#Tw: adultery

[torchflies]

The Five Names of Ice Kazansky (Girl!Ice Orthodox Jew!Ice) + Glossary of Terms

* I was super bored at my conference and wrote this on a napkin because I was having Jewish thoughts on naming 😎 💁🤷*

—

To be a Jew is to struggle with God — it's the first thing little Hadassah Tzabarit Kazansky learns in this life. 

—

She questions for the first time at six years old as Dassy, Rabbi Kazansky’s sharp-tongued little girl and now, as his only child.

“Abba?” Dassy asks him, holding his big hand in her smaller pair as they toss handfuls of dirt into her twin brother’s grave, “Why did Feivel die?”

Rabbi Kazansky takes his only living child into his arms as he answers, “You already know, zeeskeit. He had lymphoma, he was very sick.”

“But why?” She asks again, with the unfailing trust of a child. “Why did God take him away? He was ours.”

“No,” Her father says as tears drip down his cheeks and into his beard, “Feivel was not ours, just as you are not mine. Our children are gifts, Dassy, but they are only borrowed; we raise our children to leave us. Sometimes they stay in this world to do that and sometimes they do not.” 

—

When her mother dies, she is Hadassah. 

She sits by herself at the funeral, wearing a black dress that’s too long and too loose across her chest to be comfortable. But nothing is comfortable anymore, not when her mother is lying in an aron under the earth and everyone is talking about her like she isn’t sitting ten feet away from them.

There’s dirt under her nails from yesterday, when she had climbed the biggest tree in the shul garden to put an empty bird’s nest back from where it had fallen. She had slipped on the way back down and torn a hole in her tights; Rabbi Moskowitz’s wife, Miriam, had given her an extra pair with a smile. What will we do with you, Hadassah? 

She had spent the entire morning fixing her two thick braids, pulling them so tight that the blond curls didn’t bunch out at any angle, then redoing them again when they didn’t match. It took five tries to make them look perfect. She had pinned both plaits back with one of her mother’s favorite tichels, folding it so it held back her braids instead of covering her whole head. She didn’t have any black dresses, so she was forced to tug out one of her mother’s from her closet, feeling a bit like she was stealing. 

Hadassah, my Dassy. Her mother would say. You’ve gotten so big while I’ve been away. 

Her torn ribbon flutters against her neck and she shoves it down angrily.

She doesn’t want to cry in a room of alte makhsheyfes and alter cockers that she doesn’t know. It’s silly and childish, but all she wants is for her mother to wake up and take her home. 

But dead is dead and Goldie Kazansky is very dead. 

“Hadassah, are you alright?” 

Rabbi Moskowitz sits down beside her, his brown eyes doleful and sad. He shifts until one of his knees sits curled on the bench, regarding her softly and waiting until she’s ready to speak. He does the same thing when she sits in his office every Tuesday morning to practice for her Bat Mitzvah, letting her take her time with the text until she’s ready to talk to him about it. But nothing is right anymore, it’s Tuesday morning and her mother is dead. 

She shrugs, tugging on her right braid and staring out the window, watching a little blue bird hop around in the grass. Her Rabbi doesn’t say anything, he just waits. 

“Excuse me, Lev. Can I have a minute with her?” 

Rabbi Kazansky sits down beside her, in the wreckage of the only life she's ever known.

She falls into her father’s arms with a low sob, “I don't understand!” She cries, twelve years old and distraught, “Why would God take her away too?!”

Her father says nothing, he just rocks her and sings a nigun until her tears run dry. 

—

The day she meets her best-friend, she is Ice. 

Ice Kazansky, the Ice Queen, buries Hadassah and Dassy as far down as she can reach. She smiles with nothing but a mouthful of pretty, perfect teeth as her Academy classmates call her a frigid bitch, something not to be touched, and she shows them just how desperately their performances are wanting. 

She is a flawless pilot and she is ice: cold, and unfeeling until she ends anyone who gets too close. 

“Ron Kerner,” Her fourth RIO introduces himself, all six feet and four inches of smarmy ego that she doesn't have time for. “But you can call me whatever you please, sweetheart.”

She blinks at him, glacial and unforgiving, and on their first hop together: she rolls them, hanging them inverted until he pukes. 

“You really are an icy bitch.” He moans as he spits up on the tarmac. 

Ice just smiles and turns sharply to grab her third cup of coffee from the mess, not a hair out of place, and according to her classmates — barely human. No one speaks to her as she marches past, no one reaches out. 

“I’m sorry,” Kerner tells her later, pushing his plate of bacon towards her as some kind of peace offering. She instantly shakes her head, decades of lessons kicking in before she can stop herself. He looks so damn dejected that she allows herself a moment of — something. She wavers, reaching out.

She takes his dry toast, with a soft, “I don't eat meat.” 

“Oh.” He says, dark eyes wide. “Ever?”

He's inching closer to things that she doesn't want to explain, kashrut and observance, and being an Orthodox Jewish woman but also being everything that an Orthodox Jewish woman is not. How, in her community, she would have already been married with a baby on each hip — how that was a life she had wanted so badly for so long… until she was told it was all she could ever have. 

“Ever.” She says instead, hating the lie. 

“I’ll remember that, Kazansky.” He hums with a smile that makes him softer, kinder. He has warm eyes too and honey-brown hair that curls up at the ends, her RIO with his awful callsign — Slider. 

“Ice,” She corrects, even as he goes red at the memory of his insult.

“Ice.” He says and she finds that she likes the sound of her cruel epithet in his mouth. 

—

The day she falls in love, she is the Queen. 

The little gremlin has no idea how close he is to hitting the nail on the head — she is Hadassah, but also anything but. 

“Icy!” She somehow hears over the throng and almost rolls her eyes behind her shades, recognizing that lackadaisical voice and the only person in the world who calls her Icy. 

He's a memory, an old friend, a first kiss and the first of many hefty guilt spirals at eighteen, in a world so different from the one she had grown up in. He had been three years older than her then, still was, and had seemed so much wiser than her at twenty-one. But now, at twenty-six, she knows how young they both were. 

