#judy is death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

compacflt · 1 year

Note

if you're open to angsty prompts - tgm mission goes bad and Ice gets to accept Bradley and Mav's flags at their funerals? (but only if you're feeling angsty. if not, feel free to ignore!)

San Diego, California. November 2016.

It should not be surprising that the complicated politics of a funeral like Mitchell’s supersede even the national grief of losing him, but of course it is. The Defense Department and the new administration (loudly Tweeting out of their asses because the President-Elect hasn’t yet been sworn in) want to hold it in Arlington. Do it in D.C., show American unity, show how proud we are of our fallen aviator, who sacrificed himself for America’s national interests, bury him in Virginian soil next to Kennedy’s eternal flame… It’s not a terrible idea, geopolitically speaking. But the Republican leadership of the state of Texas wants a piece of him, too. Why not bury him in the National Cemetery in Dallas? That’s where he’s from. Lay him to rest in the soil of his forefathers, as all good men should be. But the entire Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy, it is argued by people who aren’t Kazansky, also has a stake in this. Bury him at sea. He gave his life for the Navy. This is how it ought to be. Bury both Mitchell and Bradshaw at sea the way we buried other American Navy heroes like John Paul Jones. (When he hears this argument, Kazansky also remembers that we buried Osama bin Laden at sea, too.)

The whole political clusterfuck is put to rest at last in mid-November, when someone bothers to ask Kazansky what he thinks, and Kazansky says, “I’ll remind you that there’s absolutely nothing left of him to bury. But Mitchell lived in California for the last thirty years of his life. He told me he’d want to be buried in San Diego. I don’t really care where you put him. But that’s what he said he wanted.” And after Pacific Command leadership hears this and communicates it to the White House, everyone all of a sudden bends over backwards to organize a joint funeral in San Diego, where Bradshaw’s parents are buried, anyway. Maybe it really is fitting. Okay.

It’s a funny thing, ritual. The military’s full of it. A funeral: that’s a ritual. So, too, is promotion, retirement, commissioning in the first place. So, too, is the everyday ritual of getting dressed, donning battle gear, which today is dress blues, the way it was the day Mitchell died. Medals instead of ribbons. The President posthumously gave Bradshaw and Mitchell Medals of Honor. Their bodies would be wearing them, if there were bodies to bury. The President prehumously gave Kazansky and Seresin Medals of Honor as well. Kazansky’s is sitting around his throat like a noose. He feels like nothing but a body himself, no soul, already passed-on. They’ll lower Mitchell’s empty casket into the ground this afternoon and Kazansky’s already thinking about climbing inside it before they do. He’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t see the absurdity in that thought. But he’s also not so self-aware that he isn’t having that thought.

It’s the highest-profile funeral Kazansky’s attended in a few years. The Secretary of State is here. The Secretary of Defense is here. The Secretary of the Navy is here. The Vice President is here. He, too, has only recently lost a son; he, too, has already lost someone he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. They don’t talk, but when they shake hands, it feels like stronger solidarity than all the Sorry for your losses Kazansky’s received over the past couple weeks. Everyone here knows about him and Mitchell, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare; now, his actual worst nightmare having been realized, he can’t bring himself to care, and no one’s making a big deal out of it. When they say, Sorry for your loss, they don’t mean in the “loss of two highly strategic assets for the U.S. Pacific Fleet” sense, they mean in the “loss of the only two people you cared about more than your career” sense. Sorry for your loss. It’s not so bad. And because everyone knows, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare, no one bats an eye when Kazansky realizes his actual worst nightmare and accepts Mitchell’s folded flag. No, they weren’t legal family. But everyone knows they were close enough.

He tacks his own Naval aviator wings onto Mitchell’s empty casket. Twenty-one guns fire. He salutes. They lower two empty caskets into the ground and he’s still standing. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not really a goodbye, because neither Mitchell nor Bradshaw are actually inside. He watches Seresin struggle not to cry. He stands before a few hundred people and makes a short boring speech about service and sacrifice that he did not write. This is all political. This is all just for show. Most ritual usually is. So who gives a fuck.

He disappears before anyone can pin him down to apologize again and again, but finds that his intended hideout location has already been claimed: by the time he makes it to Goose’s grave, Seresin’s already standing there alone, his hands in his blues pockets, his cap tucked under his arm.

“I just,” says Seresin stupidly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is sallow. They’ve never really spoken, the two of them, but Kazansky’s heard the rumors about him and Bradshaw. And he’s sure Seresin’s heard the rumors about him and Mitchell. They’re in the same leaking boat, here. “Bradley talked about him all the time.” Gestures down to the grave. “And about you. And about Maverick.”

Kazansky says, “Would you want to have lunch with me? I’m not very hungry. But maybe we can talk.” He’s trying. Too little too late, but he’s trying.

He exchanges his jingling blues coat for a regular suit jacket in the armored Suburban. Takes the Medal of Honor off as he does. Seresin, still only a lieutenant, doesn’t have the luxury of a general staff who will carry around a wardrobe change on his behalf. He’s gonna have to make do with his dress blues. He’s nervously fingering the Medal of Honor around his neck, and will continue to do so long after they’ve taken their seats in a restaurant downtown where Kazansky used to take Mitchell out for dinner, not so long ago. He can hear his chief flag aide kindly whispering to their waiter: Somewhere in the back. Where they won’t be bothered. Everyone’s being so kind.

“I could kill him,” Seresin says after a few minutes.

“Who?” says Kazansky incuriously. He’s been running his fingers over the condensation on his water glass. Now his fingertips are wet. Actions and consequences.

“Cyclone. He’s the one who refused to send me. And he didn’t launch search-and-rescue, either.”

Kazansky blinks, then looks down at his menu. “No, son, that was me.”

Seresin’s Then I could kill you goes unsaid. It’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Kazansky’s read through the menu—every word—twice. Then Seresin says, “Why?”

“You would’ve searched for the rest of your life and rescued nothing, and blamed yourself.”

“I blame myself for not going anyway. For not disobeying orders. —Maverick would’ve gone.”

Yeah, he probably would have. Kazansky remembers, in a split second, a story Mitchell had only told him a few years ago, lying next to him in the dark, a little tipsy after dinner and touchy-feely as he always was lying next to Kazansky in the dark: I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I saved Cougar’s life. His warm hands, gentle and unhurried, sliding up and down Kazansky’s abdomen: it’s so funny the details you choose to overlook at the time, and only remember when you lose them. / Well, I never wanted to ask. You hate telling those stories, I thought, Kazansky had said. Because it was true. At any party, Mitchell could tell the stories of how he saved Cougar’s life and how he ejected out of a flat spin at TOPGUN and how he shot down three MiGs not two weeks later—but he’d always have nightmares about all of it the night after. He hated telling those stories. He’d only do it if people asked, so Kazansky never asked. / You’re here in bed next to me, Mitchell said, so I’ll sleep just fine. Let me be a hero for you for once. —It was the day I saw that first Soviet MiG up close. Remember that? Negative four-G inverted dive? That was real, baby. Scared the shit outta Cougar. Messed him up bad. I mean, he thought we were all cooked. He wasn’t gonna land, I mean. Or if he tried, he was gonna plow right into the side of the boat. Couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? He was dipping his wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving his Tomcat, I mean, it was freaky. So I touch-and-goed my F-14. / Against orders, surely, Kazansky’d said. / Oh, of course. You’ve met me, haven’t you? Of course, against orders. We were both outta gas. But I took off again and circled around to find him, and guided him in, you know, level off, call the ball, there you go, Coug, you got it, you got it. Don’t know if he ever told you this—he probably did ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up the landing gear and snapped off his tailhook and ground up into the fuselage. / But he lived. / But he lived, Mitchell said, and that’s how I got sent to TOPGUN. And that’s—with a soft sweet kiss—how I met you. / My hero, Kazansky’d said.

