I will more than understand."

"No." His expression clears and he sends you a smile as he reaches over and pats your hand. "I feel as though the happiness of the moment will be much needed in the coming days." He admits softly. "My apologies if I have been negligent in attention."

“Not at all.” You shake your head and sip your drink, but turn to give him your full attention on the balcony. “Can you tell me what is upsetting you?”

"I met with my father's doctor today." He tells you quietly, looking down at his drink and sighing. "There will be an official inquiry in King Miguel's murder."

"Murder?" Hissing the word on the quietest whisper you can summon, you feel like your heart has stopped beating and it's a miracle you don't completely drop your cocktail. "My god. Javi, I'm— are you okay?" Setting the glass aside, you immediately reach for him to offer the comfort that you've already learned he craves. You're very alike in that way. "They're certain that it was intentional?"

"He— his medications were in purposefully tampered with. What was in the bottle was not the prescription and my father did not like taking medicine to begin with." Javi explains.

"Shit..." The word drags out as you shake your head, and you take a moment to breath as Javi leans into your arms out on the balcony. "I'm so sorry, love. So, so sorry." What else do you even say? His father was intentionally killed. Assassinated. It's completely beyond belief.

"They— they are going to question you." He decides you need to know everything about it. "Question me. I would rather they insult my integrity than for someone to get away with taking the last few weeks I had with my father away from me."

"Of course they will." You nod, albeit slowly, and gently squeeze his arms as he leans against you. "They should question everyone who had something to benefit from your father's death. Of course that includes us." Perhaps it is a particularly American point of view, but you don't even consider it an insult of integrity. It's just being thorough, and you can't even imagine a world in which this investigation is not thorough.

He sighs softly, relieved that you understand. He had been worried that you wouldn't, and resist an investigation, which would only make them look into you more. "They will exclude us quickly. It was never a secret about my desire to not be king."

"I imagine they will look into me much more deeply." A fact which, again, does not bother you. In fact you're fairly surprised at how unbothered you truly feel. It isn't even for Javi's benefit. "If the people do not know that their kings have arranged marriages already, they will find out soon enough."

"You have just arrived, and had few meetings with the king." Javi is sure they will clear you out of their questions. You did not kill his father.

"Javi." With one hand on his cheek, you offer him the most reassuring smile you can possibly muster in this moment. "I did not kill your father, and I had absolutely no reason to want to hurt him. But the investigation has to treat me as an equal suspect to everyone else, which means they will look into me in every way. And that definitely includes how you and I met." A few days is no time at all, and it will not take them long to clear your name from the list, but it still has to happen.

"I know." He leans into your touch and presses his forehead against yours. "I love you, Margarita. I don't know if I would be this calm if you weren't here."

"I love you, too, querido." It is deeply, earth-shakingly true, and you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. "We will get through this, and we will see the person responsible punished." Somehow you're certain of that, and it's a strength that you'll have to draw on in the weeks or even months to come. Depending on how long the investigation takes. "And in the meantime, it is our job to set an example for the people. To give them good things to look forward to despite the gloom."

"Which is why we need to keep our plan to visit the dungeon." Javi insists. "Our plans should not change because of this."

"Then how about we have a drink and go downstairs?" You suggest, wrapping one arm around his waist. "We can have our second glass when we come back up, before we crawl into bed?"

"That sounds like a perfect ending to a rather stressful day." He admits quietly. "Although one day, I swear you will be tired of me."

"I find that highly unlikely, handsome." Picking up your glass again, you raise it to him in a small salute and take a sip. "I don't remember Cinderella ever getting tired of Prince Charming in the fairy tales."

"That's because the movie ends at the 'happily ever after'." Javi jokes. "You don't see where Prince Charming snores or does other things in his sleep. Or chews with his mouth open."

"What else do you do in your sleep besides cuddle me?" Deciding to turn the conversation to something distracting like silliness, you raise one eyebrow at him and smirk. "And get morning wood, of course."

“I don’t know, I’m asleep.” He cannot believer that his face does not burst into flames it is so hot. “And I— I apologize again for that. I should not have pressed it against you.”

"You don't need to apologize." He had been embarrassed by it this morning but you waved it off, and now you simply smile. "Honestly I might have been more upset if it wasn't there," you tease gently. "At least I know you were having good dreams."

“I dreamed of you.” He admits, reaching for your hand. “And I know that if it was under different circumstances, I would ask to touch you.”

"There's no pressure for it to happen until you're absolutely ready," you promise him, watching your fingers lace through his as he holds your hand. "But when you're ready, I can all but guarantee that I will be, too."

“You want me?” Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising, but it is. Surprising in the light that he’s aware of his own appeal but had thought that it would be something that was admitting later on, after time was spent together.

Charmed by the sweet softness of his reaction, you nod gently and shift slightly closer to him on the balcony as you sip your drinks together. “Badly,” you admit with a laugh. “But I’ll happily wait as long as you need. There really is no pressure.”

“There’s pressure.” Javi snorts, grinning when you do giggle. “But I want our first time to be free of the black cloud over us right now.”