Still, the last she heard, Loosey Goosey Bradshaw was off getting married and having a baby, not frequenting the O Club in Miramar. Her cold eyes sweep the crowd and she only narrowly finds him, waving at her from the bar — lanky and jovial as ever. She doesn't smile, but she could have. She's missed him. “Hey! C’mere, I got someone for you to meet!” 

She follows her marching orders, letting his voice wash over her as it starts being audible over the pounding pop music. 

“Here she is, the best of the best — Ice Queen Kazansky. It's how she flies, Mav: ice-cold, no mistakes and I'm just warning you now, pal. If you get bored and do something stupid, she’s got you.” 

He's bent over double, giving a life lesson to the short, stocky young man beside him. Ice has half a foot on the boy and that's being generous — he’s tiny. He smiles from ear-to-ear when he sees her though, full of lust and ignorance, and she thinks of that one film that Slider’s been making her see at the drive-ins every few weeks now: Gremlins. 

“She could have me all the time if she wants.” The little cowboy drawls and Ice ignores him completely, only to raise an eyebrow at her old friend, no wedding ring in sight.

“Hey there, Bradshaw,” She intones, flat and bored, but Nick knows her well enough to pick up on the undercurrent of amusement there. “Odd place to hang out for a married man.” 

He goes a little red at that, flushing up to his eyebrows and she steals his Budweiser to cast her eyes over the crowd again as she sips, “Slider should be around here somewhere, I think you just missed him on the way to his latest crash and burn.” 

The little guy clears his throat, for what must be at least the second time, if his uppity attitude is indicative of anything specific. 

“Goose,” He announces, all bluster and no bite with those big teeth of his. “I think the Queen’s lost that lovin’ feeling.” 

Beside her, Ice’s old friend blanches bony white. “Nope. No, Mav. She hasn't, she really hasn't.” He's making slicing motions across his neck and for a moment, she's concerned about his blood pressure and the vein twitching at his temple. “Mav,” He hisses, so low that she almost misses it, “No.” 

“Actually, Goose.” Those bottle-green eyes fan over her, assessing for some soft spot that she doesn't have. She lets him try. “I think she has.”

The little thing grabs Nick by the wrist and drags him in the direction of the jukebox. Ice merely hums and lets them go, sipping on her free drink. 

She doesn't expect the serenade, nor does she expect the way her heart bottoms out or the way her lips tremble against the cold glass of her bottle. 

You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips…

This maneuver is not recoverable and she can't eject.

Pete Mitchell is going to destroy her entire life, or maybe — he’ll give her a new one.

—

He does give her that new one, three years after they get married — Golda Helen Mitchell, named at a Zeved Habat for his mother and hers. 

— 

Glossary of terms:

Zeved Habat — naming ceremony for a baby girl

Hadassah — Hebrew name for Queen Esther

zeeskeit — Yiddish term of endearment similar to sweetheart

Kashrut — kosher dietary laws

Rabbi — a leader, both religious and otherwise, in the Jewish community and a teacher

Aron — a casket

Tichel — the head covering of a Jewish woman after marriage

Bat Mitzvah — the coming of age for a Jewish girl

Shul — synagogue, Jewish place of worship

Alte Makhsheyfe — Yiddish insult meaning old witch

Alter cocker — Yiddish insult meaning (annoying) old person

[rosesnink]

The Other Woman

Author’s Notes 

Aaaand we’re back on TCH stuff!! This story is not my favourite, but it’s been fun to explore. As I said in the fic, I am not justifying Roselyn’s behaviour, but rather looking for a reason on why she acted like that and understand her point of view as a writer. Make it make sense, unlike PB here. 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistake I might’ve made. 

If you want to read the whole story, here’s the link! 

I will be publishing stories like these of other characters this week, like Miss Sutton or Edmund, so stay tuned for more! 

Summary: Roselyn tells us her side of the story 

Word Count: 2.9k 

Category: Angst 

Pairing: Roselyn Sinclaire, Ernest Sinclaire, Duke Richards 

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: Death, grief, adultery, strong language and major death character 

Book: Desire and Decorum 

1796, Paris, France

The young Roselyn D’Ouleur played with her doll, watching as her mother sighed, looking at the family’s books. It was late at night, and the French Revolution was at its peak. What was worse, the prosecution towards nobles was worse than ever and Madame Guillotine was stronger than ever. Though, young Roselyn was suspicious, but her brother Renard was getting even more suspicious.

Suddenly, their father, Henri, came into the house, panting “Quick, we need to pick out the essentials and get into a boat now!”

Pierre, who was eleven, frowned “But Papa, we thought we wouldn’t go until next week!”

“Someone snitched on us and the revolutionaries are on their way here! Odette, quick, pack Rosie’s things and get her dressed, we don’t have much time!”

Odette nodded and picked up little Roselyn, who clung to her mother for dear life. The rebels would be here soon, and to say that she was scared was an understatement “We’re leaving for London. We’ll be safer there.”

And with that, they left in the eerie French morning. Roselyn wagered it was past 2 a.m., the latest she’d been up. They had a trusted friend who took them to Normandy in three days. After that, in the eve of the morning, Roselyn and Renard both embarked, with her mother on tow… when they heard their father crying out to get into be boat immediately. The royalist resistance knew that they had to go now, and so they did. Some former soldiers of the king prepared to fight in case any revolutionary dared come aboard. Roselyn would never forget the grotesque image before her: her father, fending off armed soldiers… who shot him and started to strip him to get some goods. Her mother Odette was quick to take the young girl inside the boat, where they had to share a room.

Roselyn swore that she’d never go back there. And she heard her brothers swear that he’d soon get his revenge.

1804

It had been nine years since they had left from France, and Renard had heard that Napoleon had crowned himself emperor and would restore the lost titles. With that, despite being quite young, he was the heir to the estate that awaited them back in France. The D’Ouleur fortune belonged to him. And thus, she was in on the coasts to Tilbury, bidding her brother goodbye. She kissed his cheek and wept “Please tell me you’ll write to me, brother.”

“But of course, dear sister. I will send you and mother money. Now, obey mama and make papa proud from you, alright?”

She nodded and hugged him before he was rushed into the boat. As they went back to the carriage, Odette wiped her daughter’s tears, who was but eleven years old. Poor child, she thought.

