#preceptresses

[maranigai]

/oc sketches/

Dorcas of Sellia, preceptress of glintstone arts.

Before | after battle of Aeonia.

[sunnysheadraws]

[the preceptress]

another for Kate (@witchesgonewild on Twitter)! of her D&D NPC Vera (she), one of the minor antagonists of the campaign. love u nasty woman <3

[lboogie1906]

Spelman College is a private women’s liberal arts HBCU in Atlanta. The college is part of the Atlanta University Center academic consortium. Founded in 1881 as the Atlanta Baptist Female Seminary, Spelman received its collegiate charter in 1924, making it America’s oldest private HBCU of liberal arts for women.

The Atlanta Baptist Female Seminary was established on April 11, 1881, in the basement of Friendship Baptist Church in Atlanta, Georgia, by two teachers from the Oread Institute of Worcester, Massachusetts: Harriet E. Giles and Sophia B. Packard. Giles and Packard had met while Giles was a student, and Packard the preceptress, of the New Salem Academy and fostered a lifelong friendship there. The two of them traveled to Atlanta specifically to found a school for African American freedwomen and found support from Frank Quarles, the pastor of Friendship Baptist Church.

Giles and Packard began the school with 11 African-American women and $100 given to them by the First Baptist Church and a promise of further support from the Women’s American Baptist Home Missionary Society, a group with which they were both affiliated in Boston. Although their first students were mostly illiterate, they envisioned their school to be a liberal arts institution – the first circular of the college stated that they planned to offer “algebra, physiology, essays, Latin, rhetoric, geometry, political economy, mental philosophy (psychology), chemistry, botany, Constitution, astronomy, zoology, geology, moral philosophy, and evidence of Christianity”. Over time, they attracted more students; by the time the first term ended, they had enrolled 80 students in the seminary. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #hbcu

[elektramouthed]

 Favor must not be abused and love must not be exclusive, the imperial preceptress reminds us. To me this topic is like unpicking a letter bomb. Exclusive love breeds coyness and extreme passion is fickle. There was so little I could say. My soul is a rough and basic one.

Anne Carson, from Plainwater: Essays and Poetry

[valkyries-things]

HARRIETTE COOKE // PROFESSOR OF GERMAN STUDIES & HISTORY

“She was the first known female professor of in the United States to have the same salary as an equally ranked man. In 1857 she joined the faculty of Cornell College as a professor of German studies and history. In 1866 she became Preceptress of the college. Harriette Cooke was promoted to full professorship in 1871 where she was the first women to have received the title of Professor at Cornell. She remained a professor until her resignation at Cornell until 1890. Cooke founded the Cornell Association for the Higher Education of Women.”

[shakespearenews]

Hon. Frederick Douglass invited a few friends last evening to his residence in Uniontown to meet Henrietta Vinton Davis, the young colored lady who is to make her debut in dramatic recitals on Wednesday evening, 25th instant, at Marini’s Hall.

Miss Davis recited very effectively scenes from “Romeo and Juliet,” “As You Like It,” “Brier Rose” (a poem of great dramatic power by Bjornson), “Awfully Lovely Philosophy” and “Dancing at the Flat Creek Quarters.” Mr. Douglass, than whom there is no better judge, made a speech of congratulation, and predicted a successful future for Miss Davis.

Miss Marquerite E. Saxton, the preceptress of Miss Davis, upon a request from Mr. Douglass, gave a scene from “Macbeth,” and recited “Drifting.” Miss Saxton is so well and favorably known that the appearance of her pupil will be one of the events of the season.

[missameliep]

Meet me under the Mistletoe - Mr. Sinclaire x MC

Book: Desire and Decorum

Pairing: Mr. Sinclaire x MC (Lady Clara)

Rating: Teen and up (kissing, general holiday fluff)

Word count: ~3.500 words

Summary: Christmas is a time of joy and beauty. A time to be surrounded by loved ones, sharing with them old and new traditions. This afternoon, Mr. Sinclaire has one particular tradition in mind...

Characters: Mr. Sinclaire, Lady Clara (MC), Miss Beauregard (OC), Beatrice Sinclaire (OC), Vincent Sinclaire (OC), Prince Hamid, Mr. Konevi, Mr. Chambers.

Notes:

* English is not my first language;

* All characters belong to PixelBerry, except the OCs;

* My dear friend @princess-geek, this fic I dedicate to you. This is an early Christmas gift and a way to thank you for your kindness and support. Merry Christmas, Débora! I hope you enjoy it and that this silly story can make you smile 🎁🎄

* This is my submission to @choicesficwriterscreations Fics of the week and my late submission to @choicesdecemberchallenge2021 - Day 20: Holiday Traditions | Celebrate.

Christmas is a time of joy, beauty, and meaningful traditions. A time to be surrounded by loved ones. A time for friendly meetings with games and music, the pleasantest meals and brew by the hearth.

Rumour has it that ever since Ledford Park was rebuilt, the most festive gatherings with the merriest companions were held there by the Sinclaires. However, they are famed for being equally as festive as exclusive.

To be invited to the celebrations was a privilege few had, a motive that stirred envy and gossip amongst the ton at London and beyond. Not that Mr. Sinclaire and his wife, Lady Clara, the Countess of Edgewater, paid any attention to this, rather focusing their minds and efforts in more relevant matters, like the perfect gift for every loved one who spends the holiday with them or new elaborated plans to steal time alone, considering the very busy weeks with soirees that last until the last guest goes to bed and started in the earliest hours of the mornings to dedicate time to their children.

Therefore, every year, not even the worst weather or icy roads would prevent the coaches from arriving at the estate.

The current year was no exception. In spite of the rain or snow that fell in the mornings and the freezing winds from the North, a succession of guests arrived at Ledford Park; some to spend but a few days at the manor, some not expected to leave before January is upon them; some coming all the way from London, like Mr. Chambers and Mr. Konevi, some from much closer, like the Harpers and the Parsons; some boldly, some shyly, some gracefully, some bearing many gifts, some not as much, but all of them in the greatest and jolliest of spirits to celebrate the holiday and its old-age traditions, but also the fresh ones made-up by the family as the years went by.

This year, the first ones to arrive were Prince Hamid and his wife Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of Admiral Caldwell, who was brought in yesterday with extreme care due to the blessing inside her enlarged belly. Other coaches came in and out of the drive ever since. Each new visitor received with joy and excitement, especially by the youngest children of the hosts, Beatrice and Vincent, who anticipated the many games and gifts.

To Miss Beauregard, the stern French preceptress who attends to the instruction of Beatrice and little Vincent, however, the agitation was observed with dread. In an armchair close to the window, sipping her tea, she mourns the lost quietness. The silence in the hallways was gradually replaced by conversations and laughter and every new visitor makes it almost impossible to maintain rules and propriety. The children, it seems, wish only to run wildly, and misbehave, specially under the influence of the Ottoman Prince who is friends with Mr. and Mrs. Sinclaire. The man engrosses the infants in all sorts of dangerous and loud games. Not even Percival, a perfectly well raised youngling who is first in his class at Eton College, resists the call to the shenanigans.

A loud bang from a door followed by a fit of giggles and the cup of tea in her hand was almost dropped to the floor. The clicking of shoe soles resonates, and her attention shifts to the door ajar.

“Ces enfants terribles!” she muttered under her breath.

At this hour, Beatrice should be with her mother at the drawing room, performing to the ladies the newest songs she was taught, and most definitely not trotting around like an untamed mare. The cup returns to its place at the saucer, and the woman marches with determination. A determination to put a stop to this absurdity. No more transgressions on her watch, only perfectly well-behaved children or else what shall the guests think about her abilities as a preceptress?

Trying to impose her entire 5’ feet on the way of the runners, she stretches her arms like the crucified Christ to block the passage but covers not even half of the distance that separate the walls. Less than a minute Miss Beauregard stands immobile like a statue until the runners turn the corner and become visible. Her eyes widened at the sight and her chin nearly dropped to the floor when realization dawned on her. The person who faced her was not Beatrice, not even her older brother Percival, but her father.