“So maybe I should say that there’s no rush,” you clarify. “I had my appointment with the royal physician today, by the way. Officially not pregnant. But I knew that already.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through such an exam.” He apologizes, picking up your free hand and kissing it.

“The doctor was very polite, and it was done quickly. Honestly? I wish all gynecologist exams were a simple ultrasound and a pee test.” Given what they really are like, you just shrug and offer Javi a smile. “And now it’s done. So the decision of when to take the next step is purely up to us.”

“I want it to happen naturally.” Javi admits quietly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Not because of anything but that you and I want each other.”

“It will be. Whenever we’re ready.” You’re certainly not about to pressure him, and you tilt your head back to kiss his cheek softly. “But until then, I do like waking up in your arms.”

He hums, happy that you enjoy being close to him because your presence calms him down and he has slept through the night when he hadn't expected to sleep at all. "Let’s go look at every woman's favorite thing." He teases. "Jewelry."

“I’m not even going to debate you on that.” The two of you finish your first glasses together and he leads the way – down into the bowels of the palace to the vault where the Crown Jewels are kept.

"The dungeon was converted around the time of my great-grandfather." Javi tells you as the stone walls start to slowly get closer and the electrical runs in conduit since it was obviously added after construction. "The security has improved, but I don't think anyone really wants to break into a dungeon. For obvious reasons."

"They would if they knew what was down here." There are soldiers posted along the long hallway – palace security wearing a badge of special significance, and you follow their lead by returning their small nods of acknowledgement on your way to the main door. A broad man with an unmoving expression takes one look at the pair of you and moves to unlock the door with an elaborate code.

"Anything and everything in here can be worn." He explains. "Although some are used for special occasions only."

"Good lord..." You murmur, gasping softly as you look around the twinkling room at all of the gems winking back at you in their soft, golden lighting. "I didn't think there would be so much!"

"It is a lot, isn't it?" Javi asks as he looks around, trying to see it through someone’s eyes who has never seen it before.

"I mean it's beautiful, it's just...a whole lot." Your hand is still in his, and you tug him forward a little so that you're both fully inside the middle of the room. "Do you want to show me your mother's tiara, querido?"

Of course he does. “It is over here, with my father’s— my crown.” The lights shine on the pair as they sit on crushed velvet pillows.

There is a trio of headpieces under the brightest light in the dungeon. King Miguel's preferred crown sits beside a more petite version of its magnificence, and beside that there is a glamorous tiara of countless carefully carved diamonds in a combination of shapes and sizes to create a repeated teardrop pattern that takes your breath away.

"It's gorgeous," you sigh, equal parts afraid to go anywhere near it and wishing you could reach out and touch it.

“Perhaps you should try on the others first.” Javi offers, pushing a button on the wall so that it slides open and rows of tiara’s and crowns appear. “So you can say you didn’t just choose the first one.”

"I don't think anyone could blame me for choosing the first option, but I'm also not about to protest looking at more tiaras..." It's such a surreal thing to say, and you cling a little more tightly to Javi's hand as he walks you over to the wall that just popped open in every conceivable way. "Do you have a favourite?" You ask him, eyes drifting over the large collection. "Besides your mother's, I mean?"

“I do.” Javi moves over to the case and selects a specific on. It’s too elegant for his more causal dinner suit. The sapphires that are in the middle shine like fire, surrounded by the diamonds. “This one.”

"Oh wow..." In the back of your head you have a feeling that you're probably not going to be able to manage full sentences which each of these gorgeous pieces of jewelry, but you inspect the twinkling sapphires and diamonds in his hands with wide eyes. "I—I can wear whatever one you want," you promise him, knowing that the moment you are crowned will be caught on camera to be added to Balearican history books. "As long as you're proud to be putting it on my head, the tiara can look like anything."

“Whichever one you wish, my Princess.” He murmurs, smiling at the awed expression on your face. “They will all look lovely atop your head.”

"I can't believe I actually get to wear one of these," you admit with a sheepish grin. "That you actually want me to wear one. With everything that it means..."

“There is no one else I wish to wear it.” Javi murmurs softly. It’s true, even as much as he had cared for Gabriela, you have come to mean more. His father had been right that he would move on after she and Lucas had been married.

"I love you, too." Even murmured into the darkness, it is such a relief to mean it so deeply. For almost your entire life you were terrified that it might not happen, and now here you are. Completely in love with him in a mere two days.

“You will be a queen who is beloved by her people.” Javi predicts with a smile. “And her king.”

“I truly hope so.” Although it might be awful to admit, in this moment, that his love currently means far more to you. It is only because you have not yet had a chance to really be a part of this kingdom — only of his life.

“So, do you have anything that speaks to you?” He asks curiously. “My mother said her favorite tiara spoke to her. She wore others, but that was the one she wore most.”

