#acting like this when my husband announces hes leaving is vile

[yunogf]

what handshake thing did johnny do? 🤨

this.....

[victoria-daydreams]

The Hare and The Tower

Chapter Fourteen: Vile Rumors

AN: *scratches neck* yeah so remember when I said this chapter would be out a couple weeks after I posted that preview, well I got an upper respiratory infection literally that same week and between trying to recuperate, work, and school this was put on the back burner. Hopefully, with this chapter being long it makes up for the absence. And God help me, it's been so long since I've written anything so be easy on me lol.

Trigger Warnings: age gap, vomiting

Word Count: 5.3k

Taglist: @dogmatic255 @sidechrevans @amethystwonders11 @ladysindar @sweetwanderlust05 @newandykes @helloimlateforeverything @loveofvernonslife @stitchattacks @dariequeen @kishie8 @girlonfireice @snowymarvel1205 @greenlightower @harrypotteranna23-blog

If you want to be added to the taglist just leave a comment.

Summary: Still reeling from the fallout with Otto, Jesmyn is quickly forced to learn two harsh lessons. The transgressions of her husband are also hers to bear and brazen half-truths are worse than lies.

Chapter Fifteen: We Light the Way

A terrible dread washed through Jesmyn as she approached the carved, oak door ahead of her. The corridor was far too dark, too quiet. Her body felt heavy, and the air was akin to molasses—each step closer seeming to take a greater effort than the one before. Fear, panic, and apprehension coiled and collided within her, the onslaught of emotions created a horrible churning, stomach twisting vortex.

Coming to a standstill just outside of the door, she reached out with a trembling hand to knock on the door, but froze in mid-air.

"I've been informed I'm to travel to Driftmark with Princess Rhaenyra. We sail at dawn," Jesmyn announced quietly, her hand limply dropping back to her side.

Standing outside of Otto's bedchamber door, a shiver ran down her spine for the night seemed colder than most. Jesmyn could only stare at the warped flaws in the wood, waiting for a reply, but ultimately was met by silence. Jesmyn strained her ears for a sign of movement behind his door, for she knew he was awake, and he knew that she knew it as well. With each passing second, Jesmyn felt her heart turn into lead, sinking down further and further in her chest. She remained silent for a few more moments.

"I'm here to bid you farewell Husband, as we part on our separate journeys," she continued, placing her hand on the door. "You are angry at me, this I know," she acknowledged, releasing a shaky breath. "But I will not depart without speaking these words. I love you Otto," she said. 'Despite the harsh words we traded, my heart remains yours. Should anything—"

Forcefully, the door swung open drawing a startled gasp from her as the heat of husband’s gaze burned into her own. Otto's expression was unreadable as ever, his jaw was set tight while his mouth a thin line. They held each others stare for a few seconds, both waiting for the other to say something. Jesmyn broke first.

"I will not let our last words be ones we regret," she said firmly

Another long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Still, Otto only stared at her, an act which only began to draw Jesmyn's ire. She knew her husband well enough that she didn't expect an immediate reconciliation, but the hope was there in her mind. To her, this silence she was being subjected was bordering on ridiculous, did he not comprehend her words? She was set to sail on the unpredictable waters of the sea.

"I see," Jesmyn said softly, with a nod. "I shouldn't have came. I'm sorry for disturbing you," she apologized, dropping her eyes from him to the floor. "May sleep find you well, Husband," she wished, before turning away from Otto.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Jesmyn walked back down the corridor to her own chambers. The sun will be up again in a few hours or so.

"You posses both beauty and brawn,"

A velvety voice broke through the silence, lingering in the air like a caress. Jesmyn froze in place, mid-step, before slowly turning back around. Once more, her brown eyes stared at Otto’s blue and for the first time she finally noticed the tiredness around his eyes; the way his face was paler than usual. Their argument had taken its toll on him far more than he would let on.

"It's why I was so keen on securing your hand in marriage," Otto continued, deeply exhaling as he moved towards her. "Yet, your intellect fails you when it comes to Rhaenyra. Too blinded by friendship to recognize it is very the manner of how she manipulates you," Otto noted, coming to a stop in front of her. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against Jesmyn's hairline. "Knowingly or not," he uttered, before kissing the top of her head and lingering there for a bit.

Otto drew back and pushed the few loose hairs from where his lips had touched.

"Otto," Jesmyn whispered, leaning into his embrace.

But as quickly as his embrace came, he retreated from her. Entering his chambers, Otto spared one last glance at Jesmyn before he shut the door.

~~~x~~~

The Next Day

Sitting on the quarterdeck, needle and thread in hand, Jesmyn listened to the waves gently crash against the sides of the ship; the wood creaking as they swayed in the ocean. One by one, Jesmyn's needle stabbed through the white fabric. Her stitches small and perfect, forming the shape of the High Tower of Oldtown, its beacon unlit.

Unconsciously, she let out a breath, slow and heavy, while pulling the needle through again. All of the events from the day before still weighed heavily on her mind.

"Your stomach must be made out of cast iron, Lady Hightower," Criston said warmly

With a grin, Jesmyn looked away from her work to the knight standing in front of her.

"It has a mind of its own," she replied. "Some days I'm the vision of perfect health. Other days—"

Not too far off in the distance, Viserys groaned loudly before vomiting over the edge of the ship.

"Not unlike that, I suppose?" he questioned, slightly amused.

"Very much that," she agreed, laughing lightly. She felt her babe kicked her, as if to express its agreement. "Poor man," she added, shaking her head and glancing at the ailing king.

"Lady Hightower, may I ask you something?" Criston inquired, bringing her attention back to him.

"Of course," Jesmyn answered, a kind smile on her lips. "And there's no need for titles, we're not in front of the court. Jesmyn will be just fine," she corrected. "Ask your question Criston, my ears are open," she encouraged, gently laying down her sewing into her lap.

"Before you married Lord Hightower, did you ever think about... running away?" he asked, an unfamiliar tinge of anxiety in his words. "Freeing yourself from the duties and responsibilities unfairly placed upon you?" he went on.

Jesmyn chuckled softly, "What highborn girl hasn't?" she asked back, her shoulders slightly bouncing with humor. To answer your question, I have Criston, many times, ashamedly," she confessed.

"What stopped you?"

"Well, my family of course. I would miss them so very dearly," Jesmyn explained, as if it was obvious. "Gods, I couldn't begin to imagine the heartache my mother and father would suffer," Jesmyn continued, shaking her head. "Not only that, for my entire life I've known nothing but comfort and privilege. The thought of discarding that to be free, but poor is…unthinkable," she finished, her brows knitting together.

"Is that what most highborn girls believe?"

"I have no doubt they do," Jesmyn insisted confidently. "Make no mistake Criston, we highborn girls may constantly bemoan and complain about what is expected of us, but we know what's at stake if we don't," she assured. "I don't mean to offend, but I must say, you’re asking such strange question Criston. Why? Jesmyn wondered, her curiosity piqued.

Criston shifted from one foot to the other, "What if there was a highborn girl…one who was willing to runaway and forget all she's ever known?" he posed.

"Is she running away by herself?" Jesymn questioned, her brow furrowing.

"No, with her lover," he answered, hesitating between sentences. "Her lover who wants to take her away from everything she despises about her station,"

"Criston," Jesmyn called lowly. "Tell me, which highborn lady do you speak of?" she inquired, curiosity now morphing into concern.

"It's only a hypothetical, milady," Criston uttered, making Jesmyn's eyes narrow in suspicion. "But, should this lover and his lady runaway, know he would bring her unimaginable happiness," he said. "He has heard his lady's complaints, and wishes to free her from it all," he claimed, hope shining in his eyes.

"Criston, whatever you're thinking about doing, stop," Jesmyn stressed. "This will only end poorly for both of you," she warned.

"You don’t believe she would except my proposal,"

"Whoever this Lady is, It’s unlikely she would," she replied bluntly, with a scoff. "She's not going to give up her titles, her land, or riches for some lowb—” she continued, abruptly letting out a sharp gasp.

Her sewing needle had bit into the tip of her finger. Jesmyn couldn’t begin to recall when she had grasped her embroidery again. Crimson quickly rose to the surface of her skin, falling in heavy drops.

"My Lady!"

"I'm fine," Jesmyn reassured quickly, grabbing her handkerchief and pressing it to wound.

Silently, she was thankful for the prick against her finger, her next words would’ve crushed Criston’s hopeless romantic heart

~~~x~~~

The wagon ride to High Tide was one of bumpiness and strained silence. Lord Lyonel Strong, the new Lord Hand sat directly across from Jesmyn, casting glances of pity at her much to her annoyance. She didn't want his pity nor did she need it. Rhaenyra was seated next to her, refusing to spare her father a glance.

For the last stretch of the ride to the castle, the party had to leave the wagon and walk to the stone archway gate. Reaching the top of the stairs, the doors swung open to reveal High Tide in all its glory. Towers made out of gray stone and crowned with roofs of silver that reached high into the gloomy skies above.

The sound of steel clanging against each other drew Jesmyn's eyes away from the grandeur castle and to the two figures sparring a few feet away from the royal entourage. One possessed silver hair which she easily knew belonged to Laenor Velaryon, the other with red hair was unknown to her. The two men bowed in front of the party. It was also in that moment when Jesmyn realized no one was there to greet them.

"How odd," she thought.

"Where is Lord Corlys?" Lord Strong asked, annoyed and offended by the disrespect. "He should be here to receive the King," he reminded.

Lord Strong's words barely left his lips when the doors to the castle opened and a silver-haired man and woman descended the staircase The young woman could be none other than Lady Laena Velaryon.

"Welcome to High Tide, Your Grace," Laena greeted, with a bright smile on her face as she gracefully came down the steps.

"What is the meaning of this, Lady Laena?" Lord Strong demanded pointedly, taking a few steps forward. "Is this how House Velaryon greets its King?"

Lady Laena's smile remained, "My father has but just returned from his long journey and he has hastened to the Hall of Nine to await Your Grace's arrival," she explained easily, walking closer to them.

"Let's just get on with it," Viserys stated tiredly.

With that, everyone followed Lady Laena into High Tide. Jesmyn looked at the King from the corner of her eye, his brow glistening with sweat from the trek up here and his breathing heavier than anyone else's. It was worrisome to see Viserys’ health rapidly deteriorating before her eyes. The effects of his worsening illness had sucked away the luster of his healthy complexion and been replaced with a sickly white color. From what Otto told her, poorly healed wounds littered Viserys' body and the cost of that led to having two fingers on one hand removed. It's why he always wore gloves nowadays.

Once Viserys and Lord Strong walked inside the Hall of Nine, the guards immediately closed the door before Rhaenyra, Laena, or Jesmyn could enter themselves.

From her left, Jesmyn heard Rhaenyra let out an annoyed huff. Jesmyn could hear the Princess' thoughts without having to have them spoken. First, father decided who she should marry and now she's not even allowed to join the conversation.

"Come," Laena said as she intertwined her arms on Rhaenyra's and Jesmyn's. "Let us see what might be had to break our fast,"

~~~x~~~

The three girls conversed with one another while enjoying a fine breakfast. After about an hour or two, Laena gave Jesmyn and Rhaenyra a tour of High Tide. When their tour concluded, Rhaenyra decided to depart from the group so she could speak privately with her betrothed. Laena followed suit, being escorted back to her room by one of her servants for a dress fitting. This left Jesmyn to her own devices.

Leaning over on the outdoor balcony railing, Jesmyn exhaled as she gazed out at the ocean. The view was something straight from a painting. Above, the sun beamed down onto the gentle waves below her causing the water to take on a tint of gold. It was beautiful—breathtaking, really. The ocean reminded her of his eyes. They were deep, powerful, and sometimes mysterious, yet always comforting and gentle. Jesmyn smiled inwardly at the thought, wondering how Otto is fairing on his trip back to Oldtown.

Glancing down, Jesmyn could see the silhouettes of Rhaenyra and Laenor far off in the distance on the sandy shore.

"I must admit, I was surprised to learn of your presence amongst the voyage with the royal party,"

Jesmyn's breath caught itself in her throat, startled by the voice. Turning away from the railing, Jesmyn did not anticipate to see Princess Rhaenys in front of her.

She dropped into a curtsy, "Princess Rhaenys," she greeted, lowering her head. "It's an honor," she added sincerely.

"I hear a congratulations is in order," Rhaenys said, motioning for her to rise. "Laena told me you are with child once more, Lady Hightower"

"I am, Princess Rhaenys," Jesmyn answered, beaming ear to ear. "Thank you," she said, dipping her chin slightly.

"This will be your third child, correct?" Rhaenys questioned curiously.

"Yes," Jesmyn replied, her hand instinctively coming to rest on the bump. "There were some complications in my last pregnancy, but Lord Hightower and I made it through," she informed, rubbing her hand up and down her stomach.

"If you are here, I'm curious to know where is the Lord Hightower?" Rhaenys wondered. "Seeing as he has fallen out of the King’s favor," she reminded.

"My Lord Husband is returning to Oldtown," Jesmyn informed. "No doubt he’s already making the long journey back to The Reach," she guessed.

"You will not be joining him?"

"No, I will not, neither will the twins. King's Landing will remain our home," Jesmyn answered. "Princess Rhaenyra offered me the position of being her lady in waiting a day before my husband's dismal," she explained. "I accepted,"

Rhaenys only hummed, her eyes doing a once over of Jesmyn, "I can't imagine your husband was enthused about this arrangement,"

"Livid more like," Jesmyn corrected, a mirthless chuckle escaping her lips.

"And yet, this outcome, unfavorable as it is, Lord Hightower still managed to succeed in one aspect," Rhaenys said, her gaze turning into a calculated one. "Albeit, a small one," she added pointedly.

"And that is?" Jesmyn asked, not liking the shift of mood in the air.

"You, Lady Hightower," Rhaenys answered simply. "Who better to be his eyes and ears while he's away from court than his own wife, a lady in waiting to Princess Rhaenyra herself," she said, making Jesmyn's eyes bulge.

"I-I would never—" Jesmyn spluttered.

"There are things we think ourselves never capable of doing, but we wound up doing them all the same," Rhaenys cut in, taking a step closer to her. "Loyalty, seems to be a weakness for Lord Hightower. When push comes to shove, we'll discover together if you share that same weakness as your Lord Husband, Lady Hightower," she finished in a whisper, as Jesmyn visibly shrank back from the icy glare.

~~~x~~~

King's Landing

With a cold stare, Jesmyn scanned the near lifeless shell that was supposed to serve as her living quarters from now on. It was a downgrade from The Tower, but pleasant nonetheless. The space was cozily furnished, echoing the opulence and expensiveness of the quarters she resided in with her family when she was unmarried.

Unceremoniously, Jesmyn allowed herself to plop down onto the plush settee before maneuvering her body to lay flat on her back. A loud, exhausted sigh came from her as her head rested on the arm of the settee, one of her ankles dangled off the cushion. Jesmyn's entire morning had been chaotic since the moment the ship sailed from Driftmark back to King's Landing.

Standing at the quarterdeck, Jesmyn watched the foamy waves as they rocked the ship through the water. A light sea wind blew against her, moving her hair slightly into her face. It all happened so fast, one moment she was admiring the sun shining brightly in the clear blue sky. Then, Criston storming off in her direction, his mood darkening anything in the vicinity and cryptically uttering three words bitterly as he passed, "You were right,"

Lest she forget the most startling occurrence of the morning, King Viserys collapsing to the ground after taking one step outside the wheelhouse in King's Landing. A shocking scene to witness, but Jesmyn's mind couldn’t have been further elsewhere. Since last night, she remained in a sour mood after her conversation with Princess Rhaenys, which she knew Rhaenyra had noticed the change in her demeanor.

What was she supposed tell her? That her older cousin accused her of being just as deceitful as her husband was and attacked her character? Rhaenyra would only brush it off as Princess Rhaenys' personality of not being one to mince words or her usual cynicism. To keep her sanity, Jesmyn decided to remain silent and to brood, her feelings had been dismissed more than enough times in the past two days, she was ready to snap if it happened once more.

Slowly, Jesmyn's eyes began to droop low, the toll of the voyage beginning to weigh on her body.

"Lady Hightower," a handmaiden called softly.

Jesmyn's eyes fluttered open, shifting them to the young girl in front of her, "Yes?" she answered irritatedly.

"You've been summoned," the handmaiden informed.

Exhaling heavily, Jesmyn swung her feet to the floor and pushed herself up from the settee into a sitting position. An action her baby was not particularly fond of as they gave a sharp kick in her kidneys which caused her to suck in air and wince. Gently, Jesmyn rubbed circles on her stomach to calm her baby down before gingerly standing up.

"Am I to meet Princess Rhaenyra in her quarters?" Jesmyn asked, her hand resting on her bump.

"It wasn’t the Princess who summoned you, milady," the handmaiden corrected, making Jesmyn's eyebrow arch. "The Queen wishes to see you,"

The journey to Alicent's chambers was longer than it should have, inexplicably she began to feel nauseous with every step she took forcing her to make several stops along the way. Standing outside the Queen's private chamber door, Jesmyn squeezed her eyes closed and pushed out a deep breath.

A handmaiden opened the door, allowing her to enter the room, but Jesmyn's steps faltered when she realized Alicent was not alone. Criston was inside as well. The door shut behind her and Jesmyn curtsied to Alicent.

"My Queen—" she began, but stopped when she felt her stomach attempting to leap out of her throat. Jesmyn clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to quell the nausea.

"Oh you poor thing!" Alicent comforted, standing up from her seat and rushing towards her. "Has the voyage left you ill?" she asked, her eyes sympathetic as she helped Jesmyn to her full height from her bow before leading her to the sofa she occupied only moments before.

"It's nothing," Jesmyn reassured, watching Alicent sit back down. "I just need to lay down and this sickness will pass,” she explained.

"Then I will try to make this quick," Alicent stated, which made Jesmyn cock her head slightly. "Sit, why don't you," she suggested nervously, patting the empty cushion beside her.

"I am not fragile Alicent, honest," Jesmyn said, chuckling at her friend’s fretting.

"As you wish," Alicent said, with a nod and an uneasy smile. "I…I—how should I say this?" she questioned, but it was directed towards herself.

Jesmyn frowned at the swift change of mood from Alicent and glanced over to Criston. Briefly, he met her stare before guiltily lowering his eyes to the floor.

"Has some—"

"Rhaenyra lied to you!"

The sharpness of Alicent's interjection struck Jesmyn with icy coldness as she slowly digested her words. Jesmyn's heart faltered a beat, an invisible dagger plunging into it. A pressure on her chest.

"No…no…" she choked out in denial, slowly shaking her head back and forth.

Jesmyn's stomach suddenly twisted itself violently into a tighter knot than it had earlier. For a moment, she could feel nothing, and yet everything all at once. She couldn't speak, her body going numb, feeling light and heavy at the same time. Jesmyn was scarcely capable of forming a coherent thought. Rage, horror, sadness, and betrayal coursed through her, fighting each other for dominance.

"S-She swore on her mother's grave!" she whispered to herself. "She swore on her mother's grave!" she repeated, in near frenzy.

To remain standing any longer was a growing challenge for Jesmyn by the second, when finally her trembling legs gave out beneath her. She sank down onto the sofa, a fog clouding her mind while dizziness spun through her skull. Jesmyn's heart pounded in her ears, filling her head with noise. She couldn't hear anything outside the deafening sounds of her own breath. Otto's words from last night gradually became deafening in her head.

"Too blinded by friendship to recognize it is very the manner of how she manipulates you,"

Faintly, Jesmyn thought she heard her name, but couldn’t make out the owner of the voice saying it.

"Jesmyn?" the voice asked, somewhere in the distance

Suddenly, a pair of hands, that were soft yet firm, grasped her own. They forced Jesmyn from her daze, causing her eyes to snap up to meet Alicent's.

"Rhaenyra wouldn't do that to me," Jesmyn said, her voice hoarse and sounding nothing like her own. "I—I value our friendship so dearly, I went against my own beloved husband," she continued airily, still feeling far, far away from her body.

"It's true, Jesmyn," Alicent reaffirmed, squeezing her hands. "She lied to you, to us," she shifted her stare to Criston. "Tell her Ser Criston," she demanded.

"Lady Hightower, it was I who laid with Princess Rhaenyra that night," Criston confessed, looking down in shame.

Jesmyn swallowed Criston's confession bitterly, "She told the truth, on a technicality," she said, inhaling a deep breath and shuddering slightly. "Daemon didn't fuck her in that pleasure house, but it was you who took her maidenhood?"

"Yes, My Lady,"

A gasping, broken sob reverberated in the air, "W-What have I done? My marriage is in…ruins ….and for what? Jesmyn wondered, her voice wavering as her words came out in short breaths. "I–I need to write Otto, I—" she went on, until her stomach lurched suddenly and Jesmyn gasped. "I think I'm going to be sick,"

Swiftly, a chamberpot was held out in front of her which Jesmyn snatched into her grasp before hurling into it, spewing out her meal from earlier in the morning. She remained in the same position for a while, still retching.

"Thank the gods, a servant just cleaned that and left it here," Alicent commented, rubbing Jesmyn’s back.

Raising her face from the chamberpot, Jesmyn's stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of the contents within the pot. Gingerly, she placed the pot down onto the table, fearing that she'd throw up again if she stared at it too long.

"Alicent, I'm so sorry you had to bear witness to that," Jesmyn quavered, reclining against the sofa and clutching her stomach. "You as well, Sir Criston," she added, looking over to him.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Alicent stated.

"I must go," Jesmyn announced shakily, dabbing the corners of her mouth with the inside of her wrist. "Arrangements need to be made," she informed, standing up.

The abrupt movement caused stars to dance in front of her eyes. Jesmyn’s hand shot out to grip the back of the sofa chair to steady herself, feeling her heart rate speed up.

"Jesmyn?"

She waved her hand dismissively, "I'm fine," Jesmyn assured, with a tight smile despite exhaustion creeping over her.

"Are you sure, Lady Hightower?" Criston questioned.

"I said I’m fine Sir Criston!" Jesmyn repeated sharply, releasing her grip from the couch and righting herself.

Taking a few steps forward, Jesmyn felt herself sway on her feet while her sight became strangely blurred. She blinked in rapid succession, blood pounding wildly in her ears and drowning out all sounds around her. Unsteadily, she moved forward again, however this time Jesmyn could no longer feel the floor beneath her feet. The room began to spin right before Jesmyn's eyes, rendering her sense of direction completely null. Darkness crept around the edges of her blurred vision, forcing her to close her eyes and orient herself. It was a misguided action to take.

Once her eyes shut, her knees buckled beneath her sending her collapsing to the floor.

~~~x~~~

Jesmyn awoke with a start, her eyes snapping open as a startled gasp escaped her. Wildly, her eyes darted around in confusion and panic as she took in her surroundings. A few seconds passed before Jesmyn realized she was in her bed within her new quarters, safe. Squeezing her eyes shut, Jesmyn exhaled heavily and rubbed her hand over her eyes. When she reopened her eyes, Alicent stood just inches away from the foot of her bed.

"Gods!" Jesmyn exclaimed, her body jolting with fright.

"Apologies, I didn't intend to scare you," Alicent said gently. "I heard rustling from within here, and came to check on you," she explained.

Carefully, Jesmyn pushed herself up from the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

"What happened?" Jesmyn asked, blinking and rubbing her eyes once more.

"You fainted," Alicent answered, looking over her in concern. "It all happened so quickly, you were unsteady on your feet, then you just crumbled to the floor. I don’t know what was worse, seeing you collapse or hearing it. Scared Ser Criston and I to death,"

Jesmyn's hand shot down to her stomach, "My baby—""

"Is just fine," Alicent cut in reassuringly. "Maester Mellos assured me as much," she answered, causing Jesmyn to let a sigh of relief. "How are you feeling now?" Alicent questioned.

"A bit dizzy, still," Jesmyn replied, turning her head to look out the window to see the sun was beginning to set. "I could only imagine what your father would say if he witnessed my fainting spell," she remarked, a small grin creeping on her lips.

"Probably forbid you from ever leaving the bed and have you waited on hand and foot" she joked, and the girls shared a laugh with each other.

Jesmyn faced Alicent again, "By the Seven, Otto's fussing over could be unbearable, but now that he’s no longer at court with me, I'll miss it more than I thought possible," she admitted, her mood turning solemn and dropping her stare down at her hands.

"And it's my fault," she thought.

A frown creased her forehead, "Has she heard about the incident, the princess?" Jesmyn spat out, disdain dripping from each word.

"She has, but I had a handmaiden to relay the message that you are not to be disturbed, maester’s orders," Alicent answered, with a half smirk.

"Good," Jesmyn said, nodding to herself. "I don't know how I will bring myself to assist Rhaenyra with all the festivities for her wedding this week, let alone, the opening feast tomorrow," she commented, her eyes narrowing.

"So don't," Alicent responded simply, making Jesmyn raise her head in shock.

"What do you mean, don't?" Jesmyn repeated, brows furrowing.

Alicent moved to stand by her bedside, "We'll discuss it further tomorrow, when you're better," she said, bending down to give a quick peck on Jesmyn's cheek.

~~~x~~~

Lords and Ladies from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms flocked to King's Landing to celebrate the wedding of the two most powerful Houses in Westeros, the Targaryens and the Velaryons. The joyous festivities commenced with a grand feast, promising a night full of dancing, drinking, and merriment. However, these feelings were not shared by all.

In silence, two young women walked the halls of the Red Keep side by side. For Jesmyn, everything was numb and nothing felt real. She walked daze like through the halls, following the noises from the throne room. Almost a decade long of friendship and good will, gone within a blink of an eye. All from one, little half lie. A lie which Rhaenyra allowed to leave her lips effortlessly.

"The ceremony is beginning," Alicent noted, rousing Jesmyn from her stupor.

Standing in front of throne room, Jesmyn could hear Viserys' echoing voice behind the massive doors.

She looked to Alicent, "We've discussed this for hours on end, but now that the moment's here I find myself rather nervous," Jesmyn admitted.

"Don't be," Alicent insisted, turning to face Jesmyn. "Princess Rhaenyra has made it crystal clear where her loyalties lie," she reminded, her eyes hardening. "It's time we do the same," she declared quietly.

Jesmyn glanced down to both of their gowns they donned for the evening, green like the beacon of Hightower.

"We will certainly turn heads that's for sure," Jesmyn stated, a slight chuckle escaping her.

"Head high," Alicent ordered gently, using her finger to lightly lift up Jesmyn's chin. "What are we?" Alicent questioned, allowing a small grin to form on her lips.

"We're Hightower women," Jesmyn answered confidently, with a smirk.

"And what do we do?"

"We light the way,"

Holding each other's stare, Alicent and Jesmyn nodded their heads in unison.

"Shall we?" Jesmyn asked, holding her arm out.

"With pleasure," Alicent responded confidently, linking her arm with Jesmyn's. "Open the doors!" she demanded, staring ahead at the guards.

With a low creak, Jesmyn could see a sliver of the throne room and at the center of it stood Viserys, still giving his speech.

"Reaching back to the old days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons. With House Targaryen and H-" Viserys cut himself off mid sentence, as the sound of the doors opening drew his attention ahead.