When they arrived at their modest house, her mother turned to truly gaze at her, motioning her to sit. She had stopped crying as they reached the house. When the servants were gone, she started speaking “As you know, we are all alone here. Until then, there are two things you’ll soon learn about life: that it’s never fair to us ladies, and that the only way to survive resides in the coin. The more money you have, the better. It’s not the same being unhappy but have everyone at your command than being unhappy and hungry. Soon nature will choose you to bleed, and when you do, your childhood will be over. I will make of you a lady who can get the wealthiest man of the ton, I promise you.”

“What about love?” She whispered.

“You can grow to love your rich, titled husband, dear. That’s what I did back in the day. I saw a rich man, married him, and loved him through my children. It’s what we’ve been doing since the coin came into the human lives. You shall do the same, my dear.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You’ll wise up, and will realise to thank your wealthy husband not to be hungry or ask for something, you’ll see. If you can score one rich man who’s also kind, then you will have won the game, dearest. Those savages on rags wanted us dead because they’re envious of us. Thankfully, Napoleon has put them in their place. All you need in this life is wealth, a husband who does not lift his hand, and a son to continue on what you’ve started.”

1809

In five years, Roselyn had been training every day. The arts of a lady, a socialite, managing a household… and know when a man was truly rich and when he was simply bluffing. Her mother had made connections, and had listed a few honest men who possessed enough wealth to make her daughter’s life content. But Roselyn thought different. Why not being a wealthy, titled woman? She had that ambition.

After the period of mourning of her main suitor, Mr. Ernest Sinclaire, was over, she had been looking for someone, anyone with a title. She had wondered often. Someone close to power. She did feel guilty, though, and not deserving of Mr. Sinclaire. He was wise, smart, kind, generous and did look like he liked her very much. She did not deserve his spoils. Or him, for that matter.

She was genuinely surprised that he liked her, enough to dine with his mother—his father had died years ago rather mysteriously—and his mother eyed her suspiciously and made remarks of how she expected her to return the feelings. Surely she could fall for a rich man like heroines do in the books?

He was the perfect match, and he seemed like he actually liked being with her and talk to her. Her mother agreed. He was the best bachelor.

During the dinner before their wedding, some illustrious friends of her fiancé came. One of them a duke! Roselyn thought that all dukes were taken. This one hasn’t married once!

“Your Grace, may I present my future wife, Roselyn D’Ouleur?”

She bowed, giving him a seductive smile. He seemed to catch her meaning and kissed her hand “How do you do, Miss?”

“I am fine, especially now that all our illustrious guests are here.”

Ernest smiled at her, but her gaze was fixed on the duke. Sure, he was a bit grey and rogued, but oh, the titles, money, lifestyle… perhaps she’d find a way to get out of this engagement? It wasn’t uncommon for women to back out… at least in France.

As the men left to cigars and cards, with Ernest already there, the duke approached her “I’m glad that my friend has found a suitable woman for him. Perhaps… you’d like a visit, eh?”

She giggled “I’d love nothing more, Your Grace.”

“Meet me here in two hours, sweet nightingale.”

1810

Roselyn was full of guilt. She had been too much of a coward to tell Ernest she had cold feet, for the duke had persuaded her to stay married to him. The encounters had been frequent, while Ernest and Mr. Chambers dealt with the creepy viscount, she had some spicy escapades with the duke. It had been going on ever since, and summer was nearing.

Her husband was confused on why she didn’t have any marital appetite for him, but was respectful, waiting for her to come to him on her own account. The reason? She found it quite rude to have someone on your mind while you were with another. Maybe she was a dirty, shameful cheater, but she had some morals left. What was worse, she started to feel sick. Really sick. Maybe it was guilt and shame, building up.

But the fateful night of Ernest finding out the worst was possibly come, and she couldn’t stand seeing her kind husband looking at her with hate. She had gone back to her mother’s house, and when she finished telling the tale, her mother didn’t respond.

Instead, she got up and smacked her across the face!

“Stupid girl! How could you be so… so careless! In his dining room, a public place! I told you to back out, but turns out I have raised a fool instead of a smart girl! All the money your father left us, wasted for nothing!”

She had been trembling and sobbing the entire time “Maman, please!”

“Get out! You are not my daughter anymore!” She called out “Boys! Take this shameful girl out of my house and don’t let her in!”

“NO! NO! MAMAN, PLEASE, I NEED YOU! NOOO!” She cried out, her screech waking the entire neighbourhood.

She didn’t know how much time has passed, but a kind woman of a brothel had taken her in, attending her. Her name, was, if she remembered correctly, Marianna. Such a kind and tender woman for a low rank. Maybe Ernest was right and these women deserved equal respect.

“There is something you must know.”

“Hm?”

Marianna bit her lip “…You’re pregnant, Mrs. Sinclaire.”

She stood there in shock for a few minutes before breaking into sobs. It certainly hadn’t been her husband’s, and she knew that Marianna knew. What had she done? Her husband would never take her in…

“He should know.”

“The father? Or my husband?”

“Both, madame.”

After a few more crying, she finally calmed down. She had to tell Tristan first. Perhaps she could remarry and finally be his duchess, like he promised!

She rushed towards his townhouse, and entered as usual to his office. What she saw broke her: at least two girls, younger than her and half naked, kissing the duke.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! What is this?!”

“Roselyn? What the fuck! Shouldn’t you be with your husband.”

After taking a few deep breaths, she slammed the door closed and pointed at him “Just when I was about to tell you that I am bearing your child, I find you wenching with these… these!” She cried out, pointing at the prostitutes.

“Girls, wait for me in the bedroom.” He ordered calmly. He got up and smirked “What makes you think that bastard is mine? Knowing you, you’ve been with half the men of this neighbourhood alone.”

“It’s not true, because you monopolized me! You held me in your arms and told me you loved me, that I was your one true love and your rightful duchess!”

He laughed out loud “And you believed that?

“I’m just another fuck for you, am I not? Does it not matter to you that your child—”

“You’re so sure it’s mine, it’s embarrassing. I want nothing to do with your sinful child or you ever again.”

She got on her knees “Tristan, please!” She cried out as the guard carried her out “I BESEECH YOU!” She cried out, her cries so loud the girls he was with looked at her, pity in her eyes.