“I think something a little less grand calls to me,” you confess. It is almost like the feeling tells you that modesty will be an immense virtue in this case. There is one on the second shelf that is composed of small, winking diamonds and scrolling gold so that it almost looks like curls if you think about it on someone’s head. It is delicate and elegant without being too small or understated. “Wearing your mother’s tiara for the crowning will be the most appropriate, but I believe that this one,” you point it out carefully. “Might be my favourite?”

“Elegant, understated and sophisticated.” Javi takes the crown from the shelf with care and he smiles down at it. “Try it on?” He asks, looking up at you.

“Is that…okay?” It seems like the sort of thing that belongs untouched in a museum even though you know logically that these things are just incredibly expensive and elaborate jewelry. Jewelry that is meant to be worn.

“Margarita, all of these jewels are to be worn by the royal family. Which you are now a part of.” He reminds you. “It is perfectly okay. If you wanted to wear a tiara while in your pajamas and drinking wine, it would be okay.”

“That sounds like the most decadent idea you could possibly have.” And you can’t help but laugh at it, feeling light and giggly at the image.

“Perhaps.” He chuckles. “You might like to have a party like “The Princess Diaries 2.” He jokes, remembering the Princess sleepover party that had actually seemed pretty cute.

“A bachelorette party of preteen princesses?” That makes you laugh again, and you eye the tiara in his hands. “I didn’t think real princesses had bachelorette parties.”

“Real princesses can have any kind of bachelorette party they want.” Javi reveals. “There is normally a press blackout on those days. And it’s held somewhere that is discreet.”

“Hmm.” Pretending to think very hard about it, you end up grinning. “So not Vegas, then? I would never consider Vegas discreet, although they do say that whatever happens there, stays there.”

“I have always wanted to visit.” His eyes widen at the thought and he grins. “Although I’m sure you would want to go to Monte Carlo.”

“Is Monte Carlo better?” The way his eyes widen makes you want to promise you’ll take him to the States immediately, but you know that that is tricky. Especially right now. “I don’t know anything except that it’s supposed to be very fancy.”

“It is. But it’s less…flashy than Las Vegas? At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve been to Monte Carlo many times and I’ve enjoyed it a lot.”

“I guess we’ll have to see what we want to do.” You will encourage the thought constantly, though, knowing that he has spent a long time being denied things. Adventure within reason should not exclude some safe travel destinations. “Both of us.”

“A— a joint thing?” He asks in surprise. Delighted surprise, but surprise.

“It can be whatever we want.” The gentle reminder that he makes his own decisions now does not go awry, and you don’t harp on the fact that it’s because his father has died, either. “We can certainly do something together if that is what you want.”

“I think that we should decide when it comes. First we have to get through the other pressing matters.” Javi tells you, guiding you towards the mirror that is gilded and has been in the family for years. “Now, see what you will look like wearing your tiara.”

It seems like the air is sucked out of the room when he turns you to face the mirror, and frames himself against your back to set the delicate tiara on your head for the very first time. Its scrolls and shimmering diamonds look brilliant in the low light, winking back at you in the gilded mirror and making you look nearly ethereal. Before this moment you would have said it was silly to talk or think that way, but here you are – standing in front of a mirror and gasping at the image in front of you so earnestly that you actually might shed a tear.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, his fingers trailing along your shoulders to rest there. “The Princess that will become queen. My bride to be. My margarita.”

______

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[saltyfish64]

💥 MARS IN 8TH HOUSE - GENIUS OR CRAZY

👉 Yeah, just like the title, with Mars in 8th house in astrology, you can become a successful person or a murderer, depending on what you want to choose -)))).

👉 Why do I say that?

💫 First a little bit about 8th house : governing death, our approach to transformation, deep connections and mysteries or taboos. Ummm, frankly speaking, it's extremely complicated and mysterious, because 8th house is ruled by Scorpio (lol).

💫 As for Mars, it was mentioned in the previous post so I'm too lazy to say it again. In general, it is also related to Scorpio.

🤏 Combining these two things together, Mars in 8th house is like coal meeting fire, burning brightly but releasing CO gas, yes -))) which is a toxic gas. So for me, well, Mars in 8th house is not a very good placement.

👉 Talking about the characteristics of Mars in 8th house:

💫 Mars in 8th house just born seems to be able to read other people's thoughts, so it's not easy to trick them, you can even be spun around like a pinwheel without even knowing it. When they get tired of playing, maybe you will realize -)))).

💫 Although Mars in 8th house is a person with the ability to see far, they are not as calculating as God, they often encounter unexpected things but they are not afraid to face problems -)))) Instead of avoiding it, they prefer to solve it quickly and concisely.

💫 Mars in 8th house also has a trust issue -))), basically, it's quite difficult to get them to trust completely, but once they trust, it's very common to get stabbed in the back 🤡.

🙏 A real example is me, I've been betrayed by a few people before so I know it very well -)))), I played with friends wholeheartedly, and friends stabbed and shocked my brain 🤡.

💫 Mars in 8th house came into contact with death quite early. I remember when I was in 3rd or 4th grade, I already knew about these things. At first, I was afraid of death -))), well, I was simply afraid that my parents would die and I would be alone, but later I thought that death is not really the end but just a new beginning.