Every courtier followed his gaze to the doors where Alicent and Jesmyn stood arm in arm. Instantly, murmurs filled the room as everyone rose to their feet, Hightower being one of the first houses to do so. The two of them were the essence of grace as they made their way deeper into the hall. Jesmyn dared glance in Rhaenyra's direction to see her subtly horrified expression, Jesmyn told a lie of her own this day; that she was too unwell to assist and attend the feast tonight. When truthfully, she wished to be as far away as possible from the princess. Jesmyn kept her face neutral. Her eyes were detached, scornful, but she was more composed than she had been for the past 48 hours, albeit without her typical jovialness.

Jesmyn passed her family's table, catching the stares of her family members. Curiosity was in all their eyes, they were well aware how close Jesmyn had been with Rhaenyra. So, for her to be making such a bold move with Alicent, who was draped in Hightower green they knew something must of went down. Jesmyn met her parent's stare, silently telling them, we'll speak later.

Approaching the Hightower table, Jesmyn smoothly removed her arm from Alicent's and seemingly glided over to where Hobert stood. A proud smirk on his lips, Hobert bows his heads to Alicent along with several members of the table. To Jesmyn's surprise, her good brother extended this gesture towards her as well which she happily returned.

"Hobert," Jesmyn greeted quietly.

"Good sister," he responded, extending his hand out to help her sit.

Once Alicent was seated at the table, Viserys began to resume his speech which Jesmyn and Alicent had interrupted with their dramatic entrance, but it was apparent he could not remember where he had left off. It wasn’t until Lord Lyonel Strong slightly leaned over to Viserys that he remembered his train of thought.

"With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united," Viserys continued, "I hope to herald a second Age of Dragons in Westeros," he proclaimed, which received applause along with some banging on the tables. "And after tonight's small affair," he joked, causing laughter to echo in the room. "Seven days of tournament and feasting – and at the end of it all – a royal wedding between my daughter and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark,"

Applause thundered across the hall once more and shortly thereafter, Rhaenyra and Laenor's first dance followed. All eyes were glued the couple as the beating of drums echoed in the hall, taking Rhaenyra's outstretched hand Laenor began their dance with one another.

"Good brother," Jesmyn called lowly, and Hobert shifted his attention to her. "Might you have room for a wheelhouse of three on the trip back home?" she asked curiously.

"Don't you mean four, good sister?" he corrected softly, with a small grin which Jesmyn shared.

When the dance was finished, lords and ladies flocked to the dance floor to join in with the dancing as well. Meanwhile, Jesmyn was on her feet to mainly stretch her legs, but it quickly turned into Hobert proudly showing her off to the rest of the Hightower's at their table.

"There's another son of Oldtown growing within her, I'm confident!" Hobert exclaimed, beaming happily at the thought.

In the most bizarre turn of events, Hobert's and Jesmyn's relationship had actually blossomed due to the birth of the twins. The way the older man incessantly pestered her about having children, people would think she was married to him and not his younger brother. Looking back now, Jesmyn realized all he truly wanted was nieces and nephews to spoil, but gods above, he could've been so less cruel about it.

She laughed, "My stomach is hanging low," Jesmyn remarked, holding the bump.

"No, it’s going to be a girl this time around!" a female cousin disagreed, eyes gleaming at the thought. "Twin girls!" she added excitedly.

"Otto would faint," Jesmyn replied, another laughing bubbling out of her.

"Yes, and he wouldn't be the only one," Hobert stated humorously.

A chorus of laughter rang out from the Hightower table and from the corner of her eye, Jesmyn saw Alicent approaching them. For the first time that night, Jesmyn saw a genuine smile on Alicent's face as she walked towards her uncle. Bowing before her, Hobert lightly grasped her arms and bore a proud grin once more.

"Thank you for coming, uncle," Alicent said, happily greeting him.

"I worried that given leave of your father's shadow, you might wither in King's Landing's sun. But, I see that you stand tall. Know that Oldtown stands with you," Hobert declared, and Alicent with nodded a tiny smirk at his words. "I see you even managed to talk some sense into Jesmyn about returning home," he mentioned, making the vein Jesmyn's forehead throb.

"Oh, I didn’t—"

"Hobert, I was just beginning to grow fond of you, until now," Jesmyn bantered, but also was half serious.

"My daughter jests, she was taught to never hold grudges," Lord Clarick stated, from behind her.

"Wait until I tell you about the antics Rhaenyra's been up to recently, that will surely make you rethink that lesson," Jesmyn thought.

She spun around, "Father!" Jesmyn greeted happily, walking towards him with her arms outstretched.

Grinning, Lord Clarick brings her into a careful hug feeling her growing belly against him.

"It's good to see you on your feet, Jesmyn. The Queen told me that you collapsed yesterday," Lord Clarick said, with a small frown as he took a hold of her hands.

"I'm fine Father, a combination of tiredness and a little nausea from traveling to Driftmark and back," Jesmyn lied, squeezing his hands to reassure him.

"Speaking of The Queen," he began, his voice dropping so only she could hear him. "What was—"

Suddenly, screams pierced the air in the hall, causing Jesmyn to flinch before whipping her head to the dance floor.

She stepped away from Lord Clarick, "What’s going on?" Jesmyn asked, panic in her question.

Then, the crowd started scattering like rats from the area where scream originated and the throne room was plunged into absolute chaos. Bumping and shoving quickly ensued as the mass attempt by courtiers to run toward the exit led to people being trampled on. Jesmyn was just barely able to react in time to protect herself and her baby. With the crowd jostling around her, she was pushed further and further away from her father and Hobert. Frantically looking around through the sea of bodies, she managed to catch the eyes of Hobert who was next to a younger Hightower cousin.

"Hobert!" Jesmyn screamed, terror in her eyes as she protectively pressed her arm against her stomach.

Hobert looked at the young man and pointed to her, immediately he fought his way over to her. Strong arming his way through, he scooped her up as if she was light as a feather and began carrying her to safety. Jesmyn searched the crowd from her new vantage point, still trying to determine what caused all this, but even from the shoulders of her cousin, she couldn't see.

However, despite the madness that enveloped the throne room, a single thought arose in Jesmyn's mind, pushing out all others.