She didn’t know how much time she had been walking, or that she knocked on one door. When her husband opened, dumbfounded, no doubt, he asked coldly “Why are you here?”

“My mother kicked me out. The duke hates me. And… I am with child. The duke’s child. Please, Ernest, if you ever loved me, even if it was for a single moment…” She sobbed “I promise not to disarray anymore. I will do your bidding. Just… please, don’t turn your back on me.”

There was a sepulchral silence before he sighed, opening the door and beckoning her inside “Do I have your word, Roselyn?”

She nodded, still sobbing “You do.”

“Take the guest room upstairs. I will ready everything.”

He was about to start going upstairs when she asked “Do you hate me, Ernest?”

“…I don’t know what to feel right now.”

1811

Time had passed, and her belly grew… as well as the people’s talk. Ernest avoided her or showing her off at all. He no longer called her “my dearest wife”. He instead called her “Mrs. Sinclaire”. She didn’t know which one hurt more.

Sometimes, when she went looking for a late night craving, she could tell that he was dreaming of someone. A woman. She didn’t have a name, but she hated her already. And she confronted him about it “Is there another woman in your life, Ernest?”

He nearly choked on his scone “Pardon?”

“Who is she, Ernest?” She demanded.

“There is nobody.”

“Oh yeah, and those dreams, huh?!”

He looked at her coldly “They are that, dreams. Just illusions. But I assure you, unlike you, I have kept my wedding vows.”

She flinched and looked down “I’m sorry, I know that it is hypocritical of me, and that you have needs… needs I have unattended.”

“Even if I did… I won’t have an affair.”

“Thank you.”

Something in his eyes flickered “One shouldn’t thank their spouse for being faithful. It’s the bare necessities.”

With that, he wiped off the crumbs and left again to his study.

The moment the door closed; she broke into sobs again.

The night of the birth, Roselyn woke up knowing that something would go wrong. Clearly, God did not want her sin to succeed. She could feel it in her bones. She didn’t dare tell Ernest. He had enough burdens. She didn’t like the idea of him moving on or remarrying if she died, but she probably deserved it.

The birth was a complicated one, and Roselyn felt number as the hours passed and the baby was closer to be born. She looked at the midwife and whispered “One of us will die, won’t we?”

“Probably.”

And so, she closed her eyes and started praying: O’ God, I beg of you, let this child be born healthy and fine. Take me instead. I am the sinner here. Give this boy a life and someone who can love him. I promise that you will never reproach me if you choose me to be in your paradise, and I promise to be good. I beseech you to have mercy upon my poor, clueless baby.

And, suddenly, with the cries of her baby, she started seeing a light. And someone “It is time, Rosie.”

“It’s a boy, madame.” The midwife declared.

The accoucheur disappeared for a bit before her husband came in. They talked, and she looked down onto her son “Mon bebe. J’et aime…” She sighed, and allowed her father to carry her with him.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in France, but it remained the same one of her father’s times. No revolutionaries, no Madame Guillotine, only the France she ever wanted to live… and her father and brother by her side. She didn’t even ask why he was there. They just hugged, enjoying this bliss that she was certain it’d last forever this time.

My name is Roselyn Lilou D’Ouleur. I was born in a spring of 1792 in France. I was clueless at the time of the turmoil surrounding it, and what an historic event would play in it.

I saw my father die by the revolutionaries. I never knew until later how poor our family became because of it. My mother sent our brother away to fight for the future Emperor Napoleon. I never saw him until it was too late for the both of us.

My mother trained me to make a wealthy man fall in love with me, and that I did, marrying Mr. Ernest Sinclaire of Ledford Park in 1809. He was kind, smart, maybe too smart, loving and simply the best man I’ve ever met. I confess I was never a good wife. I tried my best, but I was caught in a scandalous affair with Tristan Richards, Duke of Karlington. His money and power attracted me, as Icarus was attracted to the sun, and like him, I too got burnt, falling pregnant with his baby as well.

My husband was perhaps too kind for letting me back into his house and have the baby. I tried to win him back, but he hated me already. I know he did. But he never said anything, because his heart is bigger than hatred itself. He took care of me, despite being petty and entitled to a privilege I lost the first day I lay with the duke. If I could go back and smack myself and tell myself to stay married to Ernest, I would. We would’ve worked as a couple, were it not for my endless greed and ambition.

On the 5th of April, 1811, I gave birth to my only child, Percival. I told my husband that, were he to want him, he’d be all his. He deserves someone who will love him. I know that he will ask for nothing, and perhaps Ernest will find someone who will make him happier and give him the life he deserves.

My name is Roselyn, the unfaithful woman, the forgotten wife of Ernest Sinclaire, the traitorous and backstabbing wife who preferred money to a good man. The forgotten mother of Percival whom he’ll never get to know. I am one of the greatest sinners of my time, and this is my story.

I don’t ask anyone to justify me, or tell me I did to survive. I only ask that you look onto yourselves and ask yourself this: in my stead, what would have you done in order to survive a world that is cruel and merciless to women like me?

Would you have submitted to your family’s ambition, or you would’ve stayed in your place? Would I do it all over again? That is a question for another tale.

[ninjastormhawkkat]