💫 Mars in 8th house loves to explore and learn about what interests them 🤔, especially about spirituality and death, um with dramas and also cases, human psychology and crime for example. Moreover, they are also talented in finding the truth, so if you are in love with them, don't do anything wrong to them, they know everything, it's just that they want revenge so they still let you free 💀.

💫 If they are determined to do something, Mars in 8th house will do it to the end, even mountains of swords and seas of fire cannot stop them -))). I remember how many times just looking for a picture or a series of stories, I spent several hours scrolling through all the pages I followed 🤡.

💫 Mars in 8th house in the early stages is a bit lost, they don't know what they want to do and what to do, their psychology is always unstable, they tend to self-destruct or destroy others💀, maybe even will have the intention of "ruining" with those who hurt them deeply. But if they can overcome that stage, find their ego, understand what they want and need to do, then they will be a successful person 🫶.

💫 On the contrary, like the title -))))) I also said above, Mars in 8th house emits CO gas -)))). Really, if the person with this position does not use energy well, they will most likely go down the wrong path (such as addiction, gambling, etc).

👉 In general, if they grow up, they will become people who protect and help others, then you will feel lucky to have them by your side.

💫 Well, Mars in 8th house has a short lifespan -))))) Talented people often die early 🤡 (just kidding, don't throw stones), people with this position like to learn about death, and death also likes to come with them -))))), they will often encounter unexpected accidents without any prediction.

💓 This is the end of this article, thank you for watching me babble 🤭.

💦 Btw, My English is not very good, so if I make any grammatical mistakes, please let me know.

📌 Anyway, this article is personal and written based on my own analysis.

🍀 Wishing you success and luck will come to you.

📍Dành cho bạn nào người Việt thì mình có đăng bài này bằng tiếng Việt trên FB, link mình để ở dưới

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/yR3J9Sn4mYXXrFDX/?mibextid=oFDknk

[hanahaki-disease]

Random thoughts.

1• - Ra's Al Ghul values loyalty, Percy's fatal flaw is excessive personal loyalty.

2• - The parallels are Tim-Jason and Damian-Percy.

3• - Percy is surprisingly calm about the fact that he does not belong to his parents by blood [this boy has too much life experience, which no child should have, and even a person in principle] - Sally is his mother, Poseidon, his father, the only thing he feels for his biological parents is gratitude... Well, that's until he found out exactly how he was born and where Poseidon got him from and brought him to Sally.

4• - The relationship of Percy and Dusan. It's really something intriguing and exciting, the perfect son and heir and someone who, because of what he couldn't control, was considered a disappointing failure. I am very interested to hear your thoughts about these brothers.

5• - Sally really feels a lot about having raised Percy without his heritage. Talia is still here and her offer is still valid.

6• - Percy and Talia move almost identically during combat, gracefully, intimidating and mesmerizing. except that Percy is more chaotic and unpredictable like a Sea wave, and Talia is more of an elegant panther.

7• - The first time Percy met the League of Assassins and his father and sister was when they kidnapped Annabeth [to lure him out] and put the best assassins the league had against him on the way to Annabeth, Percy of course defeated them. Ra's Al Ghul was more than delighted, his son really grew up to be a wonderful warrior.

Ooohh!! Long ask!!!

Percy has the one thing Ra’s wishes all his children and his kin had— unyielding loyalty towards those they cared for, especially if that loyalty was to him. It is bittersweet (and he is slightly angered by it) that the only child of him that has it, is the one who spent their whole life away from him.

Ngl slightly confused on the parallels, I’m sure if you explained I would understand, but I don’t >_<

There are multiple kids in Camp Half-Blood who are adopted into mortal families who have absolutely no idea who their parents are, and Percy was very surprised to learn that he was (technically) adopted too, but that doesn’t change his view of who his parents are. His mom is Sally, his Dad is Poseidon, and if he has a son/half-brother thing and a sister/mom-thing in a ninja assassin cult, oh well. He’s not the first demigod from a place like that, and he sure won’t be the last.

Imma be honest…I don’t know much about Dusan. I’m sorry!!! I’m working my way through the comics and, I’ll be honest again, most of my lore comes from fanfics and just deep diving into DC wiki. So I can really expand upon their connection—I’m sure there’s a big link between them and their relationship in this au, but I don’t know it ＿|￣|○"

& 6 because these can go hand in hand. Once Sally learns where Percy is from, and once they get into contact with Talia, she wants to do immerse herself and Percy in this culture she didn’t know he had. And part of that is letting Percy bond/get to know Talia as more than just “genetic originator/pseudo-incubator mother.”

So, to keep things interesting, and because this is one of the few ways Talia can express herself truly without outside influences, she teaches him traditional League fighting techniques. Once a month, for a whole weekend, Percy and Talia spar and learn and how to adapt Percy’s Greek fluidity and quick-thinking to the sharp and powerful attacks of the League.