Apparently, the prim and proper master of Ledford Park himself is the one running around and laughing. And he is not alone. Looking as dishevelled as her husband, Lady Clara follows close behind, one hand clasped in his, and the other holding the hems of her skirts up, exposing her ankles.

The unexpected sight of the middle-aged woman, astounded Mr. Sinclaire, who stopped abruptly, causing his wife to bump into his back.

“Ouch!” Lady Clara cried, then asked what had gotten into him to stop all of a sudden.

Whispered words exchanged between the couple, and Mr. Sinclaire gentlemanly greets Miss Beauregard. His words come out more winded than intended; his cheeks are visibly reddened and his skin glistens with the exercise.

Speechless, the preceptress returns the greeting, unable to hide her surprise. No explanation is given whatsoever, and any sensible woman like herself would never demand one from the master of the house. The woman moves around her husband, fingers tucking strands of hair behind her ears, a cheeky smile that rounded the flushed cheeks, gazing at Miss Beauregard who probably is wondering which is the proper etiquette to adopt in this very situation.

Lady Clara settles on an amiable, almost informal tone.

“Now, if you excuse us, Miss Beauregard, we must take our leave.” The other woman moves out of the way, and Lady Clara adds in a conspiratorial tone, “I beg you, please, do not tell a soul you saw us.”

She nods in agreement and watches astonished the master and mistress of the house sprint again.

At the end of the corridor, the couple turns around the corner and stop to survey their surroundings.

“Are we setting a bad example for our children?” Mr. Sinclaire whispered the worrisome question that troubled his mind.

“Only if we lose, darling,” Lady Clara answered over her shoulder with a smile. “Where should we go next? I believe Miss Parsons might be hiding at the dinning room.”

“If we reach the foyer, we can find a better shelter at the library. I am quite certain none of our guests has made that far...”

“Then lets away, my darling,” she whispered back and offered her hand, which he gladly took in his.

- Twenty minutes earlier at the drawing room -

The rain, falling heavily since the earliest hours of the morning, trapped the family and visitors inside and changed the plans for the entire day. However, the impromptu game of hide-and-seek turned out to be the ideal activity to amuse children and adults alike. Although, judging by the excitement in Lady Clara’s voice and the eagerness in which Mr. Sinclaire politely refused to partner with Beatrice when asked, might make one consider the hosts were more enthusiastic with the competition than anyone else.

A new set of rules was stablished after the first round and the pudding incident. For instance, only the ground level of the house constitutes fair territory for hideaways, and under no circumstance children would be allowed to go outside. After a few more deliberations it was decided there would be two competitors per round, and the one who finds more people in hiding would be declared the winner and rewarded with a box of candies brought from Paris. Percival volunteered to compete, and Beatrice wished to go against him. The entire room, however, debated if a six-year-old girl should compete against a twelve-year-old boy, and therefore the majority suggested she would need a partner to counter the odds. Their parents agreed upon it being unfair to team against their own kin and suggested someone else should assist Beatrice.

At one corner of the room, Miss Annabelle Parsons confided Mrs. Caldwell the probable motivation behind their refusal and both giggled.

Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara were not the only ones with ulterior reasons to participate in the dispute. Despite loving sweets, the prize was the least important reason to motivate Beatrice. Turned out the younger sibling wished to prove herself as talented as the older brother in the art of following clues and finding the most elusive adults.

Hearts thumping furiously, Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara rushed past a few closed doors, trying to keep it quiet. Relieved they breathed when they reached the foyer.

The imposing Christmas tree with colourful ornaments hanging from its branches, including the one from their very first holiday together at Edgewater, and the others painted with their children in the following years, occupied most of the space closer to the stairs. And fortunately no one was around.

Before they reached the other wing of the manor, however, a door clicked open. Lady Clara stopped, and Mr. Sinclaire turned around to look at her.

“Is there something wrong, love?”

One hand went to his lips to shush him, and the other pushed him back by the chest. Soon, both were circling the tree. In their rush, a few ornaments dangled, and a tiny brass bell chimed softly. Lady Clara prayed it went unheard, as they huddled together. Thankfully, the coordinated colour of their outfits in dark green deemed then almost invisible in the shadows underneath the stair.

Steps neared, and fingers were raised to each other lips. Perhaps that would be it, the moment they would be found and escorted back to the drawing room. Lady Clara sighed, then hugged her husband and raised her stare to his eyes. Smiling at each other, Mr. Sinclaire wondered if he would ever tire of Lady Clara’s green eyes filled with adoration and mischief. The attention flushed her cheeks, and it took all her strength to remind her body where her focus should be.

“I cannot believe Percival found us this quickly!” Mr. Chambers cried.

“I can. Unfortunately, two-year-olds are not the quietest partners to play hide-and-seek, my dear,” Mr. Konevi said and patted his shoulder to ease his disappointment. “Despite how incredibly adorable they might be.”

Affectionately, Mr. Chambers carried little Vincent in his arms, while the toddler played the rattle at the rhythm of the carolling he was humming, ignoring the conversation of the adults. The little boy asked to go outside and play, which was politely forbidden. However, Vincent was not convinced, and his insistence forced Mr. Konevi to use the best of his negotiation skills to reach an understanding that pleased both parts.

Wordlessly, Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara shared amused looks at the humorous exchanges until the offer of an early Christmas gift finally convinced Vincent to return to the drawing room with them to sit by the fireplace. However, not even two steps they took in that direction and other voices joined theirs.

The men greeted Prince Hamid and Beatrice and shared with them the last news about the game.

“Only three left,” Prince Hamid concluded, referring to Miss Parsons, Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara. “We must hurry then.”

Quiet footsteps neared the tree, and Lady Clara held her breath. From the secluded hiding spot, she saw the back of the man’s silk kaftan and caught a glimpse of Beatrice’s red velvet dress.

“Where can they be?” Beatrice asked, impatience etched in her tone. “We searched every room!”

“We shall find them,” Prince Hamid answered in his usual tender accented voice.

“Before Percival?” she insisted.

“Before Percival. I assure you, dearest one.”

“Good. I wish to win this time, Uncle Hamid.”

Beatrice was no longer the little girl who would believe she could beat her father at chess or outrun her older brother in the fields that separate Ledford Park and Edgewater. She would celebrate her seventh birthday the following year and her cleverness, wild spirit, and witty reminded Lady Clare of her own. Her mother’s competitiveness was passed on to her and often Mrs. Daly and Briar have compared the two and point out their matching stubbornness, urging Lady Clara’s protests, since she clearly prefers to name it perseverance or maybe strong-will.

Flashing one of his brightest smiles, Prince Hamid promised Beatrice they would be victorious.

Prince Hamid’s countless tales, his ability to skilfully compose nursery rhymes to fit Beatrice’s sophisticated tastes and eagerness for complex and philosophical themes, like the reasons the sky changes its colours rather frequently, and his playfulness that almost matched hers, earned him the place of Beatrice’s favourite uncle. Nonetheless, on every occasion she was asked about the matter, with a mischievous smile and exercising the charming tone learned from the Ottoman prince, Beatrice would deny such an untrue assertion and assure her affections were evenly shared between all her uncles and aunts, either related by blood or by love, and she could never pick a favourite one.

In reply, the girl took his hand and they sprinted towards the hallway, her braids swaying from side to side.

Lady Clara peeked, then indicated it was safe to come out. Mr. Sinclaire, however, remained behind the tree for a moment longer. A pensive look frowning his eyebrows.

“Pray tell me, Mr. Sinclaire, what is on your mind?”

“Should we reveal ourselves and help Beatrice?”

“Oh, no!” Lady Clara hushed and leaned closer to speak. “Your daughter wishes to win it fairly. She shall take offense…”

“You believe so?”