"This disastrous wedding is nothing less than what Rhaenyra deserves,"

~~~x~~~

A few days later

Servants hurried about to and from, carrying trunks of various sizes to the many wheelhouses that lined the courtyard of the Red Keep. At the center of this tempest activity stood Jesmyn, being seen off by two members of the royal family.

"I do wish you would stay, but I think being among family and friends in Oldtown will do well for you and the babe," Alicent said, a smile gracing her features. "And the little ones too," she added, giving Vanesha's button nose a playful squeeze.

Squealing in laughter, Vanesha squirmed around in her older sister's arms.

"I couldn’t agree more, my Queen," Jesmyn responded, mirroring Alicent's expression. "It's been too long since I been in Oldtown. Despite our quarrel, I know having the twins home will bring your father the much needed joy after everything that has transpired," she commented, as Alicent handed Vanesha off to the waiting handmaiden to take her.

"You'll write me the moment you're safely inside Hightower, yes?" Alicent questioned earnestly.

"Was there ever a doubt?" Jesmyn asked back humorously. Her eyes slid to Criston, who stood protectively next to Alicent's side. "Ser Criston, I trust you will look after our Queen with my departure? True friends are so difficult to find in these times," she mentioned.

Criston bowed his head, "You have my word, Lady Hightower," he promised, a ghost of smirk on his face.

With a smile, Jesmyn moved away from Alicent and Criston and towards Rhaenyra who stood with her new sworn shield, Harwin Strong. Sauntering purposefully over to the princess, the pebbles in courtyard crunched underneath Jesmyn's shoes. Even with the flurry of activity around them, the strident noise pierced the air in the otherwise noisy courtyard.

Standing in front Rhaenyra, Jesmyn had gone from cheerful to stoic in a split second.

"Princess Rhaenyra," Jesmyn greeted curtly, curtsying to her.

"It pains me to see you go. I was so looking forward to our spent together as my lady in waiting Jesmyn," Rhaenyra said diplomatically, and Jesmyn involuntarily quirked an eyebrow at the use of her name.

"Yes, well, after having some time to reconsider my decision following that nasty business that occurred at your wedding feast, I've come to realize something," Jesmyn stated, peering down at Rhaenyra with an expressionless stare. "Without my Lord Husband, I find King's Landing an ill-suited environment to raise my children, so many unsavory characters here at court. It would be ashamed if they were tainted by proximity," she asserted, her eyes boring into Rhaenyra's who subtly shrank underneath their gaze.

Jesmyn let Rhaenyra suffer under her withering stare a few seconds longer before clearing her throat and removing her arms from underneath her cloak. In her hands, Jesmyn held an object slightly larger than both of her palms put together.

"I do have a gift for you though, Princess Rhaenyra," Jesmyn informed, keeping the object face down. "Something for you to remember me by in my absence here," she finished, finally the presenting the gift to Rhaenyra.

With its face up, Jesmyn held the finished embroidery of the High Tower of Oldtown, its beacon lit.

[sukirichi]

black magic [02]

request. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife) + sukuna’s first time with his wife

cw. slight angst, insecurities, lots of making out, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, sukuna worships reader, spitting, cum eating, teasing! sukuna, face-off kamasutra position, soft dom! sukuna, unedited fic, pwp

song inspo. leave the door open (bruno mars)

note. i want a husband sukuna 

part one | part two

Sukuna gently takes your palm into his, soft and warm lips meeting your bruised knuckles that have seen years of hard work in exorcising curses like him. Uncanny that he showed so much affection to his enemy by nature, treating you with such care and tenderness that shouldn’t have been so possible for an evil creature like him. You’re supposed to love it, be grateful for it, yet his sweet gestures only irritate you, even more so when he retires to bed just like that without even so much sparing a glance your way.

You’ve been married for a year now that you’ve had enough of his confusing gestures towards you. One moment, he was showering you with love, regarding you like you were the light of his life before he’s walking away the next moment and pretending you don’t exist.

He was so infuriating. He would kiss you and hold you, but never touch you or be in the same room with you any longer than an hour. Even in bed, he’s always making sure his back is turned to you, peeling your arms off of him each time you attempt to cuddle him on times it got too cold. It hurts and dwells dangerously at the back of your mind – it would’ve been better if he got angry at you and announced he despised you, but he never did – that his hot and cold nature bothered you more than anything else.

You’ve eventually had enough that you just stopped caring. Barging in during his bath time, your nostrils flare upon seeing your husband so relaxed in the tub. Even after a year of marriage, he’s so unaffected and unaware by your need for him.

He really doesn’t care.

“Little one,” Sukuna blinks as he sits up from the tub, strong arms hanging off the edges of the bed. You admit; he really was beautiful and a desirable man that you couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but crave the one thing you knew you weren’t supposed to have. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you not want me?” you suddenly demand, tears already streaming down your face faster than you would like. Hell, you never wanted to cry in the first place. “Am I not desirable enough for you?”

Sukuna chuckles nervously.

Oh, great, now he’s nervous around you?

“What are you going on about?”

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing,” you snap, “Every time we go to bed, you always put some distance between us and keep to your side of the bed. You push me away when I try to reach for you and you never touch me or kiss me on the lips. I-I understand this marriage was against your will, but I’m still your wife and I need you, okay?” chest tightening uncomfortably, you place a hand over your poor, aching heart that is further crippled when Sukuna’s face falls. “I just feel like...you’re sickened by me, like you cannot stand to be with me in the same room as me. It makes me feel like...it would’ve been better if I wasn’t here.”

You don’t know what kind of response you’re expecting from him after your outburst, but definitely not him standing up to loom over you. You respectfully avert your eyes from the sinful image of water dripping down his defined body, but it’s too late and he’s too close already that you won’t be surprised if he can hear your heartbeat pumping frantically.

He was large and imposing, truly a terrifying sight right before you especially with his tattoos that trail and wrap all around his muscular thighs, yet you’re not nervous because he could hurt you.

Rather, you’re agitated because he’s so close, so within reach that if you step a little closer, you could easily find the warmth you’ve been dreaming of for so long.

You’re frustrated because you want him though you shouldn’t.

Just then, Sukuna caresses your cheek and pulls the both of you back in the tub with you above him, and him lazily grinning above you. You gasp, abashed, that your clothes were soaked to the brim and it stuck close to your damp skin until it took the shape of your silhouette. Sukuna, on the other hand, is completely unbothered as he eyes your pebbled nipples poking through the thin material of your nightgown and simply drags you forward on his thighs.

“S-Sukuna—”

“You really have no idea, do you?” he whispers lowly, his long claws carefully tracing down the sides of your jaw. “My innocent, little lamb...the reason I distance myself from you is because every waking day that you are right beside me, my self-restraint thins, and I’m not sure I can hold back a little longer from you taming me,” Sukuna’s dark eyes brims with something unreadable as he holds your gaze. The look he wears is beyond intense that he takes your breath away, literally, and you’re left gaping at him silently. “I push you away because I want you more than anything else, but I respect you and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You-you want me?”

“Clearly, little one, you’re inherently unaware of how captivating you are,” Sukuna says as if if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you shiver at his words – or from the cold water, you don’t really know. “Stop looking at me like you want me to kiss you. I may not stop once I get a taste of you. Like I said before – I won’t touch you unless you asked.”

You do remember him saying that from your first time together, but your head goes blank, and no words leave your lips even as you mouth nonsense.

Sukuna taps your lips. “Speak, little one. You need to use your big girl words.”

“Kiss me,” you vociferated in one breath, desperately clutching on your thighs. “Please.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to push you away as his eyes narrow into suspicion, but soon he’s tugging at your collar to bring you down for a heated kiss. Sukuna is tugging your robes down until your collarbones are exposed, his tongue and lips leaving yours to leave marks and love bites all over the patch of skin instead. You tug at his hair as you crane your neck to the side, succumbing to the undeniable pleasure his warmth and greediness consumes you with.

Grinding down on his groin, you notice he’s already hard. Hard for you, and this realization makes you kiss him back hungrily as you whimper above him.

Sukuna is feverishly sucking on your tongue and pawing at your breasts the next instant before the spell is immediately broken just as it happened. For before you could reciprocate the same amount of eagerness he kissed you with, Sukuna is already sliding you off of him until you’re on the other side of the tub, left staring at him wordlessly with his lips red and swollen.

“Not today, little one. I think that’s enough.”

You hear your heart shatter into pieces. Pride; it was about the only thing you had, but it seemed even that had been taken away from you.

“You really don’t want me.”

Your voice cracked as your eyes began to tear up.

“No, love, that’s not what I meant,” he groans into his hands, “Believe me, I’d spent enough nights sweaty and frustrated knowing I can’t ravish you and have those lush thighs around me already,” waiting for him to continue, Sukuna sighs and holds you closer, though he could only caress your knee right now that you’re wary of getting hurt again. “This is your first time, okay? I want to make it special for you – you’re not experiencing bliss with me if it happens impulsively with you barging in my bath.”

Something like hope lights up inside you.

“Y-you’ll really do that for me?”

“Tch, brat, don’t go all soft on me now. I wouldn’t suggest testing my patience even further,” he playfully flicks your forehead when you tried to kiss him again, but Sukuna is already tilting his cheek to other side before you could. You would’ve been heartbroken again that he’s refused you, but his words held more than reassurance – and so did his uncomfortably hard cock – that all previous insecurities vanished into thin air.

Sukuna grabs you by the waist to plant your feet on the ground outside the tub, carrying you as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll to him. “Now go and get changed. I’ll fuck you another time.”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“My deepest apologies, little one,” he commented sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, though his smile turned genuinely warm the last minute. “I’ll make love to you when you’re ready.”

He must’ve lied.

You’re annoyed because Sukuna is intentionally avoiding you and acting like you don’t exist. Pissed off, you go into a curse exorcising spree to get the King of Curses out of your mind, reminding yourself that he was vile like them and he didn’t deserve even a second of your time.

Although no matter how hard you tried, your mind still kept racing back to him even as you come back home, bloody and tired when you realize the temple is eerily quiet. Not a living soul could be found around, no servant fretted at your arrival and your husband most definitely did not lurk in the shadows like he usually did. The only sign the temple hadn’t been abandoned yet were the lines of candles trailing down the hall to your shared room with him, and you gasp as you see the petals decorating the bed and rose-scented candles lit everywhere.

Sukuna was nowhere to be seen.

But he was felt as he kisses your neck, his hands untying the knots of your yukata. You stiffen in reflex before relaxing as soon you recognize his scent. Behind you, Sukuna pauses, his lips still in the column of your neck.

“You’re upset.” He wasn’t asking; rather observing.

“Not anymore,” you mumble in response, although you weren’t entirely convinced even as you come closer to the bed, your husband trailing behind with his pinky looped to yours. “Did you do all this for me?”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you,” you hide your smile for him, not wanting him to see that it’s so easy to alleviate your anger to him. He has to earn your approval again, so you turn to him with a forced scowl and arms crossed against your chest. “But why were you ignoring me for days?”

You intended to look intimidating, but the King of Curses only laughed.

“You look cute when you’re mad. Plus, it made you want me more than you already do, didn’t it?” he chastised, the implications of his words making you pout in humiliation. Sukuna is quick to step closer to you, cupping your cheeks into his hand, and you hated how easily you leaned into his touch. Nevertheless, you turned away from him, using all your energy to muster your most serious ‘I’m not bothered’ face.

“Aw, don’t be shy, it’s written all over your face, little one,” he breathes on the shell of your ear, hands trailing down to lightly drape your clothes below your shoulders. Unable to hold it back, you end up shivering at his featherlike touches.

“It’s okay. I loved hearing your soft whimpers every time you touched yourself in the bath, thinking that I’m probably not around to hear, hm? You forget I sense everything,” his laugh is mocking yet laced with lust, “From the frantic singing of your heart, the way you tense up a little when I’m around, or the way those beautiful legs of yours clench together each time my robe is a little loosened,” Sukuna dips his nose right under your jaw where his tongue darts out to lick a flat stripe down your neck, and just like that, you’re breathlessly clutching on his white robes that are already unfastened. Damned tease.

“Even the smell of your arousal is enticing me to enrapture you right now, little one. I can practically hear the silent begging in that pretty little head of yours.”

You forgot how to breathe.

“B-but I’m dirty, I just finished exorcising curses.”

“Would it be comedic if I said I am aroused at the thought my wife could easily end me right here and now?” shaking your head at him, Sukuna smiles mysteriously. “But you won’t, would you? You need me too much for that,” he leans closer than he already was before, his lips just a breath away from yours. “Tell me, do you want me?”

“Yes,” you whispered breathily, “Please, Sukuna, touch me.”

“It’s my love to you.”

“Not Your Majesty?”

“Hmm, that is delightful to hear as well,” he says, “But let’s our drop our titles. For now, whatever happens between us is intimately between man and wife. Now go clean up, little one. I’ll be waiting for you once you’re ready.”

You waste no time into darting to the bath, scrubbing the blood and dirt on each nook and crevice of your body until you’re squeaky clean. You’re about to head back to bed when you quickly practice puckering your lips to make yourself look desirable, muttering hopefully flirty lines that would make your husband want you more before calling it quits from the embarrassment you caused upon yourself.

By the time you’ve completely dried and moisturized yourself to absolute perfection that you’re confident of yourself, you find Sukuna emptily staring into the ceilings. “Done already? Someone’s eager.”

You roll your eyes at him. Why did you like him again?

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly, little one,” he confides, patting his thighs to encourage you to climb onto him. Now that things were actually getting real and your endless dreams would soon become reality, your palms grow sweaty as you settle yourself onto his lap. “You tell me right away if I’m hurting you, you understand? One word and I’ll stop; though I doubt you’ll be in your right mind to want to stop once I’ve had my way with you.”

You don’t really understand much of what he’s saying anymore.

He’s kissing you so slowly, so passionately and you’re both undressing each other that nothing but desire and lust clouds your thoughts in that moment. You’re drunk on the sweet taste of him, his natural musky scent beyond intoxicating for your mortal self to handle. Too lost in the bliss of finally being intimate with him, you don’t realize Sukuna has already pushed your towel down until it pools at your waists. His sharp intake of breath is the only thing that pulls you back to reality as he greedily takes in each beautiful curve and dip of your body.

His stare is so fervid that you grow shy and cover yourself, where Sukuna quickly grips your wrist as a warning. “No. You do not hide yourself from me.”

“Then stop staring too much.”

“Is it a sin to appreciate divine beauty?” he tilts his head to the side and blinks at you innocently. “You are ethereal, my wife.”

Before you could be too flustered to respond, Sukuna fortunately saves you from the embarrassment by kissing you again, though it doesn’t last long before his mouth is trailing from your collarbone and down to your breasts. You mewl as Sukuna eagerly sucks on one breast, the other showered with attention from his rough, calloused palms. Meanwhile, you push his clothes away to expose his strong shoulders which you use as leverage because his ministrations make you feel like you’re losing control over your own body.

Rolling your hips on his erect cock, Sukuna groans through your skin, squeezing your breast hard enough that you can’t take it anymore right after he tweaks your nipple. “Love, please, I need you right now.”

“Patience, little one,” he reminds, “I need to prepare you well.”

“I’ve been waiting for months, Sukuna, I’m sure I’m more than ready.”

“Emotionally, sure, but physically?” he chuckles darkly, “Little one, do you not understand your nimble fingers cannot compare to my cock? I might hurt you if you’re not stretched out enough.”

“Then stop kissing me and start—” you’re cut off with a gasp, your nails sinking down harder into his skin the moment his fingers began to rub at your pussy. “Y-your claws—”

“I kept them for years, but I had to cut them just for you, little one. What do you have to say about that?”

“Thank you,” you offer with a breathy moan, head falling into his shoulder from the overwhelming yet welcomed intrusion. “Oh, Sukuna, it’s too good, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he bites the shell of your ear and tugs at the lobe, basically biting it between his teeth to distract you from another long and thick digit pushing past your walls. “One more?”

“O-oh!” his thumb has now joined the party by rubbing soothing circles on your clit, effortlessly pulling your lips aside with the rest of his digits to expose your sensitive bundles of nerves for him. Sukuna keeps his eyes on yours the whole time, watching and drinking in the face you make – pleasure written all over your features from the swollen lips, pupils blown wide, and desire pooling in swirls of curiosity and eagerness. It’s a face he never wants to forget; a face he wants to see more of that Sukuna eventually lays you down against the pillows, admiring how unreal you looked in that moment.

Hair splayed all over the pillow, legs spread wide open with his hands caressing your core, and a strong arm gripping his with small gasps accompanied by desperate calls for his name to do more, please you more – your words instantly translate into commands.

“You are so beautiful,” Sukuna praises rather angrily, “Never forget that. Each inch of you, fuck, you are the most dangerous mortal, you know that?”

You don’t have time to react before he’s going down on you and spreads your legs apart, keeping them pinned down to the bed. The stretch hurts but he easily soothes your pain by massaging your inner thighs, crawling down to kiss your ankles, then licking all the way up to your knee where he stops for a second, only to happily be on your sopping cunt the next moment. He’s peppering barely there kisses to your inner thighs just on your outer lips, his breath warm and teasing on your heat.

It feels like he intends to ruin you tonight.

“Sukuna, stop teasing!”

“What do you want me to do, little one?” he grins from between your legs, the vibrations of his chuckles resonating deep within your cunt that sporadically clenches right in front of his face that’s shamelessly imprinting your scent deep into his memory. “How can I make you feel good?”

“You know how!”

“You need to tell me so I know. I can’t read your mind.”

“Your mouth...”

Sukuna’s smile grows wider the longer you struggle to find your words, but exactly how in the world could you say such vulgar things out loud? He is far more patient tonight than any other day, however, that Sukuna props himself to his elbows to peer up at you innocently. “Where do you want my mouth and what should I do with it?”

Swallowing the rest of your pride, you finally utter: “T-taste me...down there.”

“Here?” he prods your clit, pulling a high-pitched gasp from you. Your husband’s smirk is nothing short of condescending just before he finally kisses your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth until you writhe before him. It takes minimal effort for someone of his strength to hold your legs in place, his grip just tight enough to be commanding. The thought of being completely in his mercy made your head spin in circles, your chest heaving up and down from the pleasure he was blessing yet torturing you with. “You’re so responsive, little one. I’m honoured I’m the one who gets to make you feel like this.”

“M-more, please, I need more.”

You expect him to tease you further, but your husband must’ve noticed that you’re too edged and decided to have pity on you. He doesn’t waste another second before he’s wrapping his lips around your pussy, treating it as if it were your own lips that always tasted like honey.

Sukuna is completely immersed in the act of pleasuring you with his tongue only, so much so that he’s silent aside from the little hums he lets out while you moan for him.

Unable to care about being too loud anymore (not that you needed to since Sukuna had made everyone go back home to give you both privacy) you find yourself throwing your head back, legs falling open wider to grant him deeper access to your most sensitive parts. Sukuna continues to massage your inner thighs and even drags the back of your knee to rest on his muscular back littered with battle scars and tattoos, the dark markings on his skin flexing with each movement. His eyes are closed and his nose is grazing against your swollen clit that had reddened already, your pussy lips opening up like a new world he had to explore, and explore he would.

Your hands find solace in his hair the shade of gentle sunsets that were often shared in lazy kisses and subtle touches, nails dragging across his scalp just enough to make your husband hiss right between your legs. Something begins to tighten in your belly as you grind your clit onto his face, too absorbed in the mind-numbing sensation of his tongue now poking against your entrance and the past barrier slowly blooming open to welcome him.

With shaking legs and a chest drenched in sweat, pebbled nipples further stimulated by the cold breeze drifting in from the windows, your eyes snap open as that rope snapped deep within your belly.

Your gaze shoots down below you to watch your husband ardently lapping your juices like a man starved. Now this wasn’t new to you – you’ve heard enough about the King of Curses and his bloodlust. Whispers of his thirst and desire to slay entire towns and even feast on mortals’ souls was enough to keep you at bay when you were still a young sorcerer, for it was already a blatant warning that Sukuna would feed on anything and anyone, that his hunger was quite something that couldn’t be satiated.

But seeing him unhinged and a slave to pleasing you has never felt more erotic that you ride out your orgasm, toes curling and legs trembling every now and then from the aftershocks of your high.

Slowly, Sukuna darts out his tongue one last time just to leave a teasing touch to your clit before he’s crawling right above you again. The ceiling is obscured by his large frame hovering over you, arms trapped between your head and his gallant member poking just between your thighs. You end up shivering under him as your husband regards you – with affection, pride, curiosity – gentle in comparison to his true nature in caressing your cheek, both of you unbothered by the slick that meets your skin.

“Are you okay?” he breathes out, watching your fucked out smile bloom into a felicitous grin.

“Perfect,” you mumble, although rather shyly. You’d seen him naked before, but never hard, and never with the intention that soon you’d truly be connected – in heart, in body, in mind, and in soul. The thought makes your heart skip a beat, your eyelids growing hooded as Sukuna absentmindedly traces patterns on the curve of your hip. “Sukuna...you’re perfect.”

Your husband laughs, the sound of his glee contagious that you’re chuckling with him as well. “Have you seen yourself, little one? I think I fall for you harder each day.”

His sudden confession brings about a silence in the room, but it wasn’t comfortable, and neither was it tense. If anything, it destroys any traces of previous hesitation and pent up anger that’s only been formed in the first place due to the fact he was Curse and you a sorcerer.

The nature of your relationship had been paradoxical to begin with, perhaps even beastly, but nothing was beastly about it now as you wrap an arm around his neck to bring him closer to you. And Sukuna was just that – the man, the Curse, the feared King whose simple mention of his name made mere mortals tremble – the same person that somehow understands your silence better than anyone. No words were needed when he could read your mind and knew his way around your heart a little too much, not once leaving his lips on yours as he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you before him. Both of your skins are hot and flushed, yet you’re greedily touching and pulling at one another, his large palms clawing at your ass to pry your pussy lips open while you drag your nails down his chest.

He grunts into your mouth; the sound deep and masculine that it vibrates all the way down to your core. You gasp into his mouth – your breath immediately swallowed by his tongue that dances with yours – once you feel him slip inside.

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve felt before.

You’ve fought and exorcised countless of curses that pain was no stranger to you at this point, but never had you felt so...alien to a sensation both tragic and addicting. Pulling away to breathe air back into your lungs, your forehead knocks with Sukuna until your noses are brushing against the others, mouth hanging open as your walls struggle to accommodate him.

“Oh, oh god,” you mewl above him, eyes wide open as you witness each inch of his cock disappearing from the motion of you swallowing his length whole. He was big; terrifyingly so, and you shake with fear that you wouldn’t be able to take him or that he might rip you apart. “Su-Sukuna—”

“You’re fine,” he reassures by pulling your cheeks back to him, your delicate face trapped between his rough hands. Although his eyes are dark with lust, there’s a tenderness behind them that placates you. “You can tell me to stop if it hurts. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

There’s no lie or hesitation behind your voice. Sukuna watches your face carefully to detect any sign of discomfort, but you want this, want him, and the pleasure combined with the tolerable sting only makes you desire him even more. The mere fact that there had to be pain and sacrifice, that you had to place your whole trust in him before you could truly succumb to the pleasure and love that created light and hope in this world was enough for you to want to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and Sukuna wipes away the frown on your face with the pads of his fingers.

He allows you to go at your own pace until you’re completely seated on his cock, the heated member throbbing so hard inside you that you think he’s poking and prodding right deep into a place where you could hold him close the most.

It’s too much and too good that for once, you let your walls crash down as you bury yourself in his shoulder. Sukuna holds you closer by pulling you right into his chest, large arms wrapped around your frame while your breasts tease the rugged and taut muscles of his body. Even the slightest movement of you adjusting yourself on his lap makes his cock graze against your bumpy walls that you’re both moaning left and right. As you struggle to make sense of the sensations bursting within you, Sukuna’s self restraint hangs dangerously by a piece of thread. You can tell by how he’s cupping your ass and lifting your body up effortlessly before he slides you back down on his thick pole, that single, simple gesture repeated over and over again along with him bringing his hips back up to meet your warmth sending a scorching heat all over your body.

“Love, that’s, fuck,” you curse incoherently, and upon hearing a profanity leave your otherwise innocent lips makes something snap inside your husband.

Sukuna is gripping onto your hips for dear life as he bounces you up and down on his cock, tilting his head back just to scrutinize your connected bodies. A thick ring of white cream surrounds the base of his cock until it slides down on his veiny cock, sounds of skin slapping against skin and the loud squelching of your pussy even more beautiful than the screams mortals have moments right before their death in his hands. But Sukuna be damned – you felt too good that this might as well have been his death.

“You feel so fucking good,” he praises through gritted teeth, easily manhandling you and throwing you back on the bed where he’s on you in a second. “Look at you, little one, taking my huge cock so well. It’s like you’re made just for me – you want to be with me, don’t you? I would please you, fuck you good every day, yes, fuck!”

Sukuna ended up hitting a spot that equated to uncharted territory, causing you to tighten around him with a sharp cry. “Oh, right there, right there!” you rub your clit for further stimulation, moaning louder when he hoists both your legs on his chest.

He presses your legs and hugs his around his arms, flipping it to the side until your feet are right beside his ears. Sukuna has gone completely feral – his pace and drive animalistic, growling like a predator consuming his prey before he softens, kissing your ankles just as he grips your legs to make them squish together. The sudden lack of space makes your pussy tighter and more sensitive for him that you’re fisting the sheets right beside you, too fucked out to even form a coherent sentence. You’re babbling mindlessly on how good he’s making you feel, completely limp and motionless under him from how deep he’s hitting.

“Please, please, please—” you cry out, reaching out just seconds away from your orgasm with the need to touch him. Sukuna gives in and lets go of your legs until they fall at your side, stretching you out further from when he leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss.

He’s caressing your cheeks and swipes a thumb over your tears, quite nearly folding your half. His balls are slapping against your ass the harder he thrusts inside you, but his hips are stuttering and he’s panting right beside your ear that you can tell he’s close. It prompts you to wiggle under him to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him closer and clutching his scalp just to have him impossibly close, because even thinking about letting him go sounds too painful, especially now that he’s claimed you as his just as you’ve marked him yours.

“I worship you,” he blurts out with a few final thrusts that has you crumbling under him in a silent scream, your focus completely on his dark, passionate eyes as you came. Sukuna then laces his fingers through yours while he pumps himself inside you, your walls milking him of everything he’s got. “You are divine, my wife, you have bewitched me for eternity.”

“Sukuna,” you call out weakly, and he’s quick to litter kisses all over your face from your whimpers. “Sukuna-I-I—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” Sukuna places a finger on your lips, letting you calm down from that earth shattering orgasm he just gave you. He pulls his spent dick out a minute later and scoops up your cum that’s spilling out from your pussy lips, his gaze never leaving yours the whole while he sucks his fingers inside his mouth. He’s so dirty and erotic that you’re clenching around nothing once more, but he shakes his head with a low chuckle as if he can sense you want more. Sukuna kisses you just to transfer the cum mixed with spit right onto your tongue, gripping your jaw when your eyes widen at him. “Swallow it, little one. That’s just a taste of what I could give to you.”

You don’t know what pulled you to actually swallow it – it tastes bitter and even a little salty, though it had a bittersweet tinge of scent to it that you don’t mind, especially not when Sukuna just stares at you like you’re most his prized possession.

Sukuna is right by your side the next moment. He’s tamed the next moment, pure comfort and bliss from the way he’s tenderly running his fingers up and down the sides of your body like he’s memorizing the feel of you around him. You both don’t say anything as you place your cheek right above his chest, arms locked on his chest in a desperate cling, but neither does he want you to let go. Sukuna threads his fingers on your hair before you feel his lips caress the crown of your head, mumbling sweet nothings right as you’re welcoming sleep.

Until he taps your breast.

“Little one?”

“Yes?”

“We never had our honeymoon, do we?” he queries, and you twist your head to face him as your brows draw together in thought.

“No, I don’t think we did. I pushed you away from me on our first night together, remember?”

Sukuna’s eyes shone with mischief. “How could I forget? You tried to kill me right after our wedding,” both of you share a laugh at the memory, though there were no more harsh feelings or contempt shared, only love, and love only. Sukuna softens under your gaze as your chuckles tinker down to a giggle, your finger teasingly drawing circles on his chest as you bite your lip. And like always, Sukuna knows you just a little too well. “I know that look. What is it that you want, little one?”

“You.”

“Me?” he repeats with a dark chuckle that sends heat right down to your womanhood. “You already have me, little one, your wish has been granted a long time ago.”

Your face burns. “I mean, I want you. Again. One more.”

“One more?”

“Or maybe a lot more,” you pipe up, but Sukuna’s smirk is growing more and more devious that your former tenacity soon dwindles down into meekness. “O-only if you want to. You must be tired.”

“Little one, I’m the King of Curses, did you really think I would be tired from fucking my sweet little wife?” At his words, Sukuna tilts your chin until you’re left with no choice but to be held captive under his lust. He leans down to teasingly bite your bottom lip, and you’re already breathing hard as you feel his hands begin to trail down to your core that’s more than eager to take him all over again. “Like I said, I worship you, and I’m nothing but a bewitched man who would gladly fuck his wife as long as she asks.”

Safe to say, you couldn’t exorcise curses for quite some time.

[orsuliya]

This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Six - Dura Lex, Sed Lex

Before we start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize for any mistakes you may find. Have fun reading!