I’d say that was the first time Percy met Ra’s because as stated above, Percy’s don Talia already know of each other. Talia kept Per y from Ra’s as long as she could because, while she loves her father, she knows what can happen to a person when Ra’s enters their life. They are no longer the same as they once were and her father will stop at nothing if he wants Percy to return to Nanda Parbat. So is she selfish by keeping him all to herself? Yes, but she does not regret it.

Hope this was what you were hoping for!! Again, I’m sorry I couldn’t give a good reply to #2 and #4!! But I hope the rest can make up for it!!

Thank you so much for the ask!!!

[elysian-fawn]

If you wouldn't mind, I would love to hear all about your Ever After High DR! It sounds so cool, do you have your own fairytale or are you integrating yourself into one of the pre-existing ones? Who are you looking forward to hanging out with the most in that DR? - @therealitysculptor

hi hi kaia,, hope you're doing well ‹𝟹 ty for the question &&&& i am so terribly sorry for getting to this nearly a month later T^T my weak excuse is that at the moment when you sent in this ask i was ꒰ & still am gosh T-T ꒱ incredibly indecisive about my eah script and dr in general that i didn't feel just right answering it, so i left this to marinate . . . in my inbox . . . for weeks . . . i hope you can forgive me =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇)

however !!! i've been beautifying and revamping all of my scripts & i finally got around to redoing ꒰ read : starting (ᵕ—ᴗ—) ꒱ my eah script, so i thought it appropriate to answer this rn cc:

to start off i cannot for the life of me choose whether or not to script my parents as pre-existing fairytale characters here or leaning more into being the daughter of a mythical creature T^T currently, it's a toss up between being dracula’s daughter or the daughter of a fairy or sea goddess or being the daughter of an actual star . . . like as in the cosmos & whatnot . . . ꒰ not sure how the latter would work, but we ball ໒꒰ྀི × ˕ ×。꒱ྀི১ ꒱

and as weird as it sounds, i'm excited to hang out with the "nameless" background characters more than anything bahahhsbdfh,, i would so love to see how they navigate ever after considering the plot of the show & books only focus on the main cast ૮ ๑• . •๑ ა  but apart from that,,, i'm suuuuuuuuuper stoked to hang out with ginger breadhouse & c.a. cupid !!! i fear i'd get along with them like a house on fire bc of my shared love for baking and love itself (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ꒰ i totally did not script to be cupid's co-host on her love advice show whaaattt??? ꒱

tysm for the question again,,, it was fun prattling on abt this dr + i wanna use this as an excuse to share this script bc i love the layout ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎

[dragoon-the-greatest]

I wanna see Merlin fight a volcano. Forget high priestesses or corrupt nobility or magical creatures. Just, Merlin having it out with forces of nature, Aang-style.

Okay here me out. Idk really anything about whether this would have made any sense geographically but we’re talking about a show that casually shows off deserts and the sea and a frozen wasteland all within a few days’ journey from Camelot, so let me have this.

Story concept under the cut.

Just, imagine Merlin, Arthur and Co. passing through some far-off village on the way home from such-and-such a diplomatic visit. The village is overshadowed by a giant mountain that unnerves Merlin. There’s a strange smoke that seems to emit from the top every so often, and there have been a few (small) earthquakes that have happened since arriving (they seem to worsen the closer they get to the mountain). The villagers try to assure him that this is not all that unusual and not worry about it (they have a system for appeasing whatever mountain spirits might be upset with them, and it seems to be working so far. Merlin has read about volcanoes with Gaius before and has his doubts that this is a spiritual matter rather than a scientific one, but he decides to leave the matter be for now). 

The village is preparing for a festival when the gang passes through and they are invited to stay for its duration. Merlin has his reservations but everyone else seems on board ("Really, Merlin, it’s a mountain for crying out loud. Just a giant hunk of rock, it isn't going anywhere. Lighten up, would you?”), so they agree and settle down for a few days. 

The festivities are in full swing; Merlin can hardly feel the tremors at this point between the mead and the constant motion around the dance floor. Just when he starts to think that maybe he was overreacting after all, he hears it.  A low rumble fills the air, overshadowing the music and getting louder and louder until he can feel it in his very bones as the ground shakes in a way that no one can mistake as unsteadiness from alchol.

The ground cracks open and houses give way; the gravity of the situation hits and the villagers start running and screaming away from the collapsing structures. The knights do what they can to restore order and to evacuate the village as quickly as possible, but the villagers aren’t moving quickly enough. They all recognize enough about what’s going on to think that they ought to be putting distance between themselves and the mountain as the quakes continue to worsen, but Merlin is the only one who seems to understand how bad it’s about to become.

He feels the pressure inside the earth, building and building and building and he knows what happens next is not going to be pretty, will most likely be lethal. He looks around, at the parents carrying their crying children, at the lovers frantically clutching each other to keep their footing on the treacherous ground, at Gwen as she rallies the stragglers and comforts the frightened, at the knights trying to restore order through it all. At Arthur. They aren’t going to die here. 

Merlin will make sure of it. 