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “Maverick would’ve gone. —But he’d have searched for the rest of his life and rescued nothing, and blamed himself.”

Seresin says, “Is that what happened with him and Bradley’s dad? Is that what happened with Goose?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for another while. The waiter comes by to take their orders. Kazansky’s not hungry and orders a beer. Seresin’s starving and orders a burger and a side of onion rings and a glass of wine.

“Can I ask you a question?” Seresin says after another few minutes. “Are you, like, a coward, or something? —That speech you gave was pretty neutered, sir. You loved him and you can’t even say it at his funeral?”

It’s a stupid, immature question. The Navy doesn’t deserve to hear that out loud. Nor does Mitchell’s empty casket. Only Mitchell did, and too late now. Kazansky shrugs. “If I were a brave man,” he says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

“I’d like to think I’m a brave man,” says Seresin. “I let Bradley go because I trusted him to come back. —Honestly, I’m kind of fucking pissed about it, to be honest. Sorry for the language. But it’s the truth. The night after he died, I mean, I went apeshit. Tore up our photos, punched the wall, cried myself fucking dry, that kind of stupid shit. I was so mad. I trusted him to come back, and he didn’t. Thought he was a good pilot. —Sorry. Is that sacrilegious to say? We aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, are we? I don’t care. I’m still mad about it. I know I shouldn’t be. But it’s the only thing I know how to be, is angry. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes, but not at Mitchell. You know that saying, we have old pilots and bold pilots, but never old, bold pilots? Maverick was an old, bold pilot. We both knew he was living on borrowed time. That’s how he lived.”

“Pretty fucking defeatist.”

Kazansky shrugs again. He is a man defeated.

Seresin says, “Are you gonna be okay?” Then, in the resulting silence, he says, “Sorry, stupid question. Sorry. It’s just—“ He hesitates. It’s only now that Kazansky sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the desperation in the stiffness of his shoulders. “Look, it’s just that I don’t think I’m going to be okay, and you’re a lot older than me, and I keep thinking you have, like, the answer. Some wisdom, you know what I mean? How am I gonna be okay? You’re the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy. Aren’t you supposed to know what to do? Aren’t you supposed to give me orders? What do I do?”

“If I were a wise man,” Kazansky says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

Seresin is quiet. His food comes. He immediately launches into it, eats ravenously and silently for a few minutes.

Then he says, around a bite of his burger, “You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”

“Bradshaw?”

“Who else?”

Kazansky blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah,” says Seresin. “You know, fucking everyone is.”

“Lunch is on me,” Kazansky says.

Home, afterwards, is silent and lonely. Of course it is: Mitchell’s not here. Of course. Kazansky’s settling into it. Life so rarely gives you a choice, when assigning you ritual, routine. There’s still legal paperwork to fill out. That he can do. And there are still letters of condolences to respond to: Thank you for your kind words. Maverick was… figuring out how to end that sentence will give Kazansky a way to occupy his time for a while. And there are flowers to throw out—no one wants flowers after someone they care about has died. They stink up the house and permeate everything with their reminder of grief and mourning, and you’ll find the dried petals even months later and grieve and mourn all over again. Kazansky throws them all out before they can start shedding. There are friends to call and thank for coming. “I don’t know what to say,” Slider says over the phone. / “Yeah, neither do I,” says Kazansky, so they sit in silence on the line together for a while, and that’s pretty nice. / “He was the best of us,” says Sundown, and Kazansky thinks about what Seresin had said a few hours ago: Thought he was a good pilot. It’s a cruel thought, but sometimes the only thing you can be is angry: if Maverick really was the best of us, he should’ve come home. / “You know, I’m still in his debt,” says Cougar. “He saved my life thirty years ago. It’s so fucking stupid, you know what I mean, this idea that I should’ve saved his in return? Feels like it’s my fault that he died. Maybe I’m too superstitious. I’m indebted to a fucking dead man. I’ll never be able to pay him back. —Sorry, Ice. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it all about me. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Kazansky. “Don’t, um—look, I’m just curious. How did he save your life? Would you mind telling me?”

“I don’t remember too much of it, to be honest,” says Cougar. “That’s why I quit, isn’t it? Something wrong with me. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? I wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t for Maverick. Or, if I had tried, I think I would’ve plowed into the side of the boat. Dipping my wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving my Tomcat. There was something wrong with me. You know, they could’ve kicked him out for that stunt, touch-and-going his F-14 like that. We were both outta gas. It could’ve killed him, too. But he guided me in. Saved my life. —I don’t think I ever told you this. I probably did about ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up my landing gear, snapped off my tailhook, ground up into the fuselage.”

“But you lived.”

“But I lived,” says Cougar. “And I came home to my family. Only ‘cause of him.”

“He was a hero.”

“He was a fucking hero,” says Cougar. “To the very fucking last. Sorry you had to go and fall in love with him. They advise against that, don’t they?”

“What, falling in love with heroes?”

“Yeah. —Sorry. Not funny.”

“A little funny. In a cosmic sense. Means it’s my own fault.”

Cougar pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, Ice.”

There’s still a Fleet to be run. Still work to be done. Kazansky can do that. People will laud him for the rest of his life for his professionalism under duress. He works when he should be grieving. Work is a ritual, too. Take some time off, sir, one of the Chief of Naval Operations’ aides had begged him. You need time. But he can’t. Only thing to do is keep working until all the work is done. The geopolitical situation after the mission, which was still classified as a success, is quite bad. They knew it would be. A bombing mission on Russian territory right near the American general election? Yeah, that’s bad. Russia’s Foreign Ministry has openly stated that if they find any remains of Mitchell and Bradshaw’s bodies, they will not extradite them home to the United States. I’m sorry you had to hear that, the President e-mailed him personally. But it’s fine. Kazansky likes the chaos. Means there’s work to do. He works.

