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secret-captain-swan-blog · 5 years ago

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Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 94580/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12 // Ch 13 // Ch 14 // Ch 15 // Ch 16

Read on: Ao3

“Are you ready to go love?” Killian asks. He’s in the kitchen, drying the last of the plates from dinner.

Emma peers her head out of the bedroom, a smile on her face.

“Almost, I just need shoes,” she says.

It’d been a week since Emma had made peace with the Queen. Killian is endlessly proud of her courage and wisdom. He knows for a fact that forgiveness isn’t easy. The fact that Emma was able to forgive the Queen so openly, well, he admires her for that.

It was earlier this week that Emma booked her flight home. Killian’s throat had caught as he looked at the date on the ticket- just a few days before Christmas. Less than two weeks away. He’s tried to imagine spending Christmas without this woman who had firmly planted herself in his life. The thought of Christmas with Ruby and Granny, which had previously been a comforting thought, now makes him feel empty.

It was from this anxiety that he’d suggested they take one last trip to the opera house together. Emma had admitted that she was uncomfortable asking the queen for tickets and Killian agreed. Instead, she’d gotten them from the international student center at the university. It was for a ballet and Killian thought it would be a nice goodbye to a place that had been part of their journey together.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as she walks out of the room a moment later with a smile on her face. She’s dressed in a knee-length black dress with long sleeves and a jeweled belt around her waist to accentuate her thin frame. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, curling over her shoulder. Killian’s eyes linger over her dark eyelashes and bright red lips.

“Do I look alright?” She whispers.

Killian swallows, thinking about how lovely she looks, and how little time they have.

“Wonderful, love,” He manages, before offering her his arm.

Emma grabs her purse, opens the door, and leans on him as they walk out of the apartment. The path to the tram from Emma’s apartment is second nature to Killian now, as is the signature way they board the tram- Emma first with her card and Killian with his leap.

With the change of season, it gets darker now. The tram ride is a blur of light against the dark backdrop of the night sky. Killian weaves his arm around Emma and pulls her close. He cherishes each tiny moment of closeness they get. He wants to feel her for every moment they have left.

They get off at “Opèra” and make their way up to the opera house. The seats aren’t in the private box this time, but among the other International Students in the balcony.

“Maybe we should have invested in opera glasses at this point,” Killian mutters, as he finds his seat. They are still velvet lined and comfortable.

“Nah, it’s nice to see the formations from here. Balcony is good for ballet,” Emma tells him. She glances down at her program. “It’s a guest performance by the Royal Ballet. I saw them do a different show in London. They were spectacular.”

Killian smiles at her, impressed that she’s become a ballet aficionado. Killian doesn’t even know what the show is. He reaches for Emma’s program.

“Anastasia?” He asks, looking at the font swirling on top of a grey background. It’s unfamiliar to him.

“Didn’t you even see the animated movie growing up? With Meg Ryan?” She replies.

He shakes his head after racking his brain and coming up with nothing.

“It was a classic at one of the group homes I was at,” Emma says. “I’d watch it all the time.”

“Is it about the Romanov girl?” He asks, thinking to a history class he had in England.

She nods. “Yeah, well, the movie is like completely fairy tale. It’s about an orphan who discovers that she’s Princess Anastasia and for some reason she’s in Paris and Rasputin wants to kill her. The songs are great. And there is like this cute, little singing bat.”

Killian laughs, trying to picture it. “We’ll have to watch it sometime.”

Emma nods, “Anyway, weird that there is a ballet about it.”

Killian flips through the program, looking for more information. Emma folds her hands on his shoulder and rests her chin on them, peering at it.

“But look, this ballet was made way before that kids’ movie,” she points out.

“What does that mean?”

But then the orchestra begins the overture and the lights dim. They both take their gaze from the program to the stage.

The first two acts are lively, full of pre-Revolution Imperial memories. It’s balls and family and ornate displays of royalty. It’s like the kind of vision that lives on the corners of Killian’s memory.

When the third act comes, everything changes. The ballet is now set in a mental hospital in Berlin. The girl who believes she’s Anastasia is dancing madly across the stage. Her steps are crude and wild. Killian shivers, gooseflesh appearing on his arms. She’s delusional. She’s mad. It’s terrifying.

Beside him, he notices Emma gripping the armrest of her chair, her eyes glassy and distant. He reaches out and strokes her arm, then cards his finger through a few strands of her hair. She glances at him, stirred by his touch. Her eyes are haunted and tired. He’d hoped that his touch would soothe her, but she looks so tense.

He tries to understand what could have provoked this. She’d seemed fine at the interval. Then a realization dawns on Killian: she could be remembering.

He’s kept his suspicion quiet for months, ever since Emma asked him not to mention it. He understands her request. No point getting your hopes up about something that might not ever happen.

But he still thinks she might be the real deal. A bit of his soul starts to soar as he thinks of it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine Emma remembering everything and discovering that she is in fact the Lost Princess. He imagines her being fitted for gowns and going to balls, looking brilliant as always. He imagines her moving into a castle, being taken care of properly for once in her life. He imagines her finishing out her PhD here, writing her dissertation while balancing her royal duties. He lets himself dream of her life being here in Misthaven, instead of oceans away on a continent he’s never been to. He likes the certainty of her in this fantasy and perhaps that is the true fantasy of it. A life where Emma is firmly beside him for good.

The final bows are taken and curtain drops. Emma reaches for his hand.

“Can we hurry out? I really need some air,” She tells him.

He nods, squeezing her hand and following her down the aisle. They don’t linger in the lobby. He follows Emma’s lead and they go right to the door.

Once they are in the cool winter air, he watches her take huge gulping breaths. He pulls her towards him into a hug. She doesn’t resist him and she rests her head on his shoulder. He realizes she’s shaking a bit.

“Are you okay, love?” He asks.

She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Not really.”

He doesn’t want to ask her, but the fantasy, the hope of epiphany, can’t leave his mind.

“Have you, erm, remembered anything that’s disturbed you?” He asks softly, letting his head drip down to speak into her ear.

She looks up at him, her forehead wrinkling, “What do you mean, remembered anything?”

He frowns, not knowing how to keep from her from realizing what he thought. Before he can explain, she makes the realization.

She draws away.

“Oh my god, Killian. You can’t still possibly think that I’m Princess Emma. That can’t be further from the truth and you know that as well as I.”

He grimaces, upset that he triggered this reaction in her.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, love,” He says, as Emma takes a few steps back. “I just saw your face and you looked so disturbed. I hoped, foolishly hoped, that it was because you were having some sort of lovely epiphany.”

“Well, I’m did and I’m not,” Emma retorts.

“So what is on your mind?” He asks.

“Let’s go sit by the river,” Emma says.

He knows she’s stalling some sort of conversation, but he follows her nonetheless. He’s pleased that Misthaven is having a small winter heat wave so that it’s tolerable to sit outside. They cross the love-lock bridge and sit along the quai, legs dangling over the water.

He thinks of their first night together at the opera, when they sat together in this same spot, sharing a bottle of champagne. That’s when he tried to kiss Emma for the first time and she shied away from his kiss. So much has changed since then. A wave of reassurance falls over him. If they can go from that embarrassing night to where they are now, they can surely overcome whatever is disturbing her now.

“I was just thinking about how that Anastasia, or I guess her name was Anna,” Emma says. “She had an excuse.”

“What do you mean an excuse?” Killian says.

“For what she was doing, all the pain she is causing,” Emma tells him.

“I don’t believe you’ve caused pain to anyone,” he says, perplexed. “If anything, you’ve made my life, the Queen’s life, much better.”

She shakes her head.

“I did have an epiphany during the show,” Emma says. “But not a good one.”

“Oh?” He questions, daring to reach out and stroke her hair again. She doesn’t draw away from his touch this time. He’s grateful for that.

“I was thinking about Alice,” she says. He can’t help but grimace at the name, a fresh wave of pain flooding over him. “And how disappointed you were that she wasn’t your daughter. You were so upset. I was too. It was like a true loss to realize that someone you thought was your daughter wasn’t.”

Killian nods, the grief still lingering in his bones.

“And I realized that it was exactly what we were doing to the queen,” Emma says. “We’re leading her on, celebrating our sabotage.”

Killian runs his hand down her back. “Emma, love, I don’t think that we’ve been trying to misinform her for a while. I think that she’s come to care for you regardless. Didn’t you say that she said that to you?”

“But it doesn’t matter if we’ve given up on it,” she protests. “That was our intention. We wanted to hurt her. We wanted to take advantage of her pain. We wanted to profit off of it.”

She looks up at him. “It’s despicable. I can’t imagine that we wanted to give that pain you went through to anyone else.”

“Oh Swan,” he says. “I know that was our intention, but can you accept that we’ve done more good than bad? You’ve made the queen so happy.”

“No, there’s no excuse,” Emma says sharply. “We aren’t crazy. We aren’t in a mental hospital, imagining that we are someone else. We were greedy. We were unable to see the Queen as a human person with emotions. It’s disgusting. I’m sorry I was a part of any of this.”

Killian frowns. “Sorry you’ve been with me?”

“No, no, Killian, never,” she says. “I just feel guilty.”

“I know,” he says.

He pulls her towards him. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” she says softly.

He kisses her hair, “I love you too, darling.”

“What if we visited the Memorial Gardens tomorrow?” Emma asks.

“Of course, love. Your wish is my command.”

“I just feel like I need to make reparations with the real Princess Emma,” she says.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” he teases. “But for now, let’s go home, shall we Swan?”

The cobblestone path curves up the hill, flanked by rows of houses. The architecture of the houses match the castle in a way. Emma thinks it’s nice. She’s never been in this part of Misthaven before. It’s on the Old Town side of the river, up the hill from the Opera House and Saint Anne’s.

The cobblestone path gives way to an elaborate iron archway made up of floral designs and patterns. A plaque against the wall next to it reads, “Misthaven Memorial Gardens.”

Emma swallows, thinking how bizarre it is that this path leads right to these gardens. It’s as if it’s always been leading her this way. It’s as if Misthaven itself in its fundamental architecture was leading her to these gardens. It’s funny then to think that she hasn’t been there yet. She’s been to art galleries and parks and mountainside hikes and to the opera house. Yet, she hasn’t been to the part of Misthaven that seems to truly lie at its heart. This place that has existed to capture and memorialize the pain of a nation. Emma’s engaged in that pain through stories, through personal testimonies, but she hasn’t let herself be fully immersed in it.

Until now. That’s why she’s here. She wants to feel it all. She wants to understand Princess Emma who was lost, who was murdered on this night. Maybe if she can make sense of it, she’ll stop feeling guilty for a crime she didn’t commit.

The gardens are wooded with the same lovely old trees that Emma noticed in their other forest walks and in the woods near the Du Bois house in Belgium. There isn’t any snow today, because of the unusually warm weather. Indian Summer is what Emma used to call it in America. She wonders if it has the same name here.

