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patricia-von-arundel · 7 years ago

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Sweet Joy Befall Thee

Rating: T

Summary: There were many things in her life Elsa honestly believed she would never have to take into consideration, because they would be forever a moot point as far as she was concerned. Pregnancy was one of those things.

Dedicated, as always, to @no-escape-from-the-storm-inside.

I am leaving this story as it was originally put up, so Alarik’s name will not appear.

There were many things in her life Elsa honestly believed she would never have to take into consideration, because they would be forever a moot point as far as she was concerned. Pregnancy was one of those things. So she paid little attention to the symptoms, at least at first. As always, she was too busy to be slowed by what appeared to be minor illness. She had only very mild nausea, some discomfort and dizziness if she stayed on her feet for too long. She hardly noticed the first cycle missed – stress and diet had always left it irregular. But she noticed the second, made a mental note to send for a physician – then promptly found herself occupied with other things, the thousand demands on her time. It was only when her clothing began to feel abnormally tight that she really began to wonder what might be going on. By then, she was almost three months late. And she could see no obvious, physical changes – but her skirt was pulled across her hips in a way it had never been before. And perhaps she had somehow failed to notice that her corsets were getting harder to pull tight, and that they seemed more and more uncomfortable. She had always dressed herself. Now, she found herself wishing she had employed a lady’s maid – someone who could reassure her, tell her it was just a normal part of aging. Her husband was always up before dawn, working by lamplight, before he came to meet her for breakfast. She was usually awake and waiting, working herself, when he came up. But on that morning she finally faced an unwanted truth, he found her half-dressed before the mirror, in skirt and half-tied corset, feet bare and hair still a cloudy tangle, hands clasped protectively before her. When she caught sight of him in reflection, the tears finally began to fall – silent but insistent. He was closer in a moment, not touching but there, close enough that she could make physical contact if she felt comfortable doing so. “Elsa?” Always the soothing tone, gentle and measured. They had played this game so many times before. She trembled, wrapped her arms around herself, hunched. She could feel the chill seeping into her fingertips. She resisted it. The tears running down her face felt warm, so warm. “I think… something may be wrong?” “Are you hurt?” Still calm, still measured. She shook her head. “No. No, I think I might be… might be…” There was ice beneath her feet, slick and smooth and pleasantly cool. But it had been so long since she had felt this frightened, since she had lost control. She had been doing so good.

But now, she was terrified – heart pounding, unable to get her breath, head swimming and palms clammy. And she was losing her hold, her controlled calm, it – the magic, the cold – coiled inside her, snaking out, looking for release. She felt it. And it only made the terror worse. Because if she was right, how much more damage might she do than she had ever done before?

She saw Anna at five, lifeless in the snow. And for the first time, she felt real, unmistakeable nausea. She sank to her knees and clutched one arm around her middle and closed her eyes, trying to breath deeply, trying not to throw up, trying not to lose consciousness, suddenly dizzy and sick and weak. There was a thick spread of ice beneath her now, an island, and the temperature in the room had dropped noticeably. “Elsa.” He still did not touch, though he was closer now, crouching beside her. “You have to be calm. Deep breaths. You know this, my darling. Please. Deep breaths.” But they had touched – of course they had. All those slow, gentle nights, the progression, his careful touching, stroking, easing her into trusting her own body, her own pleasure. Holding her when it became too much, overwhelmed her – and holding her when she was finally overwhelmed with that pleasure, crying out and clinging and afterward sobbing, relief and fear and love. They had come together in union such as she had long believed she would never experience. And he held her after, stroking and soothing her to sleep, comforted by his warmth, his smell, his voice. They had touched in the most intimate ways – but her trust came from this. When she was upset, he let her keep her distance. Let her keep him safe. “Deep breaths,” he said again. “Calm. You’re going to be fine. Deep breaths.” She struggled to comply. Slowly, slowly, her head stopped spinning, her heart slowed, her trembling stilled. She felt the ice beginning to melt, soaking through her skirt at her knees. She turned to him, offering silent permission. He wrapped an arm around her, helped her to a sitting position well away from the melting ice. She didn’t have the strength to dissipate it back into the air. He had taken her hand; he stroked a finger across her knuckles, but otherwise let her be. “Will you tell me what you think is wrong?” She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her free arm around them. “I think I… I might be…” She couldn’t say the word. She could think of nothing else that would suffice. She turned silent, pleading eyes to him. He squeezed her hand. “Expecting?” For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she nodded. And burst into fresh tears. This was noisier, messier crying, the kind she hated, the kind that felt so completely out of her control. She buried her face at her knees and fought it, fought it desperately. She didn’t pull her hand back and he did not let go, though she knew her fingers were probably painfully cold. “You’ll be fine, Elsa,” he said – and she shuddered, hearing the same words spoken almost two decades before. He had been wrong. She had not been fine. Nothing had been fine. And now, again, she was not fine. She shook her head, her face still hidden. “Yes, you will.” Soothing, always soothing. “Elsa. My darling Elsa.” His long fingers stroking hers. “We can’t even know for sure. And if you are – you love children. I’ve seen you. You’re wonderful with them.” Mumbling to her knees: “I’ll hurt it.” He took a deep, audible breath; let it out slowly. “I had actually considered this might happen. I’ve done some research. I don’t think either you or any children you carry will be in any great danger from your own magic.” She lifted her head and looked at him – tentatively hopeful. He smiled, that toothy, happy smile he couldn’t force back when he was talking about his work. His hair was getting too long again – auburn curls falling almost over his eyes. “There are precedents,” he said, “others born of those with magic – more often fathers, but there have been mothers. From a statistical standpoint, there appears to be no greater risk of complications than there are for anyone else. And the… the protective element appears to come into play, I suspect due to the sharing of essential nature – the mother’s body protects the part of her that is in the baby.” Protects. Elsa trembled. She wanted desperately to believe what he was saying. “What about powers? The children – do they have them?” Now he was actually grinning, excited. “Never. I haven’t found a single case.” Almost against her will, something very like relief bloomed inside her chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “I never thought I could conceive.” “I was never sure, myself. Your manifestation is rather unique.” She opened her eyes and gave him a weak, teasing smile. “Always your favorite test subject.” He pulled her hand up and kissed the back of it, his lips ticklish and warm against her knuckles, bringing a pleasant little rush of comfort. “Never a test subject. Only my darling Elsa. And perhaps, very soon, a wonderful mother.” “Do you…” She had to stop, voice catching, then forced herself to continue. “Do you really think I can do it? When Anna… Anna was… She was in so much pain. I don’t know if I can…” “We’ll practice.” He let go of her hands, opened his arms; now that she was calmer, she crawled gratefully into them. She did love him – a deep, frightening love, slow-burning, the kind she had never truly believed she would feel, as pure and true as her love for Anna. “We’ll figure out a way. You’ll do just fine.” She leaned against him, her arms wrapped tight. She wanted to believe him. God help her, she wanted so badly to believe him.

Anna, not surprisingly, was ecstatic when they told her. Elsa was by then approaching her fifth month – finally sure it was truly a pregnancy, finally beginning to show even through the jackets she still favored. She was just too small not to show early.

She felt self-conscious about it, vulnerable. She was used to being stared at, even if she didn’t like it, but this was different – not being examined as her role, as queen, but as Elsa, Elsa as a woman, Elsa as mother-to-be. She worried about what they might be thinking. But it was different with Anna, as things were always different with Anna. Anna didn’t stare any longer than it took to process what Elsa had said – then she was grabbing her, pulling her close, laughing and crying against her hair, completely and utterly overwhelmed. This kind of behavior Elsa was accustomed to – Anna hugged as frequently as others might say “hello” - but she stiffened involuntarily, uncomfortable and self-conscious, when Anna placed a hand on the just-noticeable swell of her belly. Without thinking about it, Elsa took a step back. Anna jerked her hand back as if scalded. She crossed her arms, bit her lip. “Sorry.” Elsa twined her own hands together, eyes wide, fighting the urge to cry. She cried at everything. Even knowing it was not an abnormal response in her current condition, it made her feel so anxious – she feared she would always associate tears with shameful losses of control. She swallowed hard, pushed the inclination back and away. “No, Anna.” Forcing herself to step back towards her sister. “Please – I’m sorry. I just-” But once again, as they had done so often lately, words deserted her. But Anna was smiling – of course she was. “It’s okay. I should have asked.” Elsa raised an eyebrow and only half-forced her return smile. “Yes. You should have.” “Then – can I?” A hopeful grin. “Um… sure.” Gentler now, more tentative, Anna’s warm hands spread across the fabric of her dress, pressed against the beginning of growth. Anna was still smiling, eyes wide and wondrous, awestruck. She looked down for what seemed like a long time, then up again, meeting Elsa’s gaze. “You’re going to be great at this.” And now there was no chance of holding back tears, and Anna hugged her again as she sobbed helplessly and both of them pointedly ignored the ice beneath their feet. It wasn’t the first time. Elsa suspected it wouldn’t be the last. It was Anna who came up with a solution for controlling the magic during labor – still Elsa’s deepest fear. Her husband had suggested practice, but Anna came up with something to practice. “Do you the thing where you draw it in, and-” She pulled her arms to her chest, hands fisted, then threw them out and splayed her fingers. “That. You know what I mean.” Elsa just stared at her from across the dinner table, but her husband said, “Yes! That’s perfect. Anna, you are a genius.” And Anna beamed, as she always did when awarded his enthusiastic praise. They had loved one another so much more quickly than Elsa loved him – or knew it, anyway. And Elsa doubted their union would have survived if this had not been the case: Anna loved him as Elsa loved Kristoff. And he did indeed make her practice – and the practice was hard, so hard. No physical pain could be administered – she was still the queen, and some regulations were inviolate – but emotional pain could be doled out in healthy doses, and usually by Elsa herself. She carried within her head and her heart enough excruciating memories for several lifetimes. One of the best and worst things about their marriage, Elsa thought, was that she and he were both stubborn perfectionists in almost everything either of them chose to do. This time, of course, there was the added insistence of necessity; she forced her way onward through practice no matter how much she struggled to tamp it down afterward, how difficult it made sleep, how much her hands shook. And it looked as though it just might work. She got better – still had to focus and concentrate, but less effort was required. It was different when she was gathering the power from the inside rather than the outside, but she could do it: concentrate, release it all as one, dissipate it away. She wished she had thought to practice this years ago. But even in the small triumphs of learning, improving, fear remained. She found her mind returning again and again to Anna – the only childbirth she had seen was hers; the tears, the crying, the begging – and fearing that no matter how much she practiced, it would be irrelevant when she was in that much pain, and for that long. The thought terrified her. “Even pain can be controlled,” her husband insisted. “You know that. You spent most of your life doing exactly that.” “Not physical pain.” So he ordered away for books – on meditation, mesmerism, medical techniques; books in French and English and German. He made copious notes and painstakingly translated passages for her – the languages in question she knew at a conversational level, but not a technical one. She read them, reread them, studied them, made notes of her own. But they were a temporary respite, never a lasting, certain reassurance. Still, as always, study, learning, theorizing were comforts. Maybe he was thinking of that as much as he hoped they might actually help – keep her calm. Keep her grounded. Keep her focusing on something besides her fears. The weeks and months passed, contradictory, too quickly and too slowly. She gave up corsets altogether, along with shoes with heels, jackets, anything made from wool. Her skin was uncomfortably sensitive; she always felt too warm. She had to sit even when issuing proclamations; for some reason walking was fine, but standing still left her feeling dizzy and weak. And she did walk, quite a lot and often at strange hours of the night, her mind and her legs equally restless. Sometimes, Anna heard the door and walked with her; Anna had always kept odd hours. They never spoke much, but Anna held her hand, and that was a comfort. Elsa found herself looking in the mirror often as she got further along, amazed and nonplussed by what she saw. She knew she should be happy – her husband was right, she did love children, Anna’s most of all – but carrying a child herself was something she would have considered impossible. Would she have been more prepared for what she saw, what she felt, if she had not believed herself incapable of it? There was no way to know, but it made her feel guilty and unworthy – there was a baby within her who had never asked for a mother like this. She should have considered this could happen. She should have taken steps to prevent it. An innocent child deserved a better mother than her. One who was not dangerous and broken. One who could focus not on herself, but on that child. Because she feared, feared so much, her own selfishness. She looked at herself when she was alone, turning sideways, pulling up her bodice or her dress to examine that increasingly stretched, rounded skin. It looked strange, the color no longer quite uniform, striped like the cats in the barns. Sometimes, she allowed herself to rest a tentative hand against the bulge – as Anna was so wont to do – and wondered if she should feel more when she did it, some rush of love or affection. Instead, if she felt anything, it was usually just more panic. The realization that this was not an abstract, that it was real, that she would soon not only experience childbirth but also then have a baby, a child of her own, left her feeling lightheaded. But though ice might spread across the floor in those moments, flurries of snow swirl through the air, the hand against her swollen stomach stayed as warm as her skin ever was. She told no one, of course, about these hideously shameful feelings. She suspected plenty of people already thought – knew – that she would be a horrible mother, that she had no business inflicting herself on a child. Not even Anna seemed likely to understand; Anna had been ecstatic at her own, and now was clearly ecstatic for Elsa. She certainly wasn’t going to tell her husband; his enthusiasm – and faith in her – was very clear. Then came the day when she first felt movement. She was alone in her study, drafting letters, and at first paid little attention, assumed she was just hungry. But the bubbly little feeling was persistent, repetitive, centered. It broke through her concentration, niggling at her awareness – more and more insistent, until she could no longer ignore it. She put her pen down and sat back in her chair. Then it hit her – what it must be. She gasped, and her eyes dropped to the swell. The baby was moving inside her. Moving. She stared down for as long as she could feel it – there was nothing to see, of course, but she couldn’t look away, couldn’t seem to move at all. That afternoon, she sought out the one person she trusted to give her an honest answer – and to neither judge her nor tell anyone else. They had, unfortunately, had to have similar conversations before, though never about Elsa. “Kristoff?” He was packing ledgers into boxes – his record-keeping was meticulously neat even if his penmanship was not; the former something Elsa thoroughly appreciated – but stopped at the sound of her voice, wiping dusty hands quickly on his pants before hauling a chair over the boxes so she could sit. She did so gratefully, offering him a smile. “Thank you.” He sat on the closest box. “How’re you feeling?” “I’m… doing well. All things considered.” “Good.” He waited a moment, raised his eyebrows expectantly when Elsa couldn’t immediately come up with anything to say. “Is something wrong?” She bit her lip and looked to her lap – except she no longer had much lap to look at. “I’m… I’m not sure.” “Elsa?” How many years had it taken him to grow comfortable with using her name? As many as it had taken for her to feel she could approach him like this, as she might Anna – because in some things, Kristoff understood her in ways Anna never would. Their differences, Anna’s and Kristoff’s, complemented one another, and with time and trust, Elsa had come to see the value in both. Fears she could take to neither Anna nor her husband – these she often brought to Kristoff. He was such a calming presence, solid and dependable and honest. And when Anna was herself with child, he had come to Elsa for reassurance. All these years later, she needed to call in the favor. She tried to make herself look at him – he had such kind eyes. “I’m worried. I guess.” “About what?” “About…” She had come to him because she knew he would accept what she had to say, without judgment, but that did not make the saying any easier. Her eyes again looked down as she gestured to her stomach. “This. About this.”

“Ah.” Now it was his turn for a lengthy silence. “Yeah. It takes some getting used to. A lot of getting used to.” “Yes. It does.” She should have given more thought to what she wanted to say before she sought him out. “Anything in particular? Because really, Anna might be-” She looked at him, steely-eyed. “No . Not Anna.” He just nodded, never breaking his gaze, accepting. “Anna would just get upset. I can’t… I don’t handle Anna upset well right now.” He half-smiled. “She’s noticed.” Elsa felt her expression mimic his – of course Anna had noticed. She was highly attuned to Elsa’s emotions at the best of times, and for the last few months, Elsa had been weeping against her shoulder on what felt like a daily basis. “So what is it?” he asked. She hesitated. Placed a hand over the swell, as if protecting the tiny life inside from what she was about to say – as if she had ever been able to protect anything at all. “I’m… I’m afraid…” She closed her eyes, took a shaky breath. “I have no business having a child. None at all. Arendelle has an heir. And I know… I know…” Her voice broke on a sob, and she covered her face with her hands. “I’m going to be an awful mother. And I’m so scared… so scared…” Kristoff, in terms of personal space, was an Anna – touch, for him, was comfort. Elsa felt his hands on her shoulders, wide enough to span them completely, squeezing gently. “No way. Elsa – look at me.” How many people in the last decade and a half had given her an order? Had taken the burden of decision-making out of her hands? She sniffled, tried to get herself under control – and did as she had been told. His eyes bore into hers, only inches away, and she had to resist the urge to pull back. “That’s crazy, Elsa. Absolutely crazy. It’s nonsense.” She did recoil then, involuntarily, startled by the vehemence in his tone. She shook her head, because she had no words. “Look, just – just let me think for a minute. I expected this from Anna, but not from you.” “From… Anna?” But Anna had been thrilled to find out she and Kristoff were expecting – she had come running to Elsa already talking about names and nursery decorations, absolutely euphoric. Kristoff offered that half-smile again. “Anna was terrified. She’d gotten it into her head that you needed an heir, but when she really realized that meant we were going to be parents…” He shook his head, rueful. “What about you?” “Me?” He let go of her shoulders to rub his hands across his face. “I’m still scared I’m not cut out for this. Every single day.” “You’re a wonderful father, Kristoff.” And he was – of that, Elsa had no doubts. “And you’ll be a wonderful mother.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I have evidence.” “So do I. Every day, almost everything you do is for someone else. Or did you wake up one morning and decide to be queen?” “That’s different.”