When he can’t work anymore, because he’s done all the work that needs to be done, he takes care of another ritual. Life assigned him this one without giving him a choice, too. It’s past 2200. He turns no light on. He’s not sleeping in their bed, which is pretty cliché, and maybe he should be stronger than that, but you do have to make some concessions to your own grief when something like this happens. But he’s strong enough to sit on the side of it that had been his and open his phone and dial the number of his only favorited contact and hold the phone to his ear. It gives the dial tone five times, as is routine, and then Mitchell picks up the phone, as is routine. Hi! Captain Pete Mitchell here! Unfortunately I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message, or if it’s Navy business, you can shoot me an e-mail at C. A. P. T. dot P. dot Mitchell at navy dot mil. Thanks! Bye. Maybe Mitchell’s just busy. Maybe Mitchell’s somewhere without cell service. Maybe Mitchell’s just out flying.

Kazansky considers leaving a message, as is routine; realizes he doesn’t know what to say, as is routine; and hangs up, as is routine.

He takes all his medals off the rack of his double-breasted blues coat, packs them back into their clear-plastic-velvet boxes. He considers, momentarily, throwing out the Medal of Honor with the flowers. But he’s too self-aware to do that. He hangs up his coat on its felt-lined hanger, steams it straight, does the same to his slacks, slips the ensemble back into its garment bag, hangs it up next to Mitchell’s in their closet. This is a ritual, too. He takes a shower. He eats something. He answers a couple e-mails. He climbs into a bed that is not his own. He holds one of Mitchell’s college sweatshirts over his face and breathes in. He takes stock. His fuel gauge is reading pretty low. He knows his wings are dipping. If he really thought about it, he’d say he’s so scared he can’t see straight. And the truth is—he’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t recognize this, however numbly—Maverick’s not coming home to guide him in to land. Maverick’s never coming home again. Thought you were a good pilot. He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep.

#major character death #death #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun maverick #top gun #icemav #top gun fanfiction #asks #sorry to start out my prompt fills with maybe the most soulcrushing thing ive ever written #ngl writing this yesterday fucked me up hard #sorry to sneak more pro-brandon propaganda in here but the parallel was too good to pass up #rip beau biden i guess #forgot to tag:#bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #hangster #soundtrack for this one is Judy collins’ send in the clowns

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mournfulroses · 10 months

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Judy Michaels, from a poem titled "Cancer Muse," featured in Cool Women: Poems

#lit #judy michaels #poetry #tw: death #poetry collection #fragments #selections #quotes #p

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pretty-batty · 2 months

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Thanksgiving of '84

Eddie x Original Female Character Pt 5 of Eldath's Priestess 1917 words

Warnings: (18+ only) descriptions of drug use, overdose, and death by overdose. Drugs covered: shrooms and heroin. Now on ao3 Thank you to @anakinkshamer for being my beloved beta reader once again.

Summary: Upon realizing Eddie is missing from his nest, Judy chooses to relive a specific terror from her youth in a desperate attempt to find him.

Notes: this chapter means a lot to me for a very personal reason. I'd ask that you be kind. There will be some drug inaccuracies, sorry, I did as much research as possible.

“What do you mean ‘he’s gone’? Like dead-gone, or vanished?”

“I don’t know.” Judy began to pace, “I’ve been talking with him for days and suddenly nothing. Not in my dreams, not in waking. He’s just gone.”

Will Byers' legs bounced as he sat on her couch, “Maybe, if I get my strength back, I can find him.”

“No…no. After what you’ve been through, I won’t ask them for that.” Judy had missed another event. She missed a lot of things. Possessions, confessions, brawls. All the while she was canoodling with her interdimensional boyfriend.

Not like she could do anything for them. Minor first aid, CPR, overdose protocol, what good was that against Vecna and the Mindflayer?

In truth, she already had a plan. She just needed a way in.

“Your brother’s friend, Argyle, the sweet one. He knows his way around…illicit substances.”

“Yes.”

“And some of those substances…”

“You want weed?”

“No, it gives me a migraine. I need another thing.”

“How do you feel, baby?” Eddie asked, his voice mellowed out and calm.

Judy swallowed again, trying to get the dryness from her mouth. “Water.”

“Okay.” He handed her the glass of ice water he had prepared in advance.

Eddie had everything planned. No weed for Judy, it gave her a horrible headache, so he went with a different psychedelic. He had blankets, snacks, water, a cooler with ice and a wet towel. All sorts of pain medications, over the counter, of course.

Their first thanksgiving as a real couple, and she had asked him to be her first trip-buddy.

Eddie was as sober as possible, knowing full-well she wouldn’t go through with it otherwise. She needed someone she trusted completely to hold her hand through this. Of course it would be him.

Waves began to wash over her, subtle at first before thrumming through her veins. The posters in Eddie’s room began to move, swirling. Her eyes widened for a moment before turning to Eddie’s smile. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was “Um…”

“Look at your hands.” He said, taking them in his.

She tried to, her eyes moving elsewhere as she began to sink down into her body, “Sleepy. Wanna lay down.”

“Sleepy? Okay.” He guided her down onto his pillows.

Upon contact, her vision went dark.

I wonder if Joey ever did shrooms. She thought.

Little did she know she had fallen asleep.

The world was black as she walked through the void. She could smell a sharp acidic tinge in the air, not like the usual vinegar she could recognize. In the distance, she could see the warm light of her brother’s bedroom, a rubber band snap, a tap against skin.

It was Joey. Alone. Margie had a party to go to and had left before Judy did. She had expected her aunt to be home sooner, but it appeared her brother was alone. The emptiness of the house could be felt, while the walls themselves were not seen.

A gasp from his bedroom, and the sound of a body slumping over.

Judy panicked, sprinting through the blackness to enter his room, walking around his bed to see him, leaning with his back against his bed.

Legs folded before him, his head hanging slack, chin to chest. She approached, her chest hallowing as she reached out a hand. No slight breathing. No movement at all. Nothing.

His hand was still a little warm.

“Joey.” She said.

No response. His body remained limp.

Her voice increased in volume as she repeated her brother’s name.

“Joey!”

Over and over and over, “Joey! Joey! Joey!”

She grabbed his shoulders, pushing his back and head against the bed. His topknot pushing against the quilt, face up to the ceiling. But his eyes remained downcast, eyelids half closed. His color slowly drained from his face and into a pool beneath him.

Judy shook him with the confusion of a child, still calling out to him.

Slowly, she began to drift from her body, rising up and away to watch the scene unfold. Still shaking him, still screaming his name. A baby sister encountering the worst.

She opened her eyes with a gasp before gagging, folding over herself as Eddie snatched a wastebasket and put it before her face. Nothing came out, but she continued to gag as her head throbbed. Tears leaked from her eyes as her face contorted into that of pain.

“Joe.”

“It’s Eddie, baby. Joe’s at home.”

She felt a surge of energy, her body feeling hot. But her words came out slowly from her mouth, like sludge. “No…something’s wrong…with Joe.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, baby. Just take a breath.”

“No…no Eddie…” her chest rose and fell more rapidly. There was no doubt in her mind, he was in great danger. “Please…I need…please…”

She did not realize how terrified Eddie was at this point. Bad trips were bad trips, but his girlfriend was in a state of abject horror. He called for his uncle, who approached the issue with a parental understanding and patience.