The Fall of Fair City - Chapter 23

Everyone in the courtroom gasped with shock. "Wait what?" The Butcher and Mrs. Botsford said simultaneously in utter surprise. "Y..yes. Well I looked over the evidence again and there are a lot of..inconsistencies, uh..contaminated evidence, problems with witness statements." Judge Homesfield justified, all the while twiddling his thumbs under his desk. He then looked more composed. "The point is I looked over the evidence and it appears The Butcher should be let go. I'm sorry for wasting the jurors and everyone else's time with this trial. Butcher you may leave." Judge Randall Homesfield banged his gavel which made his proclamation final for those in attendance. The Butcher just blinked in surprise at the judge. "So your letting me go now, no charges." The Butcher stated. Judge Homesfield nodded. "That's correct. You may leave." "WOOHOO!" The Butcher exclaimed in excitement as he stood and pumped his fists into the air. "Thanks judge. I'm free! See you around Mrs. Botsford. I'm a free man!" The Butcher cheered as he elatedly walked out of the courtroom and into the city streets. He didn't take noticed of the shocked looks everyone was giving him. The Butcher was happy for this stroke of luck and was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He didn't fully understand that phrase but knew it meant if something good happens to you, just embrace it. Back in the courtroom, Sally Botsford finally snapped out of her stunned shock. She turned to Judge Homesfield with a look of confusion and outrage. "What in the world was all of that about Judge Randall Homesfield? All of the evidence that was collected at the bank clearly proves The Butcher was responsible for the bank heist a few days back. The evidence was strong and flawless, this should have been and open and shut case that would punish The Butcher for his crimes." Randall ignored Sally's statement indiscreetly picked up the vanilla envelope and stuffed it's contents back inside. He then got up from his chair. "I'm sorry Mrs. Botsford but you were given flawed evidence. The Butcher is freed from his alleged criminal actions at the bank. That is my final say so please drop this topic. Now if you excuse me, I plan to return to my chambers to catch up on other important matters in privacy. Good day." Judge Homesfield exclaimed in a commanding tone before turning his back to the stunned and appalled district attorney. "Wait Judge Homesfield!" Mrs. Botsford called out, but the judge had quickly retreated to the direction of his chambers before she could stop him. Judge Randall Homesfield raced quickly but with composure back to his private chambers passed his secretary Elena who had worked for him for more than 20 years. He hastily opened and entered the room before shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud. Homesfield's panicked and horrified expression returned as he pulled out the contents of the envelope once more. He shakily placed them on his desk. He stared in silence at photos of him and Elena together at what he thought were discreet and private locations where no reporter could get too. There were photos of him and Elena together having a candlelight dinner. One was where he and Elena stayed in a singular room he booked at private hotel. Another was of him kissing Elena in his own private chambers! 'How could someone get all of these photos in just a few days?' Homesfield couldn't help but wonder. His eyes then landed back onto the letter that was attached to the photos. The letter that may have costed him the biggest blunder in his career as a judge. "If you don't want your family and Fair City to see what you and your secretary do after hours, pardon The Butcher from his crime. Make up an excuse to let him go. - PT" @melodythebunny @dualnaturedscientist

[general-kalani]

Fucked up idea I have to drop before I go to sleep, but what if Joseph was actually the child of an affair and that's why he's the only one with abilities.

Which would ALSO be a whole mf thing because his mother clearly died, for one reason or another, and he's the only one with these abilities.

I really do love fucking things up for him huh-

[damagedward]

♚ Backstory will be posted below

♚ Will be updated / added to frequently but sporadic

♚ Dark Mature & Triggering Themes Present

*** ⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ ***

*** ⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ ***

The following triggers are present in what you are about to read :

tw:abuse , tw:physical abuse , tw:mental abuse , tw:adultery , tw:affair , tw:non consensual sexual relationship, tw:non consent , tw:rape , tw:arranged marriage , tw:imprisonment , tw:animal abuse , tw:magical creature abuse , tw:mention of death , tw:background character death , tw:abusive father , tw:abusive parent

She was born just a month after spring came , and she was his pride and joy — that was at first . Before she was born at least , or one could say even when she was but that lasted all of five minutes and then the announcement of the Queen’s having bled out reached the King’s ears .

The baby girl was no longer a cause for celebration , no now she was a reminder of his wife , now she was the reason his Queen was dead .

And so his hatred for his own flesh and blood began before the child even opened her emerald orbs to see the world .

By her fifth year the nightmares had begun to plague her , the fires without explanation , the explosions of vases around the castle always seeming to coincide with when the young princess grew angry .

Magic .

Uther knew what it was .

And now that the Queen was dead it was easier to blame her for the curse , to blame her for the magic that infected his child . The entire time never offering Morgana any explanation for what was happening to her , instead yelling , hitting , hurting her for the things she couldn’t control but he told her she could .

He took a mistress by the time she was seven and on her birthday the following year they announced she would have a baby brother — or so they hoped sometime the following summer .

Their hope paid off . And when little Arthur came to survive his second year , as she came to be ten she was sent away , beating her senseless was no longer enough to keep her magic at bay nor her tongue as she had developed a smart mouth by now too . Uther had decided so he sent her elsewhere to let someone else handle the problem , a nunnery , one that didn’t shy away from harsh punishment and heavy hand .

In the meantime he focused on his bastard son , working to legitimize him and in making his mistress into a Queen .

When she returned home on her 18th birthday her father greeted her with a suitor , a husband to be , explaining to her that she needed to produce an heir if she hoped to carry on any form of title and inherit anything from him .

She lost it . Her magic flared as her emotions did , she destroyed half of the forest and took down a turret that was luckily no longer in use at the far end of the outer wall . She ended up in chains that night , in a tower guarded by some of her fathers own personal guard , and in the morning both her father and her betrothed had visited to assure her she would be married by weeks end .

She was forced down the aisle and sure enough into bed . Luckily for her one of her ladies had slipped her a dagger which she had placed into her garter when she had a moment during dressing prior to her walk . He met his end before he could touch her , she had stabbed him in the back and then just kept going once she’d rolled them afterwards to be sure .

Afterwards she had fled into the woods , in just her bloody torn nightclothes , she looked a mess . Her freedom didn’t last long before she was chased down and caught by her fathers men .

They were cruel when they caught up to her in words and action — they took what her dead husband had failed to , her dagger not there to help her this time , and she outnumbered .

She spent the next two weeks in chains that kept her magic at bay in that same tower she spent time in before her dreaded wedding night . She received constant visits from her father in which he would tell her each and every way she had disappointed him .

Then —

The day he released her . He disowned her . Disinherited her and tossed her out of the kingdom . To fend for herself .

Her magic was known , magic was envied still by some , hated by many , and others just wished to hold something with it . Her power was known , to have someone with power on your side was always a plus and she was still young . Her beauty was known and men liked pretty things , and she knew and learned the hard way already what they did when they found and wanted them even if it wasn’t returned . And then even if Uther had thrown her out and aside her kin was known and that could make her valuable in coin .

She was on the run and never staying anywhere long for the first year . She heard too many whispers of the runaway princess disinherited but missed . She found it hard to believe that Uther actually wanted her back .