They made us pack a suitcase, just in case. So that the child wouldn’t have to go through the pain of being separated at the place he learned to love and call his own. Like leaving the love of his parents in a cold and impersonal courtroom would be any better.

I resentfully grabbed a duffel bag and filled it with some of Owen’s belongings without him knowing. I put inside a toothbrush and a comb, some underwear and some clothes, pajamas. I put in there all the things he would need for a night out, keeping his favorite things in his room. Because he wouldn’t need to go. Because even if he did go, he wouldn’t go for long. But mostly because the things he loved the most belonged with the place he loved the most and with the people that loved him the most.

The morning of the trial, I found myself staring at his room, holding that duffel bag tightly, my nails digging deep in the fabric, almost ripping it. I hated that duffel bag and all it represented. If I could, I would set it on fire.

“Are you ready? It’s time to go.”

Victor was standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed in his charcoal suit with a burgundy shirt. He looked calm and focused, undefeatable. Ready for the battle.

“I don’t want Owen to see this.” I showed him the bag I was holding. “Go ahead and put Owen in the car, I’ll go shortly.”

“Andrea.” My husband held my hand, giving me a determined look.

“I know.” I squeezed his hand. “We got this.”

____________________________________________________________

Something came up. I’ll be home for dinner.

The note was taunting, sitting perfectly on the polished marble surface, sporting her usual perky handwriting.

Andrea was nowhere to be found.

“Are you sure she didn’t tell you where she was going?”

Owen, who was busy cutting his french toast, shrugged yet again.

“No. Only that she had a plane to catch. And that I should behave while she’s gone.”

“It’s not like her to just leave without saying anything.” Victor took his phone from his pocket, wondering if he should try to call an eleventh time.

“Well, she did say something.” The boy replied matter-of-factly, eyes still on his plate. “She left a note.”

Victor wanted to explain to his son that the information on that note amounted to nothing, that even though his mother had been clear enough that she’d be gone, she had also been cryptic enough to worry him. Victor hated to be kept out of the loop like that, it was a habit that came with his job, to always hold every single piece of information about everything. Andrea, however, was well versed in the art of pulling the rug from under his feet, and sometimes could act so randomly it was hard for him to predict her next move. He had to admit he found it alluring, but also annoying.

It wasn’t like he was controlling or domineering, he just felt safer knowing at all times where she was, what she was doing, and who she was doing it wi-

“Eat your toast.” Victor quickly ended the subject, not in the mood to explain anything anymore.

___________________________________________________________

“All rise.” The bailiff announced. “Department One of the Family Court is now in session. Judge Erica Bridges presiding. Please be seated.”

We all got up from our seats, Victor taking Owen’s hand as to motion him to do the same. The judge was a petite woman with bright blue eyes that were framed with dark eyebrows and hair. She looked far too young to be a judge, yet she had this intimidating aura that made everyone around her feel insignificant. It,reminded me of my husband, keeping everyone on their toes with his mere presence.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” The judge opened a file in front of her. “Calling the case of Cole VS Lee regarding the custody of Owen Cole. Are both sides ready?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” The layers replied.

I couldn’t help but look to my side, to the familiar face that had been giving me grief for so long: Pamela Cole. She sat beside her lawyer with a humble look on her face, wearing a modest black dress like she was in mourning, probably to earn sympathy points from the judge. A heatwave coursed through my body, as anger started to churn inside of me. Anger for her audacity to come into my office and tell me all those lies, wanting to take advantage of my sympathy. Anger towards myself, for being an idiot and believing her.

I hated her for having the same DNA as my child, as I hated DNA for being used for such vile purposes. My mind was running wild with thoughts of revulsion and grievance when I felt a warm hand taking mine. It was my husband, looking intently at me like he could read my thoughts, probably because he was having them too. And with just a little magical squeeze of his fingers, all the fire was gone, being replaced by a sense of confidence. We were ready. She would not win.

“And are you Owen?” I heard the judge addressing my son. “You are a very handsome young man.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” He answered politely. “My mom tells me the same thing.”

Laughter echoed in the courtroom.

“You know what we are doing here today, Owen?”

“My grandmother wants to be my forever family.”

“Good.” The judge smiled at him. “Now, I have something to ask you. We are going to start talking about very boring grownup things, so it would be better if you go with this gentleman to a special room we have, where you can read, or play a little. Is that ok?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me who I want to be with?” Owen frowned.

“Oh, I definitely want to know what you feel about all this. It won’t take long, I’ll call you after a little while, ok?”

I squeezed Victor’s hand tighter as I watched our son being taken away. This was it, it was about to start. How did he look so cool, so centered, when all I wanted was to just grab the boy and make a run for it? But then he looked at me, and I could see it in his eyes. The glint of worry only a wife’s trained eye would recognize on him.

“Very well, now that the child is away, you can make your first statements.”

__________________________________________________________

“Where on Earth are you?” He answered the phone, ready to scold her.

“Well, you are correct. I am indeed on Planet Earth.” She joked, unfazed by his severe tone. “I have ten missed calls from you, didn’t you see my note?”

“You mean the elaborate itinerary of my wife’s whereabouts and the extensive list of reasons why she suddenly disappeared the day before our son’s custody trial?” He gave her a mocking tone. “No, I must have missed it.”

“Victor…” She sighed.

“If instead, you are referring to the ridiculous piece of crumpled paper you left on our kitchen counter stating you were alive by the time you left the house, then yes, I am holding it as we speak.”

“Something came up.”

“Your note already told me as much, if I can decipher your messy handwriting correctly. What else do you have to say for yourself?”

Another sigh came from the other end of the line. Victor was perfectly aware of how difficult he was being, but he couldn’t be more indifferent to it. A week ago, they were fighting because he had kept her at bay. Now, she was doing the exact same thing. If Victor was a gambler, he would bet his fortune on how he wouldn’t like the reason.

“Look, I’ll be completely honest with you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I had an idea. Something that can help us. And I wanted to give it a try.”

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to contain his frustration. What was she up to this time? And why wouldn't she give him a straight answer already?

“You can tell me when I get there. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come to pick you up.”

“Do you trust me?” Her disarming question.

“With my life.” He promptly answered. “However, do I need to remind you that we agreed never to keep things from each other? What happened to “we’re in this together”?”

“You told me I wouldn’t fight hard enough for you and Owen.”

Victor paused. He did say that. He wished he didn’t.

“I don’t think that’s true, and you know that.” His tone softened.

“Maybe it is. Well, it was. The truth is…” She hesitated for a second. “I felt weak. I felt like I was losing. And I was so afraid to lose again that I thought it would be better to just stop fighting. I felt like if I lost, I would never recover from it. Do I make sense?”

Victor remembered her howling in his arms at that clinic in Switzerland, when she was told they couldn’t have a biological baby. And his own desperate moments on that kitchen floor, not long ago.

“What I didn’t realize was that, by giving up, I was letting both of you down. I was letting my family down. So this is my way to show you that I believe in us, I believe in us as a family, I’m fighting for us. That’s why I need to do this alone. I need to prove to you that I’m all in. Will you let me?”

___________________________________________________________

“Your Honor, the adoption was made under extremely odd circumstances, and with no respect for the law.” Pamela’s lawyer argued. “My client was not informed of her daughter’s passing, or that the child was left alone.”

“The late mother left a suicide note stating that she did not intend the grandmother to have any contact with the child.” One of Victor’s lawyers argued back.

“I take it you have such a letter in your possession.” The Judge asked.

I jumped on my seat, surprised that they were even mentioning it. Didn’t we agree we weren’t going to use it? I watched incredulously as the lawyer glanced at Victor, waiting for instructions. Victor squeezed my hand again, nodding to the lawyer. What the hell was happening? The lawyer paused and sighed heavily before addressing the judge again.

“No, Your Honor, we do not. That letter was unfortunately lost with some other papers.”

“Your Honor, with all due respect, this trial is a waste of our time.” The other lawyer spoke again. “Should Victor and Andrea Lee be ordinary people instead of public figures, the orphanage would have contacted the grandmother, as it lawfully should, and we wouldn’t be wasting public time and resources! My client has proved that she is fit to be the child’s guardian, and by law, she should have custody. And despite whatever story Mr. Lee’s lawyers wish you to believe, there is obviously no letter from the daughter. Even if there was, there would still be the matter of the daughter’s mental condition when she wrote it.”

“Do you have anything else to present to us to make your case?” The judge turned to our legal team.

__________________________________________________________

Owen spent most of his day in his bedroom, coming out only when summoned. Things had changed dramatically between Victor and Owen since the panic attack, and Owen was treating him with the same distance he did back when he first started living with them: he started to address him as Sir again and seemed to avoid all kinds of interactions. When they were forced to be together, like when sharing a meal, Owen kept his eyes on his plate, barely saying anything other than some short bitter words.

Victor couldn’t blame him. He had acted cold and distant during the funeral, disregarding his family. Everything one won’t expect from a parent. It was only natural that Owen was suspicious of him now, he had lost his trust in him. Victor’s penance was now to get it back.

“Are you hungry?” Victor entered the boy’s room after a brief knock. “I have some frozen mango, we could make sorbet together.”

“No, thank you.” Owen answered, not caring to lift his eyes from the book he was reading.

“What do you have there?” Victor tried again. “Is that the book Mom bought you?”

“Yes.”

“The Beesy Life.” He read from the cover. “Anything interesting about bees?” Knowing his son, he would surely jump at the opportunity of stating an extensive list of facts.

“They make honey.” He quickly dismissed him. “Can you leave so I can read?”

“Why don’t we go outside and play some football together? It’s sunny today.”

The boy seemed to bury himself even more in his book.

“No, thank you. I’m reading.”

Victor surely had his work cut out for him. With a heavy sigh, he sat on his son’s bed. Diversions wouldn’t work, he would have to stop being a coward and just cut to the chase.

“Owen, we need to talk. Do you think you can put that book down?”

Victor grimaced as his son obediently placed the book on his lap, giving him his undivided attention. It was so hard to find the right words. Andrea usually helped him with these things, making notice little things he couldn’t see, encouraging him to open up a little more. Ironically, when things were hard, Andrea was always nowhere to be found. Or maybe things were hard because she wasn’t around, Victor wasn’t sure anymore. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to imagine how Andrea would do it.

“I need to apologize.” Victor began. “I was callous and cold towards you and your mother, and-”

“Was it because of that letter you got? The day we went to the market?”

Victor turned to his son, astonished.

“Mom cried the day you got that letter. And every day after that.” The boy explained, like he understood Victor’s surprise. “And you began to fight. You never fight.”

“Owen...” Victor looked at his son, not knowing what to say.

“What did it say?”

_______________________________________________________

“Alright Owen, now that the grownups have talked, I want to get to know you better. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

My son looked at me with hesitant eyes, and I gave him a small nod of reassurance, mouthing It’s ok.

“Ok.” He nodded, following the bailiff nervously to the witness stand.

“Well done. Are you comfortable there?”

My husband’s hand squeezed mine hard. I ran my thumb over his. Owen would be ok. He was a smart child.

“Do you see this document I’m holding?” The judge showed him a folder. “This is your file, it tells me things about you. So, I know you are five, and you have been living with the Lees for almost a year, and you are doing very well at school… But it doesn’t tell me other important things, like, what are your favorite hobbies, if you have any close friends…”

“My best friend’s name is Mathew, he’s from my class. We play soccer together.” Owen promptly answered. “I like to play soccer, with my friends or with my Dad. I also like insects, I want to be an entomologist. That’s why my Mom calls me Bug. Oh, and we have a pet lobster! His name is Mr. Lobster, my Dad lets me feed him sometimes.”

“A pet lobster? That’s unusual.” She chuckled. “I can see in your file that you are doing well at school, no disciplinary reports… It seems you adjusted very well to that new reality.”

“Miss Dillon says God works in mysterious ways.” The boy looked at the judge in all seriousness. The judge frowned, taken aback by his statement.

“I could say that He does, Owen. But why do you say that?”

“A while ago, we went to have dinner at Gavin and Mia’s, and Mom got sick and threw up all over the floor. And later that night, I woke up and Mom and Dad were talking, and I did something I shouldn’t have.”

I looked at Victor, confused. What on Earth was Owen talking about?

“What did you do, Owen?” The judge asked.

“I eavesdropped.” His head hung in shame. “But I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I was worried about Mom. And then I heard Dad talking about the bad man that hurt Mom, and because of him she can’t get a baby. So…” Owen looked at me, hesitating.

“Yes?” The judge pressed.

“I don’t like that Mom got hurt so badly, but if God works in mysterious ways, maybe He made that bad man hurt Mom so she would adopt me, because He knew my other mom would die.” He shifted nervously in his chair, giving the judge a pleading look. “I know the other lady is my real family, and maybe she is a really nice lady, but I already have a family. I love my Mom and Dad, and I know they love me. Can I please keep them? Can they be my forever family? Please?”

My son’s words pierced my heart, and all the tears of fear and anguish I had been hiding came full force. Despite knowing my background, Owen would never really know how he was an angel in my and Victor’s life, filling our life with color and love. Losing my son was like getting my heart ripped out of my chest, and nothing would ever fill that gap. Victor’s grip on my hand tightened, the brief twitch of his finger making me look up. His eyes were also filled with tears, as he held onto my hand for strength, just like I held his. And as I looked around, wiping my tears with the back of my fingers, I noticed there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Except for Pamela, who looked at us with utter disdain.

“Well, Owen…” The judge cleared her throat. “Thank you so much for talking to me. I will consider your words.”

_________________________________________________________

Victor looked his son in the eyes, trying to formulate the right words to say. There weren’t any. If his wife was there, and not on some kind of wild goose chase, she would tell him to speak from the heart. And it was more and more evident that raw honesty would have to do.

“You have a grandmother. Your biological mother’s mother. She wants to adopt you.”

“I have a grandmother?”

Victor’s eyes fell to the ground.

“Yes.”

Owen jumped from his seat, eyes wide in anger.

“You told me nothing would make you send me back! You told me you were my forever family!” The boy broke down crying. “You were lying!”

“I never lied to you, Owen, you-”

“You told me I was a Lee! That I was your son!” Victor tried to hug his son, but he wouldn’t let him, hitting him with his clenched fists. “You don’t love me, you want to send me back!”

“You are my son!” Victor held his son tight, his voice echoing through the apartment. “You are a Lee, you’ll always be a Lee, and no one will take you away!” Victor felt his eyes sting with emotion, his voice faltering as he spoke. “I will not allow it.”

Victor pulled his son to his arms, tears running freely from his eyes too. He was so brutally inept when it came to expressing his feelings, yet he needed to show his son he loved him above everything.

“I am your father, Owen, and there is no law in this world that can change that. And we do want to be your family. Otherwise, why would your mother be crying all this time? Why would I become so insufferable?”

“Please don’t leave me.” Owen begged, his face buried in his father’s chest.

Victor knew that sentiment all too well. To hold a loved one so desperately and still feel her slip away from his fingers, leaving nothing but loneliness, no one to gather and mend the shards of his broken heart. But those days were over for Victor. And they were also over for Owen.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Victor smiled, wiping the tears from his boy’s cheek. “You belong with us.”

Before he was a father, Victor would scorn those romantic fools that told him about how deeply a parent can love his child. He simply found it impossible to be. He has never been loved that deeply, he couldn’t even fathom how that must feel like. But at that moment, with Owen's little arms wrapped around his neck, Victor’s heart felt like a deep wide ocean, filled with love and joyful selflessness, a complete devotion to that little red-haired boy. And a promise, no, a purpose to devote every single day of his life to his happiness.

“So I don’t need to go?” Owen asked, breaking his embrace.

“No, you don’t. You’re a Lee and that’s settled.”

Owen’s bedroom door flung open.

“Mom!” Owen left his father’s arms to run to his mother.

“Bug!” Andrea lifted him in her arms, giving him a tight hug. “I missed you so much, little one!”

“Where have you been?” Victor went to his wife.

“I did it.” She bit her bottom lip in excitement, putting their son down and reaching for her purse.

“And may I know what exactly did you do?”

“We won.” She smiled widely, handing Victor an envelope.

Victor read the document inside, not believing his own eyes. They had never contemplated it, it seemed so impossible…

“What is it, Dad?” Owen looked at both of them, excited. Victor lifted him up in the air with joy, twirling him in his arms.

“What we needed to officially make you a Lee.”

__________________________________________________________

Victor stood quietly at a hidden corner of the main hallway, talking on his phone. An oblivious passerby would think he was having a calm conversation, but I knew better: by the look in his eyes, Victor Lee was making some serious threats at that precise moment. Our legal team was reunited not far behind, deeply engaged in a quiet conversation, the panic very clear in the faces of some of them. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong. And my job was to sit quietly with Owen, trying to distract them the best I could from the gravity of the situation.

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!” Owen chanted excitedly, as I tried my best to discreetly grasp what was happening. “Mom, are you paying attention?”

“Yes, Bug. Go ahead.” I answered distractedly as I noticed my husband look at his phone in silence, poker face in place.

“You may all come in.” The bailiff called us. “The judge has come to a deliberation.”

A bad feeling glued me to my seat, and for the life of me, my legs wouldn’t work. I looked at my son, the sweet five year old that meant the world to me, and I feared this would be the last time I would see them. I slapped myself mentally for being distracted looking at Victor and the lawyers, when I could just have enjoyed this last moment with him and played thumb wars.

“Owen, you come with me to the other room, alright?” The bailiff took his hand and I held his other one, unwilling to let go.

“Lady…” The bailiff pleaded.

Just one second, damn it! I may lose him forever, I just need this extra second!

“Owen…”

“Yes, Mom?” Sweet brown eyes stared at me expectantly.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, and that he would be an honorable man, and that someday I would love to know the kind of person he would grow up to be. I wanted to tell him that I would cry for him every single night, that he wasn’t born out of my mangled body but he was mine, that I would never forget about him, for as long as I should live. I wanted to tell him I would never adopt another child, that no child would ever take his place, and that my heart would belong to him forever. But I couldn’t. If he was going to be with his grandmother, I had to make things as easy as I possibly could for him. Even if they were impossibly hard for me. So, instead, I ruffled his hair.

“You did very well, with the judge.” I smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks!” He smiled confidently. “I love you, Mom!”

As Owen walked away, holding the bailiff’s hand with a smile, a dark shadow ran across my line of vision. It was Victor, taking his son in his arms. And that was when I knew my suspicions weren’t unfounded: we were losing him.

I witnessed the sadness in Victor’s eyes as he smiled at his son, hugging him and tousling his red curls. And then the glint of despair, as his eyes landed on me, his expression telling me he was close to falling apart. I wouldn’t have to be strong just for Owen. I would have to be strong for Victor too. So I summoned the last of my strength and stood up. For better and for worse, we are in this together. I won’t let you fall, handsome.

We never said a word, as Victor took my hand and led me inside the courtroom. I didn’t know what had failed, and it wasn’t important. I took a shot and I missed. We wouldn’t win this one. I thought about the duffel bag in my car and regretted not putting one of Owen’s favorite books in there. He would need something to distract him tonight.

The judge entered the room, and while I could see the hesitant look on everyone’s faces, I couldn’t care less about it. I had no interest in hearing someone say I couldn’t be a mother, I already was. Even if a piece of paper said otherwise. Owen was my son.

“I have to say, this was one of the hardest decisions I had to make in my whole career.” The judge started her deliberation. “Dura lex sed lex. This means, the law is hard, but it is the law. The law speaks of rights and duties, it tells us in which direction to go, but the law does not contemplate feelings. The law does not abide by what makes us feel better. The law is impartial to love and to emotions. It is so by design, so we don’t let our hearts cloud our judgments. The law is correct, but that doesn’t exclude the fact that it can be very painful.”

The sound of heavy wooden doors opening abruptly echoed through the room, making us all jump in surprise. From them, one of our lawyers ran, stopping only in front of the judge.

“Your Honor, I apologize for my audacity towards this court.” The lawyer bowed. “But new evidence has arrived that cannot be ignored.” He handed her an envelope.

I looked at Victor, puzzled. Was it…

“Can you please explain to me and Mrs. Cole’s lawyer, what exactly am I looking at?” The judge opened the envelope.

“Mrs. Lee was able to track down the child’s biological father.” The lawyer explained. “She flew yesterday to Acomb and met him at the hospital where he is working as an intern doctor, and he granted her and Mr. Lee parental rights. We were just waiting for the lab to give us the DNA results.”

“And why am I getting this just now?”

“We couldn’t present the documents without being sure that Mr. Richardson was indeed Owen’s biological father.”

“Your Honor, this is highly inadequate! I contest this man’s right to give parental rights, he was never in the child’s life to begin with!” Pamela’s lawyer argued.

“Neither was your client, Counsellor.” The judge gave the lawyer a frown. “Well, it works for me.” The judge banged her hammer. “The Family Court decides that Mr. and Mrs. Lee will be granted full custody of the child Owen Cole, concluding the adoption process, effective immediately. Congratulations, you can get your son for the next room.”

Victor and I practically crashed against each other in a tight embrace, smiles mixed with tears, emotions running wild. We had won, we had our son. We were officially a family.

We entered the other room with joy in our hearts, laughing as Owen ran into our arms.

“I'm going home with you guys?”

“You are officially a Lee!” Victor laughed as he threw the boy in his arms.

“You adopted me? You are my forever family?” Owen teared up, reaching out to me so he could hug me as well.

“We are a family.” My throat tightened as I hugged the two men I loved the most in this world. “And we are forever.”

Victor pulled me close to them, wrapping both me and our son in a tight hug. And I couldn’t help but think back to our year, so full of adversity. Despite it all, we came through. We fought and found solace in one another. We became stronger and more united, we grew together, as a family, and we would continue to do so.

Love does conquer all.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 19

While the Nation Mourns

SUMMARY: Hana is reunited with Riley, and Liam must attend a funeral

Word Count: ~4.4k 

Warnings: mention of character death, mention of depression

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here

Tags:  @captain-kingliamsqueen @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @loudbluebirdlover @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @cinnamonspongecake @queenjilian @kuladekiwi @twinkle-320 @iaminlovewithtrr @charlotteg234 @amandablink @texaskitten30 @tinkie1973 @louiseingram1208 @queencatherynerhys @pens-girl-87 @missevabean @ladyangel70 @sanchita012 @cordonianprincess @liamandneca @cordonia-gothqueen

I’m sorry, the tags are being weird and I don’t know if they’re working or not... but I hope I got everyone down! If I missed someone, or anyone wants to be added/removed, let me know <3

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

- Hana - 

For a very long time, Hana felt that her existence was a very irritable thing for both herself and those around her. 

The love that she attempted to give to the ones around her was unrequited. No matter how much time she tried to spend around her husband — in a desperate attempt for him to redevelop affections for her — the more it seemed as if he wanted to be rid of her.

Even though he sent her many gifts whenever he would go abroad, the dresses, shoes, jewelry, and designer outfits didn’t matter to her. She did not have, nor want the materialistic quality that everyone suspected of a lonely housewife — no, she wanted to devle herself into meaningful connections with people she cared for. Her heart was always empty and alone because there was no one around her who loved her. 

During her time in Lythikos after the tea ceremony, Olivia was kinder to Hana than she was during her first Social Season, and it was a breath of fresh air to be reminded that she was not just a burden; once again Hana felt like someone whose company was valued. 

She remembered the feeling from her friendship with Lady Kiara and Lady Penelope. And from her relationship with Lady Riley. 

Those friendships had all dissolved, and Hana was left with the fact that life was a dreadful and lonely place and she needed to find a way out. 

Ever since her parents had forced her to marry Neville, joy had become a hot commodity in Hana’s life. 

For five long, vile years, during which Hana and Neville were told that her estradiol levels would make it difficult for her to conceive, and Neville beginning to slowly ignore her — she lived life believing that she was one of those people who had done nothing to deserve happiness. 

Though now, as the Beaumont estate came into view, the excitement was almost overwhelming. After all this time, she would see Riley again. 

A servant opened the door, and a few moments later, Hana and Olivia were greeted by Lord Maxwell, Duchess Savannah, Drake, Duke Bertrand, and King Liam. Hana had to stop herself from embracing each of them. 

After quick introductions, Bertrand urged Hana and Olivia to the dining room, where everyone had just finished dinner. Plates were set for them, and they were left alone to eat. 

Hana heard music coming from the direction of the ballroom while she pushed her food around her plate, and she noticed Olivia occasionally looking up and glancing towards the door. 

Before Hana’s wedding to Neville, she had learned more about Olivia’s affections for Liam, and she knew how Olivia never acted on them. Hana notices a look of longing and despair flash behind the Duchess’ eyes when she looked up from her meal.

When Hana had forced herself to clear everything from her plate, she announced to her companion that she was going to go to the ballroom to see what everyone was doing. Hana notices a look of hopelessness flash on the Duchess’ face, but instead of stating that she would come with, Olivia tells her that she will retire for the night. 

The sound of classical music gets louder as Hana approaches the ballroom. She comes through the doorway to see two short figures dancing; they were moving too quickly for Hana to see their faces. On the tables closest to the dance floor are Liam and Drake sitting near one another, Bartie on a table by himself, and Maxwell whispering something to a dark-haired woman, who giggled at every word. 

Hana looks back at the two dancers, who she notices are doing the Cordonian Waltz. They continue to turn and spin quickly, and Hana still can’t see who they are. But when they finish their dance and turn to the small audience, Hana notices the shape of their faces, their foreheads, their smiles, the way their eyes crinkle, and the silky dark hair — all engraved deep into her memory. Riley’s children, she realizes. 

“Hello,” Hana announces herself to the room in a soft voice. Thankfully they hear her over the music, and Liam stands.

“Forgive me, Countess.” Liam motions towards the little ones. “I wasn’t able to introduce you to the children before. They’ve been learning traditional dances throughout the day.” The children slowly walk towards Liam. “Gabriel, Eleanor, do you know who this is?”

“Of course!” Gabriel says, the sound of his smile behind every word. He bows respectfully. “It’s very nice to meet you, Countess Hana of Comery Isle.” 

“Nice to meet you!” Eleanor greets. 

“A pleasure to meet you both as well!” Hana takes a quick moment to regard the children; there was no doubt Gabriel was Liam’s son, for the politeness and the warm welcome came naturally to the boy, which was something that Hana did not expect from such a small child. Eleanor was every bit playful like her mother. 

Hana glances at Liam, she’s stunned at the adoration and pride on his face.

“Did... you have a nice trip?” Gabriel asks, tentatively. “I heard it was a long ride.”

“My trip was very pleasant, thank you,” Hana responds. The large smiles on their faces were contagious, but both of the children’s expressions melt into respectful concern, and Hana thinks it’s adorable. 

“Are you tired?” Eleanor asks. “You can go to sleep if you want!” 

Liam and Hana laugh at the girl’s suggestion. Before any of them can speak, Maxwell calls to the children: “Baby blossoms, come look at this!” 

Gabriel and Eleanor each take a step in Maxwell’s direction, but turn back and give Hana one final nod. She laughs at what she expects is newly-learned etiquette, and turns back to Liam. 

“Where is Riley?” Hana asks, eager to get to the point of why she came to Ramsford in the first place. 

Liam nods towards the ballroom doors. “She has a room in the east wing. A doctor came to check in on her a while ago, and now she is resting.” Noticing Hana’s face fall, Liam continues, “Hopefully you will be able to speak to her in the morning.” 

“Do you think there is a chance that she will remember me?” Hana wonders. I do not wish to be no one to her.

Liam’s breath hitches, “Hana... forgive me, we forgot to tell you. Riley got her memory back.” 

Her hand flies to her mouth, and her whole body shakes. “What?” Do I still occupy a place her in heart, just as she does in mine?

“I meant to tell Duchess Olivia when I called her, but my mind was occupied.” 

“I understand. At least Riley’s memory is one less thing for us to worry about.” Hana turns to look at Liam, whose brows are furrowed. “Have you been able to speak to her?” 

Liam slowly shakes his head. “No, not really. I found her in tears last night. Along with her memories of us, she also remembered her husband’s death. I did not wish to stress her further by putting more on her plate.” 

After carefully thinking about what she was going to say, Hana speaks up again. “Have you heard what happened to the Queen Mother?” 

Liam’s expression doesn’t change, and Hana suspects that he did not hear her. 

Finally he speaks up. “Yes, they called me when they were bringing her to the hospital. They did not know she was already dead.” 

“And what about the stolen art? And the missing pieces from her collection?” 

“An investigation is ongoing. I’ve also increased security at the palace. I refuse to cancel or delay the Social Season due to Regina’s death. She was no one of consequence to me, and her decisions have ultimately done no good for Cordonia. A week given to mourn her should be enough, and it will not interrupt the festivities.” 

Hana almost flinches at the cruel words, but understands where Liam is speaking from. After hearing about what Regina did to Riley, Hana began putting the blame of her terrible life on Regina, too. If Riley hadn’t left, there was no doubt in her heart that all of their lives would have been better. 

“Will you and your husband be joining us this year?” Liam asks her. The edge of his mouth twitches. He knows that I won’t avoid it now that Riley is back.

“Yes, though the Earl will be arriving a little late,” she tells him. 

He nods, and then looks away from Hana and towards the children. The adoration that she noticed before is back. 

“The funeral for the Queen Mother is tomorrow,” Liam says suddenly. Hana notices his face fall, and wonders why. 

“That quick?” 

“I was the one who requested it to be done as soon as possible.” After a pause, his voice is rough when he says, “The faster we are rid of her, the better.” 

Hana glances between Gabriel and Liam. “Will the boy be going with you to the funeral?” 

“I wish to bring him with, and I am sure that Cordonians expect him to make a public appearance soon, but I do not think that it would be appropriate.”

“Then you will leave them here?” 

“Yes... but I do not wish to.”  

After a pause, she says, “I can help the children in their lessons tomorrow morning.” 

“Thank you, Countess, but...” He trails off, and Hana wonders what he is thinking about. “Perhaps I will bring them with, but that does not mean they have to attend the funeral service.” There’s a mischievous grin on Liam’s face, and Hana laughs to herself. Liam trying to spend time with Riley’s children was heartwarming.  