He calmly picked up the phone, calling Margie from the party she was still attending.

“We’ll take you home, sweet pea.” He placed a hand on her back. It felt like stone against her.

They all piled into Eddie’s van, starting the late-night drive to her home. Five miles had never felt so long, nor had the driveway, nor the path to the front door.

Her aunt had already arrived, banging on Joey’s locked bedroom door. She met Wayne halfway, telling him to stay at the door as she fetched the master key.

Judy simply waited by her aunt’s bedroom door, out of the way, watching Eddie pace in the small free space provided. She reached out, taking his hand. Soft where it mattered, rough in others, it brought her back into her body as she watched her aunt approach with the key.

“I got it, you stay back.” Wayne insisted, finally getting the door open.

Judy neared, only able to see the top of Joey’s head and his face pointed to the ceiling.

Thum. Like hammering an empty drum, her chest felt empty. Numb, her consciousness sat at the back of her head as she was ushered downstairs. Eddie was just as distant, having seen nothing but heard everything. The wail of Judy’s aunt, Wayne calling emergency services from the kitchen a room away, and silent Judy breathing as she sat on the couch.

“She doesn’t need to be here for this.” His uncle said, “go up there and pack her a bag, don’t look into that room, hey” he snapped, regaining Eddie’s attention, “you hear me? Do not look into that room.”

And Eddie, for once in a long time, followed the directions to the letter. No doubt being too afraid to see what was in there anyway. He kept his head down, filling his girlfriend’s backpack with essentials, or at least what he thought were essentials. At least he got underwear and a toothbrush correct.

With her bag in hand, he wrapped his arm around Judy and walked her to his van. They drove into the night and back home.

Judy was relieved she did not have to sleep in that house. If she managed to sleep, that is. Each blink splattered the final image of her brother’s hunched over body, mixed with the swirling anxiety she had felt for hours prior to the discovery. She knew. She saw him, across five miles, like a flash in a dream.

So here she laid on her boyfriend’s lumpy mattress. Warm sheets from the dryer over her body, gazing at the yellow light of the bedside lamp. Hollow. Like her chest had been emptied of everything, just her skin pulled over a drum, each heartbeat an empty thum thum thum.

“Judy…”

She didn’t respond.

“Judy…baby girl…hey…” Eddie, his all his clumsy gentleness, climbed into the bed from its foot, resting on his side behind her. His fingers ran through the hair that was splayed out across the pillow. “You want some food?”

She shook her head.

“Okay.” He simply said. “Marge called, his body has a ride to the temple in Pitt. She’ll come and get you tomorrow. Is there an outfit you want…?”

Judy shook her head in silence again. She trusted Margie to find something nice in her closet for her. All her other necessities were already here, stuffed in an overnight bag she had gathered 12 hours ago in a panic.

“Okay,” he repeated.

Her hand slowly reached back behind her, taking his fingers and then his hand, pulling it across her body. His hand balling into a gentle fist beneath her chin, his wrist enveloped between her breasts. This moment of softness, of openness, brought a smile to Eddie’s lips as he rested against her. His face in her hair, lips placed against the back of her head, ready to press as many kisses as he saw fit. Her body slotted perfectly against his.

Her lips rested on his knuckles, dipping her head into his fist, closing her eyes, hoping the smell of his hand would soothe her into a dreamless sleep. And by some miracle, it did.

Judy sat in her living room, rocking herself slightly and holding on to her arms. Her last trip, her only trip, polluting her mind with doubt. If she saw Eddie as she had seen her brother, his body dead in the dark, she’d take that final plunge and never come out. Wayne and Margie would be her guides.

While uncertain about Wayne, Judy knew Margie had a lot of experience with trips. She would have managed Judy’s better than Eddie did. Though, maybe not. It’s different when it’s someone you love screaming and babbling in hysterics.

Argyle was the first through her front door, two knocks before welcoming himself in. This was Margie’s doing, finding in him a kindred spirit. “Good morrow,” he said, nudging his hair from his face as he knelt down in front of Judy. From his lose shirt pocket, he pulled out a baggie of what looked to be dried mushrooms, “here you go, brosephina. The old reliable: Silly-Simon.”

She reached for it, but he pulled away. “I heard your last trip was like…really bad. You sure you wanna do this?” He asked. The concern in his voice was new to Judy. Usually Argyle was carefree, or at least appeared to be. A classic stoner, like the guys her brother used to hang out with before he fell into harder drugs.

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat, “I just know this might suck and I’m prepared for it.”

“And you have good people with you for your journey.” he added, glancing at the group that had accompanied him.

Not only were some of her teenage trespassers here and their co-conspirators, but also two of her Hellfire brothers: Andrew and Gareth. They had experienced Joey’s death first-hand, heard the rumors what happened. She did not know how much they knew about Eddie, about the Upside-Down, but it warmed her heart to see them there regardless.

With the baggie of shrooms in her hand, she opened it and popped them in her mouth. It wasn’t too much, just the same dosage as before. They felt like peanut shells, so dry and bitter. But she kept at it, chewing, grinding with her molars, and finally swallowing. And swallowing, and swallowing, the pieces scraping down her throat.

Now was the waiting game.

I know this was a short one, y'all. But the next installment will more than make up for it! See you soon! tag list @loserboysandlithium

#eddie munson #eddie x oc #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfic #eddie fanfic #stranger things oc #stranger things fanficiton #fanfic #canon x oc #eddie x judy #Judy Sondheim #angst #grief #fluff #tw drug use #tw overdose #tw heroin #character death

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kuroneko1815 · 1 year

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Imperial Domesticity: Provocation and Conciliation

Many a woman had thrown themselves at the Emperor Callisto Regulus but none got under the skin of the Imperial family, or of the Empire as a whole so much as the nuisance of Nausica. The Nausica debacle as told from the eyes of the Crown Prince of Nausica and the perpetrator’s elder brother.

It took some time before Nausica truly felt the hit of the sanctions the Empire imposed on them. It started slowly, like a trickle, a small hole in a dam that gradually ate away at the integrity of the structure. But it all built up to the point where they were beginning to feel the squeeze.

The advisors all begged the King to send some kind of appeasement, an apology, for their Princess’ actions but he was resolute in it. The Queen felt her daughter had done nothing wrong while the Princess herself felt unrepentant and in fact felt slighted and wronged.

Both of the Princes had spoken against their father’s inaction because as much as they loved their sister, they knew that the Emperor’s actions were justified. The Emperor who, as they’d seen when they’d represented their small kingdom at the wedding all those years ago, was wholly and completely in love with his wife. No, it wasn’t just that. The Emperor, war mad and brutal as he was, was obsessed with the Empress.

The very same Empress who’d just given the Emperor two more daughters to the monarch’s delight. It was said that he’d had all the bells rung throughout the Capital and thrown a great celebration when the Empress had recovered. It was also said that the Emperor stayed by her bedside, leaving only for the most pressing meetings, or to entertain their daughters.