She reaches for Killian’s hand and leans on his shoulder. They walk through the forested path till they reach a clearing. It’s all neat gardens here, arranged in a European style with a long pool down the middle, flowering artfully arranged on either side.

“There is a walled garden over there,” Killian says, pointing. “And a bog garden over in that part. There is even a Japanese garden in that area. The Royal Family put it in while I lived there.”

Emma sighs. “I want to know more about that.”

“About what?” Killian asks.

“I want to know what it was like when you lived here. When you left here, that night. Can you tell me?” Her voice is small, soft.

He nods and tugs on her hand. They walk around the castle. Her eyes are drawn to the high ramparts, the swirling towers of the castle in the imposing grey stone. In this back part of the castle a long meadow stretches out, forming a grassy plane that gives way to the forest.

Killian beckons her to a bench. They sit.

“I don’t remember it perfectly,” he says softly. “I was very young.”

She nods, scooching over so that their legs touch. His arm wraps around her back. The other points up at a tower.

“Do you see that? It’s the princess’s tower,” he says. “We knew it was coming for weeks, that there was a threat to the kingdom, a barbarian rebellion brewing deep in the town. There were preparations made. The King and Queen worked out a plan with Liam to make sure the Princess could escape. They knew that their fates were likely fixed, but they wanted Emma to have her best chance to live.”

Emma looks at the tiny tower at the top of the castle, imagining inside a little girl’s bedroom.

Killian continues, “Liam was posted to Princess Emma’s room and stayed there day and night with her till the threat passed or came to fruition. I was ordered to stay there with her as well, so I’d have a chance to escape under Liam’s protection. Liam was to go to America with the girl to seek asylum there. I wasn’t allowed to go, there was worry that one more child would make the thing so risky.”

Emma nods, watching the story dance across Killian’s face.

“Gods, Emma, I wish I could forget that night. It’s haunted me my whole life. Sometimes I still dream about it.”

Regret seeps through her. She’s asked too much of him.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to keep going. I didn’t know-“

He shakes his head, before reaching out to stroke her hair. “Emma, I want you to know all my stories. Even the hard ones. The haunting ones.”

She reaches out to run a thumb over his eyebrow, then along his jawline.

“That night there were gunshots in the castle that awoke us and everything was put into motion. Liam smashed the window, the beautiful stained glass one in the Princess’s room. He had this repelling kit that was already ready to go. He had me hold onto his back and put the Princess flush against his chest. We repelled down and it was terrifying. We didn’t know if there were snipers in the woods. If there were, I’d be the first shot. There were arrows, no guns. It’s hard to get weapons inside of Misthaven, so we think now that they only gave those to insurgents. Anyway, the arrows flickered by my head and I wondered if I was going to die.”

Emma can’t imagine a boy so young dealing with such a terrifying realization.

“When we were half way down, I heard the worst noise I’d ever heard. There was a gun shot, then a scream. I recognized as the Queen’s and I knew she’d been murdered. If she was dead, then surely so was the King. I remembered how kind they were, caring for me and Liam after everything we’d been through. They gave me a chance at an education, a chance to have a good home, to be well-fed even. And now they were gone.”

Emma gulps. She thinks of the woman she knows who is full of more compassion than she’s ever known. She suddenly sees a new side of Mary Margaret. The side that cared for Killian as a child. She might not be her mother, but she was something of that for Killian. Emma’s heart soars at the thought. She can picture Mary Margaret doting on a tiny Killian, reading him books and giving him bon bons.

“My brother told me to run when we reached the ground. He told me I’d be safe at my grans. He took off in one direction with the Princess and I went in another. I didn’t know that’d be the last time I’d see him. I thought that maybe one day he’d return to me. Or he’d call or send for me. There was nothing. I ran through those woods on my own, my heart thumping in my chest, wondering if I’d get caught, if I’d be found. But I wasn’t. I made it to my grans’ safely. She was surprised to see me. She wasn’t particularly nurturing, too old to be as grandma-like as I’d hoped, but she provided for me.”

Emma senses his story ending and leans her head against his shoulder.

“I’m shocked that the queen survived. I’m still upset, sometimes, that Liam didn’t. I used to lie in bed at night as a teenager, when I was in the young offender’s institution, and look at the ceiling and think about that scream. I used to be so angry at the Princess. She was off in America with my brother and here I was alone and betrayed. It’s sad now, I suppose. They both are dead. I was the one who was better off.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek. His arms wrap around her back and he pulls her to him.

She doesn’t realize that he’s teared up until he says in a choked-up voice, “You don’t know how much joy you’ve brought to my life, Emma. I was so sad. I was struggling for so long. And you’ve given me so much hope.”

“Oh Killian,” she replies. “You’ve given me so much too. I’m so grateful for you. Every day.”

There was a part of her that was fighting for so long; that was angry and walled up and hurt for so long. But Killian broke those walls down. Mary Margaret did too. Misthaven truly has been responsible for everything good in her life.

She wishes she could thank it. She wishes she could give something back to this place that has given everything to her.

Her eyes sweep across the field, as she imagines little Princess Emma running across it with Liam. It’s almost too real, too vivid before her eyes.

Where the field meets the forest, she sees something for a moment that she thinks is a figure. At first she shivers, thinking they’ve been watched this whole time. But the figure is too still to be real. There’s three figures.

Oh.

“Is that a statue over there?” She asks Killian.

He nods.

“Let’s go see it,” she says.

They walk across the field slowly, hand clasped tight. The field is dotted with wild flowers, beautiful in the bright light of Indian Summer, but for a moment she imagines them as arrows. She can see the scene of horror, almost too vividly, almost too real, like a ghost of trauma that existed here. It’s like pain dwells so deeply in this space that she can see it before her, as if she was there.

They read the statue. It’s brass, shiny, showing how new the pain is. This isn’t the kind of revolution that happened years ago, but one that floods the memory of everyone in this small country.

The statue is of a family, the Royal Family. She sees Mary Margaret at once. Her hair was longer then, wavy and young. She was so young.

And the King. Emma’s not thought much about the King, as if he was just a side character to this story, but she sees him now, kind-faced and noble. She wonders if he played little games with Princess Emma. She wonders if Mary Margaret loved him as fiercely as Emma herself loves Killian. Yes, she thinks, she must have.

Her eyes finally find the Princess. Emma can’t help but take a step closer. The small girl, with ringlets and a familiar tiara. With a lurch in her gut, Emma knows why it looks familiar. It’s the same she saw in the pawn shop where they met the hooded man in August. It couldn’t be… but she knows it could.

She follows the little girl’s features, her wide eyes, so full of curiosity and hope for the future. Emma fills with rage at everything taken from her, that future ripped away from the small girl.

Emma’s gaze finally lands on her chin. Without thinking, Emma lifts her hand to let her thumb rub over the tiny dip in her chin, just as Killian has done many times to Emma herself. They’ve all been right. They are the same.

It’s so silly, she thinks now, that they wanted to plan this giant con based on blond hair, an accent, and a dimpled chin. It only makes her feel more stupid, more guilty.

So guilty, in fact. It slams Emma in its enormity, tears springing unwillingly to her eyes. So much has been taken away from this family, from Queen Mary Margaret, and she was willing to continue that. Emma wanted to continue to hurt this woman who has been hurt more than anyone deserves in one lifetime.

Emma feels nauseous, dizzy. She can’t be here. She can’t be part of this. In even planning out the impersonation, she participated in this violence against Misthaven. She’s perpetrated the same crime that has been carelessly carried out by greedy girls, by violent men, by rebels who sought to hurt the country that has given her everything.

“Emma,” Killian asks, grasping her arm as she begins to sway. “Are you alright, love?”

She doesn’t want his companionship right now. She’s struggling for breath and the only thing that can free her is admission of the truth.

“I just need some space,” she says. “Do you mind if I walk a bit on my own? I need to clear my mind.”

“Yes, of course, Swan,” he says, dutiful as ever. “I’m going to read for a bit in the English gardens, just around the other side. Come find me when you need me.”

He presses a kiss to her cheek, as her eyes stay glued on the statue.

“Emma,” he whispers. “Look at me.”

She turns to him. He cups her face in his hands, his eyes sincere with concern.

“Don’t get lost in your thoughts, love. Don’t build higher walls.”

She tries to nod, but instead, he lurches forward to put a kiss on her lips. There is an edge of desperation to his lips, as if he is trying to keep her with him. As if he knows what’s on her mind and wants to keep her grounded, before chaos erupts. As if he knows they might only have now.

“I know,” she says, trying to give him a smile.

He squeezes her hand before he walks away.

Emma stays at the statue, her gaze meeting the Princess’s for a few moments as she watches Killian round the castle and out of sight. With her mind made up, she turns. She feels like she’s possessed by a force not of her own. It’s like her feet are willing her in the direction of castle, regardless of what her mind says is foolish or right.

She approaches from a side entrance. There are security guards there with metal detecting wands. They search her bag and let her enter. Inside, sits a desk with a receptionist. She’s struck by how tiny Misthaven is. If this was anywhere else, she wouldn’t even be able to get this far.

“Hi, I’m Emma Swan,” she says. “Is it possible I could speak with Prime Minister Mills? She knows who I am and I think she’d like to listen to me.”

The woman looks surprised, maybe at Emma’s accent or how forward she is, but she nods and picks up the phone. She speaks something in French for a few moments, before turning back to Emma.

“The Prime Minister will be down in a few moments,” she says.

Emma nods, trying to stay calm. She looks around what she thought was a lobby, but now she recognizes it as an entrance hall to a castle. There are twin tapestries on each wall, ornate gold cross hatching across the roof. A magnificent chandelier dangles in the middle of the ceiling.

She wanders closer to the wall, almost in a trance. She wants to reach out and touch the wall, feel the cold stone under her fingers. She feels like she’s lost in one of her old childhood dreams of castle corridors. She shivers as she pulls up the tendrils of memory from those dreams- being a Princess, waiting for someone to save her. She thinks again of social workers from her childhood. The ones who told her that her brain made up those stories, those dreams, to mask whatever truly horrible thing had happened to her as a child. She wonders if she and Princess Emma are akin in that way- having brunt trauma as a child. There’s that.

“Emma,” a voice interrupts.

She was expecting to hear the crisp tutting of, “Miss Swan,” from the Prime Minister. But instead, Emma turns to see the Queen. Her heart swoops.

“What are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asks.

Emma shakes her head, “I was looking to see the Prime Minister, but actually, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Oh?” The Queen says.

“I think we should talk,” Emma says.

“Yes, okay,” Mary Margaret replies. “There is a quiet sitting room in the center of the castle. I’ll tell Prime Minister Mills to meet us there when she can. I was just visiting her earlier today and I know she’s quite busy with errands today. Poor dear, on a Saturday too.”