Hana finally announces that she will retire, and everyone bids her a “Good Night.” 

While a servant leads her up to her room, Hana has to force herself to follow and not run off to try and find Riley’s room. 

When she changes and gets into bed, she has to calm the excitement in her heart. She would speak to Riley again soon. The morning was not too far away.

...

As her eyes flutter open, Hana is proud that she was able to wake up on her own. When she turns around and sees that it’s half past nine, she shoots up out of bed, ashamed. 

They all must have eaten breakfast already. Now they will be burdened with my tardiness and my nonexistent appetite.

She rushes to put on her clothes, forcing herself through the processes of washing her face, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair. Taking a glance in the mirror, she notices that she looks worn out. Her shoulders slump. Hana thinks to herself that she must try harder to better her appearance, but her heart begins to scream, What if Riley is at the breakfast table? Don’t take so long!

She averts her eyes from the mirror and rushes out of the room. Looking at the familiar decor, she realized that she was also in the east wing. 

Hana turns her head, trying to find an open door, or at least a servant that could guide her to where Riley was.

And then, when she turns her head to quickly glance into a room, thinking that it was empty, Hana stops suddenly. There’s a figure in the room, and it’s painfully familiar. 

The moment was surreal. Hana turned to look at Riley, whose face has gone pink and chin has wrinkled. Neither of them move a muscle, and Hana is almost afraid to approach her. My eyes must be tricking me. Perhaps I’m still tired.

But Riley takes in a shaky breath, her whole body quivering. “Hana?” she says, her voice breaking. 

And then when Hana picks up her feet and runs towards Riley, she doesn’t even realize how much effort the action took her. 

Riley’s arms are around her neck, and Hana squeezes her waist. They tuck their heads into each other’s necks, grabbing at each other’s shoulders as if to make sure that the moment was truly real. 

Neither of them move. It wasn’t that they couldn’t — they just didn’t want to. Hana realizes that this is perhaps the longest embrace she has ever had, and she tightens her arms around Riley. 

“Ow,” Riley whispers, and Hana jumps out of their embrace.

“Sorry!” She looks Riley up and down. Riley was standing balanced on one foot, for the other foot had a cast on it. “Here, sit down.” Hana helps Riley hop to the side of the bed, their hands intertwined. 

When both of them take a seat, their hands are still locked together. 

“Hana, I’m the one who’s supposed to be sorry.” 

Hana shakes her head quickly. “Please, don’t feel the need to apologize on my account.” 

“But Hana—” Riley’s words cut out as she begins crying. Tears fall down Hana’s eyes, too. 

“Riley, I was the one who refused to show up to the U.N. party that night. I left you alone, I should have—”

“Hana. All you did was take some time for yourself, which was what you needed. I’m the one who made a stupid decision and left for ten years.”

“You left because that was what you thought was best for your son. That was the best thing for you to do, we were the ones who should have tried harder to find you—”

“I was the one who shouldn’t have hid myself like that. I made a stupid mistake, and instead of trying to come back and fix it, I let it turn into an even bigger mess. And I’ve ruined so many lives in the process.” 

“No, you haven’t,” Hana claims.

“But I have. Look at Liam. Honestly I can’t understand why he never got married to another woman, why he didn’t just forget about me, and why he isn’t angry at me?” 

“Isn’t that a good thing? That he’s not angry?” 

Riley bites her lower lip, deep in thought. “I think if he was angry then it would be easier. We can’t even talk to each other now. Neither of us know how to start the conversation. He asked me if I would have dinner with him tonight, and for some reason I’m so nervous about it.” 

“Well... is there something specific that you want to tell him? Above anything else?” 

“Honestly, the first thing was going to be that Gabriel was his son. Now that that’s out of the way... I don’t know. And, yeah I’m a little upset that he’s pushing the kids into the spotlight... but now I understand it. I just hope they don’t get overwhelmed. And if they do, it’ll all be my fault.” 

“Riley, stop that.” Hana puts her hand on Riley’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened.”

“But I’m the one who set these terrible events in motion.” 

“Those actions weren’t permanent. And look at you know.” She gestures at the room around them. “You’re back in Cordonia, and hopefully everything will go back to normal soon.” 

Riley forces out a laugh and smiles. “As normal as we can make it. There are two new people in the group, and things are so weird between me and Liam... but enough about my problems.” Riley shifts herself so that she’s fulling facing Hana. “Tell me about how you’ve been holding up!”

Hana’s face falls, and she barely manages a smile before saying, “I married Neville.”

Riley’s jaw flies open. “No!” she exclaims. “You told your father you weren’t interested in him!” 

“And then when he and my mother discussed it, they told me that didn’t matter.” 

“So they forced you?!” Riley screams. 

Hana swallows a lump in her throat. She can’t bring herself to speak, but she manages a nod. 

“You... you can’t get out of it or anything?” 

Hana shakes her head, and after stopping a few tears from escaping, manages, “No. Not without reason.” 

“Being a pompous self-centered prick is reason enough. No one should have to deal with someone like that.” Suddenly, Riley’s eyes go wide. “Oh, my God. He isn’t here with you, right?” 

“No,” Hana tells her. “He will join for the Social Season, but a few days late.”

“Good!” Riley states, a large smile plastered over her face. “He’ll be here soon enough, and when he arrives, we’ll find our reason.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hana gives a wide grin. “Alright.” 

“Well, well, well,” someone says from the doorway. They turn to see Duchess Olivia. “Finally Hana’s come to her senses. You should have tried to leave that man years ago.” 

“Olivia!” Riley cries. She stands and tries to hop over to Olivia, but Olivia rushes over to help Riley balance herself. Riley wraps Olivia in a hug, and she slowly returns it. When they part, Hana is shocked to see a smile on her face. 

“Yes, yes, it’s nice to see you, too, welcome back.” She steps back and looks both Riley and Hana up and down. Finally she turns back to Riley and says, “Your children.” 

“What about them?” 

“How much self defense do they know?” 

“I’ve taught Ella how to use pepper spray,” Riley answers. 

“And the boy?” Olivia continues to ask. 

Riley shrugs. “He plays soccer. He can give a mean kick to the shins.” 

Olivia massages the bridge of her nose. “So no real self defense training?” 

Riley shakes her head. “No.” 

“If you don’t mind, I will guide them through the basics later today.”

“Sure. But make sure they don’t play around with sharp objects. They can be little devils some times.” 

Olivia turns to leave, but continues, “Oh, please, they’re not babies.” 

“What does that mean?” Hana asks, concerned.

“I’ll give them slightly blunted knives.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Olivia is already around the corner and out of sight.

“How blunted is ‘slightly blunted’ on Olivia’s scale?” Riley asks.

“We can ask her about it later, and perhaps replace them with wooden knives.” Hana turns to Riley and asks, “Have you had breakfast yet?” 

“No, I’ve been eating a bit late these last two days.” 

“I’ll call the servant staff to bring something up to us!” Hana suggests.

Riley gives a little a laugh. “Bring us a feast worthy of returned ladies of the court!”

- Gabriel - 

Cordonia’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. True, I haven’t seen much of it yet, so I really wasn’t in a position to judge, but at least I could say that the landscape was really pretty.

I was in a really long limo with Liam and Eleanor. He told us that he had to go to the capital for an event today, and wanted us to come with. Mom allowed it, so some time after breakfast a large limo with flags on the back bumper rolled into the front of the building. 

Apparently some servants brought Liam some clothes he could wear, and when he changed into them, he looked serious, even though there was still that welcoming smile on his face. His suit had lots of medals with symbols that I had never seen before. Ella and I put on some formal clothing that Grandma had packed for us.

The seats inside of the car were in a “U” shape, so Liam sits in the back of the car, while I sit on the seats to his left, and Ella sits in front of me. 

He told us that the drive was a little long, so we spent the first half hour looking out the window at the scenery, which looked like it came right out of a painting. 

“Have you two taken a road trip before?” Liam asks us. 

“When we went to Disneyland in Florida we did,” Eleanor answers. 

“Did you have fun?”

“Yup!” she replies. “We played games!” 

“Which games? We can play them now if you wish.”

“Okay!” Ella exclaims. “Let’s do I Spy. I spy with my little eye something black!”

“Ella, the entire inside of the car is black,” I remind her.

“No!” she whines, pointing at the door handle. “That’s gray! Anyway, Gabe gets a point! Your turn!”

I look around the inside of the car, trying to find a unique color that Ella wouldn’t be able to guess easily. “I spy something yellow,” I say.

“The sun!” she guesses.

“No.”

“My dress?” 

“Nope.” 

She takes a moment to look around wildly before going, “Liam’s hair!”

“Wrong,” I say. Liam starts to laugh, and I join in.

“Liam, do you see anything yellow?” Ella asks him. 

He joins her in looking around the inside of the limo, but doesn’t say anything.

“We give up!” Ella declares. 

I point to Ella’s shoes, and when she realizes how simple the game actually was, we all begin to laugh. 

For the next few hours, we quickly pass by small and quaint towns. Liam tries to entertain us by explaining the traditions of those regions.

Eventually, we near a large crowd of people, and they wave at the car as we pass by.

“Both of you stay here. I’ll be back momentarily.” Someone opens the door for Liam, and he shuffles out. 

We watch him join the crowd of people, and I recognize some of them. 

“Is that... Duke Landon?” I wonder aloud. 

Ella comes next to me to look out my window. “And that’s... Duchess... the Duchess of Portavira!” she cries. 

“Uh huh.” I turn to her. “And what’s her name?” 

“Em... Emily?” she hesitates. 

“Close. Duchess Emmeline.”

“Agh,” Ella exclaims, sitting back down. After a few moments, she cries, “Snacks!” 

I turn around to look at her and find that she’s found small packages near the front of the car, behind the wall that separates us from the driver. 

“Are you sure you don’t have to pay for those?” I ask her. 

She stands up straight, putting a pack of trail mix back where she found it from. Reaching into her pocket, she tells me, “I have three dollars.” 

I walk towards her to inspect the money. “Those are American dollars. You can’t use that here.”

“Why not?” 

“Because they use different money in Europe. Where did you get the three dollars from anyway?”

“I always keep three dollars with me.” 

I pause to stare down at her. “Why?”

“Because.” She reaches back into the pile of snacks. “Sometimes I get hungry, and Daddy told me that if I want snacks, I have to have money.” Ella looks closely at what she picked up. “Apple slices with caramel dip?” she whispers. 

“I think you should ask Liam before you take anything. This is his car.”

She puts everything back into the pile and we both take a seat. When we look out of the window again, we see that Liam is talking to the crowd, and some people have started crying. He stands next to a large painting of an old woman. 

“Who’s that?” Ella asks.

“I don’t know...” I tell her. “Maybe Liam will tell us when he comes back.” 

Ella turns to look at me, then stares at my face for a few moments. “Are you going to keep calling him Liam?” she questions. 

I shrug and answer, “I guess so. What else should I call him? His proper title is ‘Your Majesty,’ since he’s the King.” 

“I still don’t believe that.” 

I roll my eyes at her. “Then why were they cheering when the car came by?”

She shrugs and turns away. “Maybe they wanted to make him feel good about himself. But, shouldn’t you call him ‘dad’?”

“Why would I do that?” 

“...Because he’s your dad. Mama said you should start, so you have to.”

I slump back into my seat. “But I don’t really want to. I’ve called him ‘Liam’ so for so long, and I’ve called Dad ‘dad’ for so long, and it’s going to be weird to change it.” I look up at my sister. “Are you going to start calling him ‘Dad’?”

“He’s not my dad.”

“It’s not like you have anyone else to call ‘dad’.” I start coughing, and she stares at me before turning away.

After thinking for a while, she answers, “True. What do you think about ‘Mister Dad-Man’?”

“I hate it.” 

“‘Mister Gabe’s Father’?” 

“I hate that more.” 

She squints her eyes at me in anger. “You’re not helping me.” 

“Oh. Was I supposed to?” 

She crosses her arms and moves back towards the front of the car. Grabbing a bag of trail mix, she throws it at me.

“No!” I scream. “That is not—” I dodge away from another thing she throws “—that is not the proper behavior of a young lady!” Since she keeps throwing things at me, I scream, “LIAM’S GONNA BE MAD AT YOU. Oh, look, there he is!”

“Where?” She runs to the window near me, and we both notice Liam being led back to the car by some guards. Lots of people with cameras follow behind them.

We rush to put all the snacks back into the little box. We’re both near the front of the car when Liam takes a seat. He looks so serious that he could be a completely different person. I smile at him, and when he catches my eye, smiles back. “I apologize for taking so long. What are you both doing?” 

“We were hungry,” Ella tells him. 

“Would you like to get something to eat before we return?” he asks us.

Ella and I look at each other, beaming. “Yes, please!” we say in union. 

“Wonderful.” The car starts to move, so we take a seat. “What would you like to get?” 

“Donuts!” Ella cries. 

I wanted real food, but wasn’t going to complain about donuts. 

Once we come near the store, Ella tells Liam she wants to go inside and get the donuts herself. Liam says that he’ll go with her, but Bastien opens the door and says that might not be a good idea. Liam hands Ella some money, then watches her through the window of the car. 

Bastien carries the box of donuts and follows Ella towards the car. Once she’s seated, Liam takes the box. 

For the rest of the ride, we eat our donuts while Liam tells us funny stories from his trips to different countries. We spent the time by laughing, and we don’t even realize it when the driver opens the door to tell us we’ve arrived to Ramsford.

[nitaescence]

The Howling Wolf | Final Part

↳ Pairing : Lycan!Taehyung x Human!OC ft. Vampire!Jimin & Human!Jungkook   Genre : Mythicalcreatures!AU, Royal!AU | angst, smut, fluff   Word Count : 3.1k ↳ Moodboards | story masterlist ↳ Warnings — Depiction of injuries, death

🎼

You gasped when you noticed blond hair peeking out the edge of the rock. You climbed back up as quickly as you could and froze as you were looking down at Jimin.

His body was lying on his back and the wooden arrow was embedded in his heart.

“No, no, no,” you crouched down and hovered your hands above him, having no clue on how you could help him. “Jimin-”

His eyes were closed and brows slightly furrowed as if he was focusing himself on something. His hand clasped around yours that you softly placed near his wound.

“Jimin,” your vision turned blurry, “tell me what to do. Please, tell me what I can do.”

“_____-” He breathed out.

You bit onto your arm and positioned it underneath his mouth but he jerked his head to the side, the bite was healing already.

“______,” he tried again. “There’s nothing to do.”

“Why did you do that? Why did you-”

“Because you have me. You always had.”

You frowned at him looking into his purple eyes that seemed to speak a thousand words. You remembered the words, his first words when you met, the words he liked to repeat, words that held a meaning that eluded you.

He whimpered when his hand held the arrow tightly.

“No- what are you doing?”

A thick silvery liquid spluttered out of the hole in his chest after he extracted the weapon. You could hear the flow of it sipping out of him and a buzzing near his heart that throbbed as the healing cells attempted to mend the injured organ.

He let his other hand fall limp on the hard surface and you grasped it as an invitation to lean closer.

His fingers gently covered you nape and with the last remnants of his strength he brought your ears to his lips and whispered, “forgive me.”

You leant back slowly and gently pressed your lips onto his forehead.

You raised onto your feet and met Jungkook’s eyes first thing as he was hugging his mother to him. You shook your head and expectantly looked at the Queen before turning towards the alpha.

Jungkook returned your gaze to his mother just as anticipated.

“He’s the one,” your voice was barely a whisper but you knew the lycan heard it loud and clear and he gave Fenrir a black look.

🎼

Taehyung looked at the Alpha when he heard him calling in his head. They shared a look and moved closer to the Fenrir. The other men instantly began to step backwards at the sight of the two impressive creatures.

“What are you doing ?”He fumed, pulling his sword from its scabbard again and lifting the blade in front of the two creatures. “Move away, you filthy curs.”

Taehyung suddenly lunged forward to jump over him and land behind the man before he could have the time to react and with one arm he forced him down to the ground. His furry fist slammed violently on the man’s wrist for him to let go of his weapon and the dull sound of his bone breaking underneath your husband’s strength cracked in the air.

Fenrir screamed out sending shivers down the spines of every human staring with horrified eyes. Taehyung kept his paws on his shoulders.

He looked downward, terrified as he watched the black lycan marching toward him; with lips curled upward, baring sharp teeth and letting out low groans, his tail held stiffly behind him, his fur bristling as his ears stood erected; he sneered at him, boring holes on the man’s scared face who began pleading, begging for mercy.

The Alpha raised his paw and rested it on Fenrir’s ankle and slowly, gradually the wolf leaned more and more onto his limb until the man’s weaker bone broke and shattered underneath the impressive strength.

Carefully, the lycan proceeded to splinter the rest of his skeleton, little by little, tearing shouts that would curl the blood of anyone in the vicinity and make them run for their life for the sole purpose of never encountering the cause behind those screams.

Taehyung’s claws pierced through the man’s armor and skin, to prevent him from rolling around although after the Alpha finished crushing his lower body bones he was not able to move in any way.

“If any of you share the same views as that ingrate, that vile churl,” she announced to her people after the lycans had retreated, “then step forward.”

The men exchanged looks silently.

“Surrender your weapons,” ordered Jungkook.

The Queen marched down towards Fenrir, her gaze blinded by sorrow and revenge and without a word she lowered her torch, she had taken from a guard standing in the back, for the fire to take hold of his clothes. Orange and yellow rapidly consumed the entirety of his broken body, the echo of his cries dying in the eerily silent night.

********************************

A discussion had been initiated at the end of the conflict between both parties. With the assistance of Taehyung and Jungkook, each helping you persuading their kin, you were able to come up with a treaty that addressed the problematic issues and offered terms suiting both the Alpha and the Queen that took into considerations their wishes and were supervised with rules they would have to follow to ensure the good relationship.

This mattered a lot to you and you wished nothing but to put an end to those abductions, pointless ransacking and to avoid any other losses. You were adamant in settling this issue once and for all for the sake of all the victims and for Jimin.  

**********************************

Much to your surprise, the Queen visited the camp for your lost friends’ funeral. The Alpha had kindly agreed for you to say one last goodbye to them.

She came with Jungkook and joined the small gathering made of you and your husband.

Taehyung had helped decorating beautifully ships for the burials. The dead wolf was positioned on its side, lying on a bed made of large leaves and little purple flowers. Fuchsia and white lilies with gladioli and daffodils decorated the larger ship where Jimin was laid on, framing enchantingly his pale and peaceful visage.

The water was quietly moving on the beach you were all gathered. Waist-deep in, you brought final touches to their flowery coffins, making sure their eternal sleeps would never be bothered on their way to the afterlife. You turned to lean over the vampire; his features were so tranquil, peaceful and it hurt knowing his lids would never open again.  

You slowly pressed your shaky lips onto his cold cheeks and whispered in his ears, “farewell good friend.”

Taehyung joined you and gently pushed the wolf’s boat while you took care of the other.

You walked out of the water and stood next to the Queen and Jungkook. Taehyung’s arm circled your shoulder and you squeezed your fingers after you felt your half-brother’s hand holding onto yours and tears overflowed your eyes instantly.

A man shot two blazing arrows in the air which landed perfectly onto the two ships setting them on fire as they kept drifting away towards the infinite seas.

🎼

One month later

You never stopped visiting the wolf’s home after its demise.

It was set a little away from the encampment but the location made it seem like nothing else surrounded it, only nature echoed in your ears. You often brought with you your children to spend time there, disconnected from everything or everyone else. The sole exception was that now you had to cover your body entirely away from sunrays.

Sitting by the empty den, you marvelled at the sight of flowers with your youngest son on your lap while your eldests played together nearby.

They were running after each other, pretending to be fierce beasts when someone intruded on their play games.

Your ears instantly caught the newcomer’s steps. Your daughter leaped up and rushed forward at the sight of the stranger when her brother chose to stay back looking mildly afraid.

You walked slowly to where they were, your baby boy in your arms and your oldest one took the opportunity to hide behind your legs.

A wide grin stretched your lips after you identified the outsider.

You called out your daughter, adjusting your hood, “there’s no need to act ferocious. He’s our friend.”

“Our friend,” she repeated looking up at you disconcerted.

You hummed in approval. “Hello, Jungkook.”

The man’s smile softened and he walked closer. He waved at your son whose grasp around your dress tightened when the man had waved at him, remembering him from your last visit at the castle. Your hand came to caress his hair.

“I thought I’d come see you, see where you’re living. And them too.” His lips curved in a lopsided smile, gazing down at your children.

“That is very kind of you,” you trailed with a grin. You walked closer and he raised his hand to stick one finger inside your baby son’s fist. “But, we actually don’t plan to stay here.”

His brows raised, “Oh, really?”

“Yes,” you replied, wiping the drool off your baby’s chin with the back of your hand. “We plan to travel around for a while.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened as he looked at you looking at your child, “so you’re really going to live up to your dreams.”

“I am and you can come along if you want to,” you giggled, remembering the fond memory.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interfere,” he spoke quietly looking down, “besides, I have a couple of duties to take care of now.” You frowned at him. “My mother appointed me the sovereign.” You looked at him with a surprised look, “I know I’m still too youn- ”

“No,no,no,” You quickly cut him off, adjusting the hold of your baby against your hip. You smiled at him with affectionate eyes. He was really not going to be your little Jungkook anymore. He had stopped a long time ago. “I’m sure you’re going to do just fine.”

“You think?”

“Of course,” you trailed dusting off his shoulder and then smiled again, “you have it in your blood.”

A comfortable silence fell then as you looked at each other contended. You moved at the same time towards one another, opening your arms to gently hug together. You were missing each other terribly.

“Look, mama!” You pulled apart when the voice of your daughter suddenly chirped.

Surprised etched on both of Jungkook’s and your face when you looked down at her, right before fond smiles stretched your lips at the sight of her finger, stilling in the air to hold a beautiful white butterfly.  

🎼

You heard Taehyung and the others from where you were, some meters away and you set off towards them.

The lycans had shifted back into their human forms as they stepped out of the forest with the fruits of their labor amidst snickers.

Their gazes all locked on you when you had stepped underneath the moonlight, stalking towards them, your perfect and naked legs stretching out beautifully as your feet stepped soundlessly on the wet green lawn. Your hair was flowing lightly behind you and the ambient lightning beautified your features even more. If the men did not know your particular scent they would have easily mistaken you for a nymph.

Taehyung’s gaze had frozen on you; the instant it had met your gorgeous figure, everything else became trivial.

The Alpha smirked throwing him a knowing glance as others whistled playfully, teasing him and eventually it was just you and Taehyung.

You came to a standstill and he shortened the distance between the two of you until you were at an arm length, his grin shortened in a meaningful lopsided smile.

“Where are the children?” He wondered, mentally thinking of the reasons that led you to meet him at this right place at this right moment.

Your plump lips stretched and your voice answered sweetly, “hopefully asleep in their beds.”

Taehyung walked again to get closer to you but you moved before, quietly passing him by. He frowned and turned around never looking away from your figure as he joined you where you had stilled. He pressed himself faintly against yours.

You looked up at the moon, shining so brightly above you.

You wondered how it felt to Taehyung, how your cold skin felt against his hot one. You had no notion of cool or burn except for the sun.

Probably due to his condition as an extraordinary creature, you could feel he felt warm, hot but like sun rays had once been to you, pleasant, agreeable but above all homely. He had always been that, you had always known him as his own sun; your exclusive and intimate source of heat.

He had promised nothing would have changed after the end of your transformation but you were adamant about it not being entirely true. You had thought you surely felt different to him, definitely closer to a cooled down version of yourself but because of his high temperature he could not be that uncomfortable, even less when he still stuck to his habits and spent most of his time, when in your company, flushed to you.

You leaned back on him, relishing his touch and slowly you could feel his stiffening core snuggling up against your taut rear and his nose nuzzling in your soft hair.

“Do you remember this place?” You mused while he softly trailed his lips down the side of your neck.

A chuckle escaped him with a rush of air through his nose; how could he forget?

“I came to find you,” you continued quietly, “at the exact same place you found me so many nights before.”

Taehyung reluctantly let you go and narrowed his eyes slightly as you faced him to look at his body with your new eyes.  

You slowly dragged your gaze up the expanse of his long legs, lingered an instant on his firm thighs, biting the inner side of your bottom lip when your stare reached his testes, large and tightly swelled, then admired his erected length, standing stiffly against his stiffening lower stomach right in the middle of his taut iliac furrow which was covered with a patch of thin black trimmed hair.

With your newly acquired abilities, you could effortlessly notice details your human eyes could not beforehand, hear sounds you would have never been able to perceive; like the flowing of his blood becoming deafening in your ears as it was rushing downward to grow and harden his stately and enticing appendage even more.

Then following the almost nonexistent trail of hair up, you ogled the smooth expanse of his stomach and his softly outlined chest that heaved at a steady pace with every breath, the loud thudding of his heart that quickened exponentially. His collarbones were even more noticeable in the dim light, linking broad shoulders and leading to strong arms, the skin curving outward along his muscles and the path of his veins down to his large hands.

His thick and strong neck gulped down visibly before your eyes finally settling on his perfect and ethereal features, subtly frowning with deep desire, his eyes turning a shade darker, concupiscent, partly hidden under a thick curtain of charcoal hair.

Your hand slowly crawled up to undo the sole button of your silky dressing gown. You heard it as quiet as it came out, Taehyung’s breath hitching as you proceeded to curl your fingers around the cloth to separate it and deliberately, let it slid down the expanse of your body very languidly.

The gown silently reached the ground, puddling around your feet on the grass covered with dew, and you were left bare just as he was; sublime bodies basking in the spectral light.

He devoured you with his eyes, gazing at your every curved at the same time. His mind was frenetic as he stared lustfully at you standing with your hips swayed, one foot outdistancing the other, your signature stance.

He leered the perfect lines of your firm legs, smooth and soft looking under the blanching hues, lingered his dark stare when he reached the mouth of your arousal, which mystifyingly still provided him the sweetest of smell and undoubtedly the most delectable of delicacies.

The soft swell of your fecund hips, the alluring curve of your waist, your tightly drawn belly which had carried the fruits of his loins. If there was one thing Taehyung would regret never seeing in his life again it would be his markings on your skin that had now acquired the ability to heal as fast as his but above all the absence of those pretty stretch marks, once adorning your skin, gorgeous purple stria that vouched for those emotional moments in your lives.

His gaze travelled up on your bosom, perfectly round and soft looking with perky nipples he wished he was already fondling and festing on.

The underside of his eyes puffed with satisfaction at the sight of the rosewood crescents that made it up on the nonexistent bruises, that had not been healed and looked as new as the day he gave it to you.

He proceeded to follow the outline of your body, reaching the soft muscles of your arms tensing as you undid your hair and let the wind gently bristle it, pervading the air with your sweet scent, and move it to frame your delicate, gauzy looking face; he met your mysterious gaze watching him back with the same strong sexual desire before eventually gapping at your plump bottom lip you were biting on in such a suggestive manner.  

Only one thought was driving Taehyung’s mind — Immortality suited you, beautifully, perfectly.

He calmly drew closer and this time you stood still. His mouth parted as he looked down at you and you gazed up at him just as expectantly.  

You wanted him to know that you were now grateful destiny brought him your way when everyone else had given up on you. You did not crave his presence or touch the same way you needed before — not purely out self-interest anymore — you wanted him to feel you cared about him, that he mattered to you as much as you to him, that your love for him was beginning to become reciprocal and equal to his.

And so gradually, it felt natural to you to put words on those feelings that had grown within you as days passed by his sides because it simply, finally sounded right to you.

He was forever yours and you were forever his.

                                                                                                        Fin.

<< Prev Part

[papermoonloveslucy]

DINNER AT EIGHT

February 18, 1940

The Campbell Playhouse (1938–1940) was a live CBS radio drama series directed by and starring Orson Welles. Produced by Welles and John Houseman, it was a sponsored continuation of The Mercury Theatre on the Air. As a direct result of the front-page headlines Orson Welles generated with his 1938 Halloween production "The War of the Worlds", Campbell's Soup signed on as sponsor. The Mercury Theatre on the Air made its last broadcast December 4, 1938, and The Campbell Playhouse began December 9, 1938.

The series offered hour-long adaptations of classic plays and novels, as well as adaptations of popular motion pictures. When Campbell’s exerted more creative control over the selection of material, Welles left the show. 

Bernard Herrmann was the series’ composer and conductor. The opening theme was “Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-Flat Minor” by Tchaikovsky.

DINNER AT EIGHT was originally written by George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber as a play which opened October 22, 1932, at Broadway’s Music Box Theatre, and closed May 6, 1933 after 232 performances.  

In 1933, (the same year Lucille Ball arrived in Hollywood), the play was turned into an MGM film by George Cukor. The role of Kitty (played by Lucille Ball on radio) was played by Jean Harlowe. 

The play was also revived on Broadway several times and was made for television. 

Synopsis ~ The Jordan family are planning a society dinner. The story concerns what they, as well as various friends and acquaintances - all of whom have their own problems and ambitions - do as they prepare for the event.

CAST

Lucille Ball (Kitty Packard)

Orson Welles (Host / Dan Packard / Larry Renault) was three months away from embarking on his masterwork, Citizen Kane, when this radio play was aired. Before Lucille Ball dated Ed Hall and Desi Arnaz, Welles was often seen on her arm at public events. Lucy and Desi later allowed him to reside in their guest house and starred him in an episode of “I Love Lucy”. 

Hedda Hopper (Millicent Jordan) was then broadcasting her own radio show “Hedda Hopper’s Hollywood” as well as writing a syndicated column.  She appeared on “I Love Lucy” and “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour.” As an actress, she did two with Lucille Ball: Bunker Bean (1936) and That’s Right – You’re Wrong (1939). Hopper was best known for her flamboyant hats.

Charles Trowbridge (Oliver Jordan) originated the role of Oliver Jordan in the Broadway production of Dinner at Eight although the role was played by Lionel Barrymore on screen. He did two films with Lucille Ball: Her Husband’s Affairs (1947) and A Woman of Distinction (1950). 

Marjorie Rambeau (Carlotta Vance) was only a month away from the premiere of her film Primrose Path, which would earn her an Oscar nomination in 1941. 

Benny Rubin (Max Kane) was heard on “My Favorite Husband” as well as doing an episode of “I Love Lucy” and several appearances on “The Lucy Show.” 

Clara Blandick (Hattie Loomis) had just created the role of Aunt Em in The Wizard of Oz, which is what she is best known for despite her many other credits. including four films with Lucille Ball, three of those in 1934 alone. 

Mary Taylor (Paula Jordan) had previously worked with Welles on Mercury Theatre of the Air. 

Edgar Barrier (Dr. Talbot) was previously directed by Welles in the 1938 film Too Much Johnson. 

Ernest Chappell (Announcer) served in the same capacity for TV’s “The Big Story” (1951-57)/  

THE EPISODE

Orson Welles introduces the show, Kaufman and Ferber’s play Dinner at Eight.  He tells the audience that we never see (or hear) the actual dinner in Dinner at Eight. He talks about his three leading ladies: 