If that wasn’t an indication about how devoted a husband the Emperor was, they didn’t know what would prove it. The man spent every night in the Empress’ chambers, sought her at all hours of the day, and given how frequent they had children, there was no doubt that they were particularly amorous. And also… as pretty as their sister was, both Princes agreed that she was no match for the Empress’ ethereal beauty.

All of this should have meant that they’d tread carefully, common sense told them not to incur the wrath of the very Emperor who had crushed armies and levelled entire cities, tearing down kingdoms as the war changed from the retaliation of the smaller kingdoms’ attacks to a war of conquest and expansion.

Prince Julius still remembered the day their army was defeated. When his father had been forced to kneel in front of the then Crown Prince, who, at the age of seventeen had torn through the walls that protected their city and marched in to the palace.

The golden hair was dirtied with grime, flecks of blood on his face, red eyes cold and dark. He shivered at the thought. He’d been a child then. His younger brother, Vincent had only been four at the time, and mother had been pregnant with Bianchi.

When he’d seen the Emperor next, he was harsher, and quite proud of his triumph as he marched his army back to the Imperial Capital as a war hero. His brutal reputation had begun then. And then tales of his lover being the Mad Dog of the Eckhart had made it’s round, the way he reacted when she’d been poisoned, even almost forsaking his place as the heir to the throne so as not to leave her side. And then… then his coronation, his eyes were alive, warm and soft, eyes staring into the crowd. At the beautiful magenta haired woman who was apparently the Saviour of the Empire, Lady Penelope Eckhart.

After that, it was the Imperial Wedding. Five years after the coronation. The Emperor’s face was one of utter love struck devotion as she walked down the aisle. A look of jubilant love on the lady’s face as she practically glided through the halls, resplendent in her clothing, radiant in love, enhancing her already exquisite beauty transforming it into something so divine, he’d fallen in love (as did his little brother).

He remembered the grin on the Emperor’s face, his body leaning towards the Lady at all times, body touching her at all times even if it was a mere brush of skin. The way their eyes never left one another throughout the festivities, as they danced around the halls and never left one another’s side. The Duke was weeping throughout the night at his ‘baby’s’ wedding.

Both Eckhart lords were frowning, clear disapproval for the match. Disapproval for the Emperor that was apparently shared by the Duke who believed no man was good enough for his daughter. They wanted the Lady to be the Empress without an Emperor, or rather, be the Emperor herself.

All told, it was very clear that there was one thing that should never, ever, be harmed. The Empress and her children. The Emperor seemed not to care for others perception of him, but the Empress was not something to be slandered. And his little sister did just that. She’d offered herself up as a replacement Empress over the one she’d seen as ‘defective’ for her womb’s inability to produce a son.

In one letter, she’d done the remarkable thing of managing to insult directly and indirectly, the entire imperial family. And it had nearly come to war. A war that he knew they’d have no chance of winning. Peter Cook, their ambassador, had made that clear. It was only averted because of the Empress’ intervention.

Still, Father refused to punish Bianchi, refused to send an apology, even if it was merely lip service. His pride was large. And now, months down the line, their people were now suffering the effects as the supplies began to dwindle, as the economy itself began to fall without the exports and imports of certain goods.

People were beginning to grow anxious and dissatisfied. What were they going to do?

“Why don’t you send me, Father.” Bianchi suggested. “I’ll apologize in person.”

Julius watched her wearily, his eyes meeting Vincent’s. When their father approved. He felt some dread pooling in him.

“Let Vincent and I go along as well to act as her escorts.” He added, hands trembling at the thought that his sister was planning something. Thankfully, his father had agreed to it as well.

Now here he was. The Imperial palace drew closer and closer. Bianchi fixed her hair then began to fuss over her clothing. She spoke about seeing the Emperor, gushing about him and his achievements throughout the entire month long journey.

“Don’t get any notions.” He’d warned. “You’re here to apologize and nothing more.”

“Oh, of course, brother.” She said with a wave of her hand. “Besides, what kind of notions would I get?”

He remained quiet. It was clear that she was angling for a compliment and he didn’t bother to entertain such foolishness. The longevity, no not even that, immediate future of their Kingdom depended on this going well. “Be on your best behaviour.”

Perhaps he should have gone and ridden on the guard with Vincent. But it was too late now. And they were already at the Palace’s gates. When the carriage drew to a stop and they’d stepped out, he could see the visible disappointment in his sister’s face when it was the Emperor’s chief aide that came to greet them and to lead them to throne room. It wasn’t out of the norm. They may be the highest in their kingdom, but this was the Empire and they were little more than ants before the mighty war machine that was the Imperial Army.

As they walked through the grand and tastefully decorated halls of the Sun Palace, his sister looked around with covetous eyes. He had an inkling of what was going to happen and prayed that he was wrong. Surely his sister wasn’t so… so foolish as to try and flirt with the Emperor in front of the Empress while the man himself was still burning in fury. And yes, he knew the Emperor’s make, the man was the type to hold grudges.

When they were announced in, there was a slew of nobles gathered around the throne room. Whispers abounded. This wasn’t atypical per se, but there was a clear and heavy expectation. The golden Emperor sat on the throne with his beautiful Empress at his side, the customary gap in their thrones was absent, it was pressed up together and they held hands.

They bowed before the thrones as they said their greetings.

“Rise.” The Emperor commanded, voice strong and unyielding. His eyes took in their party.

Lord Peter Cook coughed nervously and indicated to the Bianchi with his eyes. His sister was staring at the Emperor hungrily while he stared back with barely hidden contempt. Brow raised as he tapped a finger on his throne. It was silent within the room, the only sound was constant and impatient tapping from the Emperor.

Vincent subtly elbowed Bianchi.

“Your Majesties,” Bianchi said, voice holding the slightest simper, “I apologize for the insult I gave towards the Empress and the Imperial Princesses through that letter I meant in jest. Please, forgive this foolish one, and spare my people your benevolent mercy.”

The Emperor looked unsatisfied and for a moment, Julius feared that he would decline it and order them all killed. Thankfully, the Empress turned to the Emperor, raising the hand that was entwined with hers and she kissed it, his face and eyes softened immediately as he turned to the Empress before he sighed.

“I shall accept that completely unsatisfactory apology and extend mercy upon the people of Nausica.” He declared. “Only because my beloved, darling Empress wished for it.”

He sighed, thankful to the Empress. His heart calmed in one way but was enflamed in another. The beautiful, kind, Empress was a woman of an ideal standard that was hard to find. Oh if only his sister had half of her sense then they wouldn’t be in this state.

His sister ranted when she’d been let into their apartment. “It was surely that the Empress had forbidden the Emperor from greeting me at the steps!” She declared angrily.

“And why?” His brother asked.

“Because she’s threatened by me.”

Vincent burst into peals of laughter. “What would she have to be threatened by?”

“Because I’m younger and prettier, my blood is pure and noble, unlike hers. And, I’m not a witch like she is.”