“I know so. Her competitiveness, she took it after me,” she added with a light-hearted chuckle. “And we take games very seriously.”

“It makes sense. I still remember the first time we competed against each other at the garden party…”

A wistful smile curled her lips, and the memories flooded her mind. She shall never forget what she deemed surprise in his eyes, when she beaten him at the game of skittles. Another debutante would have lost on purpose or perhaps even faked an injury to have the gentleman’s attention, but she would never do any of that.

“You expected me to lose on purpose, did you not?”

“Perhaps.” Smirking, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “However, if you did, you would not have proved me wrong another time.”

Lady Clara’s strength of character and remarkable resilience were amongst the qualities Mr. Sinclaire admired. Her greatness shone, despite the opinions of some of the peers who focused exclusively on what she missed: the legitimate birth, the strict education, and good manners of other noble daughters. He, however, saw the abundant virtues and good heart. Therefore, one of the few things in life he was not ashamed to admit was this: he took great pride in having someone like herself as his companion and felt most fortunate that she has chosen him to spend a lifetime together despite every obstacle presented in their path.

“Trust me when I say this: do not underestimate your daughter, my love.”

“I would never. Beatrice is her mother’s daughter after all.”

“Remove your shoes,” she suggested already bending to take hers off.

The shoes were left behind the tree, and in silence they sneaked their way to the library.

In passing the half-opened doors of the drawing room, clinking of silverware against porcelain and conversations were overheard. Luckily, the party was too immersed in their own businesses to notice their presence. From the pianoforte came a delightful tune and little Vincent was posing a great deal of questions to Mrs. Caldwell about her belly and the future baby. Neither Beatrice nor Percival were nowhere to be seen, certainly engaged in their chase.

A few more meters down the hallway, Mr. Sinclaire opened a heavy door with caution and ushered his wife inside the library.

“Why, I believe finding us shall be challenging now. Let's hope Beatrice is up to the task,” he said, with a proud smile.

Lady Clara agreed with his wishes, but only with her tongue. In fact, she hoped they got bored and gave up on trying to find them.

With her usual grace, she walked towards the middle of the room inspecting the perimeter. All alone at last, she turned to face him with a mischievous smile. The candles that illuminated the room cast a flattering soft glow over her face, highlighting her delicate and handsome features.

“Whatever shall we do to pass the time, my dear husband?” she whispered loudly for him to understand her words. “We might be trapped here for a long while. Should we read?”

“If you wish…”

Hands behind his back, Mr. Sinclaire stood by the door, while she glided past the shelves. Despite not growing up with a room like this or amongst intellectuals, his Clara had an unmatching thirsty for knowledge. On her free time, especially during wintry afternoons, she read numerous of those books and knew by heart the locations of the main tomes and his favourites. Nevertheless, her gaze was not focused on any of them today, and he could be bold to assume reading was not in her plans.

“Or perhaps,” he continued, “there could be some other activity that could be more appealing…”

“Whatever could you mean?” she asked teasingly, fingertips barely grazing the covers of the books. “Perhaps you shall be kind enough to enlighten me with what you had in mind…”

“Perhaps, you could honour tradition and meet me under the mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe?” she echoed. Turning around to face him, her gaze followed his and found the object he referred to: a small twig strategically hanging from the ceiling near his favourite armchair, almost concealed at the back of the room. When did he even bring this in?

The first year she had one hanging in the foyer, he was so flushed whenever she asked to honour tradition, she thought possible he would faint. A fit of giggles escaped her lips before she could cover them. Slowly, she walked to the back of the room, glancing at him over her shoulders, throwing the most coquettish smiles.

“I suspect your suggestion to have me here… all alone… had different purposes, Mr. Sinclaire… and nothing to do with the game whatsoever,” she deduced, while rounding the spot underneath the twig, a finger touching her chin, pretending to consider if she should position herself there or not.

A dozen long strides and his eagerness brought him closer to her in a matter of seconds. In his lungs, the pleasant odours of leather and paper mixed with the delightful scent of rosewater exuding from her hair and body.

“My heart is now, and forevermore, yours, my Clara,” he whispered against her ear; his warm breaths raising all the hair on her body. “Your smile brightens the dullest of my days. A mere glimpse of you and my heart soars, begging me to attend to its dispositions...” His fingertips caressed her bare arms, travelling to her shoulders, and she drew in a deep breath. “Then, yes, I am guilty. I cannot resist the sight of you. I wish to be ever so close and bask in your bright light, in your warmth and –”

Her lips silenced him with a passionate kiss, followed by another invigorated by the intention to make the most of the few moments they could spare. Little did the years to smother the passion and desire one inspire in the other.

“I love you too,” she breathed against his lips. “And not a day goes by without a thought spared to the blessing of being loved by you.”

It was his turn to capture her lips. Trailing down her jaw, his lips reached her neck and she shivered. Pleased, his teeth grazed the soft skin of her neck, and a quiet moan escaped her mouth. Her fingers dug into his hair, the softness of his curls trapped between them, while she pulled his mouth to meet hers. His arms snaked their way around her waist begging her closer, until they hardly could breathe.

So much they were lost in each other, they failed to hear the doorknob turning. The creak when the door opened did not reach their ears either. Only when Beatrice’s squeal echoed in the room, they pulled away and staggered backwards.

Standing in the middle of the room, Prince Hamid, eyes widened and mouth ajar, kept one hand over Beatrice’s eyes despite her protests.

“Why are you covering my eyes, uncle Hamid?” Beatrice cried again, her little hands struggling to remove his. “What is happening?”

“We… hmmm…” Prince Hamid paused, searching for words amidst his own confusion. “We found your parents,” he replied, turning her back to the couple, while he tried to escort Beatrice outside.

Mr. Sinclaire’s hands worked quickly to smooth his hair to look presentable, while Lady Clara’s covered her face and the redness around her lips.

“We did? Then why will you not let me see them?”

“I – It’s a secret.”

“A secret? What sort of secret? Is it a present for me?”

“No – They – They’re… reading,” he said at last, feeling his cheeks warm with the silliness of his own words. However, why else could one tell a six-year-old in a situation like this? Thankfully, he still had years ahead of him to wonder about a proper answer to his future child in case of a similar occurrence.

“Reading?” she echoed confused.

“Yes!” he replied, and the couple’s voices confirmed the information.

Mr. Sinclaire cleared his throat, “Congratulations, my dearest, you found us.”

At last, Prince Hamid removed his hand from her eyes. Her skirt swayed, when she spun to stare at the two, who were sheepishly tottering in their direction. Mortified, her mother used her fan to cover her flushed face.

Cheering at the news, Beatrice jumped up and down. Judging by the child’s enthusiasm, rambling about the possibility of being victorious against her older brother, the three adults assumed the other matter was forgotten.

Once the door closed behind them, however, Beatrice asked, “Which book were you reading?”

Chuckling, Prince Hamid excused himself like a good uncle would. “I must attend to my dearest wife now.” And with that, he left the parents to deal with the predicament. This was not yet his turn.

[vajranam]

Lakshimikara

In the Dakini realm of Oddiyana, King Indrabhuti ruled Sambhola, and to cement the friendship with his neighboring kingdom, Lankapuri which was ruled by King Jalendra; Indrabhuti betrothed his sister Laksminkara at age 7 to the son of Jalendra. Laksminkara was an extraordinary being, blessed with the qualities of the elect. Time passed and at age 16, she was escorted to the Kingdom of Lankapuri. After her sheltered upbringing, she was terrified of entering the mundane world, when all she wished to do was continue with her practice.

Due to the delay of her departure, the royal party arrived later than expected and was denied entry to the palace because according to them, it was an inauspicious day. So the princess and her retinue had to wait until the following day. She grew uneasy of her new environment and fell into depression. And when she languished outside the palace observing the life of the city around her, her depression deepened. It was quite clear that the people of the city had never heard the message of the Buddha.