“How? There are selfish parents who don’t care about their kids. There are selfish kings and queens who don’t care about the people in their kingdoms. You do care, though. Anybody could see that.” “One does not necessarily have anything to do with the other.” He shrugged. “It might, it might not. It’s what we’ve got right now. Well, and – you love your family, right?” “More than anything.” She smiled, teasing: “Even you, some of the time.” “Only because you’re afraid of Anna.” She laughed. “True.”

There were good days and bad days as she approached the end – the inevitable, terrifying end. But she had always had good days and bad days, one extreme or the other, nothing in between. She felt strange, her body no longer her own, her mind struggling for the self control that had always been so central to her being. Pregnancy defined her every moment, impossible to forget – she couldn’t sleep the way she wanted to, could neither stand nor sit for longer than a few minutes, still grew inexplicably emotional over almost nothing at all. Lack of control – still, probably always, Elsa’s greatest fear. But sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – she could almost believe what Kristoff had said, what she knew Anna and her husband would have said as well. She wanted to think she might be a good mother, wanted it desperately. She found herself looking forward to feeling those fluttery little movements. A few times, it seemed to happen when she spoke. Alone in her room, she spoke directly to that swell, resting her hand on it – halting, hesitant, feeling rather ridiculous, uncertain what to say. And when she felt the response – strong and sure – she was very glad to be alone, because she started laughing and crying and rambling any nonsense that came into her head, just to feel the baby responding.

But then she thought of Anna outside her door, waiting all those years for a response that never came. And Elsa knew she was selfish – so selfish. Selfish as a mother should never be.

There were practicalities to consider – Elsa had always been good at making lists, considering options, reaching conclusions. She felt comfortable with decorating a nursery, and she had Anna’s enthusiastic help. Furniture in shades of pale yellow and white, blankets folded into chests, tiny gowns and soft toys, everything carefully arranged just so. Elsa went back alone in the night, candlelight flickering off lacquered wood, and tried to convince herself of the truth of it – that her child would sleep in that bassinet, would wear these clothes. That she might be here on some not-too-distant night, much like this one, rocking slowly in that chair, soothing a baby wrapped in one of those blankets. She left hurriedly then, pulling the door firmly shut before wrapping her free arm around herself and giving over to helpless trembling, frost climbing the walls. For a moment, it had been real. She wasn’t ready. She was in her eighth month. Her husband brought her books and journals, told her about his research and thoughts. She had scientific treatises on fetal development, on labor and delivery, on the first months of life – she read them voraciously, enjoying them until she reached the ends and could no longer forget that this was not just abstract education. They were going to deliver the baby alone – her and him. Despite the months of practice, despite her increased control, she still feared her reaction to that kind of prolonged pain and stress. Her husband was an expert, had read everything on the subject of magic and childbirth, and, most of all, he helped keep her calm. She didn’t want to risk hurting anyone who wasn’t there voluntarily – and when was anything asked by a reigning monarch answered completely voluntarily? They would do it, just the two of them. She almost wished she was brave enough to go through it by herself. But there was that selfishness again – she couldn’t do it. She knew she couldn’t. They would, of course, call for physician and midwife – the same lovely woman who had been there for Anna – to be on hand in the castle, ready to assist in the event of complications, to be available before and after the birth. And Elsa forced herself to sit through interviews and read letters of former employers in the selection of a wet nurse, of nannies. The process was not something she enjoyed, but it allowed her to reassure herself that the women they picked seemed gentle and loving, were well-qualified, and came highly recommended. She also realized then how little time her own child would actually spend with her – fears of being a horrible mother or not, the thought was a discomfiting one. Many of her daily duties as queen she was finally forced to give over to Anna or advisors; she was always uncomfortable, and was finding concentration increasingly difficult. The smallest things set her off – her husband one morning found her weeping over her frozen desk; her pen nib had snapped, and she could not find another. They tried to help, all of them, and she knew and appreciated it, particularly him and Anna. He rubbed away the worst of the permanent soreness in her lower back, brushed her hair each night, helping her to fall asleep. Anna came to assist with dressing – buttoning at the back, kneeling to tie boots. If Elsa thought about it too much, these things made her cry, too – because she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of it.

Elsa’s labor began as she sat at her desk, doggedly attempting to work, early one morning in May. She had slept badly the night before, unable to get comfortable, and doing something productive finally proved preferable to tossing and turning in bed. Discomfort had been her everyday state for quite some time now – and so now she attempted to ignore the pressure, the occasional mild cramping. She took deep breaths, tried to relax, focused on the papers before her. She was sorting – things she could still handle, things for Anna, things for her advisory council. Monotonous, soothing work. But the discomfort grew. It finally gripped her hard enough to make her gasp, grab the arms of her chair with tight fingers, tense and straighten, almost moving off the seat. She closed her eyes and rode it out – it lasted no more than half a minute, if that, but a moan of relief passed her lips nonetheless when it ended. The unusual pressure remained, but the pain, thankfully, was gone. She wanted desperately to dismiss it – a result of her finally falling asleep last night in a strange position, or maybe a minor illness. It could be any number of things. But her frightened mind knew exactly what it was, and would accept no excuses. She was having contractions.

The baby was coming. She finished sorting her papers – suddenly, inexplicably, it seemed vitally important that she finish. And all the books she had read, all of the articles – all agreed that the early stages of labor were long, very long, though none of the authors could quite agree on what a woman should do during that time. So Elsa spent the beginning of “that time” trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. She had two more contractions before her work was finished. Another as she was walking down the corridor to find her husband, putting a hand to the wall to support shaky legs, closing her eyes and biting down hard on her lower lip until the pain released her. She was shaking all over. There was frost on the wall where her fingers had pressed. For a long moment, she just stared at it, transfixed. “You can control it,” she whispered, hoping to convince herself – but she didn’t believe it. She crossed her arms tightly against the little space that was left to them, and moved on quickly. She didn’t want to meet anyone else in the hallways – she didn’t want anyone else to know. She felt vulnerable and exposed, like they would be able to tell just by looking at her. Her husband was in his study, as she had known he would be, several crumbly-paged books open around him and a notebook before him; he was scribbling frantically. He was dressed but had not combed back his hair, and the loose curls bouncing against his forehead made him look younger than his 39 years, almost boyish. Would their child have hair like his? The desperate desire to better understand the workings of the world, like both its parents? Elsa’s breath hitched, and that was when he realized she was there. He looked up, blinked, clearly trying to move his mind from his books, back into the real world. When it happened, she knew – he was up in an instant, moving around the desk, closer to her, eyes wide and worried. “Elsa, what is it? What’s wrong?” She looked down, at her arms crossed over the huge swell of her stomach, realizing for the first time that she had not taken the time to get dressed. She was still in her long nightgown, one of the ones that seemed to swallow her tiny frame whole, falling off her narrow shoulders. Her feet were bare, her hair falling in tangles to her lower back. She probably looked like a child, seeking reassurance from a nightmare. Except this nightmare was real. She opened her mouth to reply but the pain chose that moment to hit again, and her lips condensed around a desperate little moan. With nothing else available, she grabbed for him, and he pulled her close, so she shuddered against his chest until it was over. Then she just clung to him, desperate and afraid and fighting hard, so hard, against the chill creeping through her veins. He stroked her hair, spoke quietly: “Shh, my darling. Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Slowly, slowly, the shaking eased, her lungs relaxed, she could pull away before she hurt him. She clasped her hands together, protective, and looked at the floor. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Oh, Elsa…” He did touch her then, a finger under her chin to gently left her eyes to his. “Of course you can do this. You’re the strongest woman I know.” She forced a smile – wavery, but there. “How far apart?” “About… about a quarter hour?” “Then we have some time yet. Would you like to go for a walk?” She nodded, resisting the urge to cry with relief that she had still some time, time to try to get used to the idea, time to prepare herself. They went out to the courtyards – after stopping for her to put on slippers – and the morning was pleasantly cool, frost dappling fresh blooms, and Elsa felt almost calm as they made slow circuits of the gardens, her hand on his arm. He talked quietly about the workings of the plants, of flowers and fruit, a gentle, soothing monologue in that voice she loved so much. The contractions grew stronger, steadily closer together. She clung to him through each one, trying to keep quiet, trying to keep control. He timed them on his pocket watch, timed the length between as well. “Less than ten minutes,” he finally said, as she gulped desperate breaths and moved away from the ice beneath her feet – it would ruin the silk of her slippers. She was still in her nightgown, because what would be the point of going through the ordeal of dressing? “We’ll need to get inside and make preparations,” he went on, “but before we do – can you do something for me?” She looked at him, surprised, and nodded. “Next time the pain comes, try what we’ve practiced – controlled release. Do you think you can do that?” She squashed as well as she could the panic trying to grow in her chest. There were no words – she just nodded again, still staring at him, mute pleas for reassurance. He smiled at her. “You’re doing wonderfully, Elsa.” They walked on. He was leading them back towards the castle. She wanted to resist, to argue. She wanted to stay out here. She wanted it never to happen. She wanted it to be over. She said nothing. The next contraction hit so hard her legs gave out; he caught her, supported her. “Try it, Elsa.” More command in his voice now – breaking though the pain. “Gather and release. You know how to do this. Gather and release.” She groaned and dug her fingers into his arms, head hanging, pain the center of her world. But when she felt the familiar tendrils of cold, seeking a way out, she seized them, focused on drawing them back. Pressure in her hands as the same eased in her stomach – and she released him to splay her fingers out, power releasing in a single, condensed mass that dissipated away almost instantly. She collapsed against him with a desperate, relieved sob, and he pulled her close, stroking her hair again and whispering how proud he was of her. The next couple of hours were a whirlwind of activity, and Elsa was trapped and pinned at the very center of it. They had a room prepared, near the back stairs so anything needed could be delivered quickly; a fire was built, though Elsa did not really want one, to allow water to be heated. And he asked for water, and towels, and blankets, and a knife. The physician arrived and insisted on looking her over; the midwife came after and did the same; Elsa complied silently with both, already too exhausted and overwhelmed to protest. The midwife said it would likely be mid-afternoon when the baby arrived. Elsa did her very best to thank her with a smile – she seemed to have no words left at all. She paced the room during the blessed rare minutes when she was alone. Made herself sit when others came in – she was still the queen. She was always still the queen. And the queen must always, always appear in control of a situation. Even when all control had been wrested away from her. Finally, it was just her and him. Two large tubs of water, a kettle for heating it. The stack of towels, a smaller stack of blankets beside it. On the table by the door, the knife, a water glass, a roll of string, a roll of bandaging. In the center of the room, the bed Elsa had been trying not to look at or think about. And deep inside her, hard, muscular contractions that were now coming less than ten minutes apart – by her estimate, it was probably closer to five. “How are you?” he asked. He was kneeling near her chair, giving her space. She swallowed hard, told herself she wouldn’t cry. “Scared. I’m… I’m so scared.” He held a hand out; she took it, and he squeezed gently. “I know you are. But you’re doing so well. And it will be over soon.” She nodded. She could still feel the heat of tears behind her eyes. “Can I… Can you help me up?” “Of course.” He walked with her again, across the room and back, holding her through more contractions, gently encouraging her to gather and release, gather and release. She felt a flicker of irritation at him, more than once, but these she tamped down quickly – he was here. She wanted him here. He was only trying to help.

But the room was too hot, and her nightgown itched, and it hurt, it hurt so much, and she just wanted it over. God help her, that was all she wanted, all she would ever ask for. She wanted it to be over. With the next contraction, she felt something give, and gasped as warm liquid trickled down her legs. For the first time since their time in the gardens, she lost control – ice spread beneath her feet, frost climbed the walls. She stumbled away from him – a defense; don’t hurt him – and crossed protective arms across her abdomen. Then she burst into tears. He remained calm – always, so calm. She watched through her tears as he fetched a towel, approached her slowly. “It’s okay, Elsa. It’s really okay.” But it wasn’t, and she knew it wasn’t. She hunched, half-turning from him. “I can’t. I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t, I-” “Shh,” he murmured. He knelt, lifting her gown up, cleaning her legs. She was trembling almost too hard to stand. “Elsa. My darling Elsa. Shh.” “Please…” But she didn’t even know what she wanted. Except for this not to be happening. She could hurt him. Or the baby – he could be wrong. She couldn’t control herself. She was going to hurt the baby. She cried out as another contraction hit, her knees giving out; she sank to the floor and bent double, the pain making her gasp. “Gather and release,” he said. “I am!” Finally snapping, but somehow that brought her back to focus, and it was almost automatic now, gather-release-dissipate. She shuddered when it was over, still bent around herself, gasping for breath, too exhausted to move. He rubbed her back, shushed her softly until her breathing slowed almost to normal. “We need to get you to the bed, Elsa.” Mumbling to her knees, petulant: “I don’t want to.”

“The baby’s coming soon, my darling. You don’t want to be on the floor.” “It’s too hot. I want to go back outside.” She was whining. She didn’t care. “Elsa-” But a commotion in the hall cut him off – frantic running footsteps, shouting and apologetic murmuring, and then the door slamming open and the whirlwind admitting herself: Anna. She looked around for a minute, then her gaze fell on Elsa, still on the floor, and her mouth fell open in clear dismay. Elsa reacted immediately – trying to get to her feet, struggling for balance. When her husband offered a hand she grabbed it gratefully, standing to face her sister, to reassure her that everything was okay. Anna must have run the length of the castle – she was red in the face and breathing harder than Elsa. “Nobody told me! I had meetings all morning, and nobody told me. Elsa-” But Elsa held up her hands, a silent plea for calm. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I… I didn’t want to worry you.” In truth, she had not given Anna a thought – more of her selfishness. She had only been thinking of herself – her own worries, not Anna’s. Anna’s face softened. “Oh, Elsa – of course you didn’t. But I’m here now, I’m-” Another contraction hit, even harder and stronger now that her water had broken. Elsa turned her focus inwards, hardly hearing her own frantic gasps, concentrating again on calm, control, gather-and-release. When it was over, when she tried to straighten and smile, she found Anna staring at her, stricken. “Oh, Elsa…” she whispered. There were tears in her eyes. “It’s all right.” Forcing as normal a voice as she could manage, trying to hide her heavy breathing. “It’s… It’s almost over. Right?” Looking to her husband – needing so desperately for him to deal with Anna. Get her out.