The second she found a tower to stay in . It was somewhat funny to her at first to think she spent so long trying to get out of a tower only to seek comfort and find a home in one now . She found her little dragon there , her one and only friend , her Aithusa . The one light in her life . The two had nearly a year together alone , just the two of them , learning one another . Bonding . Magic and flying lessons . It was a glimpse at what life could be , what it should be . Magic and dragons free to live . To exist . To be . It should’ve lasted forever .

But after a terrible storm that forced them out of the tower she was caught by Sarrum and his men . And her hell began anew — or rather her true hell began because she had thought Uther bad but Sarrum became her number one enemy .

The man had been at odds with her father and tried to use her to demand a ransom of sorts when that hadn’t worked he had begun to try and extract information from her about Camelot .

The man threatened her dragon and she wouldn’t let him do that . She gave the information of the kingdom that betrayed her and disowned her . She thought that was all he wanted for the safety and protection of her precious dragon but she was naive in that .

He was just another cruel man , like her dead husband , like her fathers men , he would be another to want more , to take what wasn’t his to . Only this time she would break in the end and let him because she couldn’t let him hurt Aithusa . The poor dragon was already hurting enough being unable to fly around daily anymore .

One night , emerald orbs flew open , she peered over at the little white dragon , she had enough , she decided she would get them out of this . And so when he had been dragging her off to his chambers she had just grabbed for a dagger from his belt , slashed for any part of him she could reach and ran once he collapsed and stopped moving .

She and Aithusa had been lost for nearly two days after their escape as she had teleported them in a panic to simply get away , not having had any destination in mind , so it had been disorienting .

They realized they weren’t too far from Camelot and they became their destination .

When she returned to Camelot she found herself instantly greeted with chains , she found herself pleading her case with her bastard brother of all people , the one she blamed for everything in her life up until now besides her father .

It somehow worked , but when she then tried to bring a blade to Uther’s throat that night she was the cause of the sounding of the warning bells and had to escape into the night .

It wouldn’t take long before she succeeded in taking her fathers though and then she would return to Camelot to fight her brother for her throne . One day maybe she would succeed in taking her rightful place on the throne .

Authors Note :

this puts Morgana to be a late 22

at the end of this

[stardomiscalling]

Do you ever think cheating is considered excusable?

No. As a person who made the egregious error of cheating on a loved one (out of spite), I can wholeheartedly say that the act of breaking someone’s trust (and heart) is utterly inexcusable.

[snowalwayslandsontop]

Coriolanus had wanted nothing more than to leave the wedding reception as soon as he noticed that Sejanus had slipped out early. He couldn't blame him for not wanting to witness this farce any longer, especially now that Livia knew of the reality of their relationship. She was all too smug about it, hiding it from their guests but he knew she was going to try and cause trouble for him, for them. She would be in for a very rude awakening before too long but Coriolanus knew he had to smile and wave and keep up the pretence of being so completely besotted by his new bride. So he had spent the remainder of the evening speaking with their guests, dancing with Livia and celebrating before finally they could leave the reception to begin their honeymoon. Livia had lost her temper when he had told her that she would spending the evening alone. "Excuse me?" Livia asked Coriolanus in the backseat of the car when he told their driver to drop Mrs. Snow at her apartment and that he would be carrying on to the Penthouse. "You didn't think I wouldn't go and see Sejanus, did you?" Coriolanus' tone was cold as he glanced across at her. "He left the reception after your little performance and besides, I would rather spend this evening in his company than yours." "I am your wife, Coriolanus Snow!" Livia snapped at him. "This is our wedding night." "You make the grave mistake of thinking I care. You and I never pretended that we married one another for love. We both have something to gain from this marriage and you do not require my physical presence for that. You married me so you can eventually become First Lady and I will give you that in time." Coriolanus viewed her as a simple tool. He needed a pretty wife to help him get elected when the time came for him to run for the Presidency. "And if I cause you and your boyfriend trouble?" Livia snarled back at him, shaking in rage. Coriolanus fell still for a moment at her words. He was in no mood for her tantrums. It had been a long day and all he wanted to do was go home and see Sejanus. But he would not allow her threat to go unanswered. "You still throw tantrums as if you are still a child on the school playground Livia and I won't tolerate them. You will not cause trouble for Sejanus and I because if you do, I will divorce you in the most public way possible. I will embarrass you and leave you in disgrace. No one will ever marry you again and you will never be First Lady." It was a weak threat and he had far worse ones on the tip of his tongue but he held back for tonight. "You're going to smile and wave as I require and do as I tell you. You are a tool Livia and you'll do well to remember that."

The rest of the car ride was silent and soon Livia had been dropped off at their new apartment and he was on the way to the Penthouse. He bit his lower lip, worried about Sejanus. He had text him already, to assure him that he was on the way. He knew he would be waiting for him at the Penthouse, their home. It should have been Sejanus that he had married today. Marrying Livia had been a necessity but the entire day had felt wrong. It should have been Sejanus standing at the alter beside him. They should have been having their first dance, greeting their guests together and driving off for the honeymoon they deserved. Coriolanus knew he had made the choice to marry Livia instead and for a moment, he cursed himself. But this was necessary. He knew he needed to show the people of the Capitol what they wanted to see. He had been gaining popularity lately, especially since he had become Head Game Maker. The time was drawing closer, when Ravinstill would resign or die and there had to be someone ready to take his place. He knew others would run against him but no one else had a hope. However he needed a few little boosts in popularity and he knew some in the Capitol thought he was too harsh and cold. He needed to give them the image of a 'family man'. A pretty Capitol wife and perhaps a child or two, to soften his image. Some in the Capitol would not want to see a 'single' man take the Presidency and so this was all a strategic move. It would ensure he would become President. It would ensure he could keep himself and Sejanus safe because right now, there were threats always looming far too close for comfort. Finally, he was letting himself into the Penthouse and closing the door behind him. "Sejanus." he called out into the quite apartment. He knew he would only be in the living room or the kitchen and within moments he found him sitting at the small table in the kitchen, holding a teacup. "I'm sorry, I got here as quickly as I could." Coriolanus moved across the room before leaning down and gathering him in his arms as best as he could at this angle. "Are you alright? Of course, you're not alright." It was a stupid question to even ask. Would he have been alright, if he had just watched Sejanus marry someone else? He knew he would have killed whoever had dared to touch Sejanus. "Livia told me she knows, about us. I don't care that she knows and I've told her so. This changes nothing. I love you and I always have."