The knights look at him like he’s lost his mind when he starts walking towards the mountain, glaring at it like he can halt its motions with the intensity of his gaze alone. Arthur finally notices what he’s doing and runs after him; this just means that he has the clearest view of what happens next (save Merlin). 

The earthquakes were one thing. Dramatic, terrifying, but gradual. A shock, but not completely unexpected after the fact. This, though. There were no words for the sound that hits Arthur’s ears as he sees it. An explosion on top of the mountain, a dark cloud flying down the rocky slopes like something from a nightmare. It’s too fast; he won’t reach Merlin in time. He won’t reach the villagers in time. He only has a few moments for regret before bracing himself for the cloud’s impact.

Merlin feels the exact second the pressure explodes from the mountain. He feels the earth’s agitation, the build up, the release. He has no spell, no plan, nothing other than a single thought. Not now. Not today. 

Arthur looks up just in time to see Merlin throw his hands out, watches while the cloud passes around them, scorching but not deadly. He looks back at the villagers and sees that it passes over them as well. It’s like they are standing in some kind of dome, ash on all sides. The darkness just makes the gold from Merlin’s eyes shine all the brighter.

There is no time to react to this new information about his most trusted friend. They have to get out of there but the ground is still shaking, rocks are flying, there is too much happening and no way out. Not until --

“Enough!” a voice, a roar, something almost draconic fills the air, above the explosions and the rumbling of the earth. “You answer to ME!”

Merlin carries on a conversation with the earth that no one else sees. The earth rages and screams for release; Merlin’s magic screams louder. Finally, the earth begrudgingly agrees to wait. Not long; there is only so much bargaining to be done with the land itself, but hopefully it will be enough.

Merlin turns to the village, to the knights, to Arthur, eyes still shining gold and face radiating a hitherto unknown intensity, an authority, unexpected on the face of a servant and yet fitting all the same. Everyone stops for a moment, before- “Move! Now! What are you waiting for? We don’t have much time, we have to MOVE!” 

They listen and begin to hurry in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. Merlin holds his hands aloft in the back of the group, maintaining the shield that keeps the ash at bay. The earth's shaking has calmed somewhat, but even the least-magical being there can feel it is only temporary. They hurry, and the air begins to clear the farther they go. It won't last, Merlin knows; he can feel the earth losing its patience. There is a limit even to Merlin’s magic, though he has never come so close to finding it before today. Deeming the air safe enough, Merlin drops his shield, opening it instead to stand between the villagers and the mountain. “Go! I’ll slow it down!” 

The people hurry on, grateful, but not willing to waste the chance they’ve been given on sentimentality for the man who has saved them. The queen and the knights aren’t willing to leave their friend behind, but the people’s safety comes first. They stop to hug him, ruffle his hair, and Merlin is just this side of crying from relief that his friends don’t hate him, they don’t hate him! Even with the magic. They leave, and the only one left is Arthur.

Of course.

He can’t convince him to leave, and there isn’t time to try harder. Merlin needs to focus on the earth, on the magic that is starting to lose its grip. He can’t run for his life, hold up a shield, and commune with the earth at the same time, and spares a moment to share this with Arthur as a last ditch effort to explain why he has to leave.

Arthur hears. He hears and decides there is a fairly simple solution here.

“Put me down right this instant!”

“You know full well I won't, so I suggest you stop complaining and start communing!” 

They get away in the end. The greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth reconvenes with the rest of the group while bodily slung over the shoulders of his king. 

--- --- ---

A year later, Arthur and his new Court Sorcerer have been invited to some distant kingdom called Atlantis. They get halfway there before Merlin stops, grabs Arthur’s reins, and promptly nopes his way back to Camelot. 

[therentyoupay]

Hi, just wanted to say I really love you and Callimara's work on the the fic "More than you know" so far (I have watched Callimara's video multiple times, I AM OBSESSED) and now I am actively reading your other work. I am loving it so far, I am currently reading "Frosted Sea Glass". I wanted to ask a question. Since I saw a few others ask you about Jelsa headcanons, I was wondering if you have any relating to how either of them interact with children, or someone younger than them?? I am currently writing a fic where Jack has managed to gain himself a little helper spirit with his work, so I've been trying to think of some ideas to help them interact with the little spirit. Though we all know Jack would have the upper hand than Elsa, with his job as a Guardian of Childhood after all..