Thankfully, he immediately nodded. “Right. It shouldn’t be long at all.” “I want to stay.” Elsa looked back to Anna, feeling her eyes widen, the panic that gripped her heart. “No. Anna, no. You can’t.” “I want to help!” “No. Anna, you have to-” But then the pain had her again, pain and pressure, and her mouth opened on a silent scream as her hands clawed at the air, until he grabbed them, spoke over the pounding of her heart, and it was all she could do to listen, because Anna was here, she had to keep herself under control, but oh, it hurt- “Elsa.” He still had her hands, but he was looking down; following his gaze, she saw blood on the floor. Hers. She pulled a hand away to cover her mouth, moaning, her legs swaying, threatening to give out. “We have to get you to the bed. Right now.” She nodded, still staring at the floor, lightheaded and faintly nauseated. Anna took one arm, but she didn’t have the strength to protest. She was shaking so hard that they did most of the work getting her up. Once on the bed, she turned away from them and curled, wrapping her arms around her middle. She hadn’t felt the baby move all day. She didn’t know if that was normal. “Elsa?” Anna’s voice, tears in it. And at that, Elsa burst into fresh tears of her own, rolling back to face her sister, ignoring the sudden drop in temperature: “Anna, please. Please. I need you to go. Now.” A contraction, and she had lost too much control already – she cried out and pulled desperately inside herself, fighting the contradictory urge to push and the pull of the magic, the need to keep it in. “Anna.” It was his voice now – the same soothing, reassuring tone Elsa knew so well. “Elsa fears… She’s worried she might hurt you.” “But-”

“I know. I really do. But right now – stress only makes it more difficult. For her, and for the baby.” Anna turned pleading eyes back to the bed. “Elsa?” Elsa forced a tremulous smile, reached out a hand for Anna to hold. “I’m sorry nobody told you. I… I didn’t know. But now – Anna, you know how this feels. If I can’t control it-” “But you can.” “But if I can’t.” Irritation flared again – this was why she hadn’t told Anna. Because Anna would not listen. She had never known how to listen. “You can wait just outside, okay?” Another contraction – they were so close together now, the urge to push so strong. She was shaking again, panting, forcing the words out: “Anna, please!” Anna was biting her lip. She was still holding Elsa’s hand. “Right outside?” “Right outside,” Elsa agreed. Anna smiled and squeezed her hand. “I know you can do it.” And then she was gone, pulling the door shut behind her – but a few moments later, Elsa heard a scraping sound, a decisive thump: Anna pulling a chair down the hall to sit, as she had been told she could, right outside. Elsa closed her eyes and let silent tears – pain, regret, desperation, love – flow freely down her face. Anna. It should have been Anna here, having another. Anna was a wonderful mother – playful and patient and kind. It should have been Anna. Her husband gave her time to calm herself – and to get through another contraction. He gave her a towel to wipe her face, brushed sweaty bangs gently back from her forehead. “I don’t think it will be long now.” It was a little over three hours. The longest three hours Elsa had ever experienced. The contractions came closer and closer together, more and more powerful, more painful, sending daggers through her hips, her legs, her back. She couldn’t breath through them, moaned and cried and gasped desperately for air after them. He coaxed her through both. He alternated between tasks now, in his usual, methodical manner – checking her progress, warming water, wetting a towel with the water still in the tubs to gently wipe her face, her neck. And when she held out her hand, he held it, stroked her fingers, until she was ready to let go. She first begged him to make it stop about an hour after moving to the bed. Pleaded and cried, shook, clung to him, clutched his arms. He tried to calm her. She didn’t want to be calmed. She got angry, shouted, let snow hang heavy in the air, ice climb the walls, wind and cold take rein. He only stopped her when she tried to put the fire out – she was still too warm, she was unhappy, she wanted him to suffer as she was. He had known this could happen – known, and never told her. “Elsa.” His voice was still very controlled, but firm. “Stop. We need the fire.” “I don’t. I never do.” “The baby does, Elsa.” Then she started to cry again, and he returned to soothing. She couldn’t get comfortable, and that upset her too. Her legs ached, her back; she rolled and adjusted, sat up and laid back down. Once, near the end, it suddenly seemed vitally important that she get up and go somewhere else – before she hurt someone. Hurt the baby. She had to go somewhere else. He had her shoulders then, gently but firmly keeping her where she was. “No, Elsa. No. It’s almost over, okay? Almost over.” “But I need to- please- I don’t want to-” “Elsa. Listen. Are you listening?” She nodded, trying to focus, to let him bring her back. “You are not going to hurt anyone. Okay?” She nodded again, closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. Okay.” “You’re almost there.” Squeezing her shoulders before moving back to check her again, gentle fingers moving her knees apart. “Almost there. Next time, I need you to try pushing, okay? I think it’s time.” At that, she wanted again to scream in frustration, except she didn’t have the energy. It was already everything she could do to gather-and-release with each long, miserable contraction – she couldn’t do anything else. She couldn’t. Tears streaming down her face again, as she let it all overwhelm her. But the next time the pain took hold, she pushed. She gathered, controlled, released, and she pushed. And she did it again. And again. Her whole world focused around it, concentrated, condensed. She could feel it building to a crescendo, tearing her apart, tearing, and she heard herself wail as if from some great distance, her body taut and arched as she bore down desperately. The pain was absolute, unending. She felt something soft being pressed against her hands – a towel – and she clutched it, feeling it freeze and stiffen under her fingers. Her eyes were squeezed shut, black and red behind her lids, and she could hear blood pounding in her ears; her heart beating madly, lungs screaming, and below there was pain, nothing but pain, hot, burning, tearing – and she wailed again, the last air she had, the last burst of energy. She felt something give – the pressure growing impossibly hard, and then releasing, going, sliding away. And then it was gone, the pain was gone, the pressure, and she fell back on the bed, clutching the frozen towel, sobbing in relief, in fear. She was trembling all over, her eyes closed against her tears.

There was a strange little noise from her husband – somewhere between a gasp and an attempt to speak. And he said, “Elsa-” Then she heard the cries begin. Crying. Her eyes flew open and she pushed herself up on her elbows, exhaustion forgotten, the towel finally dropping from her hands. And there, in his splayed, bloody hands, red and wrinkled and wailing – a baby. Hers. Hers. And Elsa burst into fresh tears, but she was happy, so happy, relieved and awestruck and euphoric, absolutely euphoric. She held her arms out, purely on instinct, and he laughed, told her just a minute, let’s get the cord cut and get her cleaned up. “Her?” Elsa’s voice was hoarse, soft – hesitant. “Her,” he confirmed, and grinned that same impossibly sunny smile he could never fully hold back. “A beautiful little girl.” Elsa followed his every move, smiling – unable to help it – at the indignant wails of a first washing. She was tired, sore, and terrified – but none of those things seemed nearly as pressing as watching them. Her husband. Her daughter. Her daughter. He brought her over swaddled warm and quiet in a blanket, helped Elsa sit up against the pillows. And then he placed her in Elsa’s arms – she felt them tuck so naturally around this tiny, perfect creature, still red-faced but silent now, trying to focus up at Elsa with blue, impossibly blue eyes. Elsa shuddered, bit her lip. Stared into those eyes. Drank in the tiny nose, the little bow of a mouth, the tufty hair that even half-dry had a distinctly reddish tint. “Hi,” she whispered. Her husband gently smoothed her hair back again, kissed her forehead. “You did wonderfully, darling.” He stroked the baby’s cheek with one finger. “Wonderfully.” “Thank you.” She was still whispering. She didn’t want to do anything to destroy this perfect calm. “Are you all right?” “Fine. I’m… I’m fine.” She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look away. He stroked her hair again. “I need to find the midwife. She’ll want to make sure everything’s okay. And the wet nurse, for the first feeding.” Elsa looked at him now, for the first time since taking her daughter into her arms. “First feeding?” “They recommend it within the first hour.” “Oh.” She looked down again, into those perfect eyes that seemed lock on her own. “All right.” “Would you like a few minutes alone with her?” “I…” She was still discomfited, for reasons she could not seem to fully grasp. “Yes. I’d like that, yes.” She could hear the smile in his voice: “How long should I make Anna wait?” She forced a smile too, knowing he would notice if she didn’t. “Five minutes. Or… or just a couple. If she can manage that long.” He chuckled and kissed her forehead again, and then was gone; Elsa could hear the murmur of voices, Anna’s delighted cry – she must have been told it was a girl. Footsteps walking away. Then silence. And Elsa was alone with her daughter. The baby was still staring up at her, blinking and trying to focus, pursing her tiny lips. First feeding. Elsa bit her lip. Hers. Her daughter. Hers. She shifted the baby to one arm, lifted her other trembling hand up to the shoulder of her nightgown, pulled it down. Took a deep breath. Her heard was pounding. She cupped her hand beneath her breast – breathing through her mouth, eyes wide and wet – and shifted the baby again. Watched as instinct kicked in almost at once. When Anna tentatively stuck her head around the door several minutes later, Elsa was sobbing openly, holding her nursing daughter close and warm against her chest. She smiled through her tears. “She’s mine. Oh, Anna, look, she’s mine.” Anna was grinning, still in the doorway, her own face shining, tears and delight. Elsa’s.

They named her Johanna, for the queen regent who had ruled until Elsa’s father had come of age – Elsa and Anna’s grandmother. But Anna shook her head when they told her. “That’s too much for a tiny little thing. Jenny. She’s a Jenny.” And Jenny she was.

Three months later, Anna found Elsa’s husband at the open door of Elsa’s study, apparently transfixed. Inside, she could hear baby Jenny beginning to fuss. “What are you doing?” He smiled and put a finger to his lips, nodded into the room: watch. Anna leaned past him in time to see Elsa put her pen down and rise from her desk, lifting Jenny carefully from the bassinet in the corner. She walked up and down the room slowly, a gentle, rolling walk, holding the baby to her shoulder with one hand, rubbing circles against her back with the other, singing a soft, lilting lullaby Anna could vaguely remember their own mother singing. Jenny’s cries turned quickly to soft, hiccuping little noises, then more gradually to the contented murmurs of resumed sleep. Elsa returned to her desk, sitting smoothly, back straight and regal. Still holding her sleeping daughter against her shoulder with one hand, she picked up her pen and resumed work with the other, as if she had never stopped. “Whoa,” Anna whispered. “Yes. Exactly how I feel.” “Nothing that women haven’t done for all eternity,” Elsa countered – Anna suspected she had been fully aware they were out there the whole time. “Now out, both of you. I have work to do.” There was no wet nurse for Jenny, no nannies or maids. She was Elsa’s.

#frozen #frozen fanfiction #sweet joy befall thee #shardsverse #jenny makes a triumphant return

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amostexcellentblog · 2 years ago

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Every Judy Movie-#34

Way, way back in High School I set out to watch every single one of Judy Garland’s movies. Several I’ve rewatched many times since, others I had no desire to see again. Now, in honor of the centennial of her birth, I thought I’d do something with this knowledge and make a quick write up of my thoughts on all of them...

Title: I Could Go On Singing

Release Year: 1963

Plot Summary: Jenny Bowman (Garland), a famous singer, arrives in London for a series of sold-out concerts. Her true motive for the extended stay is revealed when she visits the recently widowed surgeon David Donne (Dirk Bogarde) intending to see their son. The product of a brief affair, Matt (Gregory Phillips) has been raised by his father and never told the truth about his parentage. Soap opera set up leads to inevitable heartbreak when Matt chooses his father over her. Heartbroken, she declares she’s giving up her career, but ultimately can’t resist the pull of the stage.

Thoughts: Well, here we are, the end of the yellow brick road. Garland’s final film is neither the triumphant send off she deserved, nor as embarrassing a later-career entry as those you’ll find on some of her contemporaries’ IMDB pages. It’s an awkward mix of music and melodrama, that’s somehow both the most contrived and autobiographical movie she ever made.

The movie’s biggest flaw is that the son, who should be at the center of the drama, never feels like a fully realized character so we the audience never get truly invested in his tentative bond with his mother. The saving grace of the film, in addition to the songs and Garland’s committed performance, is the final 20 minutes or so when David has to convince Jenny to honor her commitment to perform that evening. Bogarde and Garland rewrote the scene themselves, and several of Garland’s lines parallel statements she later made in tape recordings intended for a never-written autobiography. It’s a stunning, powerfully acted scene that feels raw and honest in a way everything that happened prior to it doesn’t. The follow-up scene where she returns to the stage was also deliberately autobiographical, modeled on the real bond she had with her loyal audiences, whom she would often joke with as if they were old friends.

It’s a very flawed film, but beneath the character and storyline, it’s also a fascinating portrait of what Judy Garland was like in the last years of her life. And maybe that’s all the final film of one of the greatest entertainers in history needs to be.

Can Be Enjoyed By: Diehard Fans Only | Casual Fans/Fans of Musicals in General | Essential Viewing for Everyone... Honestly, a case can be made for each of these categories.

#i could go on singing #Judy Garland #Every Judy Movie

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mldrgrl · 4 years ago

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Broken things 3/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Melvin is out the door as soon as Mulder is in eyesight of the ranch house. He can see the older man step out onto the porch and then stand a little taller and pull the tails of his vest taut.

“Am I wrong, or does my nose detect the makings of noon dinner on the stove?” Mulder calls.

“With the size of that nose, you’re probably smelling what’s cooking in Fort Worth,” Melvin answers back.

Mulder chuckles and brings Blondie to a stop in front of the house. He motions for Katherine’s bag and then takes her hand while she gathers her skirts and brings her leg over the side of the horse. He holds her about the waist to help her down and she pitches forward slightly and ends up pressed close to him. He eases her to her feet and keeps his arm around her for maybe a bit too long, but it feels nice to him to have her there.

“Who’s this marvelous young lady you brung to us?” Melvin asks, and the moment is broken.

“She’s called Katherine,” Mulder answers. “Send Trevor on out to put up Blondie, I’d like to bring our guest in and introduce her. Set another plate for dinner.”

“Trevor,” Melvin calls over his shoulder. He takes a small hop down from the porch and reaches for Katherine’s hand. “Melvin Frohike at your service. Welcome to Broke In, lovely lady.”

“The name of the ranch,” Mulder explains to Katherine. “Alright, settle down, old man. You act as though you haven’t seen a pretty woman before.” He kicks Melvin lightly in the seat of his pants just as the young ranch hand that he had requested be sent out appears on the porch with a napkin tucked into his shirt. “Trevor, excuse me for interrupting your dinner, could you please put Blondie up?”

“Yes, Sir.” The boy takes the lead from Mulder and takes the horse away.

“Alright, come in, come in,” Mulder says.

Melvin scurries down the dogtrot ahead of Mulder and Katherine. “You boys make yourselves presentable, we got a lady in the house,” he calls.

There’s a scraping of chairs and utensils. Richard and Jimmy jump to their feet, wiping their mouths on their napkins. Jesse stays sitting, slurping from his bowl until he looks up and then jumps up as well, spilling stew on the table and dribbling on his chin.

Mulder removes his hat as they move down the broad hall and hangs it on a peg just outside the door of the dining area. He hangs Katherine’s sack there beside his hat and guides her into the room ahead of him.

“Boys,” he says. “This is Katherine. She’ll be joining us for dinner and then accompanying me into town. Katherine, that blonde beanpole over there to the left is Richard, and then we have Jimmy beside him and the creature without any table manners is his brother Jesse.”

“Ma’am,” they all murmur.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Katherine answers.

“Go ahead and sit yourself here,” Mulder says, pulling out the chair at the head of the table for her. After she sits, the rest of the men do as well, glancing at her and each other as though they’re searching for the proper etiquette to resume their meal. Melvin is already ladling out a bowl of stew for her and he passes it to her along with a spoon and a napkin.

“Some lemonade, Madam?” Melvin asks. “We got cold tea or coffee too if’n you have druthers.”

“The lemonade would be fine, thank you.”

As Mulder dishes out his own dinner, he observes there’s a slight tremor in Katherine’s hand when she picks up her spoon. He also notices that her breathing is slightly labored, coming short and fast from parted lips. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but with nothing in that sod house, this might be her first meal in some time.

“Melvin, do you think we might still have a tin of soda crackers in one of those cupboards?” he asks.

“I reckon we sure might.” The little man hops up from the table and begins to search the cabinets. He returns triumphant with a tin which he hands off to Mulder. Mulder opens it and then passes it across the table to Katherine.

“Stew might be a little heavy for this time of day unless you’ve been laboring,” Mulder says. “The crackers will soak up the broth nicely though.”

“Thank you,” she answers, with a nod, taking the tin from him.

Normally, the boys rush through noon dinner, eager to get back to their chores and the horses, but they eat slowly. Jesse even attempts to hold a spoon, which Mulder has never seen him do before. Trevor returns and has to squeeze his way into a place at the bench seating beside Richard and Jimmy. Melvin dominates the conversation with business chatter, giving Mulder a run down on what some of the horses have been up to all morning.

One by one, Jesse, Richard, Jimmy, and then finally Trevor excuse themselves to continue their work. Each man brings his bowl and cup to a wash basin near the stove and they nod politely to Katherine before they leave. Mulder asks Trevor to please hitch up the Tilbury to go into town shortly. Melvin gets up to start cleaning dishes and Katherine quickly rises as well.

“I can help,” she says.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Melvin answers, waving his napkin at her. “You are our guest of honor, my dear, and you won’t lift a finger.”

“Don’t you worry about him,” Mulder says, wiping his mouth before he rises from his seat. “Let me show you the place before we leave.”

She looks to Melvin. “If you’re sure I can’t help.”

“You go on with Mulder.”

“Well, now, you’ve seen our kitchen and dining area, let’s come back through the dogtrot and I’ll show you the rooms.”

“The dogtrot?”

“That’s what we call this open hall here. We keep the front door open most days and the back door as well. It’s good for circulation. In case you hadn’t noticed, it can reach the same temperature as hellfire out here on the coldest summer day. This helps with the heat.”