Coriolanus had returned to the reception, mildly irritated that Livia was no where to be found. She should have been here waiting for him. Perhaps she had gone to fix her hair or make up. Either way, he wouldn't waste time searching for her. He would continue to work the room, knowing every single conversation he had and every relationship formed was another vote when the time was right. He wouldn't waste a moment of tonight, when he had a captive audience in good spirits on such an occasion. If only he had been marrying Sejanus, tonight could have been perfect.

Livia finally returned, looking slightly flushed but he paid little attention as she kissed his cheek and asked him to come and dance with her. He could't deny her. It was expected after all, this was their wedding day. Certainly the display would give their guests enough sentimental feelings, it might earn him some support. He took her hand, leading her over to the dance floor as he wondered where Sejanus was. He hadn't seen him come in and he couldn't look for him now when all eyes were on them and he was only supposed to have eyes for his pretty Capitol bride.

The band switched to a slow song as they noticed the bride and groom had taken to the dance floor. Coriolanus was vaguely aware of the soft gazes they were receiving from their guests. Perfect. At least this wasn't a completely wasted moment if it was getting them the attention they - he - needed. Livia pressed close to him and they moved around the dance floor in time with the music. They let the silence settle between them, a small fact that Coriolanus was relieved about. He noticed Sejanus had returned to his table and his heart ached for a moment for his beloved, having to witness this display of false adoration.

Livia looked up at him with a small smile suddenly and then leaned in and kissed him. He was surprised but he allowed it. They had an audience and he wouldn't make a scene. Besides, this was their wedding to he supposed it was appropriate. She pulled away after a few moments before she tilted her head to press her cheek against his. He assumed that would be the end of it but then she whispered in his ear.

"So, how long have you been fucking Sejanus Plinth?"

Coriolanus' stomach dropped at the question, his heart pounding. She knew. How? Had she seen them out in the courtyard or had something else happened? Was that where she had been? He hadn't anticipated that she would find out so soon, even though he and Sejanus had spoken about Livia eventually learning the truth about them.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Coriolanus continued to move her around the dance floor, desperately wanting to look for Sejanus but he couldn't. Not now, not yet.

"Don't play coy Coriolanus. It's not becoming. Sejanus told me all about just a few minutes ago. About you two living together in the Penthouse. No wonder you wouldn't let me even visit, let alone have me move in to your little love nest."

Sejanus never would have told her that, Coriolanus was certain. What had happened? Surely she hadn't just figured all of this out and at their wedding too? Had she had him followed? No, he was too careful. Had she seen them together out in the courtyard? She must have. They'd only been hugging but had someone been watching, it might not have been too hard to guess the real relationship between them. Was she bluffing about the Penthouse? Sejanus would never have divulged such secrets. He trusted him completely.

"Cat got your tongue?" Livia looked up at that, the barest hint of a smirk on her face. She knew better than to cause a scene, with all of Panems elite watching them. "Might make a nice change from having it down Sejanus' throat."

"No need to be crass Livia. That isn't becoming of a lady." Coriolanus leaned in and pressed a kiss against her cheek. "Neither is having a vivid imagination."

Livia was giving him a sickly sweet smile and Coriolanus knew she was about to stick in a metaphorical dagger. She leaned in closer, brushing a kiss against his cheek before she pressed her lips against his ear. To anyone watching, it would look like a sweet moment before newlyweds. In reality, she whispered.

"Neither is taking a phone call from your fiance about the flowers for your wedding when you're bed fucking your boyfriend. At the gym were you? Sejanus told me everything!"

Coriolanus felt his grip on her tighten at her words. She couldn't have guessed that. No one else could have told her that either. Sejanus must have told her. Why would he have told her such a thing? His stomach tightened, thinking back to that day.

Coriolanus groaned as he rode Sejanus' cock in their bed. He felt so good inside him, he always did. He felt so full, a perfect stretch. He glanced down at Sejanus, who was gazing up at him. It was all heated, heavy lidded and he was moaning too, reaching up to grab his hips to tug him back down to bottom out inside him

"Fuck Sej, so good. Fuck, you feel so good inside me baby. I...." His phone ringing shattered the moment and he glared at the inanimate object as though it had personally offended him. Who was possibly calling him right now? Who cared...Not when Sejanus was fucking him like this. Whoever it was could wait.

"Do you...if you have to..." Sejanus glanced at the phone in matching irritation at being interrupted.

"No..... for fucks sake." Coriolanus growled, angry at whoever the caller was and not at Sejanus. He reached over to the bedside table, wondering if he shouldn't just throw the damn thing against the wall. His eyes darkened in anger when he saw who the called was. "It's just bloody Livia." He threw the phone on the bed just as it stopped ringing. He breathed a sigh of relief for the silence before he started to move on his cock again with a groan. "Sej... Sej.... Fuck, I love your cock and I...."

The phone started to ring again and Coriolanus glared at it for the audacity of a second interruption. He was determined to ignore it but then Sejanus was grinning up at him wickedly.

"Answer it." Sejanus reached over to grab the phone and shoved it in Coriolanus' hands. He stared down at him, surprised but then he laughed softly, panting as he answered the phone. "What do you want Livia?"

The conversion had been boring, aggravating but watching the amusement and joy and arousal it had brought Sejanus was worth the interruption. He paused his own movements, trying to balance himself on Sejanus' lap with a phone in hand but then Sejanus was snapping his hips up, making a gasp falling from his lips. He couldn't help the glare he gave to Sejanus but then he was swallowing back a laugh at him and a hiss at Livia as he told her that he had just stubbed his toe on the treadmill because she was distracting him.

It hadn't been too long before he had hung up on her, snapping that she knew his family signature flower was roses so why was she even talking about orchids. She was wasting his time and with that he'd hung up on her. He'd thrown the phone aside before he looked down at Sejanus with a grin and a chuckle.

"You little minx!" he had leaned down and kissed him deeply then, hoping the little stunt had satisfied whatever Sejanus had felt the need for. "I almost think you want us to get caught."