Vincent stared at her in disbelief. “Younger? Oh yes, you’re practically a child in comparison to the Emperor and Empress, but prettier? That’s debatable. And as for her blood… she is the last of the Ancient Mages, who, now that the Laila is gone, has been verified as the protectors of the Empire, and touted, traditionally as higher than the nobles, as per the tenets of the Empire’s founding. In short, she is higher in blood than any of us, save for the Emperor.”

Bianchi glared at them venomously. “I still maintain that she’s using magic to keep in her thrall.”

“Doubtful.” Julius said. “The Emperor spent days away from the Empress while she studied and got her degree, not to mention while she dedicated herself to research. Such magics can’t be sustained through such a long period of time and through such distance. Furthermore, the Emperor had been mad for her even when she was on the brink of death from the Laila’s poisoning.” He reasoned.

But she remained resolutely firm in her convictions.

There were many, many close calls after that. His sister was prone to vitriol and as the second highest ranking woman in the Kingdom, who would dare censor her for it? Certainly not their mother or father. But, as he’d pointed out time and again, this was not the kingdom.

He saw the way the Emperor’s nose flared, his hands going to his side and clenching nothing but air as his sword was nowhere to be found. In those moments, one of two things would happen. Either the Empress would appear or…

“Servant Emperor!” The almost eleven year old Crown Princess called out, flying through the air. His face immediately softened, the dark and dangerous look in his eyes nowhere to be found as a look of utter adoration crossed his face and he raised his arms to catch the child.

They were a tangle of gold as they hugged. Golden wings glinting in the light. No one reacted to the humiliating nickname the Crown Princess had used, that the other children had also used for their father. The Emperor seemed to have forgotten everything that had angered him, or rather, he’d forgotten the rest of the world as he walked away from the humiliating display that his sister had put on, and focused only on speaking with his daughter who chattered about the most mundane things, of bunnies found and bugs caught.

Other incidents happened, and other children came forth, distracting the Emperor. One time, it was the crying of his new born daughters that had the Emperor rushing away before his sister could even reach him. He carried both bundles in his arms as he shushed them.

“And why are my little stars crying?” He said in a gentle and soft voice. “This Papa will destroy anything that upsets you.”

It wasn’t meaningless and empty words. Those were words of a promise.

“And Papa will subjugate any that dares to cross you and your sisters. I’ll erase any unsightly thing you may encounter.”

He shivered at the dark promises.

“You really don’t hold yourself back on anything, do you? You should take care of what you say around the children.” The Empress’ voice rang out.

They turned around to see the Empress walking gracefully through the path almost as though she were floating on air, it was sheer elegance and poise. The Emperor immediately went to her side, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“My love,” He said, breathless. She took one babe into her arms while the Emperor remained holding the other, pulling her in close and escorting her away from them.

They were used to such things. The Emperor could often be found with the Empress, embracing her, touching her, clinging to her, practically attached to her.

(He didn’t know that at the end of the day, and sometimes even in between, the Empress would ‘reward’ the Emperor for another day without spilling the blood of the nuisance of Nausica. The Emperor, eternally hungry for his wife, complied with great difficulty.)

They were turned away from negotiations once more. Lord Cook had told him that Bianchi’s behaviour was putting the nobles off from any sort of agreements. And tensions were rising as his sister continued to toe the line between offence and decency.

“I love our sister.” Vincent said. “But…”

“But her behaviour has become so outlandish beyond any shred of politeness.” He finished.

“Yes, and we have to figure out a way to extract her from the palace before any truly lasting damage can be done.”

“Maybe sending her away for awhile, or… marriage to some lord.” He said thought it sat bitter in his tongue, he loathed the thought of marrying her off but the kingdom needed to come first. And he could find her an advantageous match.

As they passed through a corridor, they found the Emperor, he was walking quietly, almost as though he were creeping. They froze. And watched on as he approached the clueless Empress who was taking her tea while reading a book, all five of their daughters were scattered around her, sleeping on the picnic blanket. The Emperor immediately dropped behind her, a hand snaking around her stomach and the other going to cover her eyes as he dipped his head and pulled her back slightly until they kissed.

They were too far away to hear what was being said but the gentle smile on their faces said all that they needed to know. They turned and walked away quietly.

During the Imperial functions, the Emperor never left the Empress’ side. They danced together as many times as the Empress could take before retiring to their thrones. When they socialized with the other nobles, they were never too far away from one another. The nobles looked on with fond amusement.

“They truly are such a sweet couple.” One of the ladies said, gushing. “The Emperor’s love for the Empress had won her over eventually.”

“Oh, you mean the love triangle between Marquis Verdandi, Lady Penelope, and the Crown Prince.” Another had said.

“Yes, the Marquis’ reputation was so different from the Crown Prince’s but it seemed that he lost that race.”

He could see his sister perk up at the gossip. She listened on closer.

“The Crown Prince had been rumoured to stalk the Lady for awhile after their breakup, but eventually they got back together. Especially after her coming of age when the Laila poisoned her.”

One of the matrons reminded them. Adding to the gossip. “I remember that. It was such a beautiful ceremony until she began to cough up blood. And then the Emperor was by her side in a second, pulling her into his arms and begging her to stay with him. He’d also pushed Lord Derrick Eckhart from the Dias because he was in the way, staring on frozen.”

“Were it not for the horror of it all, it would’ve been romantic.”

“But it was a testament to his love for the Lady. He refused to eat or sleep while he remained at her bedside. And it was said that he’d even returned to wearing his sword so that he may follow after her in death should she never have awakened.”

That was… it was a horrifying thing to think of. To be so consumed by someone they would willingly take their life just to be with them again. Especially from someone like the Emperor who’d torn down entire kingdoms who refused to bend the knee.

They switched to different topics until it finally landed on Bianchi.

“How shameless the Princess is.” They said with conspiratorial voices.

Bianchi’s face became blank.

“To throw herself at a married man who is a devoted and loving husband and doting father. She really must be desperate.”

“A true embarrassment.”

Her face became red with anger. She stormed off.

When they caught up to her in the gardens, she was throwing things around. “How dare those… those lowly women say such things about me?” She spat out. “They’re nothing but nobles, I’m a princess.”

And then she went into a tirade about the women, the Empress, and the Empire at large, citing everything she would change once she was the Empress. Julius physically dragged her to their apartments, a hand over her mouth.

“Be quiet.” He hissed. “And don’t say such things out in the open.” He chastised her. “This isn’t the kingdom. Everything has ears here.”

The tea party that Bianchi attended was no better. The Crown Princess attended with her mother and aunts. Both from the maternal family, and her father’s cousin’s wife, Lady Alice.

The ladies were all having a good time, ignoring the pointed words of Bianchi who sat with Lady Cook and the other wives of the dignitaries when it happened.

Perhaps frustrated by the fact that she wasn’t the focal point of the tea party but the little princess was, she lashed out.

“Well, at least I’d never birth an abomination like her.” She said. The whole table fell into an eerie silence. The Emperor had been walking by with them when this happened. The Crown Princess looked as though she’d been struck, she shook beside her mother. “Those unsightly, demonic wings of her and that unnaturalness born from her magic. She’s a cursed child.”