“That’s quite clever.”

“I thought so as well. Now this first door on the left is where I sleep. And this one here to the right will be yours, if you decide to stay on.”

“Mine?”

“It’s a guest room right now. Occasionally there’s a need for people that travel through for business dealings with me to have a place to stay.”

“I can’t take that, then. I could easily just take a bit of space in the kitchen. If I stay on, that is.”

“You will do no such thing.” Mulder opens the door to the room. “It’s not much but the necessities right now but you can make it up however you like.”

Sensing a protest coming, Mulder moves them on to the last room, across from the kitchen and dining area. He has saved the best for last in the hopes of impressing her. He pauses with his hand on the knob.

“This is the washroom,” he says.

↭

She’s feeling overwhelmed. Mulder has just shown her a room, in the house, which holds a copper and wooden bathing tub and an indoor pump and stove for heating water. He tries to explain a system of pipes and wells and how they work, but he gives up and tells her he actually doesn’t have a clue how it really operates, just that it does. The boys, he says, don’t trust it, and prefer to go into town for a Saturday night bath and shave. Not only that, in the back of the room there’s a closet which is really a privy. She’s never seen anything like it.

After they leave the washroom, the tour of the ranch continues out of the back door. A rather large water tower stands some yards away. To the east of the main house is a bunkhouse the ranch hands share and to the west of the house is a barn, stables, and a corral. She’s surprised to learn that there are more than just horses kept here. In fact there are chickens, two cows, several hogs and a handful of suckling pigs, some sheep, two goats, and a black and white herding dog called Queenie.

“We call her that because she thinks she runs the place,” Mulder says.

“Mulder!” Richard calls from the barn door. “Trevor says you want the carriage hitched up. You want the hackney since Faithful Jenny needs to break in the new shoe?”

“That’s fine,” Mulder tells him. Richard tips his hat in acknowledgment and disappears back into the barn.

“How many horses do you have here?” Katherine asks.

“Right now, fifteen. Six of them should be leaving us by the month’s end and then I’ll be bringing back more to replace them.”

“What do you do with them?”

“Take care of the ones that need taking care of. For the others, break them, train them up. Sell them. Board them at times.”

“I can see why you prefer the land I was on. Why you’d want it.”

“You can?”

“It’s flatter. More prairie grass. And full access to the creek.”

“All true.”

Richard and Trevor interrupt the conversation by bringing the carriage out with a horse the color of mahogany and a black mane. All four of the horse’s legs are snow white and it has a white diamond just above the nose. She almost gasps it’s such a breathtaking creature.

“That’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen,” she says.

“You like her?”

“She’s so...majestic.”

“That is precisely why she earned the name Lady. Let’s go get your bag and then we’ll head on into town.”

He insists she borrow a leather valise to use instead of her burlap sack and she transfers her meager possessions into the case. He carries the bag for her out to the carriage and ties it to a shelf just under the seat. He helps her up and once she’s settled, he and Richard unfold an accordion top to shade them from the sun.

The carriage rides a little smoother than a wagon. It bounces a bit and moves fast. She’s only been to town one time and she’s unfamiliar with the road. The land is so vast and it all looks the same. She can’t believe she had been considering walking to Fort Worth. She would never make it if she tried.

“You know all there is to know about me,” Mulder says. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“I’m sure I don’t know all that there is.”

“Everything important, I would say.”

Her palms begin to sweat and she hides her hands in the folds of her skirt. If she tells him everything about herself, he might change his mind about everything. He might not be so kind to her. She doesn’t feel right about deceiving such a nice man, but there are things she must withhold for now. At least until she’s absolutely certain he would not look at her differently or think less of her.

“I’m not very interesting,” she says.

“You said you’re from Virginia. Whereabouts?”

“Norfolk.”

“What’s your family name?”

She hesitates for a beat to decide if it’s too much. “O’Brien,” she finally answers. It’s a half-truth. The O’Brien are her mother’s people.

“Irish? Did your people immigrate from the famine?”

“I don’t know.”

“Brothers or sisters?”

“I told you before, there’s no one.”

“Yes, you did tell me.”

He doesn’t ask her any more questions and she feels a bit ashamed of herself for rebuffing him. She takes a few surreptitious glances at him to see if he might be affronted, but he appears to be passively concentrating on driving the carriage.

“Would you like to try?” he asks.

“Try what?”

“Driving the carriage.”

“This carriage?”

He laughs. “I don’t see another out here. You can’t do any damage, here, take the lines.”

“Oh, no, I…”

“Sure you can.” He pulls the carriage to a stop and then passes the lines over to her. “You’re driving from the right, so with your left hand, just lay the strap down over your index finger and hold it down with your thumb.”

“Alright.” She does as he asks and then looks to him for further instruction.

“And now slide this strap between the third and fourth fingers of your right hand, like so.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect. I’m going to slide the whip into the grip of your right hand here and you’ll keep it angled with the natural tilt of your wrist. Now, you just tickle Lady’s back lightly and tell her to walk.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. This road is pretty straight so there shouldn’t be any worries. If she acts up, I’m right here. And if your arms tire, let me know.”

“Alright.” Her heart quickens a bit so she can feel it thump against her chest and she sits up straighter in the seat.

“Keep the lines slack as well, just like you’re doing now.”

“Okay.” She turns her wrist a little so that the tassel that dangles from the end of the whip lightly touches the horse’s back. “Lady, walk now, please.”

Mulder laughs and she smiles broadly when the horse starts to walk forward. Her grip on the lines feels awkward and unnatural and it takes more effort than she thought it would to keep them slack and light. Her back and shoulders are soon sore, but she does not want to give up the control that quickly. Maybe ten minutes pass before she tires to the point that her arms grow heavy.

“I think I need to stop now,” she says.

“Put a bit of pressure on the lines, very slowly.”

“Whoa,” she says, but the horse does not stop.

“Whoa, Lady,” Mulder calls, and he covers Katherine’s hands with his own, adding the appropriate amount of pressure to bring her to a stop.

His hands linger and her heart quickens again. She wants more of something in that moment that she can’t understand or describe. She imagines turning her palms up to him and letting her fingers slide into his. She imagines pressing a little closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. She imagines him putting his arm around her. She imagines a peace that she’s never even experienced before.

His hands move off of hers and she gives him control of the lines and sits back, rubbing her hands over each other to work out a little of the soreness in her wrists. He starts the carriage forward again and announces that they should be in town shortly.

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 3 #au #msr

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kpop-zone · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Longer pt.3 | Jennie

Warnings: indicated smut, mentioning of blood, a few curse words, alcohol abuse

Wordcount: 4,765

A/N: Sorry guys for the mini hiatus, I just got really caught up writing this and forgot writing anything else. This story is still not finished, but I really wanted to post something, so here’s Part 3 for now. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Part 1 Part 2

Jennie giggled silently as she stumbled through the hallway to the living room.

“This one looks like a butt.”

She laughed when she looked at one of Jiyong’s paintings. Fascinated, she paused in front of it while taking a few more sips from a bottle that she had stolen from the kitchen. Loud chatter from the living room, however, reminded her again what she was doing here in the first place.

“Oh right, I can’t let the nobs wait.”

Shakily, Jennie continued her way until she reached the entrance of the living room. The guests inside were all engaged in a lively conversation and their happy faces were disgusting her. They were all so pretentious and selfish. After another hefty sip from the bottle, Jennie put it down in the hallway and stumbled into the room. Not everyone noticed her right away but after she accidentally ran into a cabinet in the process of trying to walk straight, all heads turned the same time. Jennie tried her best to play it off, but when she noticed your gaze resting on her, her knees felt even weaker than before. The way to her seat suddenly seemed to be seven miles long; especially because the whole room was spinning. But eventually, she plopped down on her chair, feeling the eyes of the other guests burning holes into her.

“Excuse my interruption, I haven’t eaten anything today and was feeling a little dizzy.”

Jennie uttered tediously, feeling like her tongue was heavy like lead. Sheepishly, she let her gaze wander around the faces in the room. Some were still staring at her skeptically, but soon all of them flashed her a reprieving smile before returning to their conversation.

“Back to what I was saying. I think that actress must be an arrogant diva. Denying a fan an autograph? As if she didn’t owe her whole career to her fans...”

The same man that had made the inappropriate comment about your plus one (Jennie refused to call her your girlfriend) scoffed, and Jennie couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. Usually she was already used to dimwitted remarks like that, but the alcohol had unfortunately lowered her level of tolerance.

“Yeah right, because she belongs to the public, doesn’t she?”

Jennie snarled, feeling her bottled-up emotions threatening to burst. The guy looked like a ghost had just appeared in front of him, apparently not being used to someone talking back.

“No, that’s not what I meant. But celebrities hold a certain responsibility that they can’t just discard.”

He responded self-opinionated, causing Jennie to laugh bitterly. She was tired of people making her feel like they were omniscient and had complete power over her.

“Responsibility? Responsibility for what? To make a wimp like you feel powerful?”

After Jennie’s statement the whole room fell quiet. Her words had been harsh, but they were true, so she didn’t even think about apologizing. With a triumphant smirk she looked into the dumbfounded face of the guy, watching how he struggled with his words.

“Jennie, you must be drunk. We don’t know you like that.”

Hyerim, another one of her so called “friends”, broke the silence in order to safe him from further embarrassment.

But Jennie had had enough of this.

Everyone at this table could go to hell as far as she cared. They were stuck in their own little worlds, too occupied with themselves to try to emphasize with someone else. And she couldn’t stand being in such a toxic environment right now. Therefore, Jennie pushed her chair back with force, causing it to loudly fall over before storming out of the room without any further explanation.

“Such an asshole!!”

She yelled in the hallway after slamming the front door shut before weaving to the elevator.

This whole dinner had been a dead loss and Jennie regretted having talked Jiyong into hosting it. Angrily, she kicked against the elevator door because she had to wait way too long to finally be able to leave this godforsaken place. But even after she had left the building, Jennie couldn’t calm down. The alcohol had failed its purpose to make her numb and had stirred up all her emotions instead. It felt like her whole system was overheating. Her brain was working at full capacity, her heart was slamming against her ribcage and all of her senses were desperately trying to fight against the influence of the alcohol.

Therefore, Jennie had to take several breaks on the way to her car as her stomach needed to get rid of the toxic liquid that was clogging her system. With shaking hands, she eventually reached the car and rummaged around in her handbag until she pulled out her car key to unlock her car. It almost slipped out of her hand, but after fidgeting a while, Jennie finally managed to press the right button. Just when she was about to open the door though, she suddenly got yanked around.

“You’re not driving like that.”

Out of nowhere, you were suddenly standing in front of her, your voice being able to freeze the ocean and your face absolutely unreadable.

“Let go off me!”

With a harsh movement, Jennie ripped herself free from your grasp and huffed in annoyance.

“Give me the key.”

You said calmly while holding out your hand, but Jennie wasn’t even thinking about giving it to you.

“No.”

Childishly, she wrapped her fingers even tighter around it and hid it behind her back.

“Could you please stop behaving like a five-year old?”

Your patience seemed to run out and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“Could you please stop meddling in things that are none of your business? Just go back to your perfect girlfriend.”

Jennie bickered back, apparently striking a nerve according to the sour expression on your face.

“Leave her out of this.”

You snarled, but Jennie’s torn open wounds and the alcohol in her system prevented her from knowing her limits.

“Why? Is she even too good for me to take her name into my mouth? I mean, I understand. She’s really beautiful and her clothes weren’t cheap either, so she has to be wealthy. Must really be a little Miss Perfect.”

She could see that you were gritting your teeth in anger, but you kept calm.

“Just give me the keys, Jennie...”

You sounded like you were tired of this charade, but Jennie was in full spate and didn’t want to stop now.

“We shouldn’t do this to Miss Perfect. You should go back to her and tell her what an awful person I am. Isn’t this why she is here? So you can spite me? To make me realize what a failure I am and-“

Jennie didn’t get to finish her sentence before you finally snapped and cut her short.

“Oh cut the self-pity! You know why she is here tonight? Because she was there for me and you weren’t!”

You huffed in frustration before turning around and storming off, leaving Jennie alone in front of her car.

Why couldn’t you have said that Subin was there because she was prettier than her? Jennie even would have accepted if you had called her nicer. No words could have hurt her more than the ones that you had used.

She was there for me and you weren’t.

Of course, Jennie hadn’t been there for you. How could she have? She had chosen her career over you after all. The one time, Jennie could have proven her love for you, she failed to. Tears started streaming down her cheeks and a silent sob escaped her lips. She just wanted to go home now and lock herself in her dark bedroom forever.

With her shoulders slouched, Jennie turned around to get into the car, but once more, she was stopped last minute. Someone yanked the keys out of her hand, causing her to look back in shock.

You again.

“Get in the passenger seat.”

You growled and this time your face wasn’t unreadable. Anger was written all over it and even your voice trembled, carrying the power of your emotions. Immediately, Jennie realized her limits and obediently walked around the car to get in the passenger seat. After fastening her seatbelt, she turned her head to look at you insecurely. She had never seen you like this before. Your eyes seemed to be spitting fire and your knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too hard.

Maybe this night hadn’t only taken a toll on her.

Faster than usual, you sped through the nearly empty streets of the sleeping city while Jennie didn’t dare to utter a word. There didn’t seem to be anything left of the weak pushover that she had toyed around with during your last encounter. It seemed like it was true what people said. What didn’t kill you, did make you stronger; at least you could be the living proof of that. After all the games that she had played with you, all the wounds that she had caused you, you were finally standing up to her.

It was the perfect wakeup call. What had she been thinking? She had promised Jiyong that she would accept your decision tonight. No matter whether you would decide to give her a chance or not. And Subin was a very clear sign that you were not willing to mend things with her. But instead of keeping her promise, she had made a scene like the selfish monster she was. In shame, Jennie let her head hang and bore this suffocating silence, knowing that she deserved your anger. It seemed like the ride home lasted all night, but after an excruciating long time, the steady noise of the engine finally ceased, and you parked the car in front of her apartment.

There were a thousand things that Jennie wanted to say, but she didn’t have enough courage to do so. She just wanted to stick to her initial plan and hide in her dark bedroom forever. Therefore, Jennie quickly threw open the car door and bolted out of the car. The front door of the building was close, yet so far for someone that had an undefinable cocktail of diverse liquors in their stomach. Jennie’s legs just didn’t work like they were supposed to, and she could only just feel her knees giving in when her face already moved towards the ground in a rapid pace. Before it was about to collide painfully though, something wrapped around Jennie’s waist and stopped her fall. She felt herself getting straightened up again and she turned around in confusion, only to find herself standing face to face with you. You were merely inches in front of her to the extent that your torsos were touching; yet you weren’t moving away. Your feet were firmly planted on the ground and Jennie felt shivers running down her spine due to the proximity. Automatically, her gaze flickered to your lips, feeling an unbearable desire to close the distance. Only the knowledge that you were seeing someone else right now was holding her back. But why weren’t you pushing her away? Could it be that you wanted this too? Jennie’s face moved closer to yours like your lips were magically drawing her in. You still didn’t push her away; it would be so easy to get the taste that she was craving.

No.

Jennie jumped back as if someone had just scared her. You were taken. She wouldn’t seduce you. Jiyong had told her that you were finally happy, and she couldn’t selfishly temper with your happiness. Not again. Regret filled Jennie, thinking back about the breakup and the incident at Jiyong’s vernissage. She had never even apologized to you.

“Y/N, I’m s-“

She choked out but she didn’t get to finish as you pressed your finger on her lips.

“Sh.”

You shushed her, causing her to look at you with wide eyes.

You almost had a smug look on your face, leaving Jennie completely confused. But you didn’t seem to care about an explanation. Instead, you suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the entrance of the building. Perplexed, Jennie let you drag her and stumbled behind you without talking back. Together you stepped into the empty elevator, but Jennie wished that someone would be there with you. The tension was making her heart beat five times faster and she gulped thickly when you suddenly stepped in front of her. Like a tiger on the hunt, you silently crept closer, causing her to walk backwards until she reached the wall.

“Why did you get wasted tonight? Can’t you stand to see another woman touching me?”

You asked with a cocky smile on your lips, catching Jennie off guard. She didn’t know what to answer. You were right, but she didn’t want to admit that. Therefore, she tried to shake her head, but her gesture was barely noticeable.

“Did you miss me?”