Emma doesn’t have words to form, so she simply nods. Her stomach feels queasy again and dizziness floats through her. God, her hand is shaking.

Emma knows what she has to say. She knows what she has to do.

She follows the Queen through the hallways, until they approach an insignificant looking door. The queen pushes the door and it leads to a small chamber. It’s a bizarre place, with octagon walls and only two doors- one of the floor and one at the top of a tall staircase that curves around the room.

“There are only two entrances,” the Queen explains. “One from the ground floor and one from the Royal Offices, which is now the Prime Minister’s office.”

“Oh,” Emma says, looking up.

An octagonal piece of stained glass covers the ceiling, filling the chamber with colored light everywhere.

“Shall we sit?” Mary Margaret asks. “I can ring for some tea if you wish.”

“No tea,” Emma says.

She feels weird being with the Queen not at her Summer Palace, or the Southern Palace. This space that feels so loaded with sad memories.

They sit in two armchairs in the room. There isn’t much in the chamber- an ornate rug, a fireplace, and a trunk being used a table. It’s so cramped in the small space, yet so much empty air hangs between them.

“I have to tell you everything,” Emma whispers.

“Tell me what, my dear?” The queen asks.

“I have to tell you about what we did, or tried to do,” Emma says.

“Whatever do you mean?” Mary Margaret reaches for Emma’s hand.

She pulls it away. “Killian and I. We befriended you under selfish pretenses, awful pretenses. And I feel wretched about it.”

Emma feels the tears returning, sticking in her throat. “I think I’ll feel awful about it till the day I die.”

The queen frowns and nods Emma to continue.

“We both were in need of money. I needed, and still need, to fund my last semester of graduate school. Killian’s always wanted to open a bookshop. We both had these dreams that needed funding. Killian was approached by a man who wanted to offer us money for me to impersonate the Lost Princess. We were both uncomfortable with the situation and said no,” Emma pauses to sniffle, to breath, to force the words out.

The Queen mistakes that for the end of her admission. “Thanks for telling me. You did the right thing.”

Emma shakes her head. “We didn’t. The more we thought about it, the more we realized that I am very similar to how the lost Princess, your daughter, might be. I have an American accent. I have blond hair, green eyes-“ Emma looks up at the queen, at the bits of her face that mirror her own. “I have your chin. We both knew that you might believe that I am your daughter. We sought out your friendship in hopes that we might profit off it. It was selfish and greedy. We celebrated each time that you thought I might be your daughter.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret breathes. Her face is disappointed, as she should be.

“We kind of gave up on it over time. I think I realized that my friendship with you was enough. That I didn’t need to convince you to think I am your daughter for you to treat me with that same care. But if I really knew better, I’d have told you up front about our plan. I still deceived you.”

The queen swallows and frowns.

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, burning with shame. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to tell you. I’m sorry I got mad at you for keeping secrets when I was keeping secrets of my own.”

“What makes you tell me now?” The queen says.

“Ever since Killian found out that the child, Alice, wasn’t his, I’ve been realizing something” Emma murmurs. She realizes that there are tears on her face. “That same pain that Killian was going through, it was exactly what had happened to you time and time again. You’d gotten your hopes up. You thought you’d found a family, but you just were being tricked. And I was doing that to you too.”

There is a moment of silence between them, tension waivers in the air. Emma waits for her admonishment. Or a prison sentence. Or whatever she feels she need to tell Emma.

But Emma is free now. The guilt that has clung to her grossly, sticking behind her knees, making her scratchy, is gone now. She wipes away the tears that linger the creases of her eyes. Whatever comes, she said what she needed to.

“I’m leaving in just a few weeks or so,” Emma says. “But I can leave sooner. Or if there is some other punishment, whatever it is. I’m sorry.”

The Queen’s assembles her visage, before closing her eyes and sighing.

“Emma, this isn’t your fault,” Mary Margaret tells her.

“But-” Emma starts, looking at her hands. She twists them awkwardly, too ashamed to look at the queen.

“I told you months ago. You are valuable to me. You matter to me,” The queen says. “I didn’t say that to you because I thought you were my daughter.”

Emma looks up.

“I said it because you are my friend, my mentee,” the queen said. “I do admit, I got my hopes up at first that maybe you were her. I wanted to share things I loved about her with you. I wanted you to fill her void. But that day, when Regina found us when we were riding, I realized that I cared about you Emma Swan, not Princess Emma. I connected with you. With the girls that came before you, they were fake in their interests. They weren’t lovers of literature, like you are. They didn’t care about opera or tea or intelligent conversation. You’re different, Emma. You’re authentic.”

The queen’s speech makes her feel dizzy. She doesn’t know if she should fall into her arms and together share a soulful cry, hearts joined in a combined lost-and-found reunion. Another part of Emma, the part of her that is instinctual and conditioned from a lifetime of loneliness, just wants to start running.

Before Emma’s internal conflict can come to fruition, a voice interrupts them.

“Your majesty, your highness,” A voice says from above.

Both of their heads turn to take in Prime Minister Mills walking down the stairs.

“Prime Minister,” Emma says.

“Regina,” Mary Margaret echoes.

“I thought I’d interrupt,” Regina says, midway down the staircase, “I hope you don’t mind. I heard you were looking for me, Miss Swan, and I am in fact, looking for you as well.”

Emma turns to face where Regina has curved around the room on the stairs. Her stilettos beat out a staccato against the steps.

“Oh right, sorry to bother you Prime Minister,” she mumbles. “I heard you are very busy today.”

“No, you were one of the people I needed to see today, so honestly it’s perfect timing,” Regina says, walking down the final curve. “I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, your Majesty, but I also believe that I am about to make an entrance at the perfect time as well.”

Emma and Mary Margaret exchange confused glances.

“This week, during our usual meeting, you mentioned that Emma had forgiven you and that you’d agreed to be friends again. As you both know, I’ve been concerned about your friendship for a while. While you both protested that there was no false hope between either of you, we both know that was a lie. You’ve both just said it yourself.”

Emma wants to protest, but she knows that the Prime Minister is right. They did just say it.

“So, I went ahead and did something a little wild. I hope you forgive me, but I am, in fact, Prime Minister. I had samples of DNA taken from each of your places of residence and tested. I must admit, I was a little impatient to get to the bottom of it and find out once and for all who this woman is.”

She gives a vague wave at Emma.

“The lab tests came back this morning. Emma Swan, Your Royal Highness, you are Her Majesty’s daughter.”

The news slams into Emma. She grips a table to steady herself as the world seems to move around her.

She’s the lost princess? She’s Princess Emma?

But she can’t be. It must be a joke. A prank. It must be some sort of “get this little orphan’s hopes up and then crush them.” Because she can’t actually be the kind of person that anyone cares about this much. She’s a fake. She’s an impersonator. She’s the kind of person who has had to work her whole life to every tiny thing. She can’t be a princess.

But yet, she looks up and Queen Mary Margaret’s eyes are full of love, tears rimming her eyes.

“Yes, of course, she is,” Mary Margaret whispers.

Emma tries to think of Mary Margaret as her mother. She tries to apply the word mom to the elegant queen before her. But all she can think about is how small the room is, how oppressive the walls feel, and trapped she feels. She knows she’s not trapped. She knows that she finally has a family, which is honestly what she’s wanted her whole life. But all she wants is to run.

“Sorry,” Emma says. “I just… I have to go.”

She doesn’t turn back to look at the shock on Mary Margaret or Regina’s face. She doesn’t try to process the tears in her own eyes or the fact that this lifelong instinct of running is kicking in. All she can think is that she has to get out.

Sorry for a long long delay on this chapter! Let me know if you read it so I can figure out if I should keep going on finishing it!

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs ff au #CS modern AU #CS fic #emma swan #killian jones #cs crew #cs mafia #i honestly don't really remember what the tags are

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kanna-ophelia · 5 years ago

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A Mouth Full of Sugarplums

Good Omens Advent Calendar Prompt Day #1: Mistletoe

Mistletoe:

a) a symbol of protection against evil

b) a symbol of the reconciliation of enemies and healing of conflict

c) an excuse to kiss your lifelong best enemy

On AO3

Crowley, he told himself, was a demon. A dark-winged shade of Hell, able to produce Hellfire from his mouth, the original Serpent in the Garden, scourge of humanity throughout the ages. He need fear nothing but the overlords of Hell.

He certainly shouldn't be shifting anxiously from foot to foot, freezing to death in a bitter wind, afraid to approach a bookshop with a box of comfits in his gloved hands.

Ten years. Ten years was a long time to sulk. Clearly the angel was not going to approach him, so it was time to gird his loins and--not apologise. Surely it was bad enough that the act of skulking around the angel again was a tactic admission that I don't need you had been a blatant lie. Even, if Aziraphale looked too closely, an admission that he didn't really have anyone else to fraternise with, at least that he cared about.

Aziraphale would. Aziraphale was charming and garrulous, and interested in humans, who could hardly wait to pour their hearts out to him. Crowley liked humans, the same way he found ducks entertaining, and was impressed by their cleverness--alright, not ducks, dolphins, perhaps--but they didn't tend to tell him their troubles and joys. If they did, he would have the uncomfortable feeling that he should be trying to turn the information to their damnation, which didn't lead to cosy chats.

Aziraphale didn't need him. Obviously. And when Crowley thought about that, he nearly turned and fled again.

The shop door opened with a jangle of bells. "My dear boy, are you coming in or not?" a testy voice asked. "I feel like I have a half-starved viper hovering outside my door waiting to swallow me."

Well, that was a clear invitation. Crowley stumbled inside before the moment, or his courage, failed, shoving the box of sugarplums at Aziraphale as he passed.

The shop was like--well, not Heaven. The light of Heaven had never been as warm or soft or honeyed, and Crowley's memories of his former brethren had never looked as warm and soft and honeyed as Aziraphale with pink cheeks, unwrapping the ribbon around a box of comfits. Crowley, coming in from the harsh cold, felt like he was being bathed in sunshine.

In other words, he was back with Aziraphale. Crowley was almost ashamed of the way he turned like a plant toward Aziraphale's sun.

"Sugar plums," Aziraphale said, with delight. Crowley miracled his overcoat onto a hook, threw himself on the yellow occasional chair and prepared to watch intensely. These weren't just any comfits. These were the best, most delectable sugar plums made by the most expensive confectioners in London. Smooth and round and meticulously panned, bright with saffron and cochineal.

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was aware of the usage of the word "sugar plum" to mean "flatter and make up", if he understood the meaning of the gift. You never knew, with Aziraphale. He was so blessedly well-read, but things also tended to go past him.

Either way, it seemed to have worked. Aziraphale set down the box on a miraculously clear surface and popped one of the comfits between his lips.