Hedda Hopper “who was a distinguished actress before she branched out into her present career of acting and ‘columning’.” 

Miss Lucille Ball “is the beautiful and talented young lady who’s position in Hollywood is becoming increasingly more important.” 

Marjorie Rambeau “one of the first talents of the theatre who is carving out a new career in motion pictures.”  

Welles introduces Ernest Chappell, who does a pitch for Campbell’s Vegetable Soup. 

“Whether you’re having dinner at eight or supper at six.”

As the story begins, Millicent Jordan (Hedda Hopper) is on the telephone inviting people to her dinner party. Her husband, Oliver (Charles Trowbridge), comes in. She tells him how the guest list is shaping up. He suggests she invite Dan and Millicent Packard, although she thinks she’s a horrible woman. Paula (Mary Taylor), her daughter, comes in. She’s engaged to be married to Ernest but is still maintaining an active social life. She’s been seen nightly at 21.

MILLICENT: “Some day I’m going to find out what goes on at 20 -- and at 22, too!”    

Paula runs out. Hattie (Clara Blandick) comes in and she and Millicent gossip about that “Packard Woman”.  As Hattie leaves for her shopping trip, Millicent reluctantly phones Mrs. Packard to invite her to her dinner party. 

The scene cross fades to Mrs. Packard (Lucille Ball) hanging up with Mrs. Jordan.  She is in bed awaiting the doctor with her maid Tina. Mrs. Packard is eating chocolates, guessing what is inside each one. 

Meanwhile, Carlotta Vance (Marjorie Rambeau) barges in while Oliver Jordan is in his office on the telephone. She demands to know why the Customs Office says she cannot own six fur coats. They discuss Mr. Vance’s assets, including a theatre she is longing to sell - calling it a fleabag.  She is a stockholder in Mr. Jordan’s company.  He urges her not to sell.  They reminisce about their younger days, when they were courting.  He once proposed marriage. 

Dan Packard (Orson Welles) enters the office. He recognizes her from her days on the stage.  Before she departs, Jordan confirms that she is coming to dinner next Friday.  Jordan and Packard talk business. The Jordan Line Shipping is in financial straights and he wants a loan from Packard, who promises to consider it. 

Back at the Packards, Dan arrives to find Kitty still in bed. He complains that Jordan cannot handle his business and he aims to buy them out. Dan says he won’t go to dinner there and Kitty is not happy about it. She tries wheedling him and she mentions the dinner is for Lord and Lady Ferncliff.  He says he is going to buy out Jordan using dummy stock holders.  

Doctor Talbot (Edgar Barrier) arrives to examine Kitty. We learn that they are having an affair. The music swells and the scene transitions to...

Mrs. Jordan, still planning her dinner party, looking for one more man to balance her table. Hattie and Mrs. Jordan, suddenly get a brilliant idea for their final guest - movie star Larry Renault.

Meanwhile, Paula visits her paramour, Larry Renault (also Orson Welles). They are in love. She warns him not to drink so much. His agent Max Kane (Benny Rubin) has gotten him a part in a play. He tells her she should just marry Ernest. Renault has been married three times and is almost 40!  His second wife drove off a cliff and his third is now the biggest star in Hollywood.  Paula impulsively says she is going to tell everyone about their love - including her parents! 

Kane arrives and Paula leaves to find urges him to stop drinking and get in shape. Kane breaks the news that the play is off!  The new producer doesn’t want him. He’s been replaced by an English actor. Kane suggests he take a smaller role in the play. Kane suggest he humble himself to the new producer, but Renault is indignant. 

“I’m Larry Renault!  I don’t go to managers with my hat in my hand!” 

At the Jordan home, Carlotta and Millicent talk about the party, including the invitation of Lord Ferncliff, who everyone calls “Stinky”.  When Mr. Jordan comes home, she confides to Oliver that she has sold her Jordan stock.  It seems she isn’t the only one who has sold Jordan stock that day. 

A phone call informs Millicent that the Ferncliffs are going to Florida and can’t come to dinner after all!  Just then, Paula comes home to tell her mother urgent news about her engagement to Ernest. Oliver says he is feeling unwell, and wants to go to bed instead of having dinner. Millicent is at wits end with the party cancellations and her family’s drama!

END OF ACT ONE

Ernest Chappell returns to urge mothers to get their child’s recommended serving of milk by adding it to Campbell’s Tomato, Celery, and Asparagus soups. 

ACT TWO

That night, Renault is drunk. Kane brings up Mr. Stingle, the new producer of the play. Renault bullies Mr. Stingle calling him a hack. Stingle abruptly leaves.  Renault blames Kane, who tells him he’s washed up in show business. 

KANE: “You’re a corpse and you don’t know it! Go get yourself buried.” 

Kane leaves and Renault pours himself another drink - the last one in the bottle. He’s visited by a hotel manager who tells him he’s being evicted from his suite.  He calls the operator and tells him not to put any calls through. Larry turns on the gas.  

At dinner, introductions are made. Seems as if Mrs. Packard already knows Dr. Talbot. Mrs. Jordan says that Lord Ferncliff’s absence is due to ill health. Carlotta brings her little dog, which she wants fed lobster.  She inadvertently announces that Lord and Lady Ferncliff are vacationing, not ill at all.  Everyone wonders where Larry Renault is.  Paula enters and Mrs. Jordan decides they shouldn’t wait for Renault.  

Paula is distracted.  She phones the hotel to speak with Renault and they refuse to connect her. They mention the police and then Paula goes silent.  The police would like to speak with her.  

END OF PLAY

Ernest Chappell, having addressed the women at the intermission, addresses the men in the audience, touting the hearty comforts of Campbell’s Soups. 

Orson Welles returns for an interview with the female guest stars.  Welles insists that her participation tonight will lead to something vile in her column tomorrow!  He points out that her character spent a lot of time on the telephone in the story. Welles attributes the modern gossip column to the invention of the telephone, who he jokingly credits to Don Ameche!  

The Story of Alexander Graham Bell is a somewhat fictionalized 1939 biographical film of the famous inventor that starred Don Ameche as Bell and Loretta Young as his wife Mabel. Coincidentally, the film also featured Charles Trowbridge (Oliver Jordan in tonight’s radio play).

In scripted banter, Miss Rambeau recalls happier days when there were no columns, which gets Hopper hopping mad!  Welles begs Miss Ball to intervene.

LUCY: “On behalf of Kitty Packard, I think Mrs. Jordan and Mrs. Vance ought to call it a day - both of them. Just because a girl likes to have a bit of fun and not sit around like a piece of furniture or something you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths---”. 

Welles interrupts the cat fight to bid everyone goodnight, but not without a reminder that next Sunday, Only Angels Have Wings, starring Joan Blondell. 

‘DINNER’ TRIVIA

This is one of four characters named Kitty that Lucille Ball has played.  Others were in Follow The Fleet (1936), Without Love (1945), and The Facts of Life (1960).

In the 1933 film version, Elizabeth Patterson plays Miss Copeland, secretary to Oliver Jordan (Lionel Barrymore). Patterson went on to play Mrs. Trumbull on “I Love Lucy.” 

A clip from the 1933 film was included in “Toast of the Town’s 30th Anniversary Tribute to MGM”, a program that also featured its star Lionel Barrymore (Oliver Jordan), Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz.

Paul Harvey, who played the New York Times Art Critic in “Lucy the Sculptress” (ILL S2;E15) had his greatest success on Broadway as Dan Packard in the original cast of Dinner at Eight. His role was taken in the film by Wallace Beery. 

A 1955 CBS television version of Dinner at Eight featured “Lucy” cast members Eleanor Audley (as Carlotta Vance), Pierre Watkin, and Tristram Coffin.  She is seen above on “I Love Lucy” with Peter Bucco. 

In the 1989 TV movie of Dinner at Eight, Kitty Packard (the character played by Lucille Ball on radio) was played by Ellen Greene, famous for playing Audrey on stage and screen in Little Shop of Horrors. In that musical she sings about “Lucy”!

The 1966 Broadway revival of Dinner at Eight was at the Alvin Theatre (now the Neil Simon), the same theatre where Lucille Ball did Wildcat five years earlier. 

Season 4 episodes of “Here’s Lucy” were sponsored by Campbell’s Soup. The DVD includes a commercial that features Dodie Goodman and Eddie Bracken. Coincidentally, Bracken is credited with introducing Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz when they were starring in the film version of Too Many Girls in 1940, the same year as this radio broadcast. 

Campbell’s Soup was immortalized in paint by artist Andy Warhol in 1962. Twenty years later he used Lucille Ball as his muse. 

The 2002 Broadway revival of Dinner at Eight at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theatre starred Emily Skinner as Kitty (the role played by Lucille Ball on radio). Skinner played Lucille Ball on Broadway in The Cher Show which played at....yes...the Alvin Theatre!

[hawksquill]

“You know, I can’t decide which is worse: Muggles or Mudbloods,” Draco Malfoy said to Luna, leaning towards her with a conspiratorial smirk.   She nearly instinctively looked behind her to see if he was talking to somebody else, as he had barely shown any interest in her at Flourish and Blotts over the summer.

“And what exactly is wrong with Muggleborns? Or Muggles, for that matter?”

“Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t.  I don’t even know why you’re talking to me, to be honest.”

“My mum told me about your mum…”

“Draco, hush,” Mrs. Malfoy suddenly dug her long nails, which Luna was surprised to see were unpainted, into her son’s shoulder.

“But Mum…”

“Where is that mother of yours, Luna?” Narcissa asked, peering behind Luna as if searching for Cressida.

“Er, she said she didn’t want to support the Minister, who does nothing but lie, or the Prophet, which does nothing but print Fudge’s lies.”

“Well, well.  No surprises there,” Narcissa said with a mirthless chuckle.

“Wait, how do you know my mum?” Luna asked, turning to face the woman for the first time.

“Oi, little blonde one, don’t turn.  And hold your arm up so we can see that missing finger!” One of the photographers cried.  Luna obeyed, sighing.

“Maybe Mum had the right idea...”

“What’s happened to your hand?” asked Draco, his fingers tightening around her wrist as he pulled it closer to investigate, poking the purple lump of scar tissue.

“Ouch, that hurts!” Luna yanked her hand away.

“And what have you done to your hair, girl?” asked Narcissa.

“What? I haven’t done anything to my hair.”

“No, you have, there’s a white streak now,” Draco reached towards the back of Luna’s head and puled a lock of her hair to the front of her face so she could see it.  It was indeed white-blonde, surrounded by several strands of her usual dark hair.

“I wonder…” Narcissa said, nudging her husband.  He ignored her.  Draco tugged harder on Luna’s hair, apparently trying to rip one of the blonde strands out so he could examine it more closely.  

“No offense, but you need to teach your son some manners,” Luna said, loudly enough for Mr. Malfoy and a few of the surrounding Ministry cronies to hear.

“I beg your pardon?” Narcissa hissed.

“You should have taught him not to touch people without their permission.  Let’s see how he likes it,” Luna said, flopping the stump of her left hand onto Draco’s robes and tugging at her stitches in the vain hope that they would burst and start leaking pus all over his horrible, smug little face.

“Ugh, disgusting! Mum, make her stop!  I told you she’s a freak!”

“Oh, do be quiet, Draco.  Stand over here, by your father,” Mrs. Malfoy tugged him a foot or so further away from Luna.

“No more talking, please, the ceremony is about to start!” their handler announced to the crowd.  Luna could still feel Mrs. Malfoy’s gaze on her as everyone shuffled into position and began applauding as instructed.

Professor Dumbledore approached a podium that had been hastily erected in the Hospital Wing, festooned with the Hogwarts crest and the symbol of the Ministry of Magic, a golden M bisected by a wand.

“Good morning, all.  Good morning, indeed.   I regret the somber circumstances that bring us all together today, but celebrate the generosity and civic-mindedness that we work so hard to cultivate here at Hogwarts.  It is incumbent on me to recognize Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and the entire Malfoy family for their unending support for our school, and in particular for their benevolence in donating funds that have allowed the Hogwarts Herbology Department to import mature mandrake plants that Professor Pomona Sprout has expertly brewed into a Restorative Draught that will soon heal all those who have been petrified,” Dumbledore paused and gave a small nod to Professor Sprout, who blushed at the applause she received.

“I would also like to take this moment to recognize the kindness and ingenuity of all at Hogwarts that have allowed us to weather this, and so many other, storms.  Doing the right thing is never easy, and requires great personal sacrifice.  But we do what is right not because it is easy, or in hope of praise.  We do so because we feel we have no other choice but to do all we can,” Dumbledore seemed to be looking in Luna’s direction, and she shifted under his gaze.  But perhaps he wasn’t looking at her at all.

“Sacrifice, yeah right.  Father’s gift cost less than my Nimbus 2001.  Pocket change, really,” Malfoy snorted.  Narcissa hushed him, but Lucius also seemed to bristle at Dumbledore’s words.

“What’s that daft old fool on about?  Thanking everyone, and not us?  Saying we shouldn’t be doing this for the praise?  He’ll be getting an owl tomorrow, he can be sure of that,” he hissed.

“Lucius, what did you expect? You know he’s a senile old codger. And we can be sure that the Minister will say exactly what we wish of him…”

Fudge was standing at the podium now, clutching his lime green bowler hat in one hand and a scrap of parchment with his speech, no doubt penned by the Malfoys, in the other.

“Yes, well, thank you, Dumbledore.  I would also like to emphasize the absolutely critical role Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have played in securing the funds in such a timely manner.  Less than a day since…well, the unfortunate events in the Chamber of Secrets revealed the…er, alleged cause of the petrifications, and here we are! Believe me when I say that no one could have acted more swiftly and generously.”  He paused for a moment to shake Mr. Malfoy’s hand, both men expertly contorting their bodies to face the flashing bulbs of the cameras.

“And now, Madam Pomfrey will begin administering the draught to the victims!  We shall go in the order they were petrified, I think?” he consulted one of his aides off-stage, who nodded in vigorous exasperation.

“Don’t expect Mrs. Norris to be too photogenic, now, Bozo!” the Minister quipped, to overly solicitous laughter from the crowd.

The Minister was right, and the grumpy-looking tabby cat who turned out to be Mrs. Norris did not make for a particularly good photo opportunity, but a morose old man in dusty robes nearly burst into tears when she came hissing back into consciousness.  Next was a ghost with a barely hinged-on neck, who was at first bewildered but seemed happy to bask in the spotlight once he understood what had happened to him.  He kept saying that making the front page of the Daily Prophet would help him earn a spot on the Headless Hunt, whatever that was.

Next were two Muggleborn boys, one timid and one pompous, who both nevertheless shook Mr. Malfoy’s hands and posed for photographs happily enough.  Everything was going to plan.  Mr. Malfoy seemed mollified and Draco seemed to have grown bored of tormenting Luna.

Finally, it was Ron’s turn.  He woke up coughing and spluttering, apparently still believing he was in the Chamber of Secrets.

“Ginny!” he shouted, whirling around wildly.   Fudge and the other Ministry officials swapped glances.  They apparently hadn’t anticipated this.

“Someone get the girl, his sister,” someone said, and Ginny was nudged forward.

“Shh, shh, I’m here,” she said, crouching beside Ron’s bedside.

“Gin, what’s going on? Are you okay? Who are all these people?”

“Hello, there, lad.  How are you feeling?” asked Lucius Malfoy, making a show of leaning down to tousle Ron’s hair.

“What are you doing here?” Ron said, recoiling from Lucius’s touch and looking around, disoriented by the crowd of photographers and Ministry officials crowding his bed.

“Now, now, the boy is simply confused!” Fudge chuckled, his eyes darting quickly between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, “You should be grateful to Mr. Malfoy, young man.  He’s the one who’s responsible for saving you!”

“Saving me?  What, did he rescue us from the Chamber of Secrets?  Did he defeat that snake thing?  What happened to Harry and Hermione and Luna? Where are my mum and dad?”

“We’re here, son,” Mr. Weasley stepped forward, but was herded back in line by one of Fudge’s lackies.

“Pose with Mr. Malfoy, Ron!” one of the photographers cried from the clamoring crowd.

“Why should I? The last thing I remember is being in the bloody Chamber of Secrets, and I don’t remember Malfoy being there. Get that bloody thing out of my face,” he said, pushing aside a camera so forcefully that the photographer had to use a well-timed featherweight charm to prevent it from shattering on the floor.

There was a moment of silence.

“Well, son, you were petrified,” Fudge explained slowly, as though Ron were stupid, “And the Malfoys here paid for the potion that revived you and all these other people…and cat.  And ghost…”

“Just pose for a photo with Mr. Malfoy, there’s a dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, finally managing to bustle through the crowd and pressing the back of her hand to her youngest son’s flushed cheek.

“Well, alright, if it’ll get them to leave me alone,’ Ron grumbled.  Mr. Malfoy looked about as pleased as Ron as they gripped hands and grimaced in the general direction of the cameras.

“I told my father not to buy enough mandrakes for Weasley, and I was right.  That worm doesn’t deserve our generosity.  The whole family could be petrified, as far as I’m concerned, and stay that way.  Blood traitors, the lot of them,” Draco leaned towards Luna again.  He kept looking at her expectantly, as though his vile words would awaken something in her or make her see the error of her blood traitor ways.

Luna wanted to say something, anything, to prove his notion wrong, but now that the official photographs were over, the reporters were starting to descend on Ginny, who looked on the verge of tears, like an innocent traveler beset by a pack of ravenous gytrashes.  

Ignoring Draco, Luna weaved through the crowd and tugged on Ginny’s arm.

“No, sorry, no interviews,” she said, shielding Ginny from the swarm of reporters.

“But why?!  The wizarding world is clamoring to know what you went through!” Rita Skeeter screeched.

“We’ll be giving an exclusive interview to The Quibbler, so anyone who wants to read about what happened to us in the Chamber of Secrets will have to buy the next issue!” Ginny said.

Rita Skeeter had heard just about everything in the world, and had made up a good deal of it herself.  But she clearly hadn’t been expecting that answer.

“The…the what-bbler? You can’t mean that mad old rag?”

“I’d get an owl subscription if I were you!” Ginny imitated Rita’s singsong chirping as the two girls made their escape from the Hospital Wing to find Cressida was waiting for them, wearing a cartoonishly large green bowler hat running red to symbolize the blood of the innocents Fudge had oppressed.  They waited in the corridor for the rest of the Weasleys to disentangle themselves from the crowds before walking back to Hogsmeade and apparating to the Burrow.  

“That was quick thinking.  Now they’ll be buying The Quibbler for months in the hopes of getting the first scoop on the so-called interview,” Luna said, giving Ginny an appreciative nudge.  Her father could use the morale boost and The Quibbler could certainly use the circulation boost.  They could all use the extra money.  

“I learned from the best,” Ginny grinned.

Chapter 13 just posted! Read more on AO3 here!

[calleo-bricriu]

Guess what I’m still reading? Still reading out of spite but, still reading?

That awful book.

Right, let's get back to the worst book I've ever read and, to note, I am including every single malicious, aggressive, definitely is trying to kill you it's not your imagination Dark Arts book I have ever handled in my entire life, just so we're clear about how bad this story is.

Chapter 5 opens with Leigh, the clear projection of the doctor-author himself, waking up in a room he doesn't recognise and not thinking anything about that is weird, instead writing it off as to it being his "inherent love for the sea" guiding him there.

He then talks for most of the rest of the page about how he has no idea how long he's been there and maybe it was his 'second personality' that was in control which is the first mention we see of that ever having been an issue from him--unless that's just his way of saying, "Must've gone on a bender again."

Tries for awhile to figure out what day it is, apparently gives up, and decides to re-focus on winning...something...from his sister and that doing that would save his son who, as far as we know (as he's only been briefly mentioned), is perfectly fine and not in need of any sort of saving.

Several paragraphs of rambling about how sane and calm he is to the point that he’s sort of proven he’s neither.

Buys a newspaper, finds out he's been blackout drunk for ten solid days, finds out from some random guy on the hotel porch that he bought a yacht.

At this point, I'll remind you that previous chapters indicate he hasn't held a steady job in over a year (mostly due to being drunk and crying to the barman that he's such a misunderstood genius), is always weeks behind on bills, and hasn't paid rent in a few months but somehow dredged up money to buy a yacht while on a bender.

Isn't bothered by this, doesn't think it's indicative of a drinking problem and also it's not his fault because the yacht seller should have known he was drunk and not sold it to him or something.

This is, like, four entire pages in to chapter five and I'm already so tired.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement could read this book aloud in interrogations but even the Ministry might consider it torture.

Oh, Leigh’s problem isn't drinking, by the way; it's "psychic epilepsy" so it's definitely not his fault.

That's--not actually a real thing.

Anyway.

Dozen or so pages of him internally trying to figure out how the hell to get out of this, "I bought a yacht with money I have no idea how I got and possibly got by doing something very illegal" situation.

His wife is also apparently not bothered by this behaviour either, she's just happy to see him; I'd be the opposite because this has been shown to be a pattern of behaviour on his part but, well, she buys the "psychic epilepsy" excuse because she's terrified of being seen as a nag.

Nag him, good lord, do something that isn't completely enabling him to be this way.

Now the narrative is going on and on and on about "unreasonable women" who would pretty reasonably be upset if their husband couldn't hold a job, wouldn't even try to get one, wouldn't let her get one, couldn't pay the bills, and routinely did things like tell her he'd be home in a few hours then go on a 3-10 day bender and show back up without a word.

That's a reasonable set of behaviours to be at least a little annoyed about.

Leads into how it's hereditary, this psychic epilepsy thing, so absolutely not his fault.

He's a regularly paid published author now, by the way, and has been for some time despite this being the first time it's ever been mentioned in any capacity. The only two other careers we've seen from this guy are something to do with working in a laboratory in Germany and working at a hospital as a doctor before being almost immediately fired for a combination of the constant drinking and possibly just being sort of insufferable to be around at work.

Some guy named Rob walks in. No introductions apart from that, we're all just meant to know who the hell Rob is despite this being his first appearance.

Some guy named Charlie/Dr. Bell is also just randomly mentioned and is also in...the house sleeping. People think he's lazy but he's really just conservative, whatever that means.

Find out Mizpra was engaged to some guy named Moore who dumped her to go to Yale, which is evidently why she turned into a "masculine" bitch. Sure, why not?

Philosophy attempts again from Leigh the Misunderstood Genius (who definitely does not have a drinking problem and knows more than you about everything): "Love, Charlie, is  like medical treatment; if it is free, given lavishly and procured without sacrifice, it is thrown aside at pleasure, and the giver ridiculed and derided. Haud expertus loquor."

Okay, first of all, that's not what love OR medical treatment is like. Not even--remotely, especially medical treatment.

Second, stop trying to sound smart with the Latin; all you said was "not experience" there, Mr. Genius who is definitely not a direct projection of the quack doctor of an author.

Leigh used to pay stenographers to go to class for him and take notes so he could go and give theatrical performances to "insane patients". Lovely guy.

Just to remind you, we’re meant to be sympathising with Leigh in this story, not wanting to strangle him every time he opens his mouth to bore everyone for ten pages.

Leigh refuses a drink while they're all at dinner which is one of the few good choices he's made in 81 pages and a little over a year in terms of the story's time line but then ruins it all for answering a joke about it being because he's married with PAGES AND PAGES of him trying to be a fucking philosopher again and just boring the bollocks off of everyone both in the book and reading it. How the hell does this guy know what delirium tremens are yet still thinks his entire problem is caused by psychic epilepsy and not alcoholism?

Charlie asks about money for some reason, probably trying to change the topic and get this moron to stop pretending he knows what he's talking about in any capacity.

That triggers three pages of him doing the same thing, only about money this time. At least in this case, it's mentioned that Leigh "got carried away" so there's a glimmer of self awareness. Probably the only one we'll ever see.

They agree to play golf tomorrow and Leigh and Obera just--get up and leave, despite dinner having not even been delivered to the table yet. Nobody seems to notice.

Chapter 5 is now over.

Chapter 6 time skips an entire year and starts with Mrs. Newcomber and Mizpra sitting outside and it's mentioned it's been a year since Leigh tried to see her so--about a year passed between chapters five and six.

Mother dearest is described as a "pliant tool" that Mizpra somehow convinced to go to Colorado Springs to open up a school, and that's where we are now.

Colorado.

Mizpra gets to pick the ladies who get to go to the school and just seems to do so on a whim, which has made her and it wildly unpopular; fair reaction, no explanation given as to why she acts like that just that she did it "without giving any satisfactory reason."

Colorado has lots of "clever physicians" (but not enough, probably because Leigh isn't there. Yet.) but Colorado is populated by people who just hate doctors. Despite that, they keep moving there.

Then, it skips to Mizpra reading mail and one letter, "announced the  marriage of the plastic Zora to an untutored, scheming Yankee lawyer."

Okay.

First question: Who the HELL is Zora?

Second question: This isn't really a question, I'm just reasonably certain that lawyers, even lawyers in 1901, had to have some level of formal schooling. Then again, so did doctors and here we are with this guy who apparently just slept through every single year of med school he went to.

Someone named Marcia wrote as well and Mizpra doesn't like her either because she "insisted on standing for her rights" and was married to an "unknown quantity." No idea who Marcia is or how she knows Mizpra, it's not been explained yet but has been introduced in a way we’re supposed to know already.

Dr. Bell we finally fucking find out was a friend of her father's and that's why he knows both her and Leigh.

Could have explained that back in chapter five when the character was introduced but, hey, I'm no doctor, what do I know about constructing a coherent story?

Dr. Bell wrote to yell at Mizpra about her being mean to Leigh and his son. Not to Obera, to whom she has been directly mean multiple times so far, just to Leigh and his still unnamed son. The kid's like two years old now and we still haven't been told his name he's that irrelevant to the plot.

Somehow this trips her to decide she needs to just completely ruin Leigh's life because he's an obstacle to her 'designs and ambition' but it's never been explained what those are. It also doesn't explain what she's planning to do just that "she must place him in such a position as to make him helpless in his struggle for his rights. With these thoughts, horrible, fiendish, partly laid schemes arose".

They are never explained.

Maybe she's going to open another school that's just for boys and purposely and repeatedly deny his 2 year old son entrance, I have no idea at this point.

While she's distracted coming up with vague plans, her mother interrupts and says what amounts to, "I'm blind but even I can see you're an old maid."

Harsh.

Her response is to go on about how disgusting marriage is and "what poor, weak, helpless creatures women are! Such a degrading, vile, humiliating acceptance of the loss of personal freedom."

...okay. I guess that's one way of telling your mum to fuck off and that it's not that you CAN'T get married it's that you don't WANT to.

She calls some woman named Jane in to ask her if she...washed the horse yet.

The reply is "yes, mum" which is evidently how Jane pronounces ma'am. She tells Mizpra that she'd be better off hiring a man because mares respond better to men which is not at all how horses work.

Then, we have this exchange:

"No, Jane; what a man can do a woman can do better."

"You do be joking, Miss. How about the babies?"

"There are two many of them now. You should be a woman, Jane."

I was following Mizpra there up until the, "You should be a woman, Jane" bit when Jane has already been described as a woman several times in two paragraphs.

Jane tells her she is a woman and wants to get married and start a family some day, which makes Mizpra angry and somehow the author seems like this is a good time to mention her muscular frame because--that's not a thing women are allowed to have, and to emphasise that Mizpra is not a ‘good woman’, we just occasionally remind everyone how masculine she is.

I know we're meant to dislike Mizpra but, at this point, she's the most sympathetic character here, having to put up with all this nonsense and having the only reasons we're told she's 'bad' is because she has all these masculine traits (from previous chapters, broad shoulders, a deep voice, a square jaw, an 'unwomanly' figure, narrow hips, the author stopped just short of saying, "Yeah, she's basically a man in a dress that tells everyone she's my sister.")

This is page 88 of 403.

Anyway, Mizpra storms off because Jane's, "I want to get married some day" got her that mad, sits down at her desk, and starts reading which is also framed as a bad thing because Good Women don't use their brains for that, what's the matter with you?

Starts talking to herself about how her mom called her an old maid which, I mean, if she's single, not married, and implied to be over 40 that's--sort of what old maid meant. She says, to nobody in particular because she’s the only one in the room, "Well, I think I can show my sisters that I can throw off that appellation and still rule man!"

Now she needs a secretary and a lawyer to always be with her 24/7 and we finally find out that Zora and Marcia are her sisters.

That could have been mentioned much earlier in the story.

What is up with the naming conventions in this family anyway? Every other sibling gets a normal name and the others get names like Zora and Mizpra?

So, what we know now is that Mizpra:

A) Thinks her sister Zora is dumb as hell.

B) Thinks Marcia is whoring around and the way it's written comes off as envious not, "How shameful!" Nothing is stopping you from doing it too, Mizpra.

C) Thinks Leigh is a "clever fool" with a "spewing brat" and a "little, weak, dependent" all of which are entirely fair.

She goes off to arrange visiting Leigh, hoping the trip back East screws with their mother's health enough that she'll gain full power of attorney which is part of whatever evil devious plot she's got going.

Gets up to go to the mirror and get dressed, laments that she "had lost all youthful appearance of womanhood, though still young in years" gets mad at her reflection and throws everything on the vanity at the mirror then goes with, "No, I'll use my intellect, my power over him, not the feminine baubles of Eve."

Over who? Your brother? Please tell me you weren’t considering trying to be sexy for your brother.

She is then described as "short of hair and short of sex" on account simply because her hair is short. Again, the whole, "Hey, hey, have there been enough clues given to tell you that she's just straight up ugly like a man in a dress??" thing.

Even with the, "Hopefully this trip basically almost kills my mother so I can take all of her stuff and cut my brother out of the will" thing she's still the most sympathetic character so far.

Mrs. Newcomber's only real skill aside from being blind and insulting one of her daughters is droning on and on and on about the religious of ancient Egypt.

Then it goes into something that's--nice, actually, though probably wasn't considered a good thing at the time--about how more women should focus on getting an education so they're not stuck being a housewife if that's not what they want to do but, since it's 1901 that's not a thing and it wraps up with how they only think that because "neither knew they the emotions dormant in a woman's breast."

Which are, apparently, to be an uneducated housewife and mother because that’s what the men like.

We’ll just forget the fact that Mrs. Newcomber was married and has had at least four children that have made it to adulthood. That’s not important now. The important thing is she’s being an icky teacher and learning things now. How fucking unladylike.

Mizpra then goes outside, says hello to someone,  like that's it, "Hello, Burke!" and it's framed as a "clumsy attempt at coquetry". What? She--she literally just said hello to someone she knew! That's not how flirting works.

Burke, who is a pale, sickly young man, had evidently told her however long ago the other day was that he loved her and he thought she was mad at him about that.

She tells him she's not mad and explains she was in Denver and his response is to ask her why she's playing with him, she says she's not, he tells her she's being cruel (somehow? maybe because she keeps calling him a silly boy, which is, frankly, rude as hell), and we find out that Burke--as if the name and physical description weren't enough to indicate this--is kind of a social outcast because he's awkward and weird and more than a little bit dim.

But, he overheard some gossip about her and now she's literally shaking him down to make him tell her. Basically, The Men Folk don't like her ideas about women having an education, the public hates it too, and if it were the Middle Ages they'd just burn her at the stake.

Again, Mizpra comes off as the most sympathetic character in the story so far.

Oh, and she apparently doesn't like corsets and made some doctor's daughter, who is a student at her school, remove it at the front of the classroom then kept her standing there while showing all of the other girls the creases a corset puts into the skin which is admittedly entirely inappropriate for a dress code violation.