At last, you had closed the final distance between the two of you and softly pressed your body against hers, causing Jennie to gasp. She could feel your breath on her face, but you didn’t stop moving closer. Your lips were so close that Jennie could almost taste them. But just when they were about to touch, a ringing sound could be heard, indicating that the elevator had reached the right floor. The door opened and you pushed yourself off her with a smirk. Jennie inhaled shakily to recollect herself, but right in that moment, you grabbed her wrist again to drag her behind you. Apparently, her nightmare disguised as a daydream wasn’t over yet. With big steps you crossed the hallway until you were standing in front of her apartment door.

“Unlock.”

You ordered firmly, causing Jennie to flinch.

Immediately, she started rummaging in her bag to search for the keys, but she was too nervous to steady her hands. You had completely thrown her off balance and all the sensory impressions around her were too much for her to take in. In her mind, she still tried to process the scenario in the elevator just now, causing her to lose focus and making it impossible to find the keys. Eventually, you huffed impatiently and yanked the bag out of her hands to get the keys yourself. You merely needed a second before you had found the desired item and cleared the way into her apartment.

Roughly, you pushed Jennie inside before slamming the door shut and pressing her against it. All she could do was to stare at you with wide eyes as you smirked smugly. Slowly, you lifted your hand and tugged a strand of hair behind her ear before letting your finger graze her jawline. Jennie’s eyelids automatically fluttered close due to the sensation and she felt like she was melting under your touch.

“Perfect.”

You whispered, your mouth being so close next to her ear that shivers ran down Jennie’s spine.

When she opened her eyes again, you were staring at her intently and Jennie immediately got lost in your eyes. How she had missed being so close to you. She didn’t know why anyone would ever think that she had power over you when in reality, it was the exact opposite. One word from you and she was quiet; one touch and her heart jumped out of her chest; one look like the one that you were giving her right now and she could feel heat spreading in her core. She just couldn’t bear this tension anymore. She knew that you were having fun right now while teasing her, but she needed to taste your lips at least. Hastily, she leaned forward to grab your hips in order to pull you in, but she grasped at nothing, almost causing her to fall over. You had suddenly taken a step back, causing Jennie to stare at you in confusion.

“Sucks to be left high and dry, doesn’t it?”

You chuckled with an evil smile playing on your lips and Jennie wondered if she had misheard your statement. With her hands still hovering in the air, she stood frozen in place, unable to say a single word, much to your amusement. An ugly laugh caused your chest to tremble and Jennie flinched in shock.

“Oh you are adorable.”

You sighed, although the mockery was not to miss hearing.

“And so, so dumb...”

Slowly, Jennie realized what was going on, but her heart refused to believe it.

“You think, you’re so good, don’t you? You think that just one look will make me fall for you again, right? But you’re wrong. You can’t satisfy me. You never could.”

There was pure disgust in your voice that caused tears to pool in Jennie’s eyes.

“Did you think our little quickie had been enough to make me forget about everything you’ve done? I have always needed more. I wanted your love, Jennie. But a monster like you can’t give me that. I know that now.”

As you kept talking, Jennie felt herself drifting away mentally. She heard your words, she felt them cutting deep into her heart, into her soul, but she couldn’t bring herself to fight back. She didn’t care about the pain anymore. It was what she deserved after all.

“But Subin can give me what I want. She can give me so much more than you. You are nothing but selfish, pathetic and incapable of love. You’ve proven that over and over again. Did you really think, I would ever come back to you?”

You scoffed sardonically, causing Jennie to feel more mortified than ever before. Yes, once again, she had hoped that she could be good enough for you. And once again, she had proven that she wasn’t.

Jennie didn’t know how long you kept mocking her. It felt like hours. Every word dug a little deeper into her chest and in the end, a huge hole was ripped into it, causing a torrent of blood to gush out of her heart. She felt like a ghost and apparently that was truly all that was left of her, because you didn’t bother to let her defend herself. Instead, you turned on your heel as soon as you were done talking and left her standing there in her misery.

Jennie wished that you had just talked a little longer. Maybe your words could have made the hole in her chest consume her completely, instead of leaving behind the zombie that she was right now. Half dead, half alive and the only antidote to her slow death had just walked out of her life.

---

As you bolted through the front door of the apartment building, you gasped for air as if you had been holding your breath since setting foot in this place. What had you done? That couldn’t have been you. You weren’t one to play dirty; much less one to take revenge. But after Jennie had stumbled into your arms and you had seen the regret and desire in her eyes, you knew that she would be an easy victim. For once, you had the upper hand. You could give her a taste of her own medicine.

But it seemed like you had given yourself a hefty sip of it too. There was a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, and you didn’t feel as glorious as you thought you would. You felt like throwing up. You tumbled over in the little front yard of the apartment complex, but nothing left your body. Because it wasn’t your stomach that was rebelling against you. It was your bad conscious. You didn’t know how Jennie could have survived her games with you unscathed. The picture of her petite figure standing in front of you hunched in pain was engraved into your brain now. And even worse, it had carved into your heart too, ripping it into two.

“Damn it!!”

You yelled, ramming your fist against the tree next to you, causing the skin around your knuckles to break open. Blood was dripping to the floor, but you couldn’t care less.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way. You shouldn’t have feelings for Jennie anymore. But why did it hurt so much right now? Why had you almost discarded your plan and kissed her senseless up there? Yes, Jennie had been your drug. But you had been sober for a while now. How long would it take until you finally had her out of your system? Your world shouldn’t revolve around Jennie anymore, it should revolve around...

Subin.

In shock, you ripped your head up, remembering that you had left your girlfriend at a table with a bunch of strangers after giving a highly questionable excuse why you had to chase after Jennie. Subin knew that she was your ex, but you might have left out a few details concerning your relationship. Your girlfriend knew that Jennie had broken your heart, but she didn’t know that it had never mended ever since. And she should never learn. Therefore, you needed to get back to her. Since storming out of Jinyong’s apartment too much time had already passed, and you weren’t sure whether Subin was still waiting for you there. Plus, you didn’t really want to go back again and explain yourself. It would be for the best if you would just go home and simply send Jiyong an apologetic text for being a bad guest. For now, Subin was your priority.

Determined, you walked to the street, only to curse a second later when you realized that you hadn’t come here with your own car. With an annoyed huff, you pulled out your phone to order a car which would cost you precious time that you didn’t have. But there was nothing that you could do. Reluctantly, you waited for the car before ordering the driver to bring you home. Nervously, you sat in the backseat, bouncing your leg and thinking about the consequences of tonight. How would your girlfriend react? You hadn’t only ditched her, you had ditched her for your ex-girlfriend; who you had almost seduced. Frustrated, you grasped your hair. This was a disaster.

“Rough night, hm?”

The driver chuckled from the front seat and you flashed him a tired smile. You weren’t in the mood for jokes right now. You needed an adequate solution. For one, you had to apologize to your girlfriend. A difficult task, but not impossible. For two, you had to get Jennie out of your system. That, on the other hand, was a borderline insane task which needed thorough planning which you weren’t capable of doing tonight. Therefore, you chose to stick to the easier task for now.

You needed to make an overwhelmingly good apology to your girlfriend and you already knew where to begin with that.

“Can we stop by the next convenience store please?”

There was nothing that a sincere apology and some flowers couldn’t fix, so you ordered the driver to make a little stopover. A quick solution which allowed you to find yourself in front of Subin’s apartment 15 minutes later with a bouquet of flowers in your hands and a drafted apology in your head. You looked up at the building from the car, seeing that there was still light in Subin’s windows and you inhaled deeply to calm your nerves.

“You’ve got this buddy!”

The driver gave you an encouraging thumbs up and you thanked him before exiting the car.

Slowly, you walked up to the entry and let yourself in with the key that Subin had given you a while back. For once, you decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator in order to be able to have a little more time to recollect yourself. When you finally reached her apartment door, you felt more or less like you hadn’t made the worst decisions of your life tonight. Your hands had finally stopped trembling and your brain was able to focus on anything else but Jennie again. Therefore, you unlocked the door and silently slipped into the apartment like so many times before.

Inside, everything seemed to be like usual. The TV was running and Subin was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea in her hands. Only when she turned her head to look at you, you gulped thickly. She didn’t seem to be seething in anger, but her gaze wasn’t friendly either.

“Hey, babe.”

You waved awkwardly, but Subin ignored you coldly to pay attention to the TV again. She was definitely mad...

With slouched shoulders, you walked up to her in order to sit down next to her, like a child preparing to be scolded. Regardless of her ignorance, you cleared your throat and started to apologize.

“I’m really sorry, Subin. I know this evening was nothing like it was supposed to be and I really deeply regret how I handled everything. But I can explain.”

Carefully, you glanced up to see how your girlfriend would react. She rolled her eyes in annoyance but turned off the TV in order to pay attention to you.

“This explanation better be good. You left me alone with complete strangers, Y/N.”

If looks could kill, you would be dead by now. But you didn’t let yourself be discouraged.

“It is! You know about my history with Jennie. The thing is that I left a few things out...”

Your statement seemed to have sparked Subin’s interest and she turned her torso in order to be able to look at you better.

“I know that Jennie always seems to be a cold person on TV, but she isn’t. She struggles a lot with her fame, and she has a lot of issues that not a lot of people are aware of. But I am. And I know that she tends to deal with her issues horribly. So when I saw her earlier, I got really worried. I was afraid that she would do something rash, which turned out to be right. She was completely wasted and wanted to drive home. And I couldn’t allow that. So I brought her home.”

Technically, you weren’t lying; at least that was what you told yourself in order to not let your bad conscious drag you down again. Maybe you weren’t necessarily telling the whole truth, but you meant well. You were trying to spare Subin’s heart. She didn’t deserve to get tangled up in this mess. You loved her and that was all that mattered. The rest had to be fixed by you alone.

“Oh I didn’t know that.”

Subin simply said and you saw that her angry demeanor was starting to crumble.

“Of course, you didn’t. You couldn’t have known! And that’s on me. I haven’t told you the whole truth, because I had the feeling that I still had to protect Jennie. But I don’t need to do that. I’m with you and only you. So I need to start behaving accordingly.”

Carefully, you took your girlfriend’s hand, expecting her to pull away, but when she didn’t, you continued.

“I promise that I’ll work on myself in the future. No more erratic decisions and I promise to communicate better. No more secrets.”

You smiled, but you wondered whether Subin was able to see the shadow that laid upon you tonight. You weren’t yourself. You didn’t know who this monster was that looked like you but didn’t act accordingly. But it was shocking to hear those lies rolling off your tongue like they meant nothing. When had you become a perfect liar? You hoped that it wasn’t too late to save yourself though. You just needed a fresh start. You needed to leave everything behind and forget about the past.

Your salvation significantly depended on your girlfriend though, so you looked at her pleadingly.

“Fine, I’ll forgive you. But don’t you dare to ever leave me alone with your weird friends again!”

Subin chuckled and you laughed out loud.

“I promise.”

You whispered as you already closed the distance between the two of you to connect your lips.

Nothing was in the way between you and your fresh start now anymore.

At least that was what you had thought. But like always, it was so much easier to make promises than to keep them. You wanted to be better for Subin; you really did. You were ready to let go of the past, but what you didn’t realize was that it wasn’t ready to let go of you.

And your obliviousness should turn out to be your doom.

#blackpink scenario #blackpink #jennie scenario #jennie #blackpink imagine #jennie imagine #girl group imagine #girl group scenario #girl group #kpop scenario #kpop

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newmusickarl · 3 years ago

Video

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Album & EP Recommendations

Album of the Week: Grapefruit Season by James Vincent McMorrow

“I’m trying to be less prepared” stated Irish singer-songwriter James Vincent McMorrow this past week at his Rough Trade Nottingham In-Store show. This was mentioned in the context of McMorrow telling the audience of his decision to “wing it” for his first gig back post-COVID lockdown, rather than intensely rehearsing as he would previously. It turns out this new laidback outlook on life has been key to McMorrow coping better with the anxiety he has dealt with his whole life, but also to unlocking the songs that are to be found on his fifth album, Grapefruit Season.

During the Nottingham show to which I was lucky enough to attend, McMorrow made a point to say that this new album, his first in four years, is the one for which he is most proud, as he felt it was him being as open, honest and care-free as possible with his audience of listeners. This is evident almost immediately on second track Gone, which feels like the tone-setter for the rest of the album, centred on a striking refrain of “I give less f*cks than I used to, still give a lot of f*cks.” Discussing the track with Broadway World last year, McMorrow said:

“Gone is about the disintegration of relationships. In my case, the disintegration of my relationship with myself. No song or lyric I’ve ever written has come as close to this one at capturing how I feel about life - how I hear it, my fear of it, my obsession with it, my belligerent belief that I can control it, my quiet acknowledgment in the middle of the night that I will never control a single thing. And there’s nothing wrong with any of it. There’s absolute beauty in embracing the chaos and the decay.”

This freedom and “embracing the chaos” attitude have clearly helped McMorrow to hit a new creative peak, with many of the tracks on this new collection some of the very best he’s written to date. From the soulful guitar grooves of Planes In The Sky, the string-tinged piano ballad Poison To You and the infectious downbeat pop melody of Hollywood & Vine, McMorrow is constantly found in fine form. However, arguably the album’s finest moment comes in the form of Headlights, a gloriously produced, synth-driven track, which also features some wonderful gospel-like vocals and bluesy guitars towards the back end of the track. It’s quite dazzling, much like almost every track here.

James Vincent McMorrow has always been an immensely talented songwriter, but thanks to his moment of personal enlightenment he is sounding better than ever on this latest album. With unfiltered, sincere lyrics and inventive sonic explorations, Grapefruit Season makes for quite the audio journey.

Listen here

Montero by Lil Nas X

Rapper-singer Lil Nas X seems to cause controversy through simply being unapologetically himself and as a result, his debut album Montero has been one of the most hotly anticipated pop albums of 2021.

Having burst onto the scene with his breakout single Old Town Road, Lil Nas X has since delivered several massive singles in the build-up to this debut, with each one accompanied by a cinematic or visually extravagant music video. The reaction to these by some narrow-minded folk has been that of shock and outrage, with people seemingly appalled and astounded by Nas X’s openness with his own sexuality. Off the back of the bold, tongue-in-cheek video for the title track, some even suggested the singer was actively promoting Satanism through his work. This is all of course nonsense and if they were to listen to his debut album with an open mind, they would find that Lil Nas X is just a pop star that is willing to be refreshingly honest and candid about who he is and what he wants from life.

Both introspective and confessional, Nas X proves across every track on this record that he’s not only capable of writing great pop music, but he’s also not in the least bit afraid of showing his vulnerability to the listener either. This can be seen on recent single Sun Goes Down, where Nas X offers insight to his struggles growing up and fitting in, conflicted by his complexion, his homosexuality, and finding himself lonely and isolated as a result. There are several quite tender moments like this, including the brilliant guitar-driven rock ballad Life After Salem, however they are evenly balanced out with more upbeat moments like horn-backed single Industry Baby. There’s also some pitch-perfect collaborations to be found here with Doja Cat, Megan Thee Stallion, Miley Cyrus and, most notably, Elton John, all lending their talents at appropriate moments.

However arguably the strongest moment comes when Nas X dips his toe into some pop punk for the album’s sort-of centrepiece, Lost In The Citadel. With some stylish production, heartfelt lyrics and a killer mix of guitars and synths, it’s just a mightily well-crafted pop song.

Overall, this is a star-making first outing for Nas X, who was already well on his way to global success before this record had even landed. However now he is well on his way and importantly with this debut, he has shown he is not just a flash in the pan but a truly great popstar in the making.

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Silence by Alexis Taylor

And finally this week, Hot Chip frontman Alexis Taylor released his quite stunning fourth solo album, Silence, a record that comes from the other end of the spectrum to that of his electronic outfit. Built entirely around Alexis’ soulful vocals, a piano and some well-placed, understated string arrangements, there is no dance to be found here but rather a beautiful collection of ambient ballads.

The pick of these is the title track itself as well as Violence, the latter of which offers one of the most haunting tracks I’ve heard all year. Ending quite unceremoniously with the gentle crashing of the Wollongong Waves, if you need something peaceful and reflective this week then I can’t recommend this album enough.

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Tracks of the Week

Let’s Get The Party Started by Tom Morello & Bring Me The Horizon

Kicking off the singles front this week is a rock collaboration of gargantuan proportions as Tom Morello of Rage Against The Machine teams up with Sheffield metal behemoths, Bring Me The Horizon. Built on goliath-sized riffs and an anthemic chorus, this one is a straight up rock banger that will have you moshing out in no time.

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U&ME by Alt-J

Elsewhere, Leeds-based trio Alt-J marked their return this week with the first single from their upcoming fourth album, The Dream, which is due to drop early next year. My initial thoughts are that this track feels a lot like more of the same, with Joe Newman’s quirky vocals backdropped by some folky harmonies and guitar melodies. It is not a dramatic comeback or shift in style, but fans of their sound will no doubt still enjoy this one.