Coriolanus came back to the present moment, his eyes now scanning the room for Sejanus. He saw him finally, still at the table. He could only make brief eye contact with him as he moved Livia around the dance floor. He needed to go to him, they needed to talk. He wanted to understand, wanting to know just what had happened. Was he alright? If Livia had upset him in any way, she would be incredibly displeased with the outcome.

[raine-hearts-art]

@qin-su-week Day 6: Jinlintai & Hurt/Comfort

Wherein the widowed Jiang Yanli tends to the needs of her neglected sister-in-law.

[itsdefinitely]

caught.

[reylokisses]

I was thinking about what @iwannaplaybg3butimbroke @kityana and @timkontheunsure said about my Beatrice Horseman/Stella Goetia post, and on second thoughts, you’re right - Octavia definitely didn’t know about Stella’s abuse of Stolas.

In the brief glimpses we see of Stolas and Stella’s marriage before Stolas had an affair with Blitzø*, Octavia isn’t around when Stella is cruel to Stolas:

Stella probably didn’t want Octavia to know that she (Stella) was abusing Stolas, so that Octavia would think well of Stella and not turn against her.

Octavia’s line in Loo Loo Land points to this, as she says that, when she was a child, her parents “didn’t hate each other”.

Originally, I assumed that Octavia had to know about Stolas’ abuse, because otherwise the writers would be throwing her under the bus and blaming her for not sympathising with Stolas, but now I see that it’s the other way around.

Octavia remains sympathetic if she doesn’t know what Stolas has gone through. If she still blamed Stolas for breaking up the family even though Octavia knew how miserable Stolas was, that would make her selfish, but since Stolas and Stella have been keeping the abuse from her, then no one can blame her for that.

I’m defensive about Octavia, because I hate how some writers stereotype teenage girls and dismiss their pain and problems as trivial.

Divorce is traumatic, being a teenage girl is traumatic, and being emotionally neglected is traumatic as well.

The above scene is -so far- the saddest scene in all of Helluva Boss to me.

Stolas, Stella and Octavia are sitting down to eat together as a family, but they’re completely disengaged from each other.

Stolas is reading a book and ignoring Octavia, Octavia is listening to music, and Stella is ordering a hit on her own husband.

It’s interesting that neither Stella nor Stolas tell Octavia off for being rude and listening to music at the dinner table - either they’re so caught up in their own affairs that they haven’t even noticed, or they know how unhappy Octavia is with their family life, and they’re allowing Octavia her music as a coping mechanism.

I hope that Octavia and Stolas reconcile and are a happy family again eventually!

(*not that I blame him for it; he didn’t owe his abuser any loyalty, and Stolas wanted to divorce Stella right after his and Blitzø’s first encounter.)

[thatsprettylane]

Favorowdy + What Are We?

[netscapenavigator-official]

The amount of straight people I see destroy their lives with infidelity in situations that could've been entirely avoided by simply being openly polyamorous and not dating someone who isn't okay with that is baffling. Like, y'all invented sex and romance, but queer people stay owning it.

[cetra]

SIGNALIS + loss of the right eye

[tuttle-did-it]

Rewatching Pitfall (1948) (starring Dick Powell, Lizabeth Scott, Raymond Burr and Jane Wyatt). Found this delightful IMDb entry.

Well played, sir.

[writermuses]

There were a million reasons why the Crown Princess of Denmark should feel sick about her stomach about the trip across the Atlantic. Flying with her two young daughters was nerve wracking because small children on a plane, even if it was private, was a nightmare. Then there was the morning sickness, worse than both of her pregnancies with the girls, that had her ill all day. She'd known very early on she was pregnant, visiting a private doctor and confirming the pregnancy. Still, Aurélie had thought that maybe this one was her husband's given how quickly she started showing. Instead, it simply started earlier, the doctor telling her that her body simply 'knew what it was doing now, so it was like pitching a tent'... a concept she found horrifying. No more horrifying than the reality that the timing made this third child Ryker's. The media hadn't questioned that the children had blonde hair or bright blue eyes, chalking it up to Danish heritage and the continued secrecy around her mother, but she knew they were a spitting image of their true father.

For better or worse, Elie couldn't bring herself to stay away from the only man she'd ever loved. While going to see Ryker again was certainly dangerous in its own right because of the MC, she never worried the media would catch them. Her Head of Security, Sirius, made tedious arrangements for privacy and protection of the girls and New York had far more interesting people to snap pictures of and slather over gossip rags than the possible heir to the thrown of a tiny country an ocean away— or so she thought. Little did the princess know, the first snapshot was taken at the private airport as they moved from the jet to their armored SUV that would take them to the hotel, a breeze catching pressing her dress to her curves, making the bump hidden under her jacket a little more obvious for just a moment before she pulled it closed. It wasn't even a thought on her mind when they girls settled into their adjoining room after baths and pajamas with movies and a snack, yawns all around.

It wasn't all that late in New York, but jet lag was hitting the girls hard and it was well past their bedtime back in Denmark, so she'd texted Ryker the hotel and room number, sending Sirius off for the night. Neither of them speaking about who they both knew was the reason for this trip. When the familiar knocking pattern sounded on the door, Aurélie had washed off the travel, changed into a lace-trimmed silk slip underneath a robe, and moved around the living room sipping on ginger ale and humming to the quiet music she'd put on to calm her nerves. Pulling the door open, tugging the robe more tightly around herself, she rested her head against the door and drank him in. "You still came." Her smile quickly brightened and she moved back to allow him in, the door and robe still blocking the view of her stomach. When she closed the door, she didn't turn around immediately, locking up and then resting her forehead against the cool surface. "I'm sorry it took so long to come back."

closed starter for @thereapersmc

[thexandersonxbunch]

Continued from here x

Lo couldn’t help but laugh as well. Even in their drunken stupor, he could still recognize James’ innocence and naïveté. It was cute and endearing, something that distracted Lo from the reality of his life. For a moment, he forgot all about the possibility of Oliver being dead by the hand of Grindelwald and his fanatics. Right now, all he could think about was how soft James’ lips looked. He leaned in closer, noses barely brushing against each other, while their breathing became one. “Something like that…you’re so cute.”

@just-asimple-brunette