That's not the problem though, the problem is that Mizpra’s hands were "so cold and rough" that she fainted, and the implied manly hands and fainting are the part everyone is upset about.

Her reasoning for it was that the doctor's daughter, "is suffering from the feminine folly of imitating the male sex in all animal life on the globe--that is, the garnishing of the body to attract the opposite sex."

Again, not how that works; in most species, it's the male that gets all flashy and showy to attract a much drabber female's attention. I do sometimes listen to Lazarus ( @pocketsfullofspiders )  when he's talking about his work.

At the end of all that Burke...asks Mizpra to marry him at specifically 8pm that evening? What?

Okay.

Her response is to ask him if he knows how to use a typewriter. I actually kind of like her at this point, apart from the whole half undressing a teenager in front of the entire class thing.

Anyway, she agrees, because he knows how to use a typewriter so I think she just hired him as her secretary and he agreed to it because I guess his payment is getting to marry her at 8 that evening.

She leaves to go do the getting a marriage license thing and just talks to herself the whole way about how gross Burke is and, ew, he kissed her chin because she didn't get out of the way fast enough, what a fucking creep.

That's going to be a great marriage.

She chose her dressmaker based on the fact that that particular dressmaker's shop offers free cocktails to customers. Fair enough if you're getting fitted for a wedding dress to get married to someone you can't stand.

The reverend that's going to marry them is someone she's got under her thumb; she basically paid to clean up his reputation because he'd ruined it due to just sort of being a drunk, kind of like her brother. Takes him outside and first says she needs to ruin her brother's life.

With alcohol. "[...] and any other scheme you can concoct."

Leigh's weaknesses are, of course, alcohol and evidently women.

She'll pay him a salary to do this and also essentially said if he spends i ton gambling she'll track him down and break every bone in his body.

I'm still not really disliking her.

She then calls him a wind bag and a hypocrite, which he takes as a set of compliments.

He's also mad she's getting married but corrects himself and says it's a miracle; she tells him it's to Burke Wood, and gets, "He can't live six months; and married he won't live six weeks."

HAHAHA! Wives are terrible, am I right?

Her response to that is he definitely will because she's going to take good care of him and 'treat him humanely' which I feel like is the bare minimum required for a marriage, treating someone humanely.

His take on that is, "She is a eunuch in heart and mind! She possesses the soul of a sewer."

And Mizpra becomes an even more sympathetic character.

Some family she knows passed by in a carriage didn't see her so didn't wave to her and now she's also spitefully planning to ruin their lives over being blanked. Settle down, Mizpra.

Goes home, tells mom she thinks they should go see Leigh, mom rightfully points out that Mizpra has spent like two entire years repeatedly explaining why they shouldn't ever do that for any reason and that turns into a debate that the mother eventually loses and is convinced to sign over power of attorney to Mizpra.

She then explains she's getting married that evening then going to Denver the next day and her mother's only concerns about this are of her not--"taking care of Burke on your wedding night". Good priorities.

For some reason she goes off on how she has a fucking job and isn't getting married to turn herself into "a mere setting hen, a female destitute of all ideas save one--that of breeding" which is somehow shocking to her mother.

Mizpra isn't even going to tell Burke she's headed to Denver tomorrow morning until after they're married so he can't back out.

This honestly sounds like a lot of Pureblood marriages now.

Later on we find out that Burke has inexplicably been asking Mizpra to marry him for "some time" now so he's really bad at taking the hint.

So, those two are married now and he has no problems with her going to Denver on business and I'm not sure why the last half of the chapter was spent making it seem like that would be a Big Issue when his response was, more or less, "That's cool, I know how work is."

That's the end of chapter six and this is just so stupidly exhausting that I'm not even going to try to start chapter seven tonight.

Up to page 103 of 403 though!

[solaetis-moved-blog]

TITLE: Nihilism WORD COUNT: 2,444 CHARACTERS: Caster (Medea) / Rider (Jason) SUMMARY: Medea's searching for Gawain, who had been missing for days, and encounters Jason in Chaldea. NOTES: Content warning for Sexism, slut-shaming, domestic violence, murder and idk it's just full of fucked up things. Sheep and I discussed about what would happen if Jason had been summoned in Chaldea when Medea is already in love with Gawain. Some Euripides’ Medea references and some other modernized Greek works cause I’m a nerd.

Of all people she could have encountered in the empty halls of Chaldea, it just had to be him. His face is familiar. She would know it in life, she would know it in death. The renowned Captain of the Argo, the eloquent leader of men. Most would argue about his disposition, claim him useless in the field and can contribute nothing when war ensues. Medea personally knows that this is untrue.

She had seen first hand just how Jason, son of Aeson, led a fleet of men with his words.

He was arrogant and self-indulgent, but which man was not? In the wooden grounds of the ship deck, he would glance at his men with an expression most calm and calculating. In his silence, his mind could procure several options which promised unrivaled victory. In impossible situations, he had saved the lives of most just by commanding. Ten men alone led by him could defeat thousands, but only if he was the mind behind their every action. She could see why a man like Jason was needed to preserve the future of humanity. If she had to admit a painful truth, it would be that between the both of them, he is less likely to put a taint in their pact with the provisional Master and put to waste the significant progress they have made by now.

So when she met his eyes, his eyes that seemed to bore into her person just as fiercely, she could not help but feel as if she was being choked. From here, she would deny his hold upon her neck, though from ill fate of the world, it is undoubtedly permanent at this point.

"What a sore mistake. In this realm where heroes are called forth, you know as well as I do you are the least suitable to be here," he spoke to her, breaking the long and winding silence between them in sheer seconds. Like before, he spoke to her menacingly, as if disgusted by not just her existence, but the fact that she has the mighty gall to breathe in his presence. "Medea."

Broadened eyes were hidden under her hood. He had claimed exactly the truth which began to penetrate her mind.

"You are not so heroic yourself," she barked back, instilling confidence in every word she had uttered as to announce that he did not terrify her, nor will she ever come to do such a thing. She was in her search for a certain man, and that man happened to not be Jason. No, that man will never be him again. For her hatred towards her former husband is incurable. Her endless love before had been unfortunately replaced with unending ferocity and excessive wrath.

She would say more, but Jason's demeanor petrified her from doing so. A damning slavery it must be to be silenced in this manner, thoughts imprisoned and unable to be shared.

"Compared to you?" he raised his brows and huffed with the same haughtiness he used to have. "I must be. You will make even demons themselves appear divine in the eyes of Gods."

Her gloved fists tightened behind her back. She must not show it. He must not bear audience once again to her vexing state, for he will not let her live it down if he were to find out that even now his words hold weight.

"What are you, if not a vile woman? In your loathing, you will burn everything and slaughter even your own children."

Upon hearing this, Medea refused to be silenced further.

'I did not kill them,” she begged herself to scream in retaliation for this disrespect, but even she, herself, is not sure if it would be true. She recalled the lack of warmth in the body of their children as she found them lifeless in the soils of Corinth. What occurred before it? Her life had been a blur in that moment. Every men and women she had killed were clear in her mind, but this. She does not remember. She cannot plead herself to even out of desperation.

Why would she? It was not what happened. Medea did not kill her children. She was the first to find their corpses, yes, but the bastardization of her tale had installed upon her Spirit Origin to claim responsibility for an act she did not commit. It was the Corinthians who feared her and her actions. Jason will not believe her even if she is aware of this, so her lack of knowledge in this lie does not and will not change anything.

"Who are you to speak this way to me? I became this way because I had loved you with all of my soul! You had taken me away from my home and only it was I who suffered the consequences of worshiping your name! You claim that the Goddess Aphrodite had installed upon me this foolishness, driven me to this state. You are wrong! Aphrodite could not be any more mistaken! I had loved you for I had seen you as a man greater than your accomplishments and ambitions! T'was why I had been so willing to be of use to you! Yet you discarded me like a harlot you were already done pleasuring yourself with! There is no justice to speak here, Jason. You are but a naive soul in the throes of love!"

The tone of her voice kept on rising. Each remark from Jason a cruel punishment. He felt the same. Medea had never failed in leaving his heart most scorched. Like mad mutts they exchanged demeaning sentences.

"What do you know about love, Medea? WHAT DO YOU KNOW? You would kill a man in his sleep if he had done so much as to unknowingly peeve you. The fair Aphrodite might have cursed you to be enamored by me, but she had not cursed you to become a slaughterer! Each action done by you is a result of your pampered lineage! Do not speak to me about love. You are a woman who had cut your kin to pieces and dress up such a vile act as assistance. I had brought you in Helias, guaranteed your fame in the same way I had earned mine. You think the world would know of your name had you not met me? You will not be even a dent in history otherwise, and how did you repay me? By trampling over the meaning of our quest! It is by you that we had obtained the Golden Fleece, but it is also by you that I had been unable to claim the throne that quest was devoted for!"

She found herself trembling. Quite perturbed. Not frightened, but vulnerable. As if each venom in Jason's tongue threatened to dismantle the woman within her all over again.

"I had loved you, truthfully."

Liar. Nothing but falseness in his words. Because he lied so often that he is no longer a man to be trusted even in his genuine honesty.

"And I needed not a Goddess' curse to prove that. In your slaying of Pelias, I had lost all right to reclaim the Iolcus throne, and had earned the ire and disrespect of the Argonauts. You never heard a word from me in spite of it all! I ran away with you, loved you still as I had vowed, treated like a foreigner in my own homeland with no home to call mine. Marrying another woman is so small of a betrayal compared to what you had taken from me!"

Her mind should not stop to reminisce how he placed his lips against hers on the ship's deck. How he had lain with her most nights with anxiousness shored away from his face, eyes gleaming with nothing but fervent love. The vows he announced to the Gods, how proud and victorious he looked when he loudly named her his wife. She must not remember this. She must not even look at it. She cannot take it.

"...the oaths you swore..."

With labored breathing, it was all Medea could reply.

"My oaths?" Jason scoffed, disgusted upon hearing this. "Yes, I had sworn to love you until we are of old age. But see, Medea, it was my mouth that swore, not my soul."

No. She will not hear more of this. No more. Her mind will break again.

Upon meeting Sir Gawain, she had promised herself she will not return to her menacing ways. She will bid goodbye to the woman she became and died as. Jason... Jason will never take this away from her.

So she turned her back with unwavering pride, no longer bothered by the words of an old ghost. She understood that he did not desire to be with her until the end. Why, he was an aging man, with beard and hair as thick as the wall he had placed between them. It was no longer suitable to remain married to a woman who was beginning to appear in the eyes of the mass as more so his child than his beloved wife in comparison.

She must let go. She must not let the past define her present. She must only be happy now, with someone else's devotion towards her. She must only think of the people who love and adore her.

She cannot help it. Her wrathful self will not allow her to leave his sight without a venom matching his own. So with her remained uninhibited, once again, she bit agonizingly into his heart.

"Go home to your wife and bury her."

Then, what occurred from here should have been expected, and yet she found herself utterly at lost for words and reaction to give. She held her swelling cheek and felt the harshness of Jason's touch. 

He had slapped her. 

He had lain his hand upon her again and without holding his strength back. She turned, idly, to feel delighted in the face he was making. Jason's anger is the only fuel she needed to resume her wickedness. Medea unequipped her robe, the expression upon her face clearing away what remained of her composed self. This mere satisfaction from earning his ire had driven her quite insane.

And his most loathed witch took quick steps to spit more painful words at his face, "HOW DOES IT FEEL?" she questioned him as she glared at him with pleased and insane passion. "TO HAVE MY TEETH IN YOUR HEART?"

And another slap came to greet her skin, this time accompanied with his violent fingers now wrapped around her throat. She once admired how beautiful his hands were. So easy to hold onto things it valued and just as easy to let go of things that were no longer convenient. It coiled so harshly upon her and her back almost shattered the wall she was pinned into. Raised up in the air, her feet could do nothing but feel the strangeness of being afloat without her consent. He had broken the bones of her spine with his spiteful push, but nothing is more painful than watching him laugh at her, so this is the far better outcome.

"YOU WILL NEVER EVER SPEAK OF GLAUCE AGAIN," he warned her, his teeth visibly grating, shockingly audible even. "Like I do not know the telltale from here. My goody two shoes wife had gotten unbearably familiar with another man. So whoring yourself to the King of Athens was not enough for you? If you hadn't been cursed by Aphrodite to become in love with me, for certain you would spread your legs to every man of the Argo just as much."

Right when she had been forgiven by the Gods she disappointed*, once again Medea would fall victim to wrath. She closed her eyes, sorrow leaving her body, only replaced with wrath, and wrath, and wrath all over again.

Thanatos, Hades, Persephone, Nyx and Circe... If you hear me, I know greatly of the evil deed I am about to commit. You shall bear witness to the burning skies ahead. How I shall feed these flames with unparalleled scorn.

In the name of Hecate who had seen in me great possibilities, And remains sheltered within me. I must once again upset you all, for Zeus had granted men knowledge to determine fake gold from true, but never brand a man to warn women that he must be avoided. By Lady Hecate--

No man will cast upon me tremendous pain and live long enough to rejoice about it.

A dagger materialized upon her hand, Rule Breaker, all prepared to bring divine judgement upon the world's most traitorous man. What will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong? She will storm the Gods and shake the universe.

And she would have done so if not for his words which followed.

"Even if you are to kill me in this life, I shall come back and meet your new man. Does he know the immoralities which surrounds you? The amount of dead body upon your hands? How you do not blink and how you sleep so peacefully after a murder? Remember this well whenever you ponder about harming me or touching me with your filthy hands. I will always come back. I will come back and remind you again of what you are, and in this life, Medea, I promise you--

That you will never know happiness once again. I will ruin everything you hold dear, as you had proudly done upon me."

Jason, without care for her well-being, released her and in his frustration kicked her by the waist, nothing but a slump of meat in his eyes. She is the reason for his greatest sorrows, and in turn he is behind her every pain. As Medea crumbled upon the ground, holding herself firmly, she began to soundlessly weep-- pain born from his physical assault and mental torment, though the latter was what she continued to lament. Her past mishaps, the cruelty she had acted upon are things she had prepared herself to tell Sir Gawain personally in the days that she had come to appreciate him. If Jason were to take that right from her, she would demand Zeus to strike her once again for dying would be better than this.

From hereon, she must begin to forget him and his warmth. He cannot know such crimes from someone else's mouth but hers. She will not be able to survive it. His eyes which only looked at her with admiration and appreciation-- If abhorrence were to replace it...

She would... She would...

Once again, she had become Jason's slave.

CONTEXT

*: My Medea interacted to a wide number of Greek God roleplayers in the time I have written her on Twitter and they all seem to have forgiven her for her past crimes and thought her deserving of a place in Elysium.

[meganlpie]

The Rumors Aren’t True

Requested by @sirlsplayland:  Could you do an Arranged Marriage AU, where the reader is the youngest daughter of King John Winchester from the Winchester kingdom. She has to marry King Crowley and everyone is afraid that he would treat her terrible due to all the rumors that surround him. When they first meet he acts really stand off ish and once they get to know each other he's actually a big old softy. Sam and Dean goes to visit her and finds out she happy while she 6 months pregnant. If that makes sense

Here you are! The first of the new AU requests! I do not own Crowley or any Winchesters. They belong to the writers/creators of SPN. 

Warnings: Royal/Arranged Marriage AU, slight angst I guess, fluff. 

Pairings: Crowley x fem!Winchester reader, mentions of the Winchesters. 

Your hands were shaking as you took the bouquet. The day you had been dreading was finally here and you were scared out of your mind. You had yet to meet your betrothed, but you'd heard the rumors. King Crowley was supposedly a cruel man with a horrendous temper that no one wanted to cross. However, your father King John knew that an alliance between your kingdom and Crowley's was the best for the realm. So the two made a deal. An arranged marriage.

           "You okay?" Dean asked. Since your father was officiating the marriage, Dean was walking you down the aisle. "I'm scared, Dean. What if I do something he doesn't like? What's going to happen to me?" Dean gently grabbed your shoulders. "Hey. Look at me." You did and he continued, "You're a Winchester, got it. Princess Y/N Winchester and you are stronger than any king in the entire world, even this so-called 'demon king'. You can handle anything he throws at you. And if you can't, you can always come back home for a bit. We'll send Aunt Ellen or Uncle Bobby after him, okay?" You smiled in spite of your fear. "Okay. Thanks, Dean-o."

           "Yeah. I'm done with the girly moment now. Let's get you hitched." Sighing again, you nodded and let Dean take your arm. It was time and there was no going back now. Not without serious consequences for your father and your people. You had to do this for them. So, you let Dean lead you toward the Great Hall of your family castle where your fate was waiting for you.

           Crowley barely looked at you as you approached. In fact, he didn't look at you much throughout the entire ceremony or the reception afterwards. He delivered his vows with little emotion behind them, although you weren't sure what to expect from him. You were certain your own smile looked fake. When it came time for Crowley and you to kiss, your heart began pounding in your ears. But he only gave you a slight peck. Inside, you breathed a sigh of relief. Your own father's expression looked sad when he announced you husband and wife. And when the time came for Crowley and you to leave for your honeymoon cruise before heading toward Crowley's kingdom, your father was near tears.

           "Y/N," your father whispered, making you pause. Crowley climbed into the carriage to wait for you. "I'm sorry, Y/N." You smiled at him. "It's alright, Father. I know you did what was best for the people. I won't let you down. I will be the best wife I can be to King Crowley." John nodded. "I know you will. Make me proud." You kissed his cheek and got into the carriage, ready to head off with your new husband.

           The ride to the port was quiet. Crowley sat stiffly next to you, refusing to meet your gaze until you finally had enough. "Thank you for agreeing to this marriage, Your Majesty." Crowley blinked in surprise and turned to look at you. He clear his throat. "Yes, well, can't get something for nothing. I've held up my end of the deal and your father held up his. That's all." You hummed sadly and looked out of the window. It went quiet again for a moment.

           After a bit, your husband spoke again, "You'll have your own chambers aboard the ship, if you wish." Your brows drew together. Separate chambers on your honeymoon? "Oh." Crowley gave you a small smile. "I know my reputation, Y/N. I know what they say about me and I won't deny that some of the rumors are true. But I like to think I'm a gentleman first and foremost. You didn't ask for this marriage and I won't force you to do anything you aren't comfortable with. I'm not an animal."

           You weren't sure what to say at first, but you smiled. This wasn't what you expected from Crowley. Not based on the rumors you'd heard. Maybe Crowley wasn't as bad as they said. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Crowley rolled his eyes. "Enough of that. You're my wife. Crowley will do." You slowly reached over and rested your hand on one of his. "Thank you, Crowley."

*two years later*

           "They're here!" you cried, getting up from your window seat. It wasn't exactly the proper behavior for a queen, but you were too excited. It had been so long since you'd last seen your brothers yet you could clearly see their carriage approaching the castle. You hurried down to the throne room where Crowley was. You were greeted by servants and your advisors as you entered the room.

           "They're here!" you repeated happily. Crowley smiled at your enthusiasm, making the others around him grin as well. Since the two of you had married, there had been an obvious change in Crowley. The softer side that you had begun to dig up the day of your wedding was coming closer to the surface for everyone to see. Even his people seemed happier for it. Yes, he still had his temper, but he was in much more control of it now, especially when you were in the room.

           You almost broke into a run up to where Crowley was, but you knew he'd scold you for running in your condition. So, you walked briskly. "Shall we continue this later, gentlemen? It's clear my in-laws are here. Family first, after all." The advisors agreed and, with a few bows, left the room. Crowley turned to you with an amused expression.

           "I'm sorry, Crowley. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just so excited." Crowley chuckled softly. He reached over and pulled you closer so you were practically sitting on his lap. "That's alright, dove. Just be more careful." You nodded as he ran his hand over your stomach. "I will." You kissed his nose and moved away to sit in your own throne. You had just barely gotten situated when the herald announced the arrival of your brothers.

           Crowley laughed at you practically bouncing in your seat. "Darling, the baby." You stilled as best you could. It didn't last long. As soon as Dean entered the room, you were up and heading over to him as quickly as was safe. "Dean!" Dean beamed at you. When you were near enough, Dean gathered you in his arms. "God I missed you! You doing okay?" he whispered. You pulled back.

           "I really am. I'm...happy." You turned to Sam and hugged him too. "I'm so happy you guys are here." Sam beamed. "We're happy to see you too. You look great. And, uh, pregnant." You giggled. "Yeah. That's kind of what happens when-" Dean cut you off with a shudder. "I don't need the details. Seriously, are you happy with him?"

           "Yes, Dean. I love him." You turned back to smile at Crowley. He got up from his throne and approached the three of you. "It's good to see you both." The boys looked skeptical, but you wrapped an arm around Crowley's waist and they relaxed a little. They relaxed more when they saw you looking up at Crowley with such love and devotion. "Yeah, it's good to see you too, Crowley. We were actually surprised by the invitation."

           "Anything to put a smile on my queen's face. Darling, why don't you go rest for a bit? You've had an eventful morning." You smiled and shook your head fondly. "You worry too much, Crowley. I have plenty of time to rest later. For now I want to spend time with my brothers." Crowley laughed lightly. "I should have known that wouldn't work." He kissed your temple. "Whatever you wish, my queen." Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Looking at the two of you, no one would know that this marriage had been arranged. They wouldn't know how reluctant you had been to marry a man who had such vile rumors swirling around him. Rumors, it appeared, weren't true at all. With that knowledge, Sam and Dean could be happy for you.

(a/n: I hope you like it! I think this was a great way to kick off the new requests!)

Tagging: @brewsthespirit-blog @fairytalesexistxx @aikibriarrose @esoltis280 @jotink78 @daddy-kink-confirmed @a-queen-and-her-throne @mrscrowley @roxy-davenport

[anotherkriffingreyloblog]

Vampires Lover drabble

“Rey? Are you decent?”

Hearing her fathers fist pecking at her door, Rey took the letter she was writing and stored it away in a drawer. She tried to keep the paper flat as the ink was still wet.

She slipped on her lace nightrobe with haste. Before Rey could grant him permission to enter, he welcomed himself in. Stuck on his face was a proud smile that unsettled her.

“Good news, my dear daughter,” he announced. “In two days time, you will be marrying General Armitage Hux.”

Rey blinked. What? Did he really say that? When the realization that this wasn’t a dream hit her, Rey began to feel her blood run cold.

She shook her head.

“I never accepted his proposal.”

“I know.” Hask simply didn’t care. “I did.”

He had been bossing her around for years, telling her how to act, how to dress. Hask had great nerve to tell her he was choosing a husband for her on her behalf.

“No.” Rey told him.

His smile melted away into an angry scowl.

“What did you just say to me?” He asked her challengingly.

A year prior, that tone would have frightened her into submission. Hask did not take kindly to his daughter disobeying him. But she was a grown woman now, it was time for her to say what she felt, no matter the consequences.

“I am not marrying the general.” Rey told him. “I don’t love him.”

“You think this is about love, girl?”

A blur of red hair appeared at the door and entered her room uninvited.

“Marriage is a partnership. Marrying for love is for fools.”

“And what would you know about love, general?” Rey challenged. “You have no heart, or a spine. You wouldn’t be condeming innocent people to death if you did!”

“Don’t you dare speak to him that way.” Hask snapped. “You will marry him in two days! As his soon-to-be wife, you better learn to respect him.”

Reys fists clenched.

“How dare you! Both of you! You think because I’m a girl, you can decide my future for me? It is my life! I will marry the man of my choosing when the time is right if that ever happens! If you want to throw me in a madhouse, fine!”

They went silent. Rey thought it was because she finally, actually, stood up for herself. In reality, Hask and Hux were starring at the black ink at her fingertips.

“Who were you writing to?” Her father snarled. Rey must have been writing a letter asking for help. Luckily for him, he caught the girl in the act.

“No one.” Rey lied. “I was practicing calligraphy.”

“Calligraphy? What for? You have no need for something so outdated!” Hask shoved her aside and began rampage through her desk. Moments later, the drawer was opened and her letter was revealed.

“What’s this?” Hux walked over and picked up the paper gently and began to read aloud. Rey shuddered when her father read her handwriting aloud and now she wanted to shout. “My Dearest Ben, Yes, I will marry you. Tomorrow night, come to my window. I will be ready to leave with you to start our new lives together. Eternally yours…”

Hux started to laugh. “Who is Ben?” Sounded like a scrawny messenger boy whose only place was in a barn.

When Rey didn’t answer immediately, the general ripped up the letter with his gloved hands.

“Rey, who is Ben?” Her father repeated. “Answer me!”

Rey watched with hatred as the torn paper bits were sprinkled over the fire.

“Ben is Kylo Rens real name.” she answered, believing they would be satisfied with her response.

Needless to say, it shocked them into silence, but it was only temporary.

“You were going to run off with that vampire?” Rey saw her so-called loving father about to boil over. “That unholy demon? I forbid it! I did not rescue you and raise you only to have you thank me by running off with some monster!” Hask was spitting.

“I think it’s time she wrote a new letter.” Hux suggested calmly. “Sit down, my dear.” He shoved her into the desk chair and slapped a blank sheet of paper in front of her. “Write down what I say.” The general slid the vile of ink over to her.

Reys response was instant, splashing his coat with the ink. In response, Hux slapped her. Hask did nothing to help her. It was assuring to know that the general knew how to discipline women as well as he could discipline soldiers.

She felt a wetness oozing down her nose. Blood.

“Well, I suppose I have to fetch more ink.” Hask sighed. “Watch her while I’m gone.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

When the door closed, Rey tried to shoot herself away, but Hux had a grasp of her hair.

“The letter he wrote.” Hux snarled. “Where is it?”

When Rey did not answer his question, he started looking through the desk drawer. Inside, he found a black envelope with a broken crimson seal. The seal itself had a sigil Hux didn’t recognize.

“Dear Rey,” he began to read, doing his best to imitate Kylo Rens sonorous voice. “I know I should ask this of you in person, but since you are a secret romantic, I thought it’d be more romantic to write you like the men do in those books you read. You’re unhappy with your home life and lonely as I. We both know the affections we have for each other extend beyond acquaintanceship.”

She tried to snatch the letter back from him while attempting to unwind herself from his grasp. Hux kept a firm hold on her.

“I’ve been alone for centuries. Never before did I consider taking a bride until I met you. You’ve awoken something within me I cannot quite quell. There’s a Force that binds us together, a connection no two other people in this dreaded world have.”

Rey looked into the open drawer to see the penknife she kept. Her original intention was to use it to cut pages out of books that she adored, but it never came to use because she reasoned it was vile to mutilate a book unless it was the Bible.

She stretched her hand out to grab it.

“There is a castle on a mountain called Alderaa. It’s where my mother lived when she was young. We’ll escape there together. When the time is right for you, we can marry. And once you believe you’re ready, if you’re truly ready, I will turn you. Forever Your Servant, Ben Solo.”

“He does have a way with words.” Hux mocked. “He must have been reading the same books you were.”

It had to have been a miracle or a ghost, because the knife flew into her hands. In an instant, Rey popped it open and jabbed it into the general’s wrist.

The redheaded man howled in pain as she yanked herself away from him. 

Suddenly, a booming bang came to the front door. Rey peeled open the curtain of the window to see her ticket to freedom.

Kylo Rens carriage. He was known for having one made of the darkest ebony and velvet. Harnessed in the front were four horses so black that they could only be seen with a close eye in the night.

Knowing her father would answer the door with his pistol in hand, Rey rushed to stop him. She was thankful he didn’t load his weapon with silver. The so-called father didn’t have time to prepare for a vampire visit.

“I demand you leave at once you unholy beast!”

When Rey came into sight in the foyer, Kylo Rens eyes averted from Hasks. He was in a fine tailored suit as if he was attending another ball.

“May I come in?”

“No, you absolutely cannot come in!” Hask roared.

Kylos eyes looked like they would turn red from anger.

“I was talking to her!” he responded impatiently. “Rey,” Ren looked back over at her. “I cannot help you if you don’t formally invite me inside.”

When she gave him permission to enter, he could do whatever he wanted to Hux and Hask. And Rey, for some reason, perhaps because this vampire helped bring the dark out of her, was alright with that.

“Come in my love.” She granted with a smirk.

Kylo Ren zoomed over towards Hask, lifting him in the air without touching him. His fangs retracted like tiny knives as he used his power to haul Hask closer.

“For how you treated her,” he said. “I should suck you dry. But that’s not up to me.”

Coming down the stairs was Hux, ignoring the pain in his arm. He retrieved his pistol and began to shoot. Kylo Ren didn’t flinch as the bullets struck him.

His response was using his other hand to toss the general towards the piano. 

With his focus back on Hask, he looked over at Rey, as if asking permission. She didn’t move, but her eyes silently approved.

“You would make her suffer for your own personal gain.” He hissed. “You may have taken her in and kept her safe but you are a disgrace to mankind.”

Rey watched as he sank his teeth into Hask’s nack the way she’d bite into an apple. Since it was the first time she saw him feed, Rey was a little afraid.

But she knew Hask deserved to die. Not just for his treatment of her, but for the innocent people whos blood was on his hands.

When Kylo had his fill, he tossed Hask away like firewood. Before Rey knew it, he was standing in front of her, his face clean.

“My Light,” he cooed tenderly, his pale hand on her cheek. “Did they hurt you?”

Rey shook her head. Kylo traced the blood from her nose, smudging it off. 

Then he did something he never believed he’d do to anyone. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead. 

“Are you ready to go?”

Rey looked over at the stairs. 

“I just need to get a few things.” 

She went back up to her room to get the letter he wrote her. Rey folded it back up and placed it in the envelope.

“I never want to lose this.” She told him. Ben gently took it from her to place in his coat pocket. Then he looked over at her, with boyish innocent eyes, asking again.

“I’m ready.”

Her feet were off the ground in an instant as his arms snaked around her knees and waist. Light a spring breeze, Kylo carried Rey out to his carriage.

When inside, he placed her down on a decently sized bed which was placed next to his coffin.

“Soon,” he told her, stroking her cheek. “We will get on my ship and sail away from here, where no one can hurt you.” 

“To Alderaa.” she said dreamily. 

“Yes.” Kylo whispered between his teeth.

The horses started to trot. 

Thanks for reading this Victorian Vampire au segment! I will plan on writing more because this was a lot of fun. Feel free to reblog!