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Hall of Mirrors by Let’s Eat Grandma

Also making their comeback this week are the brilliant duo of Rosa Walton and Jenny Hollingworth, otherwise known as Let’s Eat Grandma. Hall of Mirrors is their first new music since their phenomenal 2018 sophomore album I’m All Ears, and sees the duo shift away from their experimental electronica over to the dreamy synth-pop melodies that they first started introducing on that wonderful second album.

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Godsend by Sundara Karma

Also returning with new music this week are Reading-based indie outfit Sundara Karma, who continue with the pop experimentation they started on last year’s Kill Me EP. With a heartbreaking chorus and some soaring instrumentation, it’s a comeback that’s both immensely moving but also quite triumphant.

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Earthlings by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Nick Cave & Warren Ellis have also announced a new B-Sides & Rarities album this week. Due for release in October, it pulls together all their best lost gems from 2006 to 2020, including this stunning off-cut from Ghosteen that features gentle tribal chanting over some truly transcendent synths.

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FAKE by Lola Young

Singer-songwriter Lola Young continues to be one of my favourite discoveries of the year so far, with this new single seeing her channel the late-great Amy Winehouse for this soulful and bluesy ballad. If you’ve not heard Lola sing yet, just check this one out and I guarantee you’ll be blown away.

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I’m Sorry by Josef Salvat

Australian singer-songwriter Josef Salvat also released his brilliant new single I’m Sorry this week, a pulsating synth-driven track with a wonderful neon-glow and 80s-style pop shimmer.

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Set You Free by Kyla La Grange

And finally this week, Kyla La Grange made her long-awaited return to the music world, releasing this absolutely amazing and completely unique cover of the N-Trance classic, Set You Free. Also comes accompanied with a typically artistic and colourful video from La Grange, which you should find the time to check out.

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gorogues · 4 years ago

Photo

Spoilers for Flash #760!

You can see the first few pages here.

Team Underappreciated Flash Villains, represent! We've got Roscoe, Tony, Lashawn, Jeremy, Kadabra, Isaac, Thad, and a whole bunch! Though as glad as I am to see Lashawn, I have to wonder why she's here or hates Barry when she's never met him...maybe she's just along for the ride. Some of Wally's other Rogues have never met Barry either, but most are antisocial enough to hate anyone in a Flash suit so that's understandable; a few may not even realize that isn't Wally. I don't really see Lashawn in that category, though, so we'll have to see what happens with her. Also, I'm wondering if the last-page villains are from this point in time or from the past, because it'd be nice to have Tony and Isaac back despite their apparent deaths.

One thing I'm a bit disappointed about is that James is on his feet and does not have some epic plan, though he does stick it to Eobard by alerting Team Flash to his location. He gets sent back to his own time for his troubles, and presumably he'll remain in Iron Heights until he escapes to become a crime boss. As I noted in my last review, that somewhat changes the narrative of his triumphant escape, but time travel and alterations to the timeline are nothing new to the Flashverse and it's not a new problem. I'm glad he snitched on Eobard as payback, and am even slightly surprised that the Snarts didn't as well, since they're clearly not thrilled with Eobard's shenanigans either. It's good that they're not down with grave robbing, but they're not exactly being proactive about their discomfort like James is. In fact, they seem somewhat paralyzed with indecision, which is presumably from wrestling with their consciences versus their hatred/fear of the Flash....which is entirely understandable, but makes them seem very ineffective.

I really liked Barry's compassion for Thad, and his refusal to fight back despite needing to get past him to escape. That's Barry at his best, and it obviously surprises Thad and seemingly gets him to back off. I don't doubt that Thad would (and probably will) join the Legion of Zoom if he could, but he's often been caught off-guard by genuine kindness since it's not something he's accustomed to, and it was good to see that happen again here. He's been portrayed as an absolute psycho in recentish years, and I'd like to see him dialled back a bit into an angry envious kid who's been damaged by his upbringing as he originally was. We definitely get a hint of that here, so maybe we'll be seeing more of it.

(Jesse calling him "Tad" is kind of weird, but I guess it's just as valid a nickname as 'Thad' is.)

There was no space to include the scene with Bart and his father Don here, sorry, but Bart manages to trigger his dad's memories and cause the Tornado Twins to return to their senses and to their own time. They don't get a real moment of interacting as father and son, but Don doesn't hurt him and Bart believes he'll be able to catch up with his dad and aunt soon...hopefully we get to see that at some point! It seems that the Negative Speed Force had corrupted the Twins somehow and that's why they were such fervent believers in Eobard's cause, and their abandonment of him plus James getting kicked out is why he needs reinforcements at the end of the issue.

But of course Team Flash gets reinforcements as well, since Barry reclaims his body and Max and Jesse return with him. Will there be more added on either side? It's hard to say, but Thad may join in and I'm still hoping for Jenni even if the Wests don't appear. Thad and Axel are in this preview image, but it may just be promo art and not necessarily representative of the actual Legion. There are two issues left in Williamson's run, so more allies may show up before the end, but we'll have to see how it goes.

It was a pretty good issue overall, though I did find it a bit jarring to see James up and about and without a grand trick at Eobard's expense. It was good to see Max and Jesse back with the Flash Family, good to see the lesser-appreciated Rogues + villains getting some attention, good to see Bart reach out to his father, and good to see the return of a more classic Thad. So I think the missed opportunities here are outweighed by the good stuff. Hopefully we get an epic conclusion to this arc (and to Williamson's run) in the next two issues.

@one-rogue-army will appreciate seeing Replicant and Kadabra!

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secretsocietyxmen · 4 years ago

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I really do wanna see Venus make her triumphant return to Ninja Turtles media. Like, it’s been over 20 years, she deserves it at this point.

I love what they’re doing with Jennika the comics, but Mei Pieh Chi has a special place in my heart. I’m only hoping Jenny leads to the creators being more willing to bring her back.

#venus de milo #venus tmnt #mei pieh chi #jennika tmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt idw #rottmnt

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installmentsweird · 4 years ago

Audio

The Album... y’all they were not playing with this one, but honestly, did we expect anything less. BlackPink served on this album, from badass, boss bitch songs like Pretty Savage, to songs with a more cutesy vibe(but still with some cheek), like Ice Cream with Selena Gomez, to the single girl anthem of Lovesick Girls, this album is just so fulfilling for your inner baddie, going through life, love, and heartbreak. Sometimes you just need this type of album and BlackPink just nailed this!

Oh and it was worth the wait!!

Let’s talk about music videos shall we?

youtube

I mean what an entrance, what an entrance!!! Like right out of the gate they are telling you what this is going to be. The visuals are absolutely stunning, Lisa’s entrance, honestly wish I could enter a room like that. Jennie’s white, icy set is gorgeous and the contrast with Jisoo’s red scene is incredible. And let’s not start with Rose’s hair, because why does she look like a dark fairy in a mystical forest? Lisa’s rap gives me life, like she goes hard and doesn’t let up. The vocals are gorgeous and honestly, it is such a triumphant first track for a return.

youtube

Ice cream, it honestly makes me want some. It is the perfect late summer song, just cute, with a bit of cheek. Lisa and Jennie tag teaming the rap, right out of the gate is insane. Jisoo is so adorable and her vocals are flawless and the Rose solo is everything. Selena compliments their vocals really well and adds so much to the song, plus she looks amazing. Also Lisa’s verse towards the end, chef’s kiss. This is just a fun, flirty, song.

youtube

This one is for us Lovesick Girls, whether you are single or not or recently broken up with, this is your song. There’s a boy in this video, it’s just that you rarely see it, but it adds so much to the story they are telling. They have somehow combined a sad song and a boss bitch song all in one, like how? But that is the best way to describe this song. Is it almost as iconic as Single Ladies, possibly, but both songs are doing different things. Anyway, I am probs vibing more with this song more because I am a bit lovesick let’s be real.

Now 3 fave songs from The Album:

Pretty Savage - Are we surprised?? Nope. No we are not. I mean this song describes BlackPink. Beautiful, but hella savage and ready to slay. This song conveys that and goes hard. It’s one of those songs that you listen to when you need that confidence boost and feel awesome.

Bet You Wanna feat. Cardi B - one of the most ambitious cross overs of 2020? Yes, I did not expect this. The vocals, like the vocals sis not need to go so hard on this song, but BlackPink never does anything half ass. Also the cheek... and all night hug *wink, wink, nudge, nudge* love it. Cardi has bars and did not hold back on this and it all just work so well. 5 queens on a track, yes please.

Lovesick Girls - I’m just feeling lovesick so this song fits. The vocals, beat, backlground music and rap, it’s truly iconic and like the perfect end of summer breakup or lovesick or end of fling song. It’s just a whole vibe and I adore it and need it currently for reasons...

In conclusion, this album had me shook from beginning to end, BlackPink truly showed their talent and chops and I am so excited to see what happens! Can’t believe this is just the first album...

#songs toreadby #blackpink the album #blackpink #blackpink lisa #blackpink jisoo #blackpink rose #blackpink jennie #badass #bossbitc #songs to dance to

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tabloidtoc · 4 years ago

Text

OK, November 16

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Bindi Irwin’s baby drama

Page 1: Big Pic -- Sophia Bush took her bike out for a spin with one of her adorable rescue dogs in tow

Page 2: Contents

Page 3: Contents

Page 4: It’s been over 5 years since Adele released an album but she made a triumphant return to the spotlight hosting Saturday Night Live -- she has been patiently waiting for the right moment to make her comeback and she pulled it off brilliantly

Page 6: As Goldie Hawn turns 75 she can’t help but reflect on her life and everything she’s been through

Page 8: After nearly two decades in the spotlight Hilary Duff is pressing pause and the pregnant star is planning to step back from Hollywood after she wraps filming the final season of Younger in New York because she’s had her frustrations juggling work and motherhood, it turns out the deep soulful bond between Mandy Moore and Milo Ventimiglia on This Is Us is the real deal and the fictional couple are so tight that Mandy who’s welcoming her first child with husband Taylor Goldsmith is planning to give Milo a major role in the baby’s life: godfather, plans for a revival of ‘80s sitcom Who’s the Boss have gone cold after execs got anxious about the show’s politically feisty star Alyssa Milano and her defiant rebellious persona in recent years has left showrunners gun shy

Page 10: Red Hot on Red Carpet -- thigh-high slits -- Charlize Theron, Lais Ribeiro, Cynthia Erivo

Page 11: Reese Witherspoon, Adrienne Warren

Page 12: Who Wore It Better? Monica vs. Giuliana Rancic, Sarah Paulson vs. Emily Blunt, Carly Rae Jepsen vs. Charlotte D’Alessio

Page 14: News in Photos -- Joan Collins and Jane Seymour and Denise Richards attended a photocall for their upcoming medieval drama TV series Glow and Darkness in Madrid

Page 15: Nev Schulman and his Dancing With the Stars partner Jenna Johnson, lifelong Beach Boys fan John Stamos rocked out with the band’s cofounder Mike Love during the Concerts in Your Car series, Drew Barrymore celebrated her cosmetics brand launch

Page 16: Olivia Culpo stepped out with her sisters Sophia and Aurora in L.A., in honor of his new memoir Matthew McConaughey released a one-time special show featuring songs that helped soundtrack his life, pregnant Emma Roberts out in Los Angeles

Page 18: Mario Lopez and wife Courtney Mazza and their three kids and dogs got into the holiday spirit, Claudia Schiffer with the Barbie made for her in honor of her 50th birthday, Taryn Manning stepped out with her dog and the gita robot

Page 22: Antonio Banderas took the stage at a press conference for his upcoming musical in Malaga in Spain, Viggo Mortensen at a photocall for his movie Falling which he wrote and produced and directed and starred in

Page 23: Candace Cameron Bure out in L.A., Shia LaBeouf showed off his tattooed torso during a run in Pasadena

Page 24: Derek Hough with his dog Romey, Andy Cohen out walking with his son Benjamin in NYC

Page 26: Inside My Home -- Sofia Vergara’s splashy villa -- take a look inside the star’s impressive Italian-style spread in Beverly Hills

Page 28: Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton wedding at last -- they’re hoping to make it official early next year and are planning to host the celebration on his Oklahoma ranch -- Gwen’s three sons will walk her down the aisle but the boys’ father Gavin Rossdale won’t be invited

Page 29: The most adorably enduring romance in country music Tim McGraw and Faith Hill is getting the big-screen treatment -- after 24 years of marriage the singers are in talks to produce a biopic or documentary series about their lives and though the private superstars have eschewed the idea in the past Tim finally feels ready to address those cheating rumors that have dogged him for years and Faith wants to show how temptation tested them both, Jenny McCarthy and Donnie Wahlberg are flush with baby fever -- they used to say their family was complete but now they’re telling friends they want a baby together so they may hurry and go the IVF route

Page 34: Cover Story -- Bindi Irwin’s baby drama -- family feuds are putting a damper on the star’s pregnancy -- Bindi’s mom Terri Irwin is at war with her late husband Steve Irwin’s relatives who they’ve been estranged from for years -- baby daddy Chandler Powell’s parents have been banned from Australia until 2022 due to the coronavirus pandemic

Page 38: Do the (Side) Hustle -- the celebrities made a name for themselves on screen and in the studio but they’re making bank with business ventures -- Jessica Alba, 50 Cent, Kate Hudson

Page 39: Robert De Niro, Reese Witherspoon, Ryan Reynolds, Rihanna

Page 40: Interview -- Kylie Minogue -- the music superstar spills on her new album and life during lockdown

Page 42: Talk of the Town -- how the hosts of your favorite chatfests stay fit -- Kelly Ripa, Erin Lim, Jeannie Mai

Page 43: Kelly Clarkson, Adrienne Bailon, Drew Barrymore

Page 46: Style Week -- The Vampire’s Wife joined forces with affordable retail giant H&M -- Thandie Newton

Page 48: Bags from the limited-edition Kipling X Keith Harding collection

Page 50: Winter Fashion Trends

Page 52: Beauty -- pucker up -- paint your pout in one of these fall-perfect flattering hues

Page 54: Entertainment

Page 58: Buzz -- Kim Kardashian West’s million-dollar 40th birthday bash on a private island

Page 60: Sound Bites -- Matthew McConaughey on never dating any of his costars, Natalie Portman on why training for Thor 4 has been a struggle, Jennifer Lawrence on her pre-wedding celebration, Emma Roberts on her mom confirming her baby news, Miley Cyrus on seeing a UFO

Page 62: Horoscope -- Scorpio Rebecca Romijn turned 48 on November 6

Page 64: By the Numbers -- Irina Shayk

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years ago

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Whatever happened to missclairebelle’s Queen Claire in HRH?? Will she be updating soon? 🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XIX: Visitor

Between Friday night and Saturday afternoon, James Fraser missed seventeen phone calls from his sister (frantic, desperate attempts at communication in which she shouted at the unanswered line and hissed when the operator explained there had not been an answer).

During the first missed call, he was splitting a pot of yogurt in bed with Claire. They talked about this and that (anything other than a plan for going public, or what would happen if they were caught). Honey-sticky and berry-sweet, the pair shared their tastes in television (he had a soft spot for The Ed Sullivan Show; the Queen was apparently also a fan), books (her latest read was Rebecca, each page using sneakily embezzled time that formally belonged to the Queen’s official tour obligations; she had begrudgingly admitted that Frank had picked it for her; Jamie’s had been The Lord of the Rings, a choice to encourage the insatiable literary conquests of his young nephew), and food (her favorite meal was Sunday roast with ice-cold milk, which he found no small pleasure in teasing her over; his a smoky Cullen skink made by his sister using a method – “no’ a recipe, thank ye kindly” – that had been passed down through his paternal great-grandmother and the mere mention of which made his eyes go foggy).

Against the incessant trill of ringing in her ear, Jenny Murray attempted to breathe while sinking her fingernails into the soft mound of her palm.

During the second missed call, each of James Fraser’s five senses were engaged in a slow, methodical torture of the woman he loved.

Touch – fingers grazing the blushed flesh of Claire’s milk-and-honey thighs (the unrestrained electric sensation of being touched by her own small hands making him question his understanding of the concept of physical connection).

Sight -– a gateway to a memorization exercise that he had long ago completed (the uninterrupted line of her navel and sternum and throat and the underside of her chin as it tipped up up up towards the ceiling).

Hearing – the muffled, keening noise from deep in her belly, her lungs, her throat a white noise trapped in the jail of her thighs (a maestro’s score written to the ebbs and flows of the love they shared).

Scent – his nose filled with the tang of her, the sweat that gathered along her hipbone, rolled towards her thigh and coated his upper lip (her perfume had long faded, going a subdued floral along the bridge of her clavicles).