And sucked. Eyes closing slightly, cheeks pinker, and... oh, Satan, he was rolling the sweet in his mouth with his tongue, making a faint delighted noise, his cheeks hollowing and rounding out. Crowley knew he should look away, or do something to hide his own reaction, but it was the most delectable sight, Aziraphale intensely enjoying something he had brought him, that Crowley burned and ached in both the spiritual and physical senses.

I missed you, I missed you, he thought, and: You are glorious, and: You must have no idea what you do to me.

Aziraphale chewed at last as most of the sugar--oh, it must have melted in that warm mouth, trickled down his throat--and made a final swallow. Crowley was hard-pressed not to moan himself.

The angel picked up the box and held it out. "These are scrumptious. You must try one."

Crowley unlooped and unfolded his legs, always a bit of a process, and came forward as if mesmerised. Aziraphale was growing even pinker as he approached, and--

The angel's gaze slid briefly, guiltily, up to the ceiling, and Crowley's gaze followed.

"Mistletoe," he snarled, glaring at the bough suspended above Aziraphale's head.

"I--I'm sorry." Aziraphale was red now, and distressed looking. "I didn't mean to presume--"

"You were really, really determined to keep me out, weren't you?" He growled. "What changed your mind?"

"It's harmless fun."

"Fun? Well, I won't darken your door much longer with my stench of evil. Enjoy the comfits."

"Wait." Aziraphale blinked. "Crowley, I think we're talking at cross purposes."

"No, I understand. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with Heaven."

"My dear, did you really think I put this here to keep you out?"

Crowley pursed his lips. "You just accidentally put a big protection from evil token above your door after we had a tiff?"

"Crowley." Aziraphale was smiling now. "You know that's not the only meaning. Don't you remember Greece? And Rome?" He lowered his lashes shyly. "Perhaps--perhaps I was thinking, a little, of the tradition of making peace with a kiss anointed with mistletoe. And hoping--I have missed you."

Missed him. Kiss. Crowley tried to say several things, and made a strangled noise instead.

"And there's a charming modern tradition--Crowley, will you come here? Please?" Aziraphale looked frightened, but his soft jaw was set in a firm line, and after all Crowley never could resist a request from the angel.

He slinked forward, feeling a bit like a dog not sure if it would be petted or kicked.

Aziraphale popped a sugar plum in Crowley's mouth, as if making sure he wouldn't interrupt.

"You see, you do this." Aziraphale reached up and plucked a single white berry. "And then you do this." He leaned in, and Crowley remembered the game, and realised too late that Aziraphale was probably aiming to kiss his cheek.

Too late. He had already instinctively turned his head, and soft angel lips landed on his hard demon ones.

Aziraphale froze, and for a moment Crowley knew, just knew, he was going to pull away and apologise, and that seemed unbearable, so instead he reached and grasped the angel's forearms and pressed his lips back and parted them gently, tasting sugar and sweetness and not knowing whose mouth it came from. A mouth full of sugarplums, he thought dazedly, and now the expression made sense, because one sweet kiss like this and Aziraphale could convince him to anything, anything at all.

"I missed you," Crowley whispered against the angel's mouth, rather indistinctly because of the comfit still in his mouth.

Aziraphale freed his arms, but instead of stepping away it was to wrap the arms around Crowley's back and kiss him again, and that was answer enough.

Mistletoe was a glorious plant.

Yes, I will be keeping up with my WIPs and my Big Bang fic, don't worry. I'm just using the excuse to write shameless, plotless fluff about kissing as writing warm-ups over breakfast XD Thanks to @drawlight for the prompts

#31 days of ineffables #good omens holiday challenge #good omens fanfic #day one #Ineffable Husbands #azcrow fanfic #aziraphale/crowley #airconditioning #mistletoe

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shhbean · 6 years ago

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An angel, A demon, Five Teenagers and a Witch Walk in to London Pride...

It had been a solid five years since the world didn’t end.

To Crowley and Aziraphale, the greatest otherworldly upheaval only felt as if it had only been just settled, but for their mortal companions it had already bled away into obscurity. Time moves differently and strangely for everyone it seems, especially when you’re dealing with the metaphysical implications of immortality. Despite feeling as if no time had passed at all for Crowley and Aziraphale, much had developed between them over the course of five years. Once the unpleasantness with heaven and hell had been thoroughly settled with their snappy body swap, and when enough time had passed to where both of them felt sure enough their respective departments would be scratching their heads for a while, Crowley got on one knee in the back room of the bookshop and asked Aziraphale if wouldn’t mind, so terribly, to let Crowley love him. A silly human tradition that neither of them really needed to do, but Aziraphale agreed anyway. Because as they always did, they had fought their way through angry, blind, fate, only to come inevitably, ineffably, back to each other.

Neither of them felt that one of them was going too fast for the other after that.

Their ceremony had been small, but Adam and his friends insisted on being in the wedding party, and it only seemed appropriate that a union between an angel and a demon be officiated by a witch (Or, by Anathema’s insistence, an occultist). Dog fulfilled his job of ring bearer very dutifully, and Madame Tracy and Newt made good of their promise to help Shadwell keep his thoughts to himself. It was overall quiet, but full of much calamity, and it had the best catering and entertainment that both grooms could provide. And most importantly, the day was spent with family, and full of love.

Not too long after their wedding, a cottage had appeared, by some miracle, in the South Downs. One that was big enough to hold all of Aziraphale’s books, and with a lavish garden that Crowley could tend to. It had a sitting room for holding tea with guests, and plenty of nooks and crannies that either being could escape to when they were looking for a moment’s peace. A place for a telly and a vinyl record collection, and a kitchen that could handle the sheer amount of food and wine Aziraphale held on to. And so, the angel sold his shop and the demon abandoned his flat and they turned their tiny cottage into a busy home. Five years of visits, Christmases, birthdays, and that one spring that they hosted Anathema and Newt’s wedding passed by in a blur. But, Crowley and Aziraphale were more connected then they had ever been before, and they weren’t letting anything separate them ever again.

It was a fine June morning, when Crowley woke up, halfway curled against his husband. The soft light from the window pane made their bedroom illuminate a gentle yellow, it also highlighted some of the dust that had collected on their dresser. Crowley wrinkled his nose at it, despite knowing Aziraphale would probably miracle it away later. Aziraphale was awake next to him, thoroughly enthralled in his book. He hadn’t quite adjusted to sleeping every night like Crowley had, most nights he just read or knitted, but Crowley always ended up wrapped around him come morning, one way or another.

“Good morning, dear.” Aziraphale said gently, not looking up from his book.

Crowley’s very reptilian eyes were still adjusting to the morning light as he muttered something along the lines of “Morning, Angel,” to his husband.

Aziraphale shut his book and kissed Crowley’s forehead sweetly. “Coffee, then? Or tea?”

Crowley groaned. “Coffee, please.” And, in that moment a warm mug appeared in his hands. Crowley sipped it. Dark roast, from that little shop in London they used to go to together. His favorite. “Thank you, love.”

“My pleasure,” Aziraphale smiled. “We can’t doddle in bed all day, I’m afraid. Anathema called, the children and her will be visiting today.�� Despite the fact that Adam and all his friends were now sixteen, and that Adam would most likely be driving them all of them out to visit, his godfathers very pointedly continued to refer to him and his friends as “the children”.

Crowley, now feeling more energized, wriggled his eyebrows playfully at Aziraphale. “It’s a shame Adam had to come practice his driving today of all days, if it was up to me I’d have you in bed all day, Angel.”

Aziraphale flushed despite himself, before rolling his eyes and good naturedly smacking Crowley’s thigh. He rose from their bed, ignoring Crowley’s victorious smirk, and padded over to their dresser, laying out his day clothes. He snapped his fingers and in an instant his clothes were on, and the dust on the dresser had been wiped away.

Crowley smiled.

“Alright, well, I’m going to pick out some snacks and put the kettle on. Don’t doddle, I meant it. They’ll be here soon.”

“Yes, yes of course, I’ll be up in time to see the witch and the rugrats. I don’t know where you got this idea about me always being late,” He assured Aziraphale as he began to shuffle out of their bedroom.

And before Crowley could slide back into bed for more sleep, Aziraphale appeared in the doorway again. “And no freezing time in order to get more sleep! That’s cheating!”

Crowley made a noise between a chuckle and a groan before rolling his eyes, stepping out of bed and fishing around for his sunglasses.

Sure enough, when Crowley had descended the stairs, he found that the cottage had been made perfectly suitable for guests. There was not a spot, nor stain uncleaned, and not a single speck of dust to be found. Looking at the cottage, it was a little odd, the way their respective tastes blended together. Crowley being a bigger fan of modern styles and minimalism, while Aziraphale delighted in rustic charm and his many, many knicknacks. But, they made it blend together beautifully. Their home was quite the sight, spaced out evenly full of art Crowley “borrowed” throughout the years, with hanging baskets of his plants lining the ceilings. Aziraphale’s charming vintage taste in furniture and the many shelves lined with books, and the surplus of presents the two of them received over the course of their time on earth. Crowley passed through their very charming, very rustic, and hardly used for anything other than storing food, as opposed to making it, kitchen on his way to the sitting room. There were currently three kettles boiling away on the stove. Crowley rolled his eyes affectionately. Aziraphale always went overboard when they entertained.

Upon approaching the sitting room, he found that Aziraphale stuck true to his over-particular nature. He had placed a light yellow tablecloth on the tea-table, and adorned it with their finisist tea set. Crowley had gotten it for him for their first wedding anniversary, every cup was light blue with little pink roses on it. The tea pots were light pink with little blue roses on it. Every single one of Crowley’s plants in the sitting room were suddenly blooming with flowers, and he couldn’t help but make a little sound of annoyance at that. Aziraphale had a nasty habit of coddling his plants. But most importantly, there was a massive spread. Cookies, mousses, puddings, little tea cakes and tarts as far as the eye could see. Crowley was taking to eating about the same rate Aziraphale was to sleeping, but he couldn’t resist some of the treats from their many tea parties.

Aziraphale looked up from his puttering around the room. “Oh, you’re up and dressed, thank goodness. Well,” he paused and smiled nervously. “What do you think? You think they’ll like it?”

Crowley smiled softly. “They always like it. I like it too, but I’d like it a bit more if you’d learn to leave my plants well enough alone.”

That earned another eye roll from his husband, much to Crowley’s delight. No one ever tells you that falling in love means just means that you found someone that you want to agitate forever, and Crowley always relished in that realization. A moment later, the doorbell rang as if the house was clearing its throat, begging them to get a room.

Aziraphale clapped his hands together excitedly. “They’re here!” He beamed as he made his way over to the door.