When she finally entered the palace, she locked herself in her chamber and refused to see anyone for 10 days. Determined that her only escape from this life was to pretend to be insane, she tore the clothes from her body and smeared oil on her body until she looked like a wild woman. But all the while in her heart she was concentrating on her sadhanas. The prince despaired when he saw her, and all the royal physicians sent to attend her could not cure the princess. She continued the act, until one day, she was able to escape from the palace and made her way to a cremation ground where she lived as a yogini for 7 years. A sweeper of the king’s latrines served her faithfully during this time, and when she gained realizations she gave him initiation. He quickly attained Buddhahood without anyone knowing of this achievement except his preceptress.

One day, King Jalendra got separated from his hunting party, and while he circled aimlessly in the forest, he saw Laksminkara, seated upon a jeweled throne, her body glowing with golden radiance. Faith blossomed in the king’s heart, and he remained there all night watching the event in the magical cave.

The next day, the hunting party found King Jalendra and they went back to the city, but the king could not keep himself from returning to the cave time after time. Finally, he entered the cave and prostrated himself before the yogini. Initially, she was quite doubtful of his intentions, but the king spoke so movingly of his belief in her as a Buddha, and he begged so humbly for instructions. She then told him he could not be her disciple as his guru should be one of his own sweepers. He was told to observe closely to find out who his guru should be.

The King did as Laksminkara advised, and not long after that he discovered the indentity of the sweeper-guru and invited him to his throne room, where he seated his guru on the throne and prostrated himself before his guru, and requested instruction. The sweeper-yogin gave him initiation by the transfer of the guru’s grace and then taught the king the creative and fulfillment stages of the sadhanas of Vajra Varahi.

For many years thereafter, Laksminkara and the sweeper performed many miracles before they both ascended into the Paradise of the Dakinis.

[snarkomancy]

‘Oi!’ exclaimed a voice from behind their backs, ‘Enough of this!’

One of the women following them had dark, evenly combed hair, sparkling eyes and thin lips. She wore a short, violet silk coat trimmed with dormice fur.

‘Why aren’t you in school, student?’ she asked coldly, glaring at Ciri.

‘Wait, Tissaia,’ said the other woman, younger, tall and blond, in a green dress with a considerable neckline. ‘I don’t recognize her. I don’t think she’s…’

‘She is.’ Cut the dark-haired one. ‘I’m certain that she’s one of your girls, Rita. You can’t possibly know them all. She must be one of those who sneaked out through Loxia during the chaos when the students changed quarters. And now we shall wait for her explanation. Well, student?’

‘What?’ Ciri frowned.

The woman pursed her thin lips and evened the cuffs of her gloves.

‘Where did you steal that amulet from? Or perhaps someone had given it to you?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t test my patience, student. Tell us your name, class and name of your preceptress. Now!’

‘What?’

‘Are you playing dumb, student? Your name! What is your name?’

Ciri clenched her teeth and her eyes shot green flames at them.

‘Anna Ingeborga Klopstock’ she hissed tactlessly.

The woman raised her hand and Ciri immediately understood the seriousness of her mistake. Yennefer had demonstrated to her paralysing spells only once, tired with her long whining. The feeling had been considerably unpleasant. It was the same now.

Fabio cried terrified and leaped towards her but the other woman, the blond one, caught him by the collar and forced him to stay in place. The boy jerked his arm but the woman had an iron grip. Ciri couldn’t move. The dark-haired one bent down and glared at her.

‘I am not in favour of corporal punishment,’ she drawled her words coldly, evening her cuffs yet again, ‘But I will ensure that you’re whipped, student. Not for misbehaviour, not for the theft or elopement. Not even for wearing illicit clothes, walking out with a boy and telling him about things you were forbidden from discussing. No, you will be whipped for being unable to recognize an Archmistress.’

‘No!’ yelled Fabio. ‘Don’t hurt her, Ma’am! I am a clerk at Molnar Giancardi’s bank and this lady is…’

‘Shut up!’ yelled Ciri. ‘Shut….’ The gagging spell was casted quickly and brutally. She could taste blood in her mouth.

Time of Contempt

[nymphl]

In the General’s Bed - Regency!Hux x Reader - Ch. 3 - To hate a General

A/N - Hello there! As promised, here goes chapter 3 of In the General’s Bed. I don’t have much to say, since I’m very, very sleepy right now, but I do hope you like this chapter. It’s one of my favorites... and I really, really like these cliffhangers but I know you hate them hahahaha Just for the record, the historical facts mentioned in this story are mostly real... Of course a few things here and here are modified to fit the story... but well, I try to be as accurate as possible. If you find anything wrong, let me know... I’m not British, so... 

Story Summary: The General is cornered… Upon returning from a successful campaign in Battle of Waterloo, Armitage Hux knows he has no excuses left; he must produce the much-needed heir. The problem is, when the two of you parted five years ago, it was not in the best of terms. Now, he may not find his wife, you, so willing as he first expected, nor keen on taking part in any of his political games. [Hux x Reader – Hux x You – Regency AU].

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: Regency Era; Alternate Universe; Alternate Story; Alternate Universe - Historical; Arranged Marriage; Politics; War; Napoleonic Wars; England - 1815; Married Couple; OOCness; Smut

Wordcount: 6188

PREVIOUS CHAPTER *** NEXT CHAPTER

THE WAY TO LONDON WAS PAVED WITH SEPHUCRAL SILENCE.

Although the trip had been scheduled to take place during the weekend, the news of Lord Poe Dameron’s death hastened it by three days.

The coachman, under Hux’s orders, set a punishing pace over the horses. There were two carriages, one for you and Hux, and the second for Lux and his tutoress — to your displeasure, Rae Sloane chose to stay behind to organize your belongings. She was set to arrive two days after you did.

And even if you did not agree with her choice — for Lux needed her more than ever —, she had Hux’s approval.

You had not explained why you left Southampton all of a sudden to Lux. In fact, you had no idea how you would explain his father — his only living family — had died. The circumstances of his death were still a mystery to you. Hux merely received a missive from Lady Organa and informed you to prepare a few of your and Lux’s belongings for you were going to London.

Lux did not seem to care about leaving and as long as he had you or Rae, you doubted he would complain about something. And you thought he would not care when he learned about Poe. He was just four and unable to grasp the concepts of life and death. You were sure he did not acknowledge Poe as his father either; he never called him as such. To him you and Rae were his only family.

A yawn left you.

You were tired. Utterly spent, actually.

Even if Lux did not complain about leaving, he did not accept to stay away from you and you did not have the heart to force him to stay with his preceptress in another carriage.

Hux took your decision with some displeasure, but he did not voice his thoughts. He was not naïve enough — nor blind; he saw what you planned under your mask of courtesy — to believe you accepted Lux in your personal carriage only because you did not want to displease the boy, but because you wanted to keep him at bay.

If something was to take place between the two of you, it would be on your own terms, your initiative. And you thought that you proved you could do it fairly well last time.

Honestly, you did not know you had it in you — your experience was limited when it came to bedroom affairs —, but after he said you were not fit to play such a game with him, you felt like you should prove him wrong.

The mere remembrance of how you took him in your mouth — such a depravity! — had you blushing now. You had never done that before and never heard of a decorous lady — wife! — doing that to their husbands. In London’s most popular Ballrooms, there was talk of that being an act of courtesans and lowly whores.

You were neither.

However, seeing that your husband had no problem kissing you there in your first — and only — night together; how eager he seemed to repeat the act at that very moment — and how much pleasure it brought you — you thought that it might be good to him as well.

You were not wrong.

Hux did seem to enjoy it. A lot.    

And honestly, the more the proper and oh, so very decent ladies of Ton said it was inappropriate — a woman who did enjoy such pleasures with her husband or who did use such means to bring pleasure to her husband was no better than a common whore — the more you wanted to try it. There were many opportunities for you to try it with other men, but while you did not know for sure Hux was six feet under, you did not have it in you to cheat on him — even if he probably did the same to you.