Taste – his tongue… well that was occupied (sweet cream, summer rain, and a hint of clover’s bright spring musk maybe).

Slamming the phone down with a crack that made her lift and inspect the receiver, Jenny Murray swallowed hard and dialed her husband. “Come home,” she implored him. “Straightaway. Jamie… he’s in trouble… brathair Jamie. No’ Young Jamie.”

Then, during the third missed call to his empty Edinburgh flat, Claire was tangled in the web of returning a lover’s favor. The arse that had enchanted him that first night rose over his torso as her tongue wove tales against his flesh slow, measured circles. His fingers died a slow death as he fought not to sink into her hips or thighs. (The index finger on his left hand picked up a shallow puncture from right incisor as he gnawed into his own flesh. His right hand gripped the nightstand in a way that he might have worried would crack the wood had he been capable of even mildly coherent thought.)

A short distance away, his sister and closest friend were cloistered behind a closed door. Their eldest children were on knobby, grass-stained knees outside, each with one ear pressed to the wood and with eyes as big as saucers. Their youngest was asleep on a mat in the dining room, clutching an icy teething ring.

“I canna understand where she got it,” their father said lamely.

Maggie gathered her brother’s accusatory look (the look generally reserved for tattling to mam that she’d filched the last ice lolly from the deep freezer or had run her toothbrush under the faucet without brushing her teeth). She shrugged and closed one eye in an attempt to make sense of the shapes moving across the thin beam of light under the door. The children could not see it, but their father was watching his wife frantically turn the dial on the phone.

“They think he stole it,” their mam hissed, her voice just loud enough for Maggie to hear. She covered her mouth, knowing that something about bringing that ring to show and tell had caused trouble for her Uncle Jamie. (‘What have you done?’ she thought, wishing she could pinch herself, take it all back. All of it – even the moment she had taken it into her hand, breathed ‘wow,’ and slipped it into the pocket of her summer Sunday dress.) “And I canna think of any other way it’d ‘ave come into his possession either, can ye think of one? No. Ye canna.”

Jamie’s phone rang and rang.

Jenny knew it was pointless, but she kept the receiver to her ear waiting waiting waiting.

Hoping.

Praying.

“Pick up the fuckin’ phone,” she muttered. And when it became clear that her plea would remain unanswered, she slammed the receiver down and hissed, “Ifrinn.”

Young Jamie’s eyes were as wide as saucers having heard what he knew to be a curse word from his mother (F-U-C-K – the first time he had heard her use one of the words that the older boys who smoked cigarettes after school behind the swings used like it made them more mature). Young Jamie put his hand on his younger sister’s shoulder (a gesture of his father’s, an observation from now and then when his mam was upset about something or another). Mumbling, Young Jamie urged his sister back from the door with a soft, “C’mon, Maggie. Let’s go.”

And when Jamie Fraser and his Queen were sated, they slept.

Draped against each other while the phone miles and miles away rang uselessly a fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh time.

Spent herself, Jenny Murray went to bed in silence that night.

And only when the lights were off did she find that her instinct was to curl close to her husband’s chest (a helpless, small shape in her night clothes and bare face) and cry quietly, helplessly sleepless.

When Jamie woke the next morning, Claire was gone.

Her scent lingered beneath the sun-warmed folds of the duvet, and his robe was missing from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. Tantalized by the tingling acid aroma of too-strong coffee, he took only a moment to inspect the curved indentation in the pillow next to him from where she had slept. With a smile that felt like the promise of a good day, he rose.

Standing before the mirror, his hand uselessly raking at disheveled curls, he realized something for the first time.

And it was simple: though being with her (loving her) still felt new, their relationship no longer felt like a dream.

Waking in the night with his hand splayed across the dangerous dip in her waist was something that just happened.

Feeling her lips just above his heart as she woke before silently throwing a knee on either side of him was surprising only in that she seemed insatiable (a fact she had conveyed to him with her lips close to his ear like a schoolyard secret as he fell asleep).

He realized that he could get used to a life where he woke and did not wonder if it had all been a dream.

The sun-spotted revelation of it made him lighter somehow, encouraged his smile to widen.

In the kitchen, he poured coffee from the electric pot on the counter as his fingers traced the neat script on the note tucked beneath the mug.

In your garden,

most certainly to be choked by unruly weeds should you not wake soon.

Join me (only if you dare, and bring clippers if you have them).

xx, C.

He gathered a pair of gardening shears and wandered out the front door. True to her word, she was in the garden, her form almost entirely swallowed by his robe. Barefoot and crouched low to the ground with a not insubstantial mound of weeds piled next to her, she looked like some sort of remarkably steady woodland nymph. Her fingers sank into damp black dirt and bridged the unseen barrier between human and Mother Earth again and again, as if it were her lot in life to be like this.

Elemental. Tangled. Undone.

She looked like she smelled like nature itself - dirt and herbs, sweat and sunshine.

When her fingers reemerged from the ground, wrapped around bits of unidentified and unwanted plant matter, she was a triumphant archaeologist (the career she said that the King would have chosen if given the choice, though she was unsure herself of what Just Claire would be).

Leaning against a mildly decayed post on his porch, he watched her repeatedly shove the stubbornly falling cuffs of his robe up to her elbows. He knew her well enough to know that just then (in morning sunshine, fingers coaxing life from soil), she was unencumbered by worry of any origin (save perhaps how to keep her fingers free of recalcitrant terry cloth to do some digging).

It was that moment, before Jamie called out to the woman he loved or before Claire looked over her shoulder at her Fraser, that he missed telephone calls eight, nine, and ten.

“Ye look bonny squatting in my wee garden.”

“You can hardly call this a garden, Fraser.” Claire ran a sleeve over her forehead, wiping away the light sheen of sweat and humidity that had gathered there. “It is a patch of dirt overrun by nettles and chickweed and Christ knows what else. I need gloves.”

He held up the shears, and announced, “I can arrange gloves.”

“Thank the Lord,” she breathed.

He took a long sip of coffee, watching her return her attention to the garden. She went to her knees in the dirt without even a moment’s care for said body part or his robe. “Ye’re going to get awfully dirty.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder. A smile. A wink. “I figure you can clean me up, and I want to see this garden do something this summer.”

(‘This summer,’ she said.

His heart stopped and then hammered at the promise inherent in those three syllables, her quiet understatement.

A summer in the cabin. Secluded. Growing flowers and vegetables. Falling further in love. He found a sentimental streak in himself that he had until then not realized was there.)

Claire unearthed a small gathering of dandelions and inspected them at arm’s length before creating a separate pile. “We can make these into some sort of salad.”

“The nettles’d make a good soup,” he added, taking another sip before walking out towards the garden.

“Do you know how to make nettle soup?” she asked, a marked note of incredulity creeping into her voice.

“No,” he responded, going to his knees beside her and carefully nestling his coffee mug into a small furrow in the ground. He pulled up another clump of dandelions. He did not attempt to mask the note of humor in his voice as he said, “I figured ye’d ken how to make a nettle soup. Sounds like something a royal’d ken how to do.”

She gave him a sideways glance. The kind of look that is borne of comfort with another person. She hummed, a sound that he was sure could be brutal in its dismissiveness to someone whose bed she did not share. With the back of his hand, he brushed her hair aside and kissed the side of her neck, relished her reaction (a shiver, a trail of goosebumps, a quick taste of her own lips).

She turned just enough to meet his mouth, and their lips met (chaste, gentle, only for a moment).

“Dock leaves,” she said softly, though a bit triumphantly. She reached out and lifted a great leaf with the back of her hand. “It is pure coincidence that the nettle’s sting and the dock leaves’ antidote grow so close together in your garden, Fraser.”

Her robe (his robe) gaped.

The phone inside the cabin rang.

He craned his neck, allowing his exploring mouth to find the underside of her jaw. He sucked gently there until her cheeks flushed and her mouth fell open.

The phone rang again and her fingers sank into his hair, curved along his scalp, drew him closer.

He could not stop his smile then.

Another ring and then another.

His thumb found the soft, unaroused peak of her plush, pink-brown nipple, and he set about driving her mad. She looked down and watched his other hand work its way into the tie on her robe.

“You would not in the garden,” she stated a bit matter of factly.

He kissed her chin and flattened a palm against the lowest expanse of her belly. He was mimicking her accent when he echoed her: “Would I not?”

The sound of the phone was merely background noise then.

Claire’s hands scrabbled for his waistband, watched the heavy weight of him rise from the confinement of his pants. Her breath hitched at the Gaelic that flowed from him, the tenderness with which he swept her hair behind her ear and pressed a thumb along her temple. He reached between them, slipped into her with a practiced easiness born of their hours of lovemaking. When she cried out into his mouth, he let his feet find purchase in the dirt and began to move. She grabbed for him – his buttocks, the collar of his shirt, his hips – and her fists demanded skin and contact and more.

After a morning of unanswered calls, Jenny Murray dressed for a Saturday, prepared breakfast alongside her husband (soft scramble with hunks of musty white cheese and toast), and let it cool on her plate. Appetite was a foreign concept as she pushed the bits of it into mounds, pressed the tines of her fork down into the mess.

“The cabin?” Ian suggested, helping her clear and pressing a kiss along the clean curve of her neck where a tendril of pin-straight hair rested. “He didna answer when ye called, but he was there last weekend, at least.”

“Maybe,” she began, hands slowly going paralyzed in the gray dishwater.

She had never given much thought to the Beauchamp family jewels – onyx and diamond, twisted out of their setting from one generation to the next and fabricated into various bits of royal jewelry. The jewels’ latest iteration had somehow made its way into Maggie’s knapsack, onto a school bus, and in front of a class of mostly disinterested children.

“He may have needed a break, Jen. Swing by.”

In the yard, Young Jamie and Maggie were mercilessly teasing the old tabby barn cat. Maggie yowled in a hair splitting, almost-painful tone, and Jenny closed her eyes. “He’s no’ ever gone to the cabin two weekends in a row, but… maybe.”

“And Maggie said that she just found it in the cabin?” Jenny nodded, turning to look at him, searching for reassurance. Ian obliged, resolutely adding, “He wouldna steal something like the Queen’s ring, Janet. He wouldna steal anything unless it was to save someone, someone he loves. And that ring’s no’ part of that category.”

“I dinna ken when would he have the opportunity to steal it,” she sighed, wiping her hands on the damp towel that Ian was holding and leaning against the counter.

Ian shook his head, reiterating, “If he had the opportunity, he’d no’ take it.”

Jenny wished she could muster her husband’s resolve to believe in her brother. He had an admirable, singular focus on identifying some alternative explanation for how the ring had ended up in the cabin and then in a piece of brown paper at Maggie’s school.

“You can tend to the bairns while I take a keek about the cabin then?” She dried her hands again, and reached for the keys as her husband nodded.

Jamie and Claire hatched the plan at a moment’s notice (the live wire thrill of impulse a new, intoxicating, addictive feeling for her). It was born from a wistful look (Jamie’s eyes drifting like a dinghy lost at sea) as he mentioned sleeping under the stars, splashing his cheeks with water from a spring, tucky into a sleeping bag for warmth.

“So, we should go,” she announced, cross legged on the bed (‘our bed,’ her mind added haughtily, as her fingers smoothed the sheets). The world was to be seen now. With him. His world was defined not solely by places, but by his memories. It seemed to her that anything less than giving into the urge to go would mean the walls of the palace that had confined her those past few years would be replaced by the walls of a cabin.

He paused, his hands wringing out his hair. “Go?”

She rolled her eyes, got to her knees, crawled to the edge of the bed. “Go.” She gestured broadly, as though she were talking about some great international voyage, not a short drive and a hike. “There. To that stream. Pack up some things. Rough it.”

“You…” he clarified, stepping towards her and putting careful, conciliatory hands on her bare shoulders. “Camping.”

“Are you suddenly questioning my spirit for adventure?” She turned her dainty, queenly nose up at him, and narrowed her eyes.

“I’d never dare to do such a thing.”

She hummed, kissing the narrow slit in his cheek where he’d nicked himself shaving. “Good. We should go, spend a night with the stars, and–”

“–and each other,” he interrupted. It made her face go soft.

“Oh, Fraser, never lose your sentiment.”

By the time Jenny Murray arrived at the cabin, they were gone.

Left, though, were traces.

Two coffee mugs in the kitchen, waiting to be rinsed and washed.

A blushing pink half-moon imprint of lipstick on the edge of one of her da’s best whisky glasses.

The lavender bunched in a carefully-tied bouquet in a water glass next to the bathroom sink.

The distinctly unmistakable smell of sex as she opened the door to the bedroom.

And then the exquisitely-made jacket carefully folded and draped over the ornately carved footboard of the bed.

“Ye idjit,” Jenny breathed, her fingers tracing the lapel of the jacket. Her mind worked over time, attempted to talk herself out of it. Out of what she knew to be true.

Her brother was engaged in some sort of affair with his boss.

She swallowed, rolled her eyes and pinched her forearms as she stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom.

Blinking hard, Jenny said it aloud, in an attempt to convince herself: “My little brother is fucking the Queen of England.”

______________________

Many thanks to @desperationandgin for reading through this one for me.

#Anonymous #;mod Kate #jamie x claire #HRH #ROYAL AU #Her Royal Highness AU

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thesinglesjukebox · 4 years ago

Video

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LADY GAGA WITH ARIANA GRANDE - RAIN ON ME

[7.21]

A collaboration of two raining pop stars...

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: When was the last time you felt queer joy? a friend recently messaged me. It's not the only message that I've gotten like it, coming from someone reflecting on how hard it is to find love in our queer identities when the spaces and support networks we've spent our adult lives creating are no longer easily accessible. Lockdown is hard for everyone, but queer people have it especially rough. I have friends who chose to stay alone rather than return to uncomfortable family situations; friends who chose to find shelter in other countries rather than go home; friends in nominally progressive, loving environments who still feel constantly micro-aggressed against. Due to COVID, I've been forced to live with my parents for four months now, during which time we've managed to avoid a huge confrontation about my sexuality--but I still feel so lonely and unseen. "Rain on Me," however, sees me. This song is big and dumb and flawed, and probably designed as fan-service, but it is so, so gay. The more-is-more sound, the delightful camp aesthetic of the promos, the millions of memes, the outrageous Chromatica merchandise are all as extra as I wish I could be. For God's sake, at one point, Ariana literally sings the words, "Gotta live my truth, not keep it bottled in." Two of the biggest gay icons in the world coming together to sing about their traumas in the pouring rain would have been cathartic pop under any circumstances, but under these, it feels like nothing short of triumphant, torrential queer joy. [9]

Tobi Tella: For the Gay Event of 2020, that beat drop is cribbed right from 2013. The two work well together, and the result is hard not to like, but I'm also finding it hard to love. [6]

Will Adams: "Stupid Love" worked as a return to form for the maximalist Gaga of yester-decade. "Rain On Me" works even better for the sweet surprise at how much energy she injects into filter house, a genre whose recent re-emergence has often felt lifeless. The growl she adds to the "RAIN on me" that punctuates the instrumental break does plenty on its own. The presence of Grande and the alternate chorus at the very end implies that there could have been more but what was left on the cutting room floor doesn't really matter when the final 3-minute product is this electrifying. [8]

Joshua Lu: At times "Rain on Me" feels like two separate dance tracks spliced together: one with Lady Gaga's hefty vocals serving as the backbone for a groovy instrumental, and another with Ariana Grande's lithe voice adroitly dancing on the pounding synths. Either can succeed on its own, but when they mix, they hamper one another. It's most evident on the bridge, where Ariana's breathy delivery clashes with Gaga's campy deep voice, which shouldn't be used there regardless -- hearing it for an entire section makes it less powerful when it pops up as the pre-chorus. [5]

Edward Okulicz: This Lady Gaga single is okay to pretty good, but the chorus is basically just "Rain Over Me" by Pitbull. [6]

Scott Mildenhall: Not everything has to be "Telephone," but Gaga's statements about "Rain on Me"'s personal significance hit home how run-of-the-mill the song feels compared with something so conceptually walloping. The deep personal connection Gaga felt with Grande is sadly inaudible, and the boldest it all gets is with her spoken delivery of the title, an appreciably camp touch in a song that is content and perhaps correct to colour within the lines, however brightly. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: Did not expect my first thought upon hearing a Gaga song to be Shut Up Stella. This shrinks a bit after hearing Chromatica, which has more massive tracks. [6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Gaga and Ari are pop music's two greatest theater kids. Every note, every line on "Rain on Me" is perfectly calibrated to demonstrate this, to make clear their skill at acting out the role of the pop star. The musical frame of the song is sturdy enough (it's not "Fade" or "Electricity" in terms of '90s house pastiche, but it grooves deeply enough to not seem lightweight), but "Rain on Me" is driven by their performances. It's most obvious on the song's bridge, where the combo of Gaga's imperial declarations and Ari's upper register meld together in kitschy glory. "Rain On Me" isn't a perfect song-- it's a bit underwritten, and the water metaphors don't fully come together-- but it's a near-perfect performance. [8]