Adam and his friends arrived the same way they always do, making far too much noise for anyone’s good and throwing around hugs like free candy. All of the children had aged just as well as they were expected to. Adam looked about the same, but lankier, and his face was beginning to square out. In a few more years he’d be just about Crowley’s height. Pepper had grown a little and was a lot more wise, but still had the same tenacity she did as a little girl. She still wore her hair natural, though it was now a tight buzz cut. However, this appeared to be a more recent change, as Aziraphale had pointed it out with a compliment the moment she greeted him. Brian and Wensleydale had aged about the same way all teenage boys do, awkwardly, with pimples. But, they both remained delightfully the same as when they were children, bickering their way through greeting Crowley and Aziraphale.

Anathema arrived with gifts, like she always does. A book on witchcraft throughout the ages for Aziraphale, a calla lily growing kit for Crowley, and a protection stone for the both of them. Crowley put the stone with the many other magic stones Anathema brought them (that neither of them particularly wanted or cared for, but Aziraphale insists on displaying anyway) while Aziraphale prepared the teas. They all sat down at the table quickly, reaching for treats and calling for tea.

“And how is married life treating you two?” Anathema asked, sipping her Prince of Wales. “You both look great, really.”

“Oh, quite wonderfully I must say. Though, I can’t speak for Crowley–”

“Don’t make me sound so unappreciative, Angel,” said the demon himself, sitting down across Anathema and the group of wily teens, lowering his sunglasses slightly and smiling. “You should all know that I’ve been having the time of my eternity.”

Aziraphale flustered greatly, as he still hasn’t completely adjusted to the sheer amount of affection Crowley had for him, even after six thousand and five years. However, their guests seemed thoroughly amused by their behavior, as this dynamic was something they had come to expect from the pair. Aziraphale finished doling out the teas, a fruity pomegranate blend for the kids, and more herbal and flowery blends for the adults. Or, well, adult and two immortal beings. Anathema favored Prince of Wales, and Crowley, though he’d never admit it, loved Aziraphale’s rose blend. Aziraphale parked himself at the table next to Crowley, who put his hand out on the table expectantly. Aziraphale took it, and cleared his throat.

“Well, how about you Anathema? How’s married life treating you? And where’s Newt, the dear boy?”

Anathema smiled as she batted away Wensely’s hand from her macaron. The glint in her eyes was familiar to Crowley and Aziraphale, as they had a similar one whenever one spoke of the other. “It’s been very...pleasant. I didn’t think I’d ever settle down, really, but I’ve loved every moment of it. Newt’s been wonderful. Right now, he’s in London visiting his mother.”

“I want to go to London,” Pepper chimed in, suddenly and wistfully. With all the evidence of not listening to the previous conversation. “The pride festival is supposed to be next month, I really want to attend for once.”

Adam suddenly spoke up, after his attention was drawn away from his chocolate mousse. “Why don’t we put on a festival in Tadfield? Sounds like a lot of fun, pride. Seems like the exact thing we need at home. Dog would look very good in a Parade.”

Pepper snorted. “Sorry Adam, but Tadfield’s much too conservative for it. They wouldn’t put it on because then that require acknowledging that gay people, well, exist.”

“Well, we got that lil’ club at the school. That’s kinda like an acknowledgement I suppose,” Wenselydale piped up.

“Wensely, I started that club. Well, Amy and I started it.”

“Oh? Who’s Amy?” Aziraphale inquired, slightly excited. Crowley perked up at the mention of Amy as well. While Crowley and Aziraphale were very close with Adam, they had quite the soft spot for Pepper as well. A new friend of hers was a very entertaining prospect to them.

Pepper on the other hand, much to their surprise, looked a bit bashful. Brian and Wensleydale snickered as Anathema attempted to hush them, while poorly covering up her own smirk. And Adam, ever the loudmouth, who will always say exactly what he’s thinking and will never ever stop, answered for her.

“Pepper’s girlfriend. Sort of. They both clearly like each other, but won’t say anything about it. Believe me, it gets very frustrating watching them dance around each other. It’s like, you’ve known each other for so long, just say what you’re thinking and bugger off. We’re all getting tired.”

Before Pepper could properly put Adam in a chokehold, Brian snorted.

“Yea, sounds familiar though, don’t it?” he teased.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Brian, though the boy couldn’t tell by the sunglasses. But his rigid tone definitely got the point across. “You know you’re a guest in our house, boy.”

Aziraphale waved a hand in front of his husband. “Crowley, dear, please don’t threaten the children.”

“I’m not a child! I’m 16!”

And at that moment, Anathema, Aziraphale and Crowley, all made the universal noise that adults make when children deny the fact that they’re children. The conversation then turned into a lively debate on what age counts as a child, a discussion on what Tracy and Shadwell are up to and if anyone has visited them, Newt’s latest job, how school is going, grades, and Dog’s health. And eventually, after all the tea had gotten cold and the pastries had been eaten, Crowley clapped his hands together and asked Adam if he’d like to practice driving in the Bentley, much to the boy’s delight and Aziraphale’s utter panic.

That night, as Crowley and Aziraphale were settling down, Aziraphale wore the expression he usually did when something was dawning on his mind. Crowley picked up on it instantly.

“Don’t tell me you’re really upset that I let Adam drive the Bentley, you know I wouldn’t actually let him get hurt,” Crowley said as he took off his sunglasses, miracle-ing on his pajamas, an old Queen shirt Aziraphale got him and some lounge pants.

“Hm?” Aziraphale snapped out of his thoughts, slipping into bed. “What? Oh. No it’s not that. Though, I would’ve preferred if you picked a safer vehicle for him to practice in. Really, his life span is so short already I could do without you trying to kill the boy.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and made a noncommittal humming noise. He got into bed and leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. For a moment, the whole thing felt very, very soft. If he had a human heart, it would leaping out of his hypothetical human ribcage. Sometimes, it really surprised Crowley just how quickly he got settled with Aziraphale, and how quickly Aziraphale settled with him. It was always a jarring thing, he supposed, to love and be loved back just as much in kind. No amount of rings and ceremonies and shared beds could truly shake how quickly they both abandoned six thousand years of pining. But, at the end of it all, he knows in imaginary heart of hearts that neither of them could ever go back to before.

“What’s on your mind, then, love?” He asked, his hand magically finding Aziraphale’s on top of the covers.

“Well I suppose it’s what Pepper said today...with Amy and London pride. I just wonder...if Tadfield isn’t going to be doing anything for pride, if shes getting the support she needs at home.”

Crowley snorted. “Her full name is Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, I’m certain she’s getting the support she needs at home.”

“It’s not just the parent’s support that matters, you know that,” Aziraphale countered, defensive not really towards Crowley, but something far more abstract. “A parent’s love and support of a child who’s different can go a long way, almost the entire way, but it doesn’t change how the outside world will treat them...how society will treat them,” he finished softly, sadly.

Crowley nodded solemnly, being on Earth as long as they did made them no strangers to concept of homophobia, both witnessing it and being on the receiving end of it. Their concepts of sexuality were a bit more complicated than human terms, but it never made it any less frustrating and painful. “Alright so, you’re worried about the girl, I understand that, but I can tell you’re building to something else here and usually that involves me, so–”

“I want to take them to pride, Cowley.” Aziraphale cut him off.

“Who? Pepper?”

“Not just Pepper, all of them, the children. I think they’d really benefit from it. Especially Pepper and Adam.”

Crowley quirked a brow. “Ya think Adam’s gay?”

“Well, it’s not polite to assume, for the record, but I don’t particularly think about it one way or the other when it comes to him. I just know that Adam is full of love for everything new, wonderful, and exciting. There’s nothing more wonderful and full of excitement than pride. And there’s nothing more full of love.”

“You have a point there, Angel. But it’s not like they’re taking a day trip out to come visit us here. We’re talking about taking four teenagers to London during one of the biggest events in the world! We’ll need their parents approval, transportation because teleporting them will cause panic, safety precautions, and probably an extra hand. Lord knows I don’t have the temperament to deal with that many teenagers on a hot summer day…” Crowley was so swept up in his musings that he completely missed his slipping up and using the word “lord”. Aziraphale, however, was busy mentally preparing to counter every concern Crowley brought up on his pessimist's checklist. And because of their adamant bickering, they were both surprised when Crowley’s phone lit up with a text message from Anathema, saying that she thinks it would be a good idea to take the children on a day trip to London pride.

Much to Crowley’s infinite frustration, and his husband’s infinite delight, he found himself forced to agree.

When Anathema had announced the plan to take the kids to London pride, it was a lovely June afternoon. They were all picnicking, her and the Them taking up large picnic blanket. It was much easier when the children were all smaller, now they all sort of bumped shoulders and sat a bit on top of each other. Though, none of them had particularly complained. The snacks were lovely (Though not as lovely as an Aziraphale-made spread.) and so was the weather. Dog was out, running through the fields, chasing butterflies and his tail. Newt was at work, as he was now a bookkeep at a local store (Who’s owner insisted that everything be kept on paper, not computer.) and planned to join them later in the day. It was all and all, quite the serene little picture.

And when she finally breached the subject, she was met with excitement and many, many badgering questions. Wensleydale and Brian were all for the trip, but they had some concerns regarding their parents approval. It was one thing to take day trips out to the South Downs, usually under the context of lying to their parents as to exactly why they were in the South Downs. But, a two day trip to London with their friends, a witch, and two strange men no one’s parents had actually formally met, who actually really weren’t men at all in the human sense, that made things a bit more complicated. They fretted and fretted about it to Anathema until Adam reassured them that if Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t “convince” their parents of it being a good idea, then he certainly could.

Pepper, on the other had, was overjoyed to say the least. It felt like she was finally able to grasp at some unseeable, unfathomable goal for the first time after years of looking at it through a foggy window. Her mind was a buzz with planning outfits, activites, and oh–

“Since convincing guardians is not going to be any issue,” Pepper said slowly, methodically. “Would it be alright if I asked Amy to join us?”

Anathema smiled knowingly. “I don’t see why not.”

When Crowley changed his name to Anthony J. Crowley in the late 1920s, he really only did it with the intention of having a human name to use for tax forms and other frivolous human things. He thought it had a nice ring to it, the cheeky little “J” being a joke between him and him alone, a punchline he’d never give anyone the satisfaction of knowing. Overall, he didn’t particularly care that everyone just called him Crowley anyway, considering it took Aziraphale almost two thousand years to adjust from “Crawley” to “Crowley” the fact that no one ever found a use for his full name never really got to him.

Aziraphale, however, found a particularly effective use for it about a year into their marriage.

“Anthony J. Crowley!” he snapped, and Crowley stopped in his tracks. Immediately looking for some kind of tree or tall post to climb up to hide himself from the Angel’s disapproval. “You are not packing any alcohol for this trip, you hear me?”

Crowley turned, to find Aziraphale very pointedly holding up the two bottles of Rosé that Crowley had snuck into their suitcase. He made a low, confused grunt in response, a noise he’s made plenty of times when the Angel put his foot down.