Given their rankings, her other side was taken up by the Empress who stood she poured the warm tea on her, dousing her from head to toe before she dropped the tea pot, letting it shatter on the ground by Bianchi’s feet. She then reached her hand back and slapped his sister hard enough that her head turned sharply, the sound reverberated around.

“How dare you!” The Empress said, voice filled with venom. “How dare you say that about my child! You churlish, ill mannered, shameless hussy.”

She pulled Bianchi to her feet by the fabric of her dress, and despite being shorter than Bianchi, she seemed to tower over her in spirit.

“I’ve tried to be courteous and accommodating because the people of your kingdom are innocent of your actions, turned the other cheek when you disparage me, distract and temper my husband’s anger at your blatant disrespect of me. But you go to far with insulting my daughter.”

She pushed her to the ground, away from the shattered pot. Stepping on it purposefully and grounding it to dust. “I pity your citizens to have such a narrow minded, wanton, immoral, and immodest woman as a princess. An insipid woman who thinks herself clever and better than others by virtue of blood, when truly, you’re nothing more than a plain faced, foolish, dull witted child who wasn’t raised right. My daughters are far younger than you and yet they behave kinder and more modest despite their obviously superior bloodline and status.”

She leaned down, grabbing her face and making her look her in the eye. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything more from you, ‘twas really my mistake that I had even any expectations that you weren’t as self absorbed and shallow as the rumours made you out to be. But it turns out you were nothing more than a vapid brat clinging to your daddy’s skirts and title, with an over inflated sense of self importance and a half baked idea that you were someone anyone here would look up to or welcome. After all, who’d want a woman so blatantly throwing themselves at another woman’s husband as their Empress? You with your so called superior blood who’s never worked a day in her life, never understood the real world, nor had any so called accomplishments will never be even a third of the woman my Judith will grow up to be.”

And then she let her go, walking towards where the little princess was crying in her father’s arms, as her aunts and the other ladies converged on her.

“Callisto.” The Empress said, using his name rather than his title.

“My beloved?” He asked as he stood up with Princess Judith in his arms.

“Tighten the noose. I want a full embargo on Nausica.” She said coldly. “I’m done playing nice. Let their people suffer for all I care. And if they try anything… crush them.”

“With great pleasure, Love.” And then he turned to them, face set in a black fury.

“Prince Julius, you have an hour to pack your things. Three to get out of the capital, and three weeks to make it to your kingdom. I want that filthy thing out of my Empire.” He said as he looked at where Bianchi was laying on the floor, her cheek red and slightly bleeding from a cut made by the Empress’ wedding ring.

The Empress spoke up again. “Lady Cook, owing to our acquaintanceship, you and the rest of our ladies may tell your husbands that you’ve two weeks to set your affairs in order.”

And then they walked off. The Emperor stopped briefly when he passed Bianchi. “You’re the type of woman I despise the most. Uppity, ignorant, brainless, shrill, egotistical, and useless. You are so much more, and none of them are good. Nor are you even half as attractive as my wife.”

And then they were gone. Every single one of the ladies clearly giving her the cut.

Judith was ensconced in her parents arms as she cried. Mama was running soothing circles on her back, caressing her wings, and humming gently.

“I’m a-an abomination.” She said through her snuffles.

“You aren’t.” Servant said fiercely. “You’re our perfect little girl. That filth was the abomination.”

“Bu…but…”

“My little baby.” Mama said softly, reassuring. “You are a perfect little dragonling, a special existence not seen in thousands of years. A child whose existence was so precious and important, I dreamt of you even before you were born, I dreamt of your beloved self even before I’d truly grasped and confirmed what it was. And I’ve loved you from the moment I found out about you.”

“I did too. From the moment your mother told me she was pregnant with you, you became another focal point in my life. My little stars and planets that orbit my beloved moon.” Servant told her. “My little girl who made me a father and taught me so many things about love that I’d only begun to learn from your mother. You showed me an entirely new side of myself I didn’t even know existed.”

“And what if… what if I don’t want to be some special dragon who’s supposed to achieve the great success?” She asked hesitantly through another wave of tears as her mind spun around those awful words.

“Then you won’t and you can become whatever you want.” Servant reassured her.

“Your father and I will do anything for you to be able to live the life you wish, to chase whatever passion and dream you and your sisters have.” Mama swore.

The door banged open and they all startled. Uncle Reynold came in with the rest of the family.

“Have you truly been raised in a barn? You should knock first.” Servant said dryly.

“I don’t care for that right now, I was told that the bi…tter witch insulted Judy!” He declared.

Judith nodded. “She said I was an abomination because of my wings and my magic.”

“An abomination?!? You aren’t an abomination! You’ve been perfect from the moment you were born. Just like your sisters. Which is surprising given your parents.” Uncle Reynold said passionately as he swooped in and gave her a bear hug that Roxanne and Diana joined in on.

“Your uncle is right. If anything, that woman is the freak of nature to be so spiteful.” Grandpa said. “While you are a perfect, sweet, and beloved little girl.��

And then she was engulfed in another hug filled with aunts and uncles, and parents, and sisters, and even grandpa. Gradually, her heart began to feel better, even if those words still remained trapped in her mind. (It would be for years, some self doubt coming back from time to time but pushed away by her family’s love.)

Bianchi snapped to her senses when he and Vincent had roughly thrown her into the carriage.

“Why didn’t you speak up?” She demanded, nursing her cheek. “How dare you let them disrespect me thusly? You saw that she clearly assaulted me!”

“ENOUGH!!!” He roared, his patience had run out. She flinched, shrinking back. “Have you any idea what you’ve just done?”

“What I’ve just done? I’ve done nothing wrong. We should send word to father to ready the troops and…”

“And get laughed at by everyone. The generals will all commit mutiny if father even so much as hints at attacking the Empire. Especially after what you’ve just done to our people.” And then he wrenched back the curtains and showed her the rest of the entourage. The Eckhart Dukedom had joined the Imperial Soldiers in escorting them out of the Empire, setting a brutal pace for them.

“The Eckhart Dukedom alone has twice if not more than that in terms of soldiers. We’d be crushed by them alone. If we even manage to survive the coming winter without enough food and medicines, hell, without enough winter clothes and other such supplies coming in from the Empire.” And then Julius hardened himself to the tears that were about to leak from her eyes.

“I expect you to be silent and repent for your actions for the duration of our trip. And I will speak to father personally about what shall be done with you.”

The embargo was in full effect by the time they had arrived. Their trade was effectively shut off, and for a kingdom locked within the land and surrounded not by harbours but by other smaller protectorate kingdoms of the Empire, they found themselves unwelcome by all of its neighbours.

Father had received a scathing letter from the Emperor before they had even reached the castle and he’d been incensed. It was truly the first time he’d yelled at Bianchi, the first time she’d ever been punished, and all of her demands met. Mother had begged and pleaded, trying to cajole father into letting up on her confinement within her room, but he wouldn’t budge.