Ryo Miyauchi: "I'd rather be dry, but at least I'm alive." It's a hook that's surely, and most likely unintentionally, informed by post-COVID life, but it also reminds me of the apocalyptic pop that flourished about a decade ago when dubstep was in full swing. That subgenre's structure still lives on at a elemental level, with the chorus devoid of lyrics, just now swapped for a chic, Justice-style electro-house. While any hint of doom might be more the beckoning of the current time, Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande's eager sense of abandon taps into now as much as it does to a recent past, and I hope it will speak to us in a similar way in the future when our world seems to be collapsing again in whatever context. [7]

Jessica Doyle: The more I listen to this the less it hangs together. Is the rain heartbreak or guilt? Is Lady Gaga the victim of it or using it for her own destructive ends? (Rain can be healing; tsunamis never are.) Why does she throw that cold, commanding "Rain. On. Me." refrain into a song that's supposed to be about vulnerable acceptance? And why isn't it "I'd rather be drunk, but at least I'm alive"? (Darn it.) I'll cede some power to the image of Gaga and Ariana Grande, both wounded and relatably self-aggrandizing, stomp-dancing around together in the rain, but stripped of pop-gossip context the song won't stick around. [5]

Leah Isobel: Lady Gaga is pop Jenny Holzer. She doesn't write lyrics, she writes slogans. I'D RATHER BE DRY, BUT AT LEAST I'M ALIVE isn't quite on the level of I WANT YOUR WHISKEY MOUTH ALL OVER MY BLONDE SOUTH, but the contrast between her severe consonants and Ariana's airy open vowels provides enough scaffolding that it works anyway -- and it doesn't hurt that the bass hurtles around that line like a Ferrari. If Gaga's oeuvre is a monument to the power of sheer determination, "Rain on Me" is what happens when she wills her sadness into release, her trauma into mere prelude; it's American pop myth-making at its purest. In that sense, it's an old-fashioned kind of triumph. [8]

Oliver Maier: Lady Gaga is too much of an auteur to really relinquish control. This is why her me/us-against-the-world cowboy songs suck, because she is at her best when she rules the reality that the music inhabits. On the strongest of her imperial-era singles, desperation and desire are either crystallised into museum exhibits or performed with such dark melodrama that they feel more like elaborate theatre for which she plays both director and lead role. "Rain On Me" is about giving in and letting herself cry, but the drop hinges critically on the spoken command that opens the floodgates; it's catharsis issued with total precision. Ariana, the reigning pop queen of emotional honesty, is at home on her confessional verse and then, having run out of stuff to do, sticks to ornamentation (it's funny that she gets a "with" credit for what is very much a "feat."). There are smart decisions -- the compact runtime, the way that the aqueous filtering drives the imagery home -- and then there's the simple, house-beats-go-brrrrr monkey brain joy of dance music that sounds this sure of itself; what it's doing, where it's going, how hard it slaps. [8]

Alex Clifton: Was this designed to get me through my next run? Through the next time Louisville is pelted by rain for days at a time? Through the pandemic? I'm not sure, but I've sold my soul to Gaga and Ariana for the above reasons and am more than happy with the results. [8]

Jackie Powell: I didn't really understand how this collaboration was going to work until I remembered the similarities that Grande and Gaga share. Besides the obvious that both are Italian, both have witnessed trauma in real-time and in front of the world. "Rain On Me" is a conversation that manifests in the music itself but also in all of its accompanying media, such as promotion its Robert Rodriguez-directed video. The moment when Lady Gaga pulls the knife out of her leg is purposeful Right as Gaga forcefully hauls the knife out of her thigh, Grande begins her verse. We can't move through pain and trauma alone; that invitation into conversation and togetherness is part of the healing. The melody of "Rain on Me," which I'm assuming was written mostly by Grammy-winning Nija, was orchestrated as an internal battle-cry that is designed to be spouted out. Gaga begins singing as we expect her to, with a deep darker belt in her sweet spot. But once we hit the pre-chorus goin into the chorus, she switches into bright head voice, which is where we expect Grande to be. Ari then sings deep in her chest, around the pre-chorus and into the chorus. There's a pattern. During the bridge, they switch again, and then again in the outro. As to what's going on with Gaga and her vocal fry in that bridge and the last phrase of the chorus, some say it's just classic Gaga, The Fame Monster Gaga. While that's correct, she uses it as a tool with multiple functions. It serves as a "c'mon let's go to #Chromatica" statement, but it's also a transition that facilitates the journey. It sets up the glorious bassline that not only explodes into the ears, but was directly interpolated from Gwen McCrae's "All This Love That I'm Giving." But back to the pre-choruses: They give the listener the track's thesis and its heart. In the first pre-chorus when Gaga belts that she's ready for the rain, she's not fighting it anymore. All of that emotion is happening. The second pre-chorus is the reformation of the feeling. It's not comfortable, but we need to just let it out, let it fall, and let it be felt. "I'm ready. Rain on me." [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Lady Gaga #Ariana Grande #pop #music #music review

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reeree1500 · 5 years ago

Text

The Return-Part 7

Disclaimer: Hey ya’ll sorry about the delay😅 I've been sick the past week and the original part 7 was complete shit. So I decided to re do it😬 Please dont kill me 😂 Anyway as always sucky ass writing and bad grammar and spelling. Part is full of angst (sorry for the inconvenience😂😬) Here’s part 7...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 part 8 part 9 Part 10

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @oceans-daughter-3 @laketaj24 @peaceisadirtyword @camatsuru @calum-hoodwinked-me @cutegyrl927 @youbloodymadgenius @wuxiesalt @readsalot73 @cindy-exo @amy8220 @affection-rabbit @mel0nch0ly @queenofallthyfandoms @limbo-limbo-limbo @ragnarssonsbitch @supernaturalvikingwhore @ifihadwings128 @jenny-the-lover @paintballkid711 @funmadnessandbadassvikings

-Sorry if I forgot anyone, list is getting long😍💕 As always thanks for the overwhelming support guys❤️ Love y’all❤️

Arthur POV

In a matter of seconds I caught (y/n) in my arms. I felt horrible about this whole situation. I knew that she never wanted to be in an arranged marriage...she wanted to fall in love. This is why this whole situation killed me. I was the reason my best friend wouldn’t be happy and I couldn't live with that, but I had too. My country and my father needed me, this marriage would secure an alliance with both Frankia and Kattegat, but she would be caught in a situation she wouldn't want and that kills me inside. Holding her close I look towards her father and uncle as to ask for permission to take her to one of their rooms here. “Here, take her to mine... It’s where she's been staying for the past couple of months...” says the dark haired one that was sitting with her earlier. He’s been eyeing me since I walked through the doors and I have a feeling we won't be the best of friends. Not paying much attention to the eery feeling I’m getting, I balance (y/n) in my arms and follow the young prince. Reaching the doors to the room, I make my way inside after him. Walking towards the bed I place her down and then turn towards him. I find him staring at me with what seems like rage and jealousy in his eyes. Why would he be jealous? It’s his sister, he should be glad that she's at least engaged to someone she knows and not some strange old man...

“Could you perhaps see if one of the thralls could get me a bucket of water and a clean cloth? I want to make sure she's okay and doesn't get a fever.” Without any expression on his face he slams the door on his way out. Turning towards her on the bed, I catch a small strand of her (y/h/c) hair and tuck it away behind her ears. “Im so sorry that you have to go through this... I wish there was another way...” It wasn't until I felt her hands caress my cheeks that I knew she was awake and alright.“Arthur, it is not your fault. Someone has been out to get me since I stepped foot back in Kattegat, if anything you’re my salvation.” The tears in my eyes fell down my cheeks like a waterfall. I embraced her and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. Whether it was to calm myself or her I could not tell by now. All I knew was that I would do anything to protect her, even if that meant laying down my life for her.

Your POV

My mind still had not processed and grabbed onto the dire state of this situation. Arthur was to be my husband. A younger version of myself could probably not contain her happiness, but now... Now I feel lost and indecisive. On one hand Arthur is the most magnificent person in this world. He’s my best friend and we know each other to our very cores. In the other however is Ivar. The one person besides Arthur that I can really be myself around. However, that what intrigues me about him is his mysterious and eery vibe. Arthur is my comfort and safe space, but Ivar is the unknown. And Im intrigued by the fact that I still haven't figured him out. He truly challenges me and that excites me in every way possible...

“Im sorry, to interrupt you love birds, but if the damsel in distress is finally alright father would like us all to meet in the town square.” Ivar’s voice booms throughout the once quiet bedroom. At the sound of his voice I quickly let go of our embrace and turn towards Ivar with shock in my eyes. Ivar only looked at me for 3 seconds with no emotion in his eyes and left the room. It felt like my heart shattered in that instant. I had hurt him, unintentionally. But, I still hurt him.

All I could do was stare at the spot where he once stood. Unbeknownst to me, Arthur saw our whole interaction. “It’s him isn't it?” He asked me while looking out towards the window. “Huh?” “He's the one you're in love with right?” At his words I couldn't come up with an excuse. I couldn't deny it, I wouldn't deny it. Not to Arthur, he knew everything about me. And I knew everything about him and the love he always held for me. “He’s your brother (y/n), it will never work. Let alone it is a sin against God.” He voiced to me. “I know... But I cannot get rid of this feeling. Ive tried to let him go, believe me I tried. But, every time that I get close to leaving him behind, he pulls be right back in and I don’t want to leave anymore. I love him...” Tears fell down my cheeks by this moment. I didn't have anyone that I could tell these things to, since Mira was killed. She was usually the one I would be all sappy around, but I couldnt hold it in anymore. Arthur sighed and kneeled in front of me. “Although I may not approve of your choice and wish that it had been me that would receive that kind of love from you once again. I understand and will support you no matter what. Even if that means losing the love of my life.” Arthur places his soft tender lips on my forehead. And with that he grasps my hand in his and we walk towards the door. Neither one of us acknowledging the fact that he just admitted that he was in love with me.

--------------------------------

Bjorn POV

I couldn’t believe it. That piece of scum had destroyed by family once again. Why was it that Aslaug had it out for my sister so much? Staring out towards what once was a place filled with happy memories, I cannot help but let myself breakdown. The tears that Ive held back for years poured out of my eyes. The rejection, the disappointment and the overbearing feeling that I could not protect my sisters once again took over me. “Why! Why is it that you make me suffer this way! Have I not done enough for you! Have I not conquered lands in your name and murdered millions with my sword to earn a place in Valhalla! And for what? For you to come and take my family from me once again!” My sobs couldn't be heard by anyone. But it felt good to finally let out all this anger and sadness that I had been struggling with throughout most of my life. From the cliff I could see a perfect view of Kattegat. Especially the square, where our family and the people of Kattegat were now gathered. My father would announce the marriage of my sister to Arthur. He was a good man, but he wasn't the one for her. She loved Ivar and it was evident. I knew my sister more than anyone on this earth and I knew 100% that they loved each other. What impeded them form being together however was the fact that they were siblings. But in truth they weren't and that was something that I had to tell them...

-------------------------------

As I approach the square I can hear the voice of my father. Booming, and making its way through the square. Out the corner of my eye I could see Torvi making her way towards me. We were playing happy family in front of everyone, but earlier in the week I had asked her for a divorce. I could not be with someone who would hurt my family deliberately, no matter what. “Hey, your father has been looking for you everywhere they're about to announce your sister’s engagement.” She says excitedly. “I know” with that short reply I shake her hands off of my arm and make my way towards my family. (Y/n) is standing beside Arthur sneaking glances over to where Ivar stands, beside Aslaug. I can tell that he is doing his best to ignore her, but you can see the pain in his eyes as well. Aslaug looks as triumphant as ever. A huge smile graces her lips and at that my blood begins to boil. “Bjorn! Over here!” (y/n) calls me over a huge smile on her lips when she sees me walking over. At that I feel myself calm down, my sisters are the only people that could ever achieve to bring me down from the edge. Not even my mother could do so and that is why we have such a special bond and why this hurts me so much. I know that its for her own protection, but the thought of losing (y/n) again is something unfathomable to me. Something that I wish was not a reality, but has sadly become one. “Bjorn, thank you for being here. It truly means a lot to me to be able to depend and count on you. Now more than ever. I hope that the ties between England, Frankia and Kattegat may now be stronger and unwavering.” Arthur says whilst shaking my hand. I respect him, he's a good man that I know will take care of (y/n) and for that I did not oppose this union. “Thank you, as do I Arthur. All I can hope for is that you make my sister happy. And that she will have everything she deserves and desires. Free from persecution from those we call family...” I murmur the last part just so that she can hear what Im implying.

Your POV

Could it be? Were Bjorn’s assumptions true? Could Aslaug truly be the one behind all of this? My father’s announcement of my engagement went by as quick as the breeze. I couldn’t even tell if he had finished or not till I hear the cheering of our people. The wedding was to be held later on in the week, I tried my best to put on a fake smile so that no one knew how I was truly feeling inside. But in truth I was devastated, the fact that I would not only marry someone I wasn't in love with, but the fact I had to flee from my home again was killing me inside. And the mother of the man I loved could have very well been behind it all...

As the people begin to celebrate I murmur to Arthur that I will retire early to my bedchambers. He only nods and gives me a sad smile seemed with a kiss on my forehead. I quickly rush to my room and shut the door behind me. Throwing myself on the bed I scream and let all of my frustration out onto the pillows that hold mine and Ivar’s heads at night. Hugging them close trying to imprint that scent into my memory as hard as I can. I did not notice the dark hooded figure that was behind me and that was my mistake. “(Y/n) Lothbrok... Long time no see” My whole body is drained of its (s/t) colour and that is when I turn around facing the man that haunted my dreams since I was a small child.

“F..Floki...”

Ivar’s POV

I can't believe that the one person that I have grown to love is now being ripped away from me. This must be a sick joke that Odin is playing with me. It cannot be that when I have become so close to finding true happiness that it is ripped away from me so easily. No! I will not stand for this! Making my way away from the so called “celebrations” I begin to walk towards our room. Before I could prance in and let (y/n) know that we would be running away tonight. My mouth is covered and I am too pulled into another room. Ready to kill whoever has pulled me I begin to reach for my knife. “I swear to Odin, if you try and stab me I will kill you Ivar...” Bjorn says before letting go of me. Before I could scream at him however, Bjorn continues. “Do not scream or talk until I get this out please. And this information that I am about to share with you is very sensitive and is known by only a few members of our family so hush. You understand puppy?” Nodding at him in disbelief, I motion for him to continue. It is then that he proceeds to tell me about how he had met (y/n) and the day that she was born. “That’s all nice Bjorn, but what do I care about the day of our sister’s birth?” I say a bot irritated at the fact that I could've been half way gone by now with (y/n) if he had not pulled me in here.

“You're gonna care when I tell you that I will no longer stand in your way, or be against you both being together. I see the way you look at each other and its the same way that my parents looked at each other before your mother got in the way.” I roll my eyes at his last remark. “Ivar, I beg you to take (y/n) away as far away from here as possible. Especially away from your mother. She's the one behind all the killings and she is willing to do anything to get (y/n) not only away from here and our family. But if possible out of this world.” Anger rises in me and I begin to shake. “Why is it that my mother is always the one to get shit on. She’s a beautiful woman that would not hurt anyone or anything. The fact that you have gone touch lengths to try and make some story up about she wants (y/n) dead is absurd. But I will entertain your stupid idea, just because I’m curious Bjorn. Now, tell me why is it that my mother wishes to kill our sister?”

“Because Ivar, (y/n) isn't our sister. She's the priest’s daughter. Our father’s best friend that your mother ordered Floki to kill... Which is why he’s been gone so long. It was a plot to kill the only proof that Vikings and Christians could co-exist. They wanted to make sure that no one would know about the Christian-Viking child and they would do anything to protect that.” After hearing Bjorn out, I knew that there was some truth to what he was saying. My mother and Floki hated the Christian God and would do anything to erase him from the minds of our people. I made my way out the room where Bjorn and I were and made my way to mine. Turning the doorknob I find that the room is locked and rustling and screaming could be heard on the other side. Panicked set in and I tried hurling myself on the door multiple times in order to break it down, but it would budge.

The real panic set in when the rustling and screaming stopped. For then I knew that I was too late...

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