You decided to test your theory that night. He was putty in your hands — and mouth. And while your body demanded for you to go further with him — you knew he could give you so much more of those pleasures if you only let him —, you decided to put a stop to that night of debauchery.

If Hux wanted you, he would have to work for you.

And he would have you, eventually. But only when you decided he deserved you. For now, he would have to content himself with the smaller bits of attention you decided to bestow upon him.

If you were too weak to stop him, you knew you could count on Lux to help you.

A small smile, rapidly covered by a yawn, outlined your lips. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against Hux’s shoulder. Lux was between the two of you, gripping the fabric of both of your clothes in his chubby hands.  

The two of them were fast asleep. It was funny how, in spite of their obvious distaste and disapproval of each other, they clung to each other subconsciously.

Not for the first time, you wondered how he would behave with a child of his own — your child. You bit your bottom lip; your fingers played with his bluish cravat. Part of you wondered how he would react if you said Lux was his — would he be happy? Overjoyed? Surprised? Another part knew he would not take lightly to such lie.

You snuggled against him and let sleep take over you as well.

All servants were ready to welcome you when the carriage stopped at Piccadilly Street. Even before you could disembark, the building had you in awe.

There was talk around the city — there was always talk in Southampton —, concerning the General’s newest acquisition, but you did not expect it to be so… monumental.

Arkanis Hall was really a sight to behold. With its Greeks columns, it looked majestic and, at the same time, a bit intimidating. Undoubtedly, a mansion fit to accommodate a Duke. You knew how wealthy the Hux family was, but it still stunned you how much profit they made from their brewery in Ireland. Although your father did its best to hide from you the essence of your husband’s business, you knew very well their nature.

While he was away and there was talk about you being a widow, you conducted a thorough investigation concerning the nature of his business — in case you needed to oversee it.

His hand outstretched for you to take waved off whatever thoughts plaguing your mind. You placed your gloved fingers upon his and accepted his help to disembark. Lux was still sleeping and it was with some surprise — screw that! You were completely bewildered — that you saw him taking the boy in his arms with all the care in the world.

You even thought about offering to hold Lux yourself, but you realized that maybe that was not the best decision — not when there were so many servants watching your very soul.

In silence, you followed him inside, only to have both the butler and governess trailing right behind you, waiting for further instructions. You removed your gloves and watched, with narrowed eyes, as Hux climbed the stairs towards the bedrooms. Part of you wanted to follow him, but you knew what he was doing and that it in fact needed to be done, if you wanted to be respected by the servants.

Those people worked for other masters before and all they wanted was one single reason to badmouth you and Hux — at Lux’s expenses nonetheless. If it depended on you, they would have no reasons whatsoever to say anything.

But just in case Lux woke up… You gesticulated for the preceptress to follow Hux upstairs.

“Is there anything I need to know concerning the servants?” you asked as soon as you were left alone in the company of both the butler and the governess.

“They are here to serve, Your Ladyship,” the butler replied, his eyes cast down. “And they are happy to serve in anything you or the Lord see fit.”

You nodded, not at all pleased with their answers. The governess stayed in silence. You wondered if Hux had other plans in store for Rae. If she was not here to act as a governess as she did back in Southampton, then he must have thought of another occupation for her. In any case, you already saw her criticizing the governess — starting with the misalignment of the buttons in her uniform. After all, Rae Sloane always thought that having an impeccable appearance was prerequisite for an equally flawless work.   

You squinted… Was that a missing button? As if it just popped out after someone tried to take it off or put it back on in a rush…?

A small smile graced your lips as you thought about how much the two of them would get along.    

“Should I fetch the maid who will be assisting Your Ladyship?” she spoke for the first time, her tone and security in her words stunning you. Rae would definitely get along with her — it is, if she took care of her uniform first.   

“Yes.” You started making your way towards the stairs. “Have someone prepare mine and Lux’s bath please and have some tea ready for us before we part for the funeral.”

“It shall be done, Your Ladyship,” she replied with a bow. “Will that be all?”

You even thought about not saying it out loud, but you could simply not control yourself, “Do something about your uniform. I can see your corset from here.”

There was no need to cast a look at her over your shoulder to know she was blushing. It made your smile broaden. Rae would definitely like her!

You sat in the drawing room looking at the windows with a lost expression. You still haven’t told Lux about Poe’s death and honestly you had no idea you knew what to say.

Part of you thought about letting Hux break the news. Another part trembled in fear at the idea. He would surely scar Lux for life… Well, but it could be fun to ask him to do it. He would probably stare at you as if you had grown thirty heads at the same time. The look in his face would be priceless.   

Bringing the cup of tea to your lips, you sipped the warm liquid and leaned against the sofa. You were the first to get ready. It was still early in the morning and the last day of Lord Dameron’s funeral before the proper burial.

Although Lady Organa had it all settled to have his funeral in the Saint Paul’s Cathedral, His Grace, the Duke of Wellington, beat her to it and offered his mansion, Apsley House, as the last place for family, friends and comrades of War say their goodbyes.

Needless to say, you saw right through his good intentions. Even if Poe Dameron was a good commander, he was not even an Admiral or a General like Hux.  

If your father were alive, you were sure he would not allow such. But if your father were alive, you would not have met Poe and taken Lux under your care. You knew he would never allow such scandal to befall upon his family name.

A sigh left you as you smoothed the skirts of your velvety black dress. In the very same instant, you placed your cup of tea back on the coffee table, the preceptress entered the drawing room leading Lux by the hand.

He was rubbing his eyes, still sleepy. And only you knew how grumpy and moody he could be in such circumstances. You waved the preceptress off, asking for her to bring him some hot chocolate.

It made him look at you with adoration in his eyes.

“Thank you, Mama.”

You bit your bottom lip.

It was now or never.

And never was not an option in this case.

You pulled him towards you by his chubby hands and adjusted his clothing. He really looked like a Little Lord with those clothes of his. A small smile graced your lips.  

“Listen, Little Lord…” You started, caressing his cheeks. “We have to talk.”

He nodded, still too sleepy to say anything else.

“Well…” You breathed deeply through your nose. “You know Lord Dameron… the man who visits you from time to time and bring you some toys?”

He looked lost for a moment.

You helped him sit on the couch beside yourself, watching how he swung his little legs absentmindedly.

“The one who brought you some sweets?”

This time he smiled at you. It was all you needed to notice that one of his front tooth was missing. You touched his chin and tilted his head slightly back. It made him close his mouth automatically.

“Open up, Little Lord.”

He shook his head.

You knew how shy he became whenever one of his tooth fell. And considering it was one of his front teeth… Even so, you pressed him a bit more. 

“Lux, open your mouth.”

He obeyed you this time. Unwillingly, but he did.

“When did it fall?”

“Today.”

“During your bath,” you completed for him. “Who helped you?”

Part of you was afraid he would say Hux did. You bit your bottom lip and with some surprised looked up when the preceptress came back and said she did. She approached Lux with handled him his hot chocolate.

“Of course you did,” you replied with some relief. You knew it made no sense, but you wanted Hux as far away as possible from Lux.      

“What happened to Lord Dameron?” His childish voice brought you back from your musings. He had a chocolate mustache gracing his features.

Right.

You did not realize you completely fled the topic.

“He died?”

You cringed as the words left you. And to think you were worried about letting Hux break the news. You did even worse than he could possibly… Argh. You never hated yourself more than in that moment.

Casting a look at the preceptress and then back at Lux you were surprised to find him thoroughly concentrated on his mug. You accepted the small napkin she offered and cleaned his chin.      

“He went to heaven?”

Rae Sloane would kill the both of you for this definition, but you thought that was a pretty good explanation for a four-year-old.

“Yes… That’s a way of putting it,” you conceded. “But please, don’t ever tell Rae that.”

“Why?” he asked, curiosity written all over his chestnut, expressive eyes.