HI, and THANK YOU SO MUCH. 🥹💕🙏 it seriously means so much!! (i remember calli saying a few weeks ago that she wasn't sure how many people would end up seeing the video, and the two of us wondering if there was still anybody out there 🤣🥹 THANK YOU FOR CONNECTING HERE ON TUMBLR, and sharing your love an support 😭😭😭😭🙏 it feels like it's been so long since there has been this much activity in the jelsa tags, and it feels so good to see so many people this active again ✨💕) thank you for your lovely ask!! (and thank you for reading my beloved eternal-summertime-sadness!mermaid!au fic 😂🙏😭💕)

regarding your question, i have a few more for you!! 💕💕💕💕

in your story, re: Helpers:

to what degree does jack in your story consider his Helpers as: his children? his friends? His Fancy Professional Colleagues? his Annoying Co-workers? extensions of himself, his soul, his very being? (are they are part of him? when they hurt, does he hurt?)

how mischievous are these Helpers, and does he encourage/enable their naughty behaviors?

how does he manage their training or, perhaps if needed, discipline?

how does he express gratitude for their help, or pride in their accomplishments?

readers of at the center may remember that i gave jack three different Helpers (jackie, the frost bunny; jacqueline, the frost fox; jax, the frosty owl) in my story, and each Helper had their own personality, so his relationship (emotional, working/professional, etc.) was different with each! in that sense, it was really fun to explore jack's role as guardian not only as a Newbie to the A-team and as a low-key Guardian-in-Training for elsa, but also to see how he would fare "managing" a team of his own. like you, i LOVED playing around with how he'd connect with different Helper personalities! so, the questions listed above are just a few points that came to mind while writing this post, as i was sat here thinking about what questions i asked myself while i was exploring jack's behaviors in working with his Helpers in atc! 💕 i hope they're helpful!

general headcanons, re: interacting with kids:

here are some BIG questions that come to mind!

what do children represent to elsa, in your story? does seeing small children bring her nostalgia, bittersweet feelings, regret, happiness, hope for the future (of her kingdom, for herself?), memories of when she and anna were younger (and the childhoods that were ripped away from them when elsa was forced to isolate herself)?

does seeing small children bring up Old Fears about losing control and potentially hurting someone? (most people who have never held a baby before are going to be Anxious when someone thrusts a baby into their arms, but for elsa, who has all these additional supernatural worries on top of natural discomforts, how does that manifest in her reactions and behaviors?)

does seeing small children bring elsa a sense of hope and joy, remind her of some buried-down desire to be/curiosity of being a mother (to be like her mother, to be so much better than her mother, to do all the she can to be a parent who honors her mother), which for so many years felt like an impossible, impossible hope (which she pushed so far down inside herself she forgot the wish existed)?

do children bring up, regardless of her hopes/plans to physically bear and raise children, her maternal instincts? (how might you show that her maternal/older sister instincts/caregiving tendencies are at least partially rooted in—and in many ways connected to—her duties, honor, and obligations as the Mother of Arendelle, the Queen, the ruler over an entire family and kingdom of people) that feel natural and familiar? something new?

what do children represent to jack, in your story? at this stage of development, does jack still carry any resentment? fear of rejection or abandonment? excitement and security over feeling connected, feeling a sense of belonging? to what degree do the Helpers/kids fulfill his Need to be Needed; make him feel like he is helping someone, that someone relies on him and needs him?

to what degree is jack able, willing, and ready to manage the responsibilities or behaviors of someone else? for someone who has made a point of shirking responsibility and duty, and who (at the time of the movie) only recently started to change his preconceived notions of what it means to be a part of a team and to take ownership and accountability or to willingly submit oneself to a higher order of moral codes and rules and high-stakes responsibilities... how does he handle the emotions, decision-making moments, and physical strain of witnessing someone else take on such a role, especially with being higher up in the hierarchy of leadership? does jack consider himself a leader? (do the others consider him a leader at this point?) what do the other guardians think of jack's growth and progress (or lack thereof), at this point in the story? (do their perceptions change, throughout?)

to what degree do jack and elsa see these Helpers, or younger individuals, kids, etc. in ways that remind them both of their respective younger sisters? in which ways do jack and elsa see their sisters in these young individuals/Helpers? how are their behaviors toward, dialogues with and about, and perceptions of the Helpers/kids shaped by the relationships they have with their own sisters?

although jack may technically have more 'experience' (using this term loosely here lol) in watching kids behave (while he was invisible, or after) and knowing what circumstances allow kids/teens to engage in fun (a la the rotg movie, in which the other guardians were initially completely out of touch loololol, as you suggested), this experience as a guardian of the children may or may not entirely transfer to leading, managing, coaching, training, disciplining, or interacting with a Helper spirit under his care (or his jurisdiction). in your story, to what degree is jack naturally adept at being responsible for 'staff' under his leadership?? this could be a REALLY fun place to explore (which is what i really wanted to dive into in at the center!!)

also, consider: although jack may have had more years of working with younger kids, who has more experience leading? how might elsa (in her role as queen, or as a member of the Older Sister Syndrome community, or with her exceptional perceptiveness and observation and anxiety-driven need to constantly Read the Room and be prepared for Any Outcome) be able to teach jack? in particular, how might elsa be able to teach jack means of navigating difficult decisions, difficult conversation? how might elsa be able to share what she has learned from being a queen and a ruler with jack, so that he is able to fulfill his role as a mentor while still being true to himself?

before elsa was cut off from the rest of the world, she was undeniably a natural at being a fun, loving, caring, and protective Older Sister to anna; depending on where you are in elsa's development after she was cut off from the world and/or (potentially) found her way back, which elements of that core, buried, uncovered(?), Natural piece of her personality remain? how would they come out in interactions with kids now, at this point in your story (whether they emerge naturally, or are coaxed out by jack or the Helpers themselves)?