“I don’t see the issue here, considering you and I have been well above the legal drinking age since,” he paused, to very pointedly check a pretend watch on his wrist, entirely for dramatic effect. “I don’t know, creation, and look,” he pointed at the second bottle in Aziraphale’s hand, thinking his angel would change his mind at the considerate gesture. “I even brought extra to share with Anathema and the bean post.”

Crowley had not used Newt’s actual God given name since the day he met him. It was quite possible, entirely, that he didn’t actually know it. Aziraphale huffed, placing the bottles on the dresser, before very sternfully approaching his husband.

“You do remember, perhaps, that we are taking four very impulsive teenagers on this trip with us, correct?” Aziraphale had infinite patience, and infinite kindness due to his angelic nature. Therefore, he was not particularly prone to frustration. Crowley did always find a way to drag it out of him, though.

“Oh c’mon, I doubt any of the kids are going to try to swipe it,” Crowley paused, as if his ability to put two bits of information together had finally kicked in after taking a momentary nap. “Well...Brian might. Honestly, I could see Pep tryin’ to snag some too...and,” the end of the sentence had reached Crowley with growing monumental horror. “...Adam.”

It seemed that it just entirely dawned on Crowley for the first time that Adam was in fact, no longer a rambunctious eleven year old, but a rambunctious sixteen year old. A sixteen year old, who it's very possible, throws wild parties when his parents go out of town. A sixteen year old who has possibly snuck a few beers when no one was looking, who has even maybe indulged in marijuana. And maybe even kissed another human person. It seemed like five years just reached up and very blunty slapped Crowley across the face.

Aziraphale must’ve caught the expression, possibly because it was completely impossible to miss, and he grabbed Crowley’s hands delicately.

“Are you alright, dear?” he asked, all frustration set aside for concern the moment.

“Yeah...yeah. I’m fine I’m just...sometimes the passing of time really comes up and hits you hard. You know what I mean?”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Of course I do,” and even if he didn’t, which was unlikely, he said it with so much affection that it didn’t particularly matter to Crowley one way or the other. He kissed Crowley’s hands sweetly. “Please put the bottles back in the wine case, my love. We’re due in Tadfield in a few hours.”

Crowley returned Aziraphale’s kiss with a peck to his forehead. “Alright, alright,” he sighed, pulling away reluctantly and grabbing the bottles off the dresser. “I really, really don’t know how you always get on me for being late when apparently in your words I drive ‘like a loonatic.’”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and walked back over to where the suitcase lay on the bed. “And yet, somehow, we always end up precisely fifteen minutes late.”

“Even by angel’s standards you are a fussy one, you know that?” Crowley said over his shoulder as he stepped out of their bedroom.

“I love you, too.” Aziraphale replied, folding a shirt.

Aziraphale and Crowley arrived in Tadfield exactly fifteen minutes after the agreed upon meeting time.

Luckily for the both of them, Anathema and Newt knew them both long enough to expect them fifteen minutes later. The kids all stood outside Anathema’s cottage, all in a line, all carrying their bags, as they were much too excited to sit inside and have lunch before leaving. It was a fine July morning, the morning they were leaving to on their “gay-cation” as Amy kept reffering to it, school had just gotten out for summer break two weeks ago and they were all very much looking forward to their trip. Amy stood on the very end of the line, next to Pepper. Together, the two of them looked quite the pair. She was a few inches shorter than Pepper and her sense of fashion leaned much more towards feminine than her sort-of girlfriend’s. Amy wore her hair in dreadlocks, which she recently dyed light blue for Pride. Pepper had gotten her nose pierced the week before, she wore a tiny stud earring which she’d most likely switch it for a ring before the parade. Amy was noticeably, very excited to be there, and very excited to be there with Pepper.

“Wow, Adam’s godfathers must be loaded to be able to get us four hotel rooms in London! So close to the parade route too! And foods included? They’re probably swimming in it!”

Pepper and Adam shared nervous look before Pepper responded, carefully. “Yeah…they’re like...stupid rich. Aziraphale made a lot of money selling rare books to pretentious wealthy people.” It was a half a lie, Aziraphale must’ve sold some books at some point.

The them had decided that maybe it would be best to clue Amy in on the whole “celestial being” thing at a later date. Even if Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t the best at keeping a low profile, it was just hard to explain their circumstances to a completely normal human girl who hadn’t put a stop to the apocalypse. Amy was a smart girl, however, and they were just hoping that maybe she’d come to the proper conclusion herself and they’d all sort it out from there.

“What sort of name is Aziraphale?” Amy asked, curious.

“It’s biblical,” Wensley supplied, before receiving a thorough elbow to the stomach from Brian.

When the Bentley finally pulled up towards Anathema’s cottage, Adam took a running start towards it, his friends following behind him. Aziraphale and Crowley stepped out, delighted to see kids, like it had been several years and not several weeks since they’d last seen them. Adam pulled both of his godfathers into a very tight hug, chattering away about this and that. Anathema noticed the two of them from her kitchen window, and began walking out to greet them, Newt carrying bags in tow. After Adam finally released the pair from his death grip of a hug (“Strong hold he’s got, gets that from my side, you know,” Crowley would comment later) Aziraphale and Crowley moved down the line of loved ones, offering greetings and of course, passing out gifts. They had gotten Adam and all of his friends multicolored sets of dice for some sort of fantasy game they liked to play, some incense and sage for Anathema, and a set of teas and cocos for Newt. When Aziraphale and Crowley made their way down the line to Amy, Aziraphale shook her hand and smiled. Crowley nodded, with his most pleasant expression plastered on his face.

“Hello, you must be Amy. Lovely to meet you...Oh! Right, here you go,” and Aziraphale reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a book. “Pepper mentioned to me how much you loved Audrey Lorde, and well, this was just sitting around the house, I figured you’d appreciate it.”

Amy gaped, looking at the book once over. It was definitely a very vintage collection of her poems. “Is this...a first edition?”

“No, no, but it is a pretty early one, so be careful. But I’m sure you don’t have to tell you that twice.” Aziraphale said, chuckling before he stepped away to help Newt load up the Bentley, which had miraculously found enough space to carry all their luggage.

Crowley hung back for a moment, to watch as Amy beamed over at Pepper, book pressed tightly to her chest. Pepper met Amy’s smile with an expression so soft and so fond, it felt all too familiar to Crowley. He smiled slightly, before he was pulled out of his reverie by Anathema asking him to help break up Brian and Wensleydale’s impromptu wrestling match.

They left twenty minutes past their agreed upon leaving time, but the car ride was full of chattering, questions, complaints, and excitement for the weekend. All while Queen blasted on the radio. And in the very back seat in the Bentely, once they were sure all the prying eyes were focused on the rousing back and forth between Adam and Anathema, Pepper and Amy held hands sweetly.

Aziraphale smiled at the sight in the rearview mirror.

The morning of the parade was met with elation and excitement from everyone. Crowley and Aziraphale woke up earlier than the rest of their party, relishing in a few extra moments spent in bed together, before a hasty breakfast and rushing off to the parade route. Aziraphale got up, and began to adjust his curls a bit in the hotel bathroom mirror, musing about how exactly he was going to present himself at the parade today. Both of them had selected new outfits for the event, Aziraphale opting for a slightly more modern version of his usual suit, in a very pale blue. And his usual bowtie, the same pattern, though coloration was a pastel rainbow. Crowley stepped into the bathroom, sporting his new outfit. He was, as usual, dressed in all black, but his undershirt and jeans were pressed and ironed, not a wrinkle to be found them. And he was sporting his brand new leather jacket, with a small enamel pin of a rainbow heart on the lapel.

Aziraphale smiled, and stepped over to help Crowley straighten out his jacket. “You look very handsome,” he commented sweetly, hands smoothing out the leather.

Crowley smirked slightly. “Careful now, Angel. I’m a married man, you know. And my husband is quite the jealous type, actually.”

Aziraphale quirked a brow. “This coming from the demon that won’t let me keep any Oscar Wilde in the house.”

Crowley dropped the act instantly, stammering. “What– oh, well, forgive me for not wanting to be reminded of your former flame in my own home.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but snicker at Crowley’s defensiveness, his...encounter with Oscar Wilde had been the frequent subject of bickering between the two of them for almost millennia. He kissed Crowley, softly with all the love in the world.

“You really need to learn to let that one go darling, over the course of my whole existence I can promise you, my eyes and my heart have only been for you,” Aziraphale said softly, before stepping back over to the mirror to fiddle with his curls once more.

Crowley, much to Aziraphale’s complete delight, flustered like a teenage boy on his first ever date. “Yes. Right, well, well good. Okay, I’m going to, uh–” he cleared his throat. “...going to go wake the others, now. Figure out what’s for breakfast, and all that.” And with that, the demon tripped on himself on his way out of the bathroom, setting his swagger aside to go settle his nerves as quickly as possible.

Aziraphale shook his head affectionately, finally settling on leaving his curls the way they were.

The parade was met with pure joy and elation. The boys enjoyed every moment of it thoroughly, Brian and Wensley hollering and whooping with delight at every performer that passed by. Adam was very excited about the prospect of boys being able to wear makeup, already excitedly asking Crowley to help him pick out eyeshadows and nail polishes. Newt and Anathema held each other as waved their respective flags, Anthema holding the bisexual flag with reverence, Newt waving his ally flag, proudly pointing to his “I love my bisexual wife” pin. Crowley had brought a delicate kiss to Aziraphale’s temple, holding his hand with all the affection the world could offer.

And through all the chaos, the glitter, the streamers and the parade floats there was this overwhelming, but comforting sense of the purest and most magical sense of love. And Pepper and Amy gazed at each other, two teenagers desperately enthralled in each other, and they shared their first kiss of many together, wrapped up delicately in the lesbian flag Aziraphale miracled up for them. Or maybe Crowley did.

Or maybe, none of it mattered, because they were given one of the most wonderful gifts, and spent the day with some of their favorite people. Feeling the way that they were always intended to, full of love, hope, happiness, and pride.

#good omens #its finally doooone #ineffable husbands #fic

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ofregiums · 5 years ago

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silence ! raise the royal standard, for the king of hungary, DOMINYKAS VANCURA, has arrived. being thirty-one years old, he is currently on the throne. many around the court call him the insurgent by virtue of him being perspicacious and captivating, while also being ruthless and aggressive. —played by max irons

— THE BASICS

full name: dominykas leandro vancura date of birth: july 26th age: thirty-one star sign: leo profession: king of hungary ( canon ), hedge fun manager mi6 operative ( modern ) loyalty: hungary, house vancura, entente alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: estp spoken languages: hungarian ( first ), english ( fluent ), spanish ( fluent ), french ( fluent ), mandarin ( fluent ), russian ( advanced ), italian ( advanced ), lithuanian ( intermediate ), polish ( intermediate ), hindustani ( intermediate ), arabic ( beginner ) mother’s name: gabriella vancura father’s name: richárd vancura ( deceased ) siblings, if any: pál vancura ( older, deceased in canon ), aurélia vancura ( younger ), adelaida & angéla vancura ( younger, identical twins ), dániel vancura ( younger ) children: laima vaisvila ( aged five ) height: 6′2″ hair colour: dark brown. eye colour: blue-grey.