“Listen, Little Lord,” you started, removing the mug from his hands. You knew he would pay you little attention as long as he had that in his grasp. You handed it to the preceptress and looked towards the door. She bowed and left the two of you alone. “Remember when I said he was your father?”

“Yes.”

He was puzzled. And slightly irritated you took his mug from him. However, he made no complaints. He knew when you were speaking seriously and that certainly qualified as one of such times.

“He is not coming to visit you anymore.”

“Heaven is a good place…?” Even if his words were those of affirmation, it sounded like a question. You nodded, allowing him time to formulate his sentence. “Then it’s fine, Mama.”

He was so naïve.

Innocent.

You wondered if he would cry when he saw Lord Dameron lying there in the coffin. Motionless.

Honestly, as much as you threw it in Hux’s face Poe Dameron visited, it was a very rare occasion. He did stop by to see Lux three or four times during his four years of life. Yet, he was still his father. And Lux adored him and his company.

Or his gifts, Rae Sloane would probably say.

You brought him to your arms and held onto him tightly. He embraced you back, leaning his ginger head against your shoulder.

In this very moment, the butler opened the double doors of the drawing room and Hux appeared, all dressed in black.

He cleared his throat.

“Ready to leave?”

Even if you were years older than Lux, you too could quite not grasp the concept of life and death and how the living made such a fuss over it.

And although you were versed in politics — your decision to bring Lux to his father’s funereal was but a political assertion —, it still fazed you how people could use the death of others to state their positions in the Ton.

Nobody even seemed to care — it is, except for Lady Organa and her family. They had been very courteous to you and Lux as well. Her son, Ben Solo, did not get along with your husband, but the two of them were at least polite towards each other.

He did not stay with you all the time. As a General, he had duties to perform and there were always elevated expectations over his head. And of course if he wanted to become Prime Minister, that was a good situation to start showing his cards.

His speech did that for him, although you could not understand why he did nothing to say Lux was Poe’s son. For all you knew — and only Lady Organa knew otherwise — everyone in Apsley House thought Lux was his and yours.

You bit your bottom lip as you heard everyone applaud all around you. He left the small platform where his speech took place and headed towards you — but not before greeting some Lords and politicians, including the Duke of Wellington himself, the last person to speak before the burial.

Before Hux could reach you, you excused yourself from Lady Organa’s company and asked a servant to deliver a small piece of paper to one of the reporters of The Times present at the funeral.

You kept your distance, not really sure you wanted to hear the Duke’s speech. It was funny — and infuriating as well — how every situation presented an opportunity good enough to one show off in the Ton, including a highly esteemed Duke. You never had any problems with him, but you had no qualms playing — and winning — politic games.

Part of you hated that they chose such a moment to start their dispute for the most prized position both in the Ton and the political field, but you would be damned if you let the Duke win.

You were so distracted in your own little world you barely saw Hux approaching, Lux trailing after him, one of his hands holding onto the fabric of his breeches.

Arching your brows, you opened your mouth to ask what sort of sorcery he performed over the boy, to have him acting so civilized towards him, but you closed it afterwards when he placed one of his hands on your waist and bestowed you with a kiss on the cheek.

Your heart broke a little at the realization that Lux was not yours. Not for the first time that day you wondered how it would change your relationship if the situation was any different.

“What are you doing here?”

You did not give him an immediate answer and disentangled yourself from his embrace, offering a hand for Lux to take.

He shook his head.

Instead, he accepted Hux’s hands and the two of them left you behind. A shocked expression on your face.

What the hell was that?

You had many questions to him.

As in, you wanted at least only one question thoroughly answered. No hesitation, no lies, no half-truths whatsoever.

After you put Lux to bed — and it finally downed on him that Poe Dameron was dead and was not coming back —, you left your chambers and headed towards your husband’s study room. He was either alone or still talking business with Rae Sloane.

Lord Dameron’s burial had been three days earlier. Rae arrived only yesterday. Needless to say, she lost no time to reprimand you for letting the boy believe his father had gone to heaven — it’s also needless to say she did not believe in God.

As for how close both Lux and Hux got in the last few days she had nothing to tell you. Sided with the enemy. As always.

And as expected.

You snorted.

Closing your dressing gown, braced yourself for her inquiry eyes and her disgust at your weakness as well. Honestly, you could not help your jealousy. It was not fair that Lux decided from day to night he preferred Hux over you.

And that was what was eating away your insides. That was simply not possible. He had bribed Lux with sweeties or something like that. The boy would never prefer his company over yours.

You raised your hand to knock on the door, but stopped yourself when you heard their current topic.

…So you plan on sending him to Eton?

There was silence after Rae’s words.

You held your breath, afraid they had heard you. You pressed your ear against the wooden door and waited for Hux’s reply. It came shortly after the sound of a glass — porcelain? — was placed over another surface — wood?

“Yes.”

He did not say anything else.

You bit your bottom lip.

“(Y/N), won’t like it,” Rae started. You could almost see her shaking her head, a strand of raven hair falling from her uptight hairdo. “She won’t approve of your actions. She will likely hate it if you send him to an overseas institution that accept children.”

Part of you expected your husband to take his time to respond. He was not one to small talk and he always thought his words very carefully — except, of course, when he was angry. It did not seem the case. You wondered, though, how he would react if he knew you were listening to this very conversation.

“She does not have a saying in it.”

“No?” Rae repeated. You could bet she was smiling. “Let me refresh your memories, General,” she added and he snorted, as if she said something so very amusing. “You’re not Lux’s father.”

Ouch.

That hurt.

You smiled in spite of the burning sensation in your stomach.

It seemed Rae was not on his side as you previously thought. You almost slapped yourself at such nonsense. Rae Sloane was not on his or your side. She played by her own rules and she supported no one, but herself.

The fact that she raised Hux and helped him with his abusive father did not mean she would support his every decision — even the stupid ones.

And if it concerned Lux, of course she would think about what was best for the boy and at the present time he needed you. The two of you.

…can see that.

You shook your head, pressing your ear again against the double doors. You missed part of what he said.

“I never said that was a bad decision,” Rae said, and by her movements — her steps — you could say she was about to leave the study room.

Crap.

But you haven’t heard everything. They still had so much more to say, right? You had to know what Hux was planning. He would never tell you.

You needed to know.

“I merely said you’re picking a hell of a fight with Lady Hux.”

You could almost see his smile — a mischievous smile at that — when he replied, “I can deal with her.”

Your heart accelerated, galloping against your ribcage — even Lux’s wildest horses could not keep with its rhythm. It had been a while since you last felt this angry.

First, he made the boy like him in the timeframe of what? Four days? Now he was planning on sending him away. On forcing him to part ways with you and Rae — the one he needed and would always need the most.

“I can deal with her…” you repeated his words, mimicking his smug tone. “I can deal with her… Really?” You bit your bottom lip in anger. “We shall see, Lord Hux.”

We shall see. 

You had no idea what time it was when you heard the door of the anteroom cracking open. Probably very tired. If before you had no idea of your husband’s sleeping habits, now you knew he barely slept.

No wonder he had those dark circles under his eyes and his skin was getting paler and paler.

Well, he could die, you thought with the shadow of a smile crossing your lips. He could die for all you cared. He could die here, right now and you would not even bat an eye.

You brought Lux to the comfort of your arms and buried your nose in his ginger hair. Part of you hated that he even smelled like Hux — were they using the same shampoo? You would kill Hux if that was the case!

After he said he was sending Lux away you thought that nothing, no explanation whatsoever could ever make you love him or even respect him again.

You closed your eyes and decided to go back to sleep. Let the great Armitage Hux have the surprise of the century when he realized you put Lux to share his bed — your bed.

However, as this thought came to life in your mind, you heard him stopping at the bed; a candelabrum cast a flickering light in the chamber.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

You did not raise your head from the pillow, unless you wanted to smile and blow your cover.    