[cherryblossomcheesecake]

God & His Priests & His Kings V2: Chapter 7 - A FFXV OC Fanfic

I’m rewriting this fic almost 3 years after I finished it since new ideas and plot bunnies have hit so here’s hoping I can stick with the series and see it through this time around. Sequel to How Rare & Beautiful.

Master list Word Count: 2,329 Upload: 05/23/21

Previous Chapter

I'm Alone – Joon Sung Oh

The stained glass shattered from the impact of gunfire and magitek units smashing through the windows, landing on the outskirts of the throne room in unison. The court erupted into chaotic screaming as the units opened fire on the crowd, blindly gunning down anyone in their path.

I scanned to crowd frantically, looking for Myung-Hee on the steps to the throne. I caught a glimpse of her face between panicking nobles, taking a step towards her only to be yanked back against a hard chest.

I fought wildly to free myself from the strong grip, my eyes losing sight of my mother as I was forcibly turned away from the scene. Ravus holds me tight against his chest, keeping us tight against the wall as I fought against his vice-like grip.

The screaming didn't stop for a long time, slowly dwindling in strength as more and more people fell to the onslaught of gunfire.

By the time the last of the screaming had stopped, I had ceased my struggling, crying into the front of the blonde's coat as silence fell over the throne room.

Ravus' grip slackened at the sound of heavy footfalls to our right. I pulled my head away, my blurry vision focusing on the dead littering the throne room floor in horror.

The footsteps stopped just short of a foot away, the chancellor's voice the only sound in the room aside from the whirring mechanics of the magitek.

"Phenomenal job at protecting your bride, high commander. The guards will take it from here." Ardyn's voice called out mockingly as he picked his way through the corpses towards the throne.

"Was any of this truly necessary, Izunia?" Ravus ground out, curling himself around me in defense. I only watched as the older man crouched down to examine a body, tilting his head slightly.

"But of course. His excellency wanted control of Goryeo, which is why the council and nobility had to be taken care of. We only needed one princess as hostage to ensure the behaviour of the people, and your bride fits the bill." he answered, turning his golden gaze onto me.

My eyes locked onto his in fear, body trembling from shock as the chancellor slowly approached us.

The older man stopped inches away from me, grasping my chin between his fingers so our gazes would remain locked, the chains of my headpiece brushing delicately against my face.

"The well-being of the sole remaining princess guaranteed by the good behaviour of the people, and vice-versa; a much more convenient arrangement than the pitiful treaty, if I do say so myself."

My heart skipped a beat as Ardyn sneered out the words, my body automatically removing itself from his grasp as if it had been burned.

The chancellor's eyes narrowed, glaring down at me before gesturing to the few human soldiers off to the side.

"Gentlemen, please escort the princess to her chambers. It's been such a long day for her." he commanded, flippant tone contrasting with his dark expression.

The soldiers pulled me from Ravus' grasp, neither of us fighting it after the massacre that had occurred out of greed and ill-will.

"Oh," Ardyn called out just before I had exited the throne room, "And congratulations on your marriage, I'm sure all of Eos will speak of the Red Wedding for years to come." he said mockingly as the thick oak doors closed behind me.

*BREAK*

I sat silently in the dining area of the princess' apartments, wearing a simple white ruqun with my long black hair free from any sort of style. My hand tightly clasped the hairpin Orion had given me, the last reminder of what my world had been before everything had fallen apart.

The guards had been bringing me minimal food, rationing the supplies that remained in the palace as they established control throughout the island nation. I was truly alone for the first time in years; no court ladies moved between the rooms, and there were no eunuchs walking through the halls. Just the foreign accents of the Nifelheim soldiers and the whirring sounds of Magitek filled the palace's silence.

I remained sitting as the door to the apartments opened and closed, heralding either food or a visitor. My heart sank at the sight of the chancellor, the man accompanied by both soldiers and the high commander.

"Well my dear, shall we discuss your fate now that the finer details have been dealt with?" Ardyn questioned as he took a seat at the table.

"We've been apprehending small rebel groups that believed they could defy the will of the empire, including that little court lady your counsel sent to Lucis. We wouldn't want her to call on the Lucian armies to mount a rescue attempt, now would we?"

That statement jolted a reaction out of me, my head whipping up to stare at the chancellor in horror.

"You will continue to reside in your apartments until the region has been brought under control. Then you will travel to Tenebrae with the high commander while the brigadier general governs the region. I'm sure you'll find Tenebrae to your liking, your highness. It is very beautiful this time of year." The vile man explained, taking pleasure in the pain he was inflicting upon me with his words.

"I do suggest beginning to pack your belongings as your departure may be sooner than you think." The chancellor announced in leu of a proper goodbye, sweeping into a mocking bow before departing from the room.

I twitched at the sound of the door as it closed, eyes locking onto the remaining figure of my husband. Ravus refused to meet my gaze as he slowly made his way into my rooms.

"I'm sure I'm one of the last people you want to see right now but I swear to you, I meant every word of my vows and I did not know Izunia was planning this." he whispered from across the room, his pale gaze firmly locked on the floor.

I offered silence as my only response, remaining impassive in his presence.

The man who was only my husband by name, sighed heavily before moving to sit in the chair opposite of mine.

"The common folk are fleeing the island as fast they can, fighting for space on fishing and trade vessels to take them out of Goryeo. The violence was mostly contained to the palace, but a few noble families who were absent from the wedding were hunted down." Ravus informed me, his words causing my heart to ache even more so than before as I mourned the innocents killed in the conflict.

I was pleased that the people were fleeing the island rather than face the iron hand of the imperial regime. They hadn't chosen to entrust their fate to a foreign power as I had.

"Both the first and second princesses were among the dead, as well as all their court ladies, yours included." These next words shocked me.

Mother. Grandmother. Se-Hyeon. Chae-Ryung. All of them dead. And I couldn't shed a single tear in mourning for them. I couldn't even perform their burial rights so they could find their way to the ancestors.

I closed my eyes, signaling my continued indifference to the blonde's presence, willing him to leave me to mourn privately.

Fabric rustled as Ravus shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Both the noise and his continued presence irritated me. My eyes opened and met his own for the first time since the massacre. I willed that every ounce of my hatred and anger be conveyed through my eyes.

A fleeting look of shame passed over his face before Ravus schooled his expression into a mask of indifference.

Standing from his chair, he settled into a military parade rest.

"We will be leaving for Tenebrae in two days. Pack what belongings you wish to bring with you. I doubt you will see Goreyo again for many years." He informed me, taking my continued silence as his cue to leave.

As the door slid shut behind him, all my anger rushed forward. I hurled a tea pot at the wall in rage, storming from one room to the next.

I stopped in front of my open wardrobe, pulling random clothes out and tossing them towards the bed. They were all meaningless to me, every piece belonging to the now dead Third Princess. I would not have packed any of it if not for the fact that such an act would raise the suspicions of the Empire.

The only thing I wished to take with me was the small box of jewellery that I had inherited from my mother and the First Princess; my letters from Noctis hidden away among the gold and jewels.

It would be a risk to bring them with me, but I could not find it in myself to part with the only remaining piece of my identity.

Noctis POV

The prince was bored to say the least, stuck reading reports after completing homework. Soo's last letter lay on the coffee table, the portrait of his childhood companion staring up at Noctis with serene features captured in ink. He caught himself daydreaming as he stared at it, only snapping out of it when he heard Ignis exiting the kitchen to check on his progress.

The dark-haired teen was startled out of his zoning at the knocking at the door, Ignis hesitantly stepping out of the kitchen to answer it.

Noctis rose from his place on the couch, making his way down the hall just as a royal courier handed a blank envelope to his friend and retainer. As the door closed, the older boy merely looked at the envelope before handing it to the prince.

Opening it curiously, he pulled out a sheet of parchment that only one person ever used.

"Another letter from the Lady Soo? She usually waits for a response before writing, does she not?" Ignis questioned, adjusting his glasses while gauging his charge's reaction.

"Yeah.." Noctis replied, sapphire eyes focusing on the cursive letters on the page.

My Dearest Noctis,

I know my last letter may have only just reached you, but here I am writing another.

Goryeo has fallen on hard times, and each and every one of us are making sacrifices to keep our country thriving. We have been able to reach a formal peace with Nifelheim, however it deeply impacts our friendship.

Please know I'm completely heartbroken when I say that from this point on, I can no longer receive or send letters to and from you. My duty to my country has grown exponentially in the past few weeks and I can't jeopardize the progress made by continuing our correspondence. I'm so deeply sorry, if I could avoid this, I would. But this peace is too new and fragile to risk it.

Do know that I love you and I'm so proud of who you're becoming. Keep your friends close and treasure them. You need someone to watch your back since I am no longer able.

Goodbye.

Yours,

Soo

The hand holding the parchment clenched hard, crumpling the paper as he trembled. Tears welled in Noctis' eyes as his arm dropped to his side, gritting his teeth to choke back his cries.

"What did she say?" his friend inquired, not expecting the page to be shoved in his face as the prince stormed off to his room, slamming the door closed.

*BREAK*

Noctis laid curled up in the center of his bed, staring at the photo on his night table.

Among the various photos taken by Prompto over the past two years, there was one that dated back eight years. It was a picture taken by a palace official many years ago that depicted two dark haired children running across the beach in Galdin.

It was his only photo of Soo aside from the drawing she had sent. They had been so carefree then, but now he could never speak to his friend again.

The prince shed silent tears in his solitude, closing his eyes in hopes of escaping through sleep.

It was not meant to be as Ignis entered the bedroom quietly.

"My apologies, Noct, but the citadel has called with information pertaining to Goryeo. Niflheim entered a delicate peace treaty with the kingdom, and has slaughtered nearly all of the aristocracy and ruling class and their households. Their envoy was on standby in Galdin to alert the Crown if the empire planned on breaking the treaty."

Ignis paused for a moment, taking in the tense, trembling form of his prince.

"She was found murdered in her hotel room after she had received information on the invasion and massacre. All that remains apart from the working and lower-class citizens is the Third Princess. The empire is keeping her as a political hostage in her marriage to Ravus nox Fleuret." He continued, avoiding any mention of the one person Noctis cared about in this situation.

"And what of Soo? Any news on her? Is she okay?" The Prince questioned his retainer, his breath hitching as he tried to keep his emotions under control.

"No, your highness. It is likely that she perished during the initial invasion, as the entirety of the palace household was wiped out."

It was then, that the last but of control slipped. Tears slipped freely down his cheeks, sobs wracking his body as he folded into himself.

Ignis was at a loss of what to do. How did one comfort their friend after delivering news of the death of a close friend?

Soo's POV

The smoke was still rising from the island as my personal items were being prepared for transport to Tenebrae. It was hard to tell if it was from mass funeral pyres or the burning of villages and estates.

In the end, it was pointless to wonder as I was being led into the awful airship and removed from my home for the last time.

Next Chapter

[cartoonmouse]

AGOKAF WIP - The Handmaidens

I was inspired by @badgershite posting his Godric story to share with you some WIPs I have rotting in my documents folder. This one was written last October. I never finished it because I wasn’t sure about the direction it was taking, but I enjoy the dialogue and the relationship between the characters. Writing the OC kids is a lot of fun and I tend to just make everything really silly. It’s definitely not on tone for ASOIAF but whatever. 

“Septa Sabine?”

“Yes, child, what is it?”

“Where do babies come from?”

The septa’s face turned a ghostly shade of white. Mira Forrester merely blinked, waiting for an answer. Her sister’s handmaidens tittered nervously. Eight pairs of inquisitive eyes trained themselves on the older woman while the youngest of the group - Mila - continued to gleefully stab at her embroidery.

“Well… that’s a rather inappropriate question, lady Mira, don’t you think?”

“Why would it be inappropriate?”

Septa Sabine sputtered like a kettle going off.  

“My mother tells me they’re grown in the garden,” Rosey Greyson explained, voice soft. “It’s how I got my name.”

“Really?” Mira asked. “How is that possible?”

Rosey shrugged.

“All I know is, one day my mother was huge.” Kyra Mason held her hands out, miming a bulging stomach. “And then the next day there was this small vile creature wailing loud enough for the whole quarry to hear.”

“My auntie says babies rot your insides,” Leyla Branch added.

“I only ask,” Mira said before anyone else could get a word in. “because Elyse is having another baby and when I asked her about it she said you knew more about the subject, Septa.”

Septa Sabine’s lips curled into a frown. “Of course she did.”

“What about you, Mila?” Mira asked the girl at her feet. “What does Lissa have to say about this?”

“I dunno.”

“Maybe you should ask her where you came from then.”

Septa Sabine clapped her hands together. “All right, that’s quite enough, lady Mira.”

The rest of the lesson was spent quietly. The septa hovered over each girl’s shoulder to check their precision and needlework. She was particularly hard on Mira, critiquing her jagged stitches and ordering her to start all over. Sewing and embroidery had never been the young Forrester’s strong suit - Aunt Talia said she took after her in that respect. She was much better at the musical part of the gentle arts, but they were not focusing on that today much to Mira’s absolute disdain.

Once lessons were over and Septa Sabine took her leave, the other girls began to chatter all at once.

“What was that about, Mira?” Leyla asked, sounding genuinely interested. “Were you trying to get a rise out of the septa again?”

“I thought her eyes were going to pop right out her head,” Kyra said.

“Aren’t you worried about getting in trouble?” Rosey asked, nervously wringing the fabric of her shawl.

“Mira, Mira! Look!” Mila showed off her embroidery hoop - the stitches far worse than Mira’s. They didn’t even form a coherent shape of any kind.

“Lovely,” Mira said, patting her niece on the head. “At this rate you’re sure to surpass me.”

She then turned to her companions and confessed, “What I said was partly true. I did ask Elyse about it, but her being pregnant has nothing to do with why I asked.”

“Then why?” The girls leaned forward, enthralled. Mira often had this effect on them. She was an excellent story teller.

“Ah, that’s right. You weren’t about when he arrived.”

“He?” Leyla’s blue eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “What do you mean, Mira? Stop teasing!”

“Hush up then,” Kyra scolded.

Mira lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Warrick Whitehill.”

“Come off it.” Kyra rolled her eyes. “You made us all excited for nothing.”

“Isn’t that Lady Elyse’s brother?” Rosey asked. “Why has he come to Ironrath?”

“Another mystery,” Mira said. “but that’s not the interesting part.”

Lissa made routine visits to Ironrath. Stillport wasn’t that far, only a day’s ride if you left early enough. She claimed the regularity was due to missing her family, but Mira didn’t believe her for a moment. A woman like Lissa would love to be living in her own keep. She’d be able to boss everyone around which she couldn’t do at Ironrath where it was Mother and Elyse’s job. Lissa didn’t even like Elyse.

Mira was suspicious of her sister’s motives, but at least because of her visits she was able to be in the company of her little niece and the handmaidens, who Mira had easily befriended.

“So what makes this visit so different?” Kyra asked.

“I told you,” Mira replied. “My uncle Warrick showed up yesterday.”

“Uncle?” Leyla’s face twisted as though she were thinking hard about something. “But if he’s lady Elyse’s brother then you wouldn’t have any relation to him, right?”

“That’s not part of the story,” Mira said. “Let me continue.”

“Aye, let her talk.” Kyra elbowed Leyla in the side.

“Ouch!” The blonde girl elbowed her back while Rosey looked on helplessly.

Mira, meanwhile, ignored her friends and kept on with the story.

It was announced at breakfast yesterday morning that Warrick Whitehill would be coming to Ironrath all the way from the Bastion. Mira had heard stories of the Bastion—that it was haunted by the souls of the dead Warricks who had occupied it years ago. Danny Moss told her that the Glenmores—her mother’s family—had dug a huge pit behind the castle and tossed all of them in, burying them alive. Mira acted unruffled by the story, but that night she had terrible nightmares about being crushed beneath piles of dirt and snuck into her brother’s bed for comfort.  

Right as Elyse shared this news, Lissa accidentally knocked over her goblet, spilling water all over the lap of her pretty dress.

“Why’s he coming here?” she asked, sharply.

“To check on me I suppose,” Elyse answered. She sighed wearily. “The men in my family have a history of worrying over pregnant women. It’s silly, really.”

No one had batted an eye about Warrick coming except Lissa who put up a huge fuss. Harrold later explained that Lissa and Warrick had always disliked one another so he wasn’t surprised by her behavior. In fact, it seemed as though Mira was the only one who suspected anything might be funny.

“What do you think?” she had asked Godric. His opinion was the one she trusted above all others.

He pondered her question for a long while. “I think… Lissa just doesn’t like him.”

It was a logical answer, but not one Mira found all that exciting.

As was customary, the family had greeted Lord Warrick when he arrived that evening. Ashlynn forced Lissa out of her room, and she stood among them, expression sour. She held Mila in her arms, the girl dozing off every few seconds, head tipping this way and back. It was only when the gates of Ironrath opened and Warrick’s stallion trotted into the front yard did the five year old perk up.

“Uncle!” The girl wiggled in her mother’s arm, desperate to get down.

“Mila, behave yourself…” Lissa said sternly.

Mira watched with a great deal of interest as her niece made a huge racket, arms outstretched and waving in Warrick’s direction. Of course the Whitehill noticed the commotion, but he only smiled easily in response. Mira remembered her father once saying how eerie it was to look at Warrick Whitehill—how similarly he resembled his father. He was a stocky, yet well-built man of twenty-eight with broad shoulders and the same golden hair as his twin. It hung a little past his ears now, longer than the last time Mira had seen him.

“How’s my girl doing?” Warrick asked, scooping Mila up in his arms.

“She’s not ‘your girl’,” Lissa snapped.

Her words sent a chill through the air the entire family felt. Warrick, however, didn’t seem to notice, so wrapped up in Mila—commenting on how grown up she looked in her dress and telling her of the presents he brought. This only served to infuriate Lissa even more.

“He’s very sweet with Mila, isn’t he?” Rosey commented.

“My sister despises him for it.”

“Is she jealous?” Leyla asked.

“Mila, who do you prefer? Your mother, or Lord Warrick?” Kyra prompted.

“Uncle brought me a hoop and a unicorn,” Mila told her, as if this were enough to answer the question.

“A what?”

“One made of sugar,” Mira supplied. “He’s always bringing her sweets. Lissa hates that too.”

Leyla frowned. “I still don’t understand why you’re so concerned with where babies come from, Mira. What does your sister and Lord Warrick have to do with it?”

Mira sighed. Sometimes her friends could be so dense. She knelt to the floor, covering Mila’s ears with her hands to block out what she said next.

“Don’t you think it odd—your lady’s behavior?” Mira then paused for dramatic effect. “I think she is so bothered because my uncle is the true father of her child.”

Rosey and Leyla both gasped in unison, the former almost falling backwards in her chair. Kyra guffawed.

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“Think about it.”  

“I think you’re mad.”

“Lady Elisabeth would never!” Leyla exclaimed. “She’s happily married. She would never.”

“You’re not her sister,” Mira said. “Lissa does whatever she pleases even if what she pleases makes absolutely no sense.”

Rosey began counting on her fingers. The other girls silently watched as she added and subtracted, muttering numbers to herself.

“Mila is five years old,” she reported. “That means, if Mira is correct in her assumptions, lady Elisabeth and lord Warrick planted her after lady Elisabeth was wed….”

“Not planted,” Mira groaned. “That’s not true, Rosey. Your mother was having a laugh.”  

“That’s not right!” Leyla said.

“It’s what she said,” Rosey countered.

“Not that.” Leyla waved her hand dismissively in the bigger girl’s direction. “I can’t believe that lady Elisabeth would ever seek out another man behind her husband’s back. It’s… not right. It’s a misunderstanding, Mira. It must be.”

“But wouldn’t it be funny if it were true?” Kyra said, a glint of mischief in her blue eyes. “Lady Elisabeth acts like the crown princess of Westeros, but deep down she’s only a flesh and blood woman.”

“And Lord Warrick is quite handsome…” Rosey admitted, blushing furiously.

“I don’t care how handsome he is!” Leyla was also blushing.

“My ears hurt,” Mila whined.

“Sorry.” Mira quickly pulled her hands away. “Here, Mila, I have a task for you. Could you go find uncle Goddy and bring him round?”

She expected Mila to argue against it, but the girl seemed more than happy to go fetch Godric for her. Good. Now they could discuss the matter further without fear of Mila overhearing and asking questions. She loved asking questions almost as much as Mira did.

“Why Godric?” Kyra asked.

  “Godric!” Leyla squeaked, a hand reflexively shooting to the blonde hair bunched at her nape. Almost obsessively, she began to adjust it, though there was nothing wrong with her hair from Mira’s perspective. “She’s fetching Godric?”

“She calls him Goddy,” Mira explains.

“Again, why?” Kyra spoke flatly.

“She cannot say ‘Godric’ properly.”

“Not that.” Kyra sighed. “Why are you dragging Godric in here?”

“I need everyone’s help to solve whatever’s going on.”

“You want to poke around in other people’s business, you mean?”

“Lissa is my sister. It’s my right to know what’s she been up to.”

“What if your father finds out?” Rosey asked, nibbling at her bottom lip.

“What if Lord Thornton finds out?” Kyra added, though the idea of such a thing appeared to excite her. 

“Then it’s Lissa’s problem. Not mine.” Mira huffed. “Don’t you want to know? Aren’t you a little bit curious?”

The girls exchanged uneasy looks. They were curious. It was written all over their faces, but it wasn’t easy to admit such a curiosity. Mira doubted speaking so crudely about the lady they served was the mark of a good handmaiden. And if someone outside of their group were to find out they might have to pay the price for it.

But it would not come to that. Mira was certain.

--

Mira had them all lined up in a row. Rosey, the tallest out of them all, stood on the far left while Mila was positioned at the end. She liked things this way: neat and organized. With her hands behind her back, Mira walked the length of the row like a captain addressing her vanguard.

“Well? Ol’ Goddy’s finally made it, so can you explain what this whole game’s about?” Kyra asked, arms crossed. If she was irritated with Mira she didn’t show it.

“Game?” Godric shifted uncomfortably. He was placed between Rosey and Leyla as the second tallest. “I didn’t know we were playing a game.”

“It’s a not a game,” Mira told him soothingly. “It’s actually very important.”

Kyra covered Mila’s ears. “Your fool sister thinks Lord Warrick is Mila’s father.”

Godric winced. “Oh… Mira…”

“Shh!” Mira pressed a finger to her lips.

“We’re not going to do anything bad, are we?” Rosey looked just as pained as Godric. “I don’t want to get in trouble, Mira. Lady Elisabeth would surely send me back home to Timberwatch.”

“We’d all be sent home,” Kyra said. “And I for one would rather die than have to be around my mad brother for an instant.”

“Shh!”

“Well?” Leyla was having a tough time not staring at the boy slouching beside her. She kept her blue eyes focused on Mira, but every so often they’d steal a glance and it did not escape the other’s notice. “What’s going on then?”

“We’re splitting up,” Mira explained. “That way we’ll be able to cover more ground, gather more information.”

“So it is a game.”

Mira ignored the Mason. “Rosey and Kyra, you’ll go speak with Elyse. She’s Warrick’s sister, so she’ll know about the situation better than anyone. Well… perhaps not as well as the perpetrators themselves, but you understand.”

“L-Lady Elyse?” Rosey blanched. “B-but…”

“They call her the White Viper, you know,” Kyra said. “The smallfolk say she’s able to cut out a man’s tongue before he even has time to bat an eye.”

               “I’ve never seen her do it,” Mira rebutted. She took Rosey’s hand and gave it a reassuring pat. “It’ll be fine. Elyse isn’t so scary. She just likes to play around.”

IT CUTS OFF SO SHORT SORRY,....

[ashensolitude-blog]

Headcanon: j.001

                      THE TRUE STORY OF JULIET CAPULET                                            BEFORE / UP TO HER DEATH

                Juliet before   &   after Romeo are two almost completely different people,   &   if anyone thought to pay attention, it would be as evident as the fact that she was  ( &   continues to be even after death )  a dreamer; the main difference is her absolute   &   unquestionable obedience to her parents.  Before she met Romeo Montague, she was the model child any family would want, though, yes, she was wild, never one to keep her dreams a secret, but she was ALWAYS obedient; so much so, in fact, that when her parents told her she had to hate all Montagues, she did so without a doubt, she would frown at them, she would  f o r b i d  herself from looking at them, she would claim her hate onto them regardless of the fact that she knew nothing of the reason of her family’s hate onto them at all. 

                After, when the two met, the kiss in the great Capulet party came to her alike a wake up call; not only because it came on the very same day after her mother had placed the prospect of marriage in front of her  ( making of her dreams include romance too ),  but because when she learnt Romeo was a Montague, the shock of the revelation made her question everything she knew.  She was NOT in love with him, far from it, but there was something about he who she forever after called her poet, that simply didn’t sit right with the whole idea of  h a t i n g  the Montagues at all; after all, how could anyone as kind, charming   &   gentle as he had been to her could deserve any hate? 

                Still, the second she learnt of his identity, her own obedience made it so she forbid herself from seeing him again, from talking to him again, even from smiling in his direction; she blocked herself entirely from liking him, but the kiss they shared sparked a speck of rebellion that had not been set within her before.  Thus became the reason for which, when her parents presented the idea of marrying Count Paris  ( a man much older than her,   &   one she really COULD NOT get on with at all )  she came out in her full dramatic splendor claiming that    ‘I would rather marry a Montague whom I hate, than Paris whom I despise.’;       &   she acted in such a way that enrages her parents so much  ( even going as far as to falsely threaten kicking her out )  that they  c o m p l e t e l y  put off the entire idea of marriage for the girl until      ‘she comes of mindful age as to accept her duties’,      all with fear that she would embarrass them otherwise.  Of course, Paris was disappointed, but he moved on quite quickly. 

                &   perhaps that should have been that, but unfortunately it wasn’t; after all, Juliet   &   Romeo lived in the same city,   &   as if that was not enough, the Montagues were one of the two Lord families in Verona  ( the other one of which was the Capulets ),  so it was impossible for them to NOT see each other quite often, whether in church, or city celebrations.  In fact, they saw each other at church the Sunday after the party,  &   it struck Romeo as strange that Juliet was so cold with him  ( even from afar, he only smiled at her )  when they had even danced   &   kissed in the party; not that it was  s t r a n g e  for a Capulet to be cold towards a Montague, but we’re talking about gentle, dreaming Juliet here, the little sunshine of Verona, whom everyone in the city who knew her loved for her free spirit   &   ever smiling lips. 

                Thus, it is for it that, one day, on the celebration of a saint in Verona, Romeo pulled the girl to the side  ( a month or two after their first encounter at the party ),    &   tried to make his case onto why her ignoring him was ridiculous, due to the fact that       ‘I know our houses be enemies but I hate thee not, I cannot.  If that be why thou art as cold as a winter night since that blessed night I met thee, then I beg thee, kind Saint, hate me not, or if thou must, then put this hopeful worshiper out of his misery by telling me to never speak to thee again, for I knoweth none of what drives our families' enimity,   &  refuse it keep us apart, thus, speak, dear Lady, speak,   &   let my heart hope onto thee again.’      They were words so kind   &   so alike her own thoughts, that Juliet was unable to let herself hate him merely for her parents command; thus, they became friends, kind secret friends  ( that sometimes kissed ),  a relationship strong enough to bring about her going out in secret to see him, claiming she was going to prayer or to the market with her Nurse  ( a Nurse who was POSSESSED by a Protector of Love, thus completely was on Juliet’s side when it came to Romeo, who was supposed to be her absolute soulmate ),    &   eventually even enough for her to sneak out of her house in the middle of the night to  w a l k  about the gardens with him or merely sit   &   talk.

                A relationship that did not develop into full on love until about six to eight months after they met,   &   only when the idea of marriage was brought back into Juliet’s life a few months after her fifteenth birthday, did the two even consider immediately marrying.  It is then when everything depicted by the famous play comes to happen: they get secretly married ─ but it FAILED to be secret enough given the fact that Tybalt Capulet had spies everywhere  ( specially when it came to Juliet ),  thus he found out a day later  ( allowing the newlyweds the wedding night ),    &   it is for it that he  w i l l e d  for a fight with Romeo ─, Mercutio is slain, Romeo kills Tybalt   &   Romeo is exiled. 

                But,   &   here’s where we finally reach the end of the similarities with the play, after his exile, there was no little plot from the Friar to have Juliet be thought dead; instead, Romeo, a couple of minutes after his exile was announced, sent a letter to Juliet via Benvolio explaining his situation, his exile, his SADNESS onto what he had to do, his inability to avoid killing Tybalt for the name of his dead friend; but he was manipulative, something Juliet didn’t yet know,   &   he used what is now called ‘reverse psychology’ on her, stating his own  s h a m e,  his own anger,   &   how much he would understand if she never wanted to see him again: 

                      ...but if thy fair soul wilt,  if thy gentle heart sees thus fit to forgive this                       vile villain, I beg thee, my precious love, meet me within the safety of                       the monument maker of thy name’s fame,    where thou shall meet a                       man loving of thy person  with  all  his  heart,  ready to leave this city,                       something much livelier if it were to be by thy side.   Meet me, gentle                       Juliet,   let  this  marriage  be  merry  in a city far from the loathing of                                                                      these walls.

                It was a long letter that claimed his love for her in prose   &   song, one that made it easier for Juliet to decide to run away with him, not only for the fact that she really wanted to, but because even if she did not, in times such as the ones she was born in, what one’s husband said was law; thus, it was decided.  She went there in the middle of the night, without even her Nurse knowing so  ( if she had, Nurse would have stopped her, for she, being possessed by a Protector, KNEW what Romeo planned )  carrying of only a few things,   &   a hopeful heart.  When she arrived, such was their passion   &   her love, that their kisses of relief turned into more; something which, Romeo soon after  t u r n e d  into manipulation   &   deceit, when he then wondered by pretense what she would do if he were to die; something to which Juliet, thriving in drama   &   theatricality as always, replied by literally reaching for his dagger in order to point it in her heart’s direction.       ‘I would rather make mine body into this lonely dagger’s sheath   &   join thee in death than taking one breath without thy company.’ 

                 Those were her last words, for the shock of his actions silenced her, his betrayal when he moved so quickly   &   managed to push her hand forward to make the dagger go deep into her heart; he said       ‘For this truth, I shall say farewell, given in this day, which will mark the arrival of immortality onto mine heart, thus, death shall never touch me,   &   thy heart cannot live as long as mine might.  May age never touch thy beautiful face, nor wrinkle thy perfect lips, may youth be thy eternal companion.’        She did not know whether to cry or scream, whether to be angry or sad; thus, she died, betrayed, crying, left for death by the one person who was SUPPOSED to be her one true love, the one who was her soulmate, but chose immortality instead of a long life with her. 

                It was when he left her, bleeding   &   dying in that tomb, that her Nurse  ( as stated prior, possessed by a Protector of Love ),  came around to find her in order to offer her eternity protecting souls like hers from people like Romeo; protecting kind, gentle,  d r e a m i n g  souls who could be loved, keeping them safe from the Lifeless reality of those that, like him, chose immortality instead of Love.