— CANON VERSE

first off, let me start off by saying that dom can be the wOOOoooooOoooRST. what’s his damage, heather ? well, it’s not his family. his family was super loving and supportive and he grew up loving all of his siblings and such. never rly had the responsibilities of being king so he fucked around a lot as a teenager, partaking in hedonistic behavior bc why not ?

fell like fucking head over heels madly in love at the age of seventeen to a lithuanian duke’s daughter and shit, nothing else mattered. she was his polar opposite like a goddamn ray of sunshine but she made him want to clean up his act in a way that he never though possible. he !!! fucking !!! loved !!! her !!!

yep, loved. bc he can’t be happy, duh. they got married at the age of eighteen, things were fucking great. she tempered him down and reminded him that there was good that no one else saw. about two years into their marriage, the two discovered that tiesa was pregnant. but the war was brewing and he felt like he needed to fight and that all sorta stressed his wife out a lot. she has a miscarriage due to it.

that was the first knife to the heart. dom grew resentful and numb to his emotions. he detached from his family and was a far harsher and colder man. lacking a purpose, he went off to fight in the war. witnessing those horrors really fucked him up and added another knife to the heart.

he had a partner in crime in the war, a total ride or die. this was probably the only guy that could coax a smile out of dom lately. so obviously that meant he couldn’t live. he was killed saving dom. that traumatized the hell out of him.

coming back from the war, dom was no longer the boy he’d once been. he’d become a man, and that man was more akin to something horrible. he delved headfirst in hedonism to drown the pain and clutched to anything that could make him feel – if there was anything at all.

then, his father who he LOVED was murdered by prussia. ( clearly, i’m saying fuck dom rights )

the final straw for him ? losing tiesa. after the glorious news of hearing that she was pregnant again, the two thought this would be the new fresh chapter in their book together. she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl that they named laima. but as quickly as happiness returned to dom, it was taken away -- tiesa lost too much blood during the birth and didn’t even survive to see her beautiful creation. in absolute anguish, dom plucked all the knives of trauma that had once pierced his heart and declared that he no longer had one -- save for his affection for his sister and child.

coveted the throne from his older brother, but really it’s just something to fixate on so he didn’t delve too much into his own fucked up head. he was angry that his brother refused to attack prussia for their sins against their father. considered his brother a weak leader and fully convinced himself that he would be better. (spoiler alert: he wouldn’t.)

he got the chance to make that selfish, horrendous dream into a reality when the vancura family traveled to bern for the peace talks. one night, pirates stormed the castle taking lives and innocence left to right. dom seized his opportunity and stabbed his brother in the midst of the attacks. as he died, dom promised to exact revenge on prussia for their father. when guards came around, he pretended that it was the pirates that had done the deed. oh no ! long live king dominykas, i guess.

dom is hurting and in return, he wishes for everyone else to hurt. and if that meant lighting himself on fire and burning all the bridges on the way, so fucking be it. he’s vindictive and charming like a fucking snake, and he’s just as venomous.

anyways that’s my trash son. if you’re hot, he’ll flirt. if you piss him off, he becomes a scary mass of rage. terrible temper smh.

prussia, he’s coming for you hoes.

— MODERN VERSE

born the second oldest of the vancura children, dominykas didn’t have as heavy of a responsibility on his shoulders as his older brother did. honestly, he liked it that way. he had no desire in being controlled or even having a hand in his family’s business – banking. his great grandfather created the company and soon, the ambition turned it into an empire.

while his parents had met as children in hungary, they migrated to london once they eloped for a better chance in life. dom has only been back a handful of times in his life to visit family. he hasn’t been gone by his own will since the age of sixteen and doesn’t plan on doing so.

instead of worrying about the family name, dom enjoyed being the pretty hedonistic rich boy that got everything he wanted and did everything he pleased. was the peak definition of a fuckboi growing up and was very proud of it.

didn’t really want to further his education. while he was naturally intelligent, he never had the desire to just learn for learning’s sake. but not attending university was a non-starter when it came to his strict father. he was handed pamphlets of high-end schools and was forced to make a choice. he decided on oxford university, since he had zero desire to leave england.

that ended up being the right choice because: a.) he met his best friend florian & b.) he met tiesa. she was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life and the moment dom tried to use his usual disingenuous charm on her, she shut him the fuck down. holy shit, he needed it. and the reason that she called him out on his bullshit was exactly the reason he fell in love with her. after much back and forth throughout their studies, she agreed to go out with him and they started dating very soon after.

near the end of his university experience, dom was approached by a “hedge fund firm” for an internship. upon the interview process, he learned that it was in fact a cover for the secret intelligence service. they wanted to hire him as an operational officer. dom, a known thrill seeker, thought it would be fun.

keeping his lives separate proved to be difficult, especially with how things were going with tiesa. they fought a lot about him being secretive and it placed a strain on their relationship. things grew doubly complicated when tiesa announced that she was pregnant. dom asked her to marry him instantly, not wanting this to be a decision that severed their ties. they had an elopement, much to his family’s dismay, and a few months later – laima was born.

if he thought he understand love before, fuck it only grew tenfold. all he knew was that he loved his wife and his daughter and he would do all he could to protect them. ironic, considering the nature of his job.

upon graduation, the secret intelligence service offered him a lucrative new position – in the field as an operative. it sort of felt like something out a movie but this was a cold reality that would change dominykas’ life for the worst.

collecting information, by means or torture or even worse methods, wore on the man. but he couldn’t just back out of his agreement. he was in for life and that was a decision he would have to learn to accept. except, dom was a stubborn man. so, he tried to get away. packed up tiesa and laima and booked a trip to the states. he was willing to trade secrets to the cia for protection.

the day they were supposed to leave, he found tiesa shot through the head in their kitchen. laima was wailing in her nursery. the official news was that it was a botched bulgary. but dominykas knew, he fucking knew. it was them. and he had no choice but to continue to work for them. for laima’s safety.

his mind spiraled into darkness and paranoia after his wife’s death. he didn’t know who he could or couldn’t trust. could it have been one of his siblings who betrayed him ? a friend from his dining club ? truth be told, the only person that he trusted throughout this all was florian but even his best friend could not salvage the shell of the person he’d become after losing tiesa.

now, dom bitterly continues to work for the service, no longer batting an eye at the the violence and schemes of it all.

drinks a lot more than he used to. too much, actually.

no longer attempted to be there for laima as he should be. truthfully, he sees too much of tiesa in her and the reminder threatens to take him off the deep end.

#( * introductions. )#( * rich kid asshole ; paint me as a villain | dominykas vancura. )

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lgbtqiahistoricalromance · 6 years ago

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LGBTQIA+ Historical Romance Novels with Ghosts, Ghouls, and Gothic themes-October 2018

(Warning: Some books may have triggers such as abuse, questionable family morality, dub-con, and mentions of suicide attempts.)

James Eyre by Jade Astor

- A gender twisting adaptation of the classic Gothic romance Jane Eyre!

In Victorian England, 21-year-old James Eyre, frightened by his feeling for another man, decides to leave the boys’ school where he has spent ten years, first as a student and then as a teacher. He manages to secure a position as a private tutor for Axel Vance, the ward of a wealthy man who owns an estate in Yorkshire.

From the night of his arrival, James begins to sense that things are not as they should be at Thistleton Manor, the home of the enigmatic Edmond Manchester. Late at night, wild screams seem to echo through the house, and during the daytime objects disappear from James’s room and are replaced with sinister-looking voodoo dolls. Though his instincts tell him to flee, James stays on because he enjoys his duties and the company of his pupil—and even more so because he has begun to develop an attraction for his employer, Mr. Manchester.

To his surprise, Mr. Manchester seems to return his feelings. However, a jealous former lover and a phantomlike presence in the house seem determined to tear them apart. If he is to have any hope of a happy future with the man he loves, James must solve the mystery of Thistleton Manor and save Edmond’s life as well.

Resurrected Heart by Jade Astor

- Knowing that the kind of relationship his heart longs for is forbidden by the laws of Victorian England, college student Gray Langley fights his loneliness by throwing himself into his studies and his artwork. One gloomy afternoon, he is out sketching a graveyard when he meets Dr. Arthur Striker, a man who seems to share Gray’s scandalous desires. Though Gray is encouraged when Arthur seems to return his feelings, he is unnerved by the scientific experiments Arthur seems to be conducting in his home. Even more frightening is the strange and violent madman who appears and tries to kill him whenever he and Arthur get close. And why does his attacker look exactly like Arthur?

The Secret Casebook of Simon Feximal by KJ Charles (I’ve read this one several times. Several short stories in one, with lots of creepy details, arguably the least romantic MC of all time, and wonderful erotic elements w/light D/s. Also, Charles joined forces with Jordan L Hawk to create a crossover with Hawk’s Whyborne & Griffin series. The short story is called Remnant, and it’s free on the authors’ sites.)

- A story too secret, too terrifying—and too shockingly intimate—for Victorian eyes. A note to the Editor Dear Henry, I have been Simon Feximal’s companion, assistant and chronicler for twenty years now, and during that time my Casebooks of Feximal the Ghost-Hunter have spread the reputation of this most accomplished of ghost-hunters far and wide. You have asked me often for the tale of our first meeting, and how my association with Feximal came about. I have always declined, because it is a story too private to be truthfully recounted, and a memory too precious to be falsified. But none knows better than I that stories must be told. So here is it, Henry, a full and accurate account of how I met Simon Feximal, which I shall leave with my solicitor to pass to you after my death. I dare say it may not be quite what you expect. Robert Caldwell September 1914

An Unnatural Vice by KJ Charles (Few authors do the Enemies to Lovers trope as well as Charles does.)

- In the sordid streets of Victorian London, unwanted desire flares between two bitter enemies. Crusading journalist Nathaniel Roy is determined to expose spiritualists who exploit the grief of bereaved and vulnerable people. First on his list is the so-called Seer of London, Justin Lazarus. Nathaniel expects him to be a cheap, heartless fraud. He doesn’t expect to meet a man with a sinful smile and the eyes of a fallen angel—or that a shameless swindler will spark his desires for the first time in years.Justin feels no remorse for the lies he spins during his séances. His gullible clients simply bore him. Hostile, disbelieving, utterly irresistible Nathaniel is a fascinating challenge. And as their battle of wills and wits heats up, Justin finds he can’t stop thinking about the man who’s determined to ruin him.But Justin and Nathaniel are linked by more than their fast-growing obsession with one another. They are both caught up in an aristocratic family’s secrets, and Justin holds information that could be lethal. As killers, fanatics, and fog close in, Nathaniel is the only man Justin can trust—and, perhaps, the only man he could love.