“Well…” you whispered back, your voice heavy with sleep. “He was having a nightmare and I thought you wouldn’t mind. It’s not like you get any sleep, to be honest.”

He retreated, heading back to the anteroom, and as much as you wanted to ignore him and let him sleep on the floor — you could not care less —, you could not control your urges.

You moved away from Lux carefully, placed the blankets over him and kissed his cheek lovingly before you followed your husband outside.

Closing the double doors behind yourself, you watched as he took a seat. You did not mimic him, you would rather stay on your feet and preferably away from him.

“I thought you liked the boy,” you started, using the word boy as he did in the past. With disdain. “Perhaps you only like him when he’s useful to you.”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed, but nothing left his lips.

His silence both stunned and angered you.

You expected him to say something.

Anything.

To agree.

To disagree.

To mock you.

To say you were a child.

He did neither.

“You are a hateful person,” you started, biting your bottom lip. You were on the verge of crying, but just like Lux — just like him — you were too damn stubborn to cry. “How can you do that? How could you?”

He stood on his feet, his furrowed brows made you want to slap him. You did.

Or at least tried to.

He held onto your wrists and pulled you to him.

You squirmed against him, but he did not you go. His breath tickled your skin; his five o’clock shadow brushed against your cheeks as he continued to hold you.

Before you realized, you were crying.

From anger.

Desperation.

Hate.

“I hate you.”

These words seemed to do the trick. He let go of you immediately, and you stumbled backwards, only to regain your balance seconds later.

“How can you send him away? To some overseas institution nonetheless?”

You could deal with Eton — you knew eventually Lux would have to part ways with both you and Rae —, they only accepted boys after their thirteenth birthday. He had to study. So why not Eton, one of the best institutions in your own country?

His reaction was quick.

You almost did not see it.

It was as if relief flooded him, before he stared at you with those impossibly blue eyes of his, his expression cold and filled with disgust.

“I refuse to have this conversation with you if you are to behave this childishly.”

A slap would have hurt less.

You felt your cheeks heating at his words.

“Childish behavior is yours that want to separate him from his—

“His what?” he hissed. He had invaded your personal space, towering over you. His stare was so intense, he could almost feel it burning you. “You are not his mother.”

It only served to push you further.

If he would not allow you to slap him — he would cage your wrists the moment you thought about it —, at least he would not see it coming. You spat on his face and if the situation were any different, you would have laughed at the look of pure revulsion on his eyes.

Before he could outline any reaction, a tiny sob drew both of your attentions to Lux. He was staring at you with chestnut eyes wide open.  

He was not crying.

At least, he was not making a big deal of it.

But Lux was not a child used to see anyone fighting. It probably scared him — you were always scared when your father and your mother fought.

Casting a glance at Hux — it was obvious it was all his fault — you walked to Lux, but he refused to go to your arms. He did not go to Hux either.

In that very moment, someone opened the door. Your body tensed at the thought of his preceptress or any other servant catching you in such situation, but it was only Rae. A sigh left you as she entered the anteroom and offered a hand to Lux.

He ran to her, wrapping his arms around her legs.

You felt guilty when she patted his head in a very Rae-ish manner and looked at you. Even if you could not see very well in the darkened room, you could bet her eyes hid nothing of her disapproval of your actions.

She nudged him forward and when he was not in your sights, she said, her voice low and chilly,  

“You are ridiculous. Both of you.”

There was silence between you.

For a couple of seconds.

Of minutes.

You did not now.

Both of you sat in the couch, side by side; thighs quite not brushing, but neither paid any attention to it.

He would not say anything.

You knew it. Even if he had changed a lot, his refusal to apologize when he thought he was right would never change — you wondered if he did apologize to those above him in the army. He used to apologize to your father quite often when he was a teenager; when the two of you were engaged. Most of times he was not wrong.

And when he was, it was usually because of your actions.

Begrudgingly, you breathed deeply through your nose and started, “Please don’t send him away.”

You expected him to take his time to reply. You were not ready to have him answering you so soon, nor the content of his words.

“You always expect the worst of me.”

What?   

Your mouth hung open as you tried to come up with a reply. Nothing came to your mind. After a while staring at him with an expression of surprise — you bet you never looked so silly in all your life, you said,

“You never gave me any reason to expect otherwise.”

By his sharp intake of breath, you realized that this time, your words felt like a slap to his face. But what did he expect? What did he want of you? You were suddenly tired of this game — and you barely stared it!

“I love Lux,” you said, your voice small. “I can forgive anything, but I swear, Armitage, I will never forgive you if you take him from me.”

He gave you no answer, but his intense stare made you shudder. Armitage Hux was not a man of many words and certainly not one used to talk about feelings — his or otherwise —, but his eyes — when he did not hold the reins of his emotion so tightly — hid nothing of what was on his mind and heart.

At the moment, you could tell your words did not surprise him in the least. He seemed almost… reassured at them.

“I can take you bribing him and diverting his attention to you sometimes, but I won’t let you let him study overseas now.”

There was a small smile on his lips as he placed one of his hands on your face, removing a strand of hair from your eyes and placing it behind your ear.

“Stop smiling.” You slapped his hands away. It made his smile broaden. “It’s not funny.”

“I did not bribe the boy,” he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip. Even if you fought against it, your heart accelerated.   

“So he became boy again, huh?”

“I was getting to know him better.”

“Why?” You furrowed your brows. His small caresses did not matter now. You were so curious you would even kiss him if it meant he would answer your questions. Subconsciously, you looked up at his lips, taking your time on them. “I know you bribed him somehow. Lux hates you… Or he used to.”

There was silence on his part for a moment.

You knew he did not like it when you said Lux hated him.

Why?

It made no sense.

“He will go to Eton when he turns thirteen,” he said, pulling you into a kiss.

It was brief. Chaste. A mere brush of lips.

But this, coupled with the information and how regretful his eyes and tone seemed to you, had you gasping in his mouth.

He took that as an invitation to take your lips more properly. His hands moved on your back, bringing your body against his; your legs straddled his.

Still, even if your bodies were so close together, and the moment was very intimate, there was nothing sexual about it.

You entwined your fingers through his short hair and placed your forehead against his. Undoubtedly, that was the first moment of — peace? you did not even know how to put it — something between you.

“I did bribe him with sweets. He has a sweet tooth.”

“I knew it!”

There was a moment of silence. You closed your eyes and lowered your head to his shoulder, your hand moving back, till it settled against his heart. He placed his hand over yours, both of your fingers entwining together.  

Your heart sped.

In that moment, you could swear he felt — if not love, at least something —, he cared for you.

“He likes toffee,” he whispered, against your hair and placed a kiss to your temples.

“He does,” you whispered back, a small smile gracing your lips.

He moved from the couch and took you in his arms. It elicited a light squeal from you. Without your permission, your thoughts went back to your first night together — he held you like this, your arms around his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist as he guided you to the bed.

When he lowered you onto the mattress, you did not let go of him. He settled between your legs, but he did not try anything. He did not move. His fingers traced your cheeks in a small caress that had you leaning against him.

“Why?”

There was no answer from his part. It was if he did not hear you. His right hand moved from the mattress and caressed the underside of your knee, his fingers moving slightly up towards your thighs.

“Why, can’t we always be like this?”

You caressed his face.

In the darkened room, you could not see it, but you could feel every plane of his chiseled jaw and sculpted nose. He was a very beautiful man. You remembered how he used to take your breath away when he merely cast a glance at you in the past.

You brushed your fingers against his lips, and the need to kiss him again was almost overpowering.   

“Why can’t we stop fighting? Why can’t we just stop hiding things from each other? I wouldn’t be mad if you talked to me about sending Lux to Eton. I know he will have to leave someday, but… To hear it like that, as if you were playing with my feelings…” Your voice broke. “I can’t bear the thought of losing him right now.”

He did not reply.

Instead, he broke apart from you and sat on the bed.

It made you furrow your brows.

You thought you were having a moment… What happened to him?