But there was nothing to be done as the days began to turn, growing colder and shorter. Fall had arrived and winter would be here soon after. They needed the Empire’s goods if they wished to survive, and they needed to offload their own goods.

It led to the necessities rising far beyond what their people could afford, a famine truly beginning to seep in, and their own goods flooded their market squares going for cheaper than they were being produced. Their land was largely unsuited to farming, only small pockets had soil fertile enough to produce a small amount of crops.

The people’s dissatisfaction grew by the day, the streets poised to riot at the smallest spark. A council was called daily but no clear resolution was given, at least none that father was satisfied with.

“There is no appeasing the Emperor now that the Empress herself has declared that she was done with us. The Empress is thick skinned but as a mother, she clearly drew the line on who such words could be directed to.” Lord Cook said from where he sat. He had the most insight to the Imperial family.

“Then what would you have me do? Banish my daughter? Strip her of her own title?” Father asked sharply.

“Yes.” Lord Cook said firmly. “She caused this, and, short of execution, that may be the only way to appease them. Marry her off to a noble man of low rank, a baron at the most, or an untitled gentleman, one who’s loyal enough to take care of her, and with at least some modicum of means that she won’t starve. But they need to be someone who’s firm enough to take her in hand and curtail her behaviour.”

“You.. do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I do.” The man said, not even flinching. “I’ve seen the Empress, met her. I know she hates the thought of bloodshed, but if it were for her children’s sake, she’d gladly permit the Emperor to wage war.”

“You speak as though the Emperor was beneath her.” Lord Garth said shrewdly.

“Not beneath her.” Lord Cook corrected. “But her words are the only ones the Emperor needs to make a decision, his love and respect for his wife supersedes anything.”

Father sighed. “She’s my little girl.”

“She’s a liability whose behaviour was never corrected.” Lord Sheen said.

“Your majesty, it’s either this or the gallows. And this way she’ll live. This way, we can avert the revolt that seems to be brewing on the streets. Our very survival depends on this.” Lord Marshall said as he gave Father a piece of paper. “We can’t even muster any troops. It seems that the Eckhart army and the Imperial army have begun to station men around our borders in case we get any ideas. This may end up far worse than what happened with the Delman’s revolt.”

Father swallowed thickly. “Have you a groom in mind?”

“Baron Tavin.”

He winced, the old general was kind and spirited despite his injury. He was a war hero and one who had a small and profitable land. But he was almost twice his sister’s age, with a scarred face. He was gruff and brusque, tough but fair, and not likely to take any of his sister’s tantrums.

“Very well.”

Mother had shrieked and begged and pleaded that Bianchi would be spared such a fate but Father had stood his ground. Even when Bianchi wailed about the unfairness of it all, he didn’t falter.

“This is a consequence of your own doing.” He told her coldly, his tone that of a king about to pass judgement. “You will come with me for a quick trip to the Empire where you will apologize, and then we will leave within the hour. You would then be brought in to wed the day after we arrive and leave for your new home the day after.”

He knew it was hard for father to do so, but it couldn’t be helped.

When Mother had collapsed on the ground, Father looked at her with some remorse. “I made a choice, and that was to make sure the kingdom would be around for Julius to inherit.”

Before all of this, his sister could have married a prince or king of one of the protectorates, but now, her prospects were gone, her future sealed into one unalterable path.

“It was this or death.”

He went with Father and Bianchi as they returned to the Empire, finding nothing but cold disdain from the people once they discovered that his sister was with them. Already, the sordid tales of her unsavoury and wanton behaviour had spread far and wide. The way she’d thrown herself so immodestly at the Emperor, the way she insulted the Empress, and the way she had disparaged and slandered their innocent and beloved golden dragon who was said to be the one fated to lead them into another era of peace and prosperity.

When they arrived at the Palace, there was a stony silence as the nobles began to turn away, one by one as Bianchi passed. She stood behind them as they walked, and though her face turned red, she remained silent.

The Emperor and Empress’ eyes were filled with icy venom.

He and Father immediately knelt, the two of them dragging Bianchi down within them when she remained standing.

“Please, please, have mercy on my people. Please forgive my daughter’s words and any injury done by her words and deeds.”

“…”

Neither of the Imperial couple spoke.

Father continued. “We’ve already decided on a punishment for her.”

Still, they were silent.

“She’ll be wed to a Baron twice her age, one who’s firm and won’t bend to her whims. She’ll be sent off to the mountainous region of our kingdom, and she’ll lose her title.”

“Has she nothing to say?” The Empress asked, voice soft but powerful.

He dug his nails into his sister’s arm when she huffed. She hissed, glaring at him.

“I apologize for what I’ve said about the Princess, it wasn’t fair or kind to her.” She said. Refusing to add anything more to it.

The Empress’ eyes narrowed. “I think, to add to the punishment… Miss Bianchi shall not only lose her title, but her claim to the throne. No descendant of hers shall ever inherit the throne. Nor should she receive any money from the Royal family. Any money given to the Baron would be for the Baron and his lands, not for her.”

“And…” The Emperor said as he braced his chin on the palm of his hand. “As her behaviour isn’t fit for anyone who’s been considered ‘out’ yet, she’ll be confined to her husband’s lands for a period of three years, and unable to leave the region, save for an emergency, for a period of no less than ten years. The only other time she’ll be able to enter the capital in those ten years will be if she were to attend a funeral of a close kin, and that’s it.”

There was a stunned silence at the severity added to her punishment, and while he felt bad for his sister, he was thankful they weren’t forced to pay monetarily as well or by sacrificing their already limited fertile lands to the Empire as reparations.

“You may take your leave.” The Emperor said as he stood, helping his wife up to her feet as well. “Lord Therocy will act as a witness to the wedding and to make sure that the marriage was properly consummated the next day. You may return here, Prince Julius, along with the dignitaries sent away earlier to begin the negotiations to lift the embargo and return to trade.”

“Yes, your majesty.” At least they’d gotten what they came here for.

As they passed by, the doors were opened and the telltale sounds of children’s laughter could be heard. He saw the Crown Princess running down the halls with a smile on her face, chased after by her nannies.

Honestly though, I had intended this to be Callisto’s pov originally, but I guess I wanted to show the way the princess’ behaviour had impacted an entire nation instead. And as for Bianchi and getting away with everything… she was your, I don’t know, typical spoiled brat who got away with everything. I mean, OG Penny suffered from abuse inside and outside of the Duchy and was punished quite often, even if her behaviour was frequently swept under the rug by the Duke bribing everyone. But Bianchi was a true princess, they couldn’t even say anything against her, and… she was the golden child.

#death is the only ending for the villain #villains are destined to die #death is the only ending for a villainess #vadd #callisto regulus #death is the only ending for the villainess #fanfic #judith regulus #penelope eckart x callisto regulus #penelope eckhart #penelope eckart #penelope x callisto #no one messes with Judy #outsider’s pov

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