also, peacock that jack is, i wouldn't doubt it for a second that jack might, at first, be led to believe that he is more adept at handling Helpers/kids than he really is. 😂 ("piece of cake!!") he might feel emboldened by his 'years of experience' as a(n invisible) guardian, and he might further take confidence from his restored Memories of his human life with his sister and the village kids; but to what degree do these Memories actually translate into and help prepare him for the new responsibilities, dangers, and emotional connections with his Helpers/these kids ahead? how does jack handle the confusion, frustration, surprise, and shifting worldviews that occur when he realizes the depths of the differences between his old experiences and the new situations he faces? (how does jack handle struggling with learning something new? especially when he'd thought that it was going to be so much easier than it is...) how does jack handle taking advice from others (guardians, elsa, anna, Kristoff, etc.?) how does jack handle it when things don't go according to plan, especially when he expected a smoother ride? (😂)

how does elsa support and teach along the way (to jack and to the Helpers themselves)? what does elsa learn from the Helpers, from jack, through jack's navigation of these new challenges and how he overcomes them? how does jack learn from elsa as he watches her face these challenges beside him?? what do they (and do they not) learn from each other???

I HOPE THESE ARE HELPFUL. i suppose you can kind of see some hints of little headcanons i have popping out through these questions, haha!! wherever you are in your story, i hope that you have a lot of fun thinking through and exploring these different layers!! 💕💕💕💕 good luck with your writing, and please feel free to drop a link to your fic in the replies for anyone who might like to read it! 🫶💕✨ thank you, lovely!!

[theoneandonlysemla]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Tagged by the lovely @rakaiawriter ❤️

How many works do you have on A03? 5 (only been there since 2023, soo... we can add my German works on fanfiktion.de, those are 9 more plus 2 that are also on AO3)

What's your total word count? 293 727 on AO3 400.329 on fanfiktion.de

What fandoms do you write for? Currently Elder Scrolls, especially Skyrim. Planning on some general Elder Scrolls too. Earlier I've written for Hannibal, Supernatural, Mötley Crüe, Marvel's Thor (Loki), Marilyn Manson and once a terrible, terrible Rammstein fic that is now deleted.

Top 5 fics by kudos? Okay, so I only have 5 fics on AO3, so here we go: 1) Daedric Drabbles (25) 2) Doe and Wolf (21) 3) Whisky by the Sea (21) 4) Dealings with Daedra (16) 5) Siblicide (2) Fanfiktion.de has a recommendation system that's similiar to kudos, so here we go: 1) I think I'll eat your heart (27) 2) Only Human (13) 3) Whisky by the Sea (6) 4) Hey Mister Superhate, I just want to love you (5) 5) The Devilish Games That I Taught You (4)

Do you respond to comments? Yes, I always try to. I love to share my brain rot with others and loe to chat about my little stories!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I moslty write sad and devastating endings now, but angsty was the ending of The Devilish Games That I Taught You. Someone loosing their tongue by Crowley cutting it out? Much angst. But the whole last part of Dealings with Daedra too had much angst.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I do not write happy endings. Most of my endings are bittersweet and as I already said sad in nature.

Do you get hate on fics? Never gotten any, luckily. Only constructive criticism so far.

Do you write smut? Yes and I love it.

Craziest crossover? I don't do crossovers, never appealed to me and I tend to avoid reading them.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I knew of.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Ha, I'm doing that myself. Whisky by the Sea and Siblicide were originally written in German and I am currently translating Dealings with Daedra to German.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope. I'm a lone wolf *aaawuuu* (Ok, I'll stop)

All-time favorite ship? Ooof, Hannigram maybe? The chemistry between Mads and Hugh is just so gooood.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Honestly, my Hannibal-Fic and my Loki-Fic. Only Human (Loki) needs a total rewrite because I did write a Mary-Sue there. And for I think I'll eat your heart I just don't have the hyperfocus anymore. Maybe it will come back some day.

What are your writing strengths? I think writing emotions? Also word choices and world descriptions.

What are your writing weaknesses? Living on the hyperfocus, definitely. Procrastinating. And I love to find a word and use it all over my writing. Certainly is a good example or adorned and accompanied.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? Has to be done right. Like, it really needs a purpose and not just for using the language. I'm a big fan of scattering words for the feeling. For example when writing Lori's parents in WbtS, they mostly cursed in italian. Giving Teldryn Dunmeri words is also fitting I think and I'm doing that while writing DwD II. But generally speaking, it should not disturb the flow and as I said, have purpose. Then I'm ok with it.

First fandom you ever wrote in? Marilyn Manson, I think. There is awful writing on my hard drive, you can't imagine.

Favorite fic you've written? Oof, changes. I mostly love the one I'm currently writing the most and that's also the case now. I have almost written 50k words for DwD II by now and I fucking love it.

Uhm, who to tag here? @vanilleeistee, @ladytanithia are you in for this? 😄