“Why didn’t you tell me, (Y/N)? Why did you hide it from me?”

His voice was no more than a whisper.

But not a warm, welcoming whisper.

It was cold.

Devoid of any good emotion.

Enraged, even.

“Tell you what?” You sat on the bed as well and moved to touch him. He inched away. You furrowed your brows. What happened to that — peaceful? pleasant? — moment of before?

“He is mine. Lux is my son.”

A/N - That will be all for today. I hope you’ve liked this chapter. I honestly miss updating and writing this story, but as you well know, I’m rather busy with my thesis right now... So, bear with me ok? Soon there’ll be no thesis and I’ll be back to updating frequently xD

[lucas-rygal-universe]

Minerva Mink as Minerva McGonagall

I think her name makes perfect match with Minerva McGonagall the preceptress of Gryffindor house(it’s kind of like one school groups in our real-life world).

[nieludzkii-blog]

❝ Let it be ridiculous, let them laugh at me. ❞ ( @ Tissaia! )

                russian af song starters                accepting

“Obstinate child,” she hissed. “Sooner or later you must accept that you are here girl, that you have been afforded an opportunity to pursue and become something greater than yourself or anything else in the world. All this ridiculousness is simply wasting your time and mine, and if you are going to let your gifts slip through your fingers then do so on your own time and remain that hunchbacked girl that came through the gates.”                Tissaia had seen her fair share of stubborn apprentices, but they all quickly fell in line under the discipline of the preceptresses and herself. Yet here they stood at either side of the room. Little Yennefer above on a staired platform, both taller by that fact and her less lop-sided shoulders straightening her spine – though Tissaia still had work to do on it. Tissaia stood across by her writing desk, hands placed resolutely on her hips to be an equally immovable object to the girl. Tissaia had seen despair in the pool of blood in the girl’s bedroom, and now she saw stubborn anger that could be molded and put to use.                “Or you can rise above it and realise the future you have been offered, and take it. Do whatever you must to accept it - cast off any remnant of your old life if you must, become cold if that’s what it takes to ignore those silly girls with their gossiping and cruel jokes. I can straighten out your spine completely, but it’s going to be up to you to realise you have one and nothing can stand in your way now except from this ridiculousness.”

[lboogie1906]

Spelman College is a private women's liberal arts HBCU in Atlanta. The college is part of the Atlanta University Center academic consortium. Founded in 1881 as the Atlanta Baptist Female Seminary, Spelman received its collegiate charter in 1924, making it America's oldest private historically black liberal arts college for women. The Atlanta Baptist Female Seminary was established on April 11, 1881, in the basement of Friendship Baptist Church in Atlanta, Georgia, by two teachers from the Oread Institute of Worcester, Massachusetts: Harriet E. Giles and Sophia B. Packard. Giles and Packard had met while Giles was a student, and Packard the preceptress, of the New Salem Academy and fostered a lifelong friendship there. The two of them traveled to Atlanta specifically to found a school for black freedwomen, and found support from Frank Quarles, the pastor of Friendship Baptist Church. Giles and Packard began the school with 11 African-American women and $100 given to them by the First Baptist Church and a promise of further support from the Women's American Baptist Home Missionary Society, a group with which they were both affiliated in Boston. Although their first students were mostly illiterate, they envisioned their school to be a liberal arts institution – the first circular of the college stated that they planned to offer "algebra, physiology, essays, Latin, rhetoric, geometry, political economy, mental philosophy (psychology), chemistry, botany, Constitution, astronomy, zoology, geology, moral philosophy, and evidence of Christianity". Over time, they attracted more students; by the time the first term ended, they had enrolled 80 students in the seminary. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #hbcu https://www.instagram.com/p/CcNbuMmLX2-OKo4Kx2FVjao5rPylzMb4UarqCw0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[yinwille]

This is my OC from the story I created when I was 15. Her name is Sian. She is a monk and a sorceress who was the first to get the power to defeat the Katneh - creatures who are spreading around the universe and ravaging the worlds. Her preceptress gave her five amulets which can transform into a weapon suitable for its owner and told her to find four another girls who can control them. Sian's weapon is a magical staff, which enhances her innate magic powers. So she leaves her monastery and her quest begins - but so much time will pass before she finds out that her world is destroyed by Katneh right after her departure...

[vajranam]

Lakshimikara Teaching

In the Dakini realm of Oddiyana, King Indrabhuti ruled Sambhola, and to cement the friendship with his neighboring kingdom, Lankapuri which was ruled by King Jalendra; Indrabhuti betrothed his sister Laksminkara at age 7 to the son of Jalendra. Laksminkara was an extraordinary being, blessed with the qualities of the elect. Time passed and at age 16, she was escorted to the Kingdom of Lankapuri. After her sheltered upbringing, she was terrified of entering the mundane world, when all she wished to do was continue with her practice.

Due to the delay of her departure, the royal party arrived later than expected and was denied entry to the palace because according to them, it was an inauspicious day. So the princess and her retinue had to wait until the following day. She grew uneasy of her new environment and fell into depression. And when she languished outside the palace observing the life of the city around her, her depression deepened. It was quite clear that the people of the city had never heard the message of the Buddha.

When she finally entered the palace, she locked herself in her chamber and refused to see anyone for 10 days. Determined that her only escape from this life was to pretend to be insane, she tore the clothes from her body and smeared oil on her body until she looked like a wild woman. But all the while in her heart she was concentrating on her sadhanas. The prince despaired when he saw her, and all the royal physicians sent to attend her could not cure the princess. She continued the act, until one day, she was able to escape from the palace and made her way to a cremation ground where she lived as a yogini for 7 years. A sweeper of the king’s latrines served her faithfully during this time, and when she gained realizations she gave him initiation. He quickly attained Buddhahood without anyone knowing of this achievement except his preceptress.

One day, King Jalendra got separated from his hunting party, and while he circled aimlessly in the forest, he saw Laksminkara, seated upon a jeweled throne, her body glowing with golden radiance. Faith blossomed in the king’s heart, and he remained there all night watching the event in the magical cave.

The next day, the hunting party found King Jalendra and they went back to the city, but the king could not keep himself from returning to the cave time after time. Finally, he entered the cave and prostrated himself before the yogini. Initially, she was quite doubtful of his intentions, but the king spoke so movingly of his belief in her as a Buddha, and he begged so humbly for instructions. She then told him he could not be her disciple as his guru should be one of his own sweepers. He was told to observe closely to find out who his guru should be.

The King did as Laksminkara advised, and not long after that he discovered the indentity of the sweeper-guru and invited him to his throne room, where he seated his guru on the throne and prostrated himself before his guru, and requested instruction. The sweeper-yogin gave him initiation by the transfer of the guru’s grace and then taught the king the creative and fulfillment stages of the sadhanas of Vajra Varahi.

For many years thereafter, Laksminkara and the sweeper performed many miracles before they both ascended into the Paradise of the Dakinis

[uncgarchives]

It is no mystery... We love having class visits in SCUA! 

Shown here:

Chauncy, Charles. Earthquakes a Token of the Righteous Anger of God. A Sermon Preached at the Old-Brick-Meeting-House in Boston, the Lord's-Day After the Terrible Earthquake, Which Suddenly Awoke Us Out of Our Sleep in the Morning of the 18th of November, 1755. Boston: Printed and sold by Edes and Gill, 1755. Jackson Library Special Collections-General BX9843.C57 E15 

[Selection of set type and compositor’s stick]

Foster, Hannah Webster. The Boarding School: Or, Lessons of a Preceptress to Her Pupils: Consisting of Information, Instruction, and Advice, Calculated to Improve the Manners, and Form the Character of Young Ladies. To Which Is Added, a Collection of Letters, Written by the Pupils, to Their Instructor, Their Friends, and Each Other. Boston: J.P. Peaslee, 1829. Jackson Library Special Collections-Woman's Collection LC1441 .F8 1829   

#WhodunitWednesday