Merrick & William (sequel) by Claire Cray (Merrick was a pleasant surprise, and William is on my TBR.)

- New York, 1799: the future looks bright for the charming young book dealer William Lacy, until a raucous night of drinking lands him in shackles. He narrowly avoids the brutal prison system thanks to his mother, who negotiates with the judge to secure him a five year apprenticeship in lieu of a prison sentence. And so William finds himself in a carriage bound for the remote woods upstate, where he'll spend the next years of his life learning a new trade under some old master. When he first sees Merrick, William thinks he's been dropped into a medieval horror story. Tall and gruff, dressed in a hooded robe that completely conceals his features, and riding a black mare, Merrick might as well be the Grim Reaper. But appearances are deceiving. An uncannily skilled apothecary and healer, Merrick proves to be a generous host and a gentle teacher, and William soon finds himself surprisingly comfortable in his new surroundings. Yet troubling mysteries abound: Why does Merrick never show his face or hands? Why do his movements seem so young and sure beneath his robes? What lies within the cave behind the stone cottage? Something unnatural is afoot. But most alarming by far is William's own reaction to his new master. For Merrick's strange charms are bewitching enough by day; but by night, in the darkness of the room and the bed they share, William finds himself entirely overwhelmed by desires he never imagined...

The Captain’s Ghostly Gamble (Seasonal novella from the Captivating Captains series. It’s actually modern day, but the ghosts dominate the story, so you hardly notice.) by Catherine Curzon and Eleanor Harkstead

- When a ghostly dandy and his roguish companion try their hand at matchmaking, things definitely go bump in the night.

For centuries, foppish Captain Cornelius Sheridan and brooding John Rookwood have haunted the mansion they duelled and died for. Now these phantom foes must join forces to save both their home and their feuding descendents.But when Captain Sheridan sacrifices his afterlife for the sake of true love, will Rookwood risk everything to keep his companion by his side, or is it too late to say "I love you"?

The Medium by Bonnie Dee (This is one of her best, in my opinion, and I’ve read most of her material.)

- To win a heart, he must risk his soul… Cast out of his family for being a freak, psychic Justin Crump helps others find peace by using his ability. When he’s called upon to release a distressed soul from a haunted house, a child’s angry spirit draws him into a dark mystery. Equally intriguing is the skeptical homeowner, Albert, a man who has buried his sexuality deeper than the grave. Albert Henderson humors his mother’s wishes by inviting the medium for a visit. While he doubts Justin’s gifts, he can’t deny one truth: the man stirs desire in him that Albert has spent a lifetime denying. Slowly, the walls of his proper life crumble. And when Justin proposes some emotion-free experimentation, neither imagines it might lead to love…and danger. After learning the terrifying truth about the deceased child’s persecutor, the two men pursue a perpetrator of great evil. When they coax a confession from their quarry, the vengeful spirit unleashes power nearly beyond control. To free the earthbound ghost from the past that holds it shackled, Justin must risk his own soul. And Albert must find the courage to break free of the chains of doubt that will deny him and Justin the future of which they once only dreamed.

(Part of Victorian Holiday Hearts Boxed Set) by Summer Devon and Bonnie Dee

- Delaney and the Autumn Masque: Delaney, a member of the Andrews theater clan, performs magic tricks at a fancy dress ball where he's struck by the dramatic figure of the Grim Reaper. He follows Death to a quiet room for a glorious, lustful encounter. With his identity hidden, impoverished gentleman Bartholomew Bancroft dares to indulge in an impulsive liaison, but can he find love with the magician when the masks come off?

The Psychic and the Sleuth by Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon

- Psychic and skeptic—how could their love affair go wrong? Inspector Robert Court’s relentless insistence the wrong man hanged for the murder of Court’s cousin has him on his superintendent’s bad side. Court is assigned lowly vice cases such as exposing a confidence man posing as a medium to fleece the wealthy. Down on his luck, Oliver Marsh learned he had an aptitude for conducting séances. He assuages his guilt by bringing comfort to the grieving and offering occasional insights coming from true psychic flashes. Marsh has tried to deny these flashes, but when he’s bowled over by a vivid memory of murder coming from the other side, he can no longer pretend he doesn’t possess a gift. Marsh reveals details about that night which only Court’s cousin would know, and the detective vows to track down the truth—by staying as close to the fake psychic as humanly possible. But close leads to closer and soon the pair is involved in not only a torrid affair but a hunt for a killer—before he strikes again.

The Bird by Eli Easton (Novella from the Dreamspinner Press anthology Bones. Excellent read, as long as you keep in mind it’s written from the perspective of an Englishman in 19th century Jamaica.)

- Third son Colin Hastings has subverted his desires for his entire life, intent now on bringing his family’s plantation back to its former state of solvency, and marrying his friend Elizabeth. But, when he helps save the life of one of the plantation workers, he’s gifted his passion back, and must come to terms with his love for his lifelong friend, Richard. What happens when nightmares are not what they seem, and horror is not as bad one fears?

A Brush with Darkness by Erestes

- Florence, 1875 After making a grisly discovery one night, I needed proof that there was still goodness in the world. I never dreamt it would come to me during my next commission—with a subject whose very name means light... Yuri was glorious in his otherworldly beauty, surrounded by a bright halo of iridescence, but I detected a fierce darkness lurking underneath the surface. Sketching all night, I could hardly wait to capture his likeness in a painting. For Yuri has stimulated not only my creative urges, but my sexual ones as well. His very presence infuses me with joy and passion, but what will happen if my patron should discover our trysts? Dependent on his good graces, I can't afford to lose his support. But I fear the time will soon come when I must choose between restoring my family's fortunes and obeying the temptation of the muse before me... Previously published as Chiaroscuro, newly revised by author.

The Gilda Stories: 25th Anniversary Expanded Edition by Jewelle Gomez (This is not exactly romance per se, but does include a lesbian protagonist, and follows her world through all that comes with being a vampire, including romantic interests.)

- This remarkable novel begins in 1850s Louisiana, where Gilda escapes slavery and learns about freedom while working in a brothel. After being initiated into eternal life as one who "shares the blood" by two women there, Gilda spends the next two hundred years searching for a place to call home. An instant lesbian classic when it was first published in 1991, The Gilda Stories has endured as an auspiciously prescient book in its explorations of blackness, radical ecology, re-definitions of family, and yes, the erotic potential of the vampire story.

Unchained by Ainsley Gray Review

- If he takes their life, they can never truly leave. That's the mantra Noah Wilmington has lived by for years. He picks up whores and deviants from the local taverns, enjoys their company for an evening...and then hides their bodies in the woods. Edward Yorke has approached the same man in the same public house time and again, never deterred by the cool dismissal he receives. There's something about Noah that calls to him. A shared pain, a shared sadness... But Noah doesn't trust himself. It's too risky to permit someone too close, and Edward is the one person in the world whose life Noah wants to spare. So, every time Edward has asked to buy him a drink, Noah declines. Then one night, out of sheer loneliness, that "no" becomes a "yes." When Edward's night with him sheds light on some of Noah's dark secrets, Noah cannot simply let him walk out the door. But if he doesn't want Edward dead, and he cannot let him leave, only one option really remains...

Briarley by Astor Glenn Gray (This novel was so unique and it’s just a charming May/December romance.)

- An m/m World War II-era retelling of Beauty and the Beast. During a chance summer shower, an English country parson takes refuge in a country house. The house seems deserted, yet the table is laid with a sumptuous banquet such as the parson has not seen since before war rationing. Unnerved by the uncanny house, he flees, but stops to pluck a single perfect rose from the garden for his daughter - only for the master of the house to appear, breathing fire with rage. Literally. At first, the parson can't stand this dragon-man. But slowly, he begins to feel the injustice of the curse that holds the dragon captive. What can break this vengeful curse?

Lover’s Knot by Donald Hardy

- Jonathan Williams has inherited Trevaglan Farm from a distant relative. With his best friend, Alayne, in tow, Jonathan returns to the estate to take possession, meet the current staff, and generally learn what it’s like to live as the landed gentry now. He’d only been there once before, fourteen years earlier. But that was a different time, he’s a different person now, determined to put that experience out of his mind and his heart….The locals agree that Jonathan is indeed different from the lost young man he was that long ago summer, when he arrived at the farm for a stay after his mother died. Back then the hot summer days were filled with sunshine, the nearby ocean, and a new friend, Nat. Jonathan and the farmhand had quickly grown close, Jonathan needing comfort in the wake of his grief, and Nat basking in the peace and love he didn’t have at home. But that was also a summer of rumors and strange happenings in the surrounding countryside, romantic triangles and wronged lovers. Tempers would flare like a summer lightning storm, and ebb just as quickly. By the summer’s end, one young man was dead, and another haunted for life. Now Jonathan is determined to start anew. Until he starts seeing the ghost of his former friend everywhere he looks. Until mementos of that summer idyll reappear. Until Alayne’s life is in danger. Until the town’s resident witch tells Jonathan that ghosts are real. And this one is tied to Jonathan unto death…

Man & Monster (Book two of The Savage Land) by Michael Jensen

- A monster stalks the ancient forests... It’s 1799, and Cole Seavey is a trapper running from a guilty past, seeking refuge on the vast American frontier. Lost in a raging storm, he finds himself face to face with a terrifying, otherworldly creature that seems to have emerged from a nightmare. Cole is saved from certain death by a handsome Delaware Indian named Pakim. Together they learn that the monster is the fearsome Wendigo from native legends: a creature with a heart of ice, drawn to the evil of men. Soon the Wendigo is terrorizing the frontier — settler and Indian alike — and Cole and Pakim join together to defeat the mysterious monster. In the process, Cole finds himself falling for the strapping brave and the promise of a new life together. Unfortunately, the legends say that the Wendigo can only be killed by another creature with a heart of ice. But how can Cole hope to defeat the monster if it means denying the love he's finally allowed himself to feel?

Stoker & Bash by Selina Kray (Book two coming soon!)

- At Scotland Yard, DI Timothy Stoker is no better than a ghost. A master of arcane documents and niggling details who, unlike his celebrity-chasing colleagues, prefers hard work to headlines. But an invisible man is needed to unmask the city’s newest amateur detective, Hieronymus Bash. A bon vivant long on flash and style but short on personal history, Bash just may be a Cheapside rogue in Savile Row finery. When the four fangs of the Demon Cats of Scavo—trophies that protect the hunters who killed the two vicious beasts—disappear one by one, Stoker's forced to team with the very man he was sent to investigate to maintain his cover. He finds himself thrust into a world of wailing mediums, spiritualist societies, man-eating lions, and a consulting detective with more ambition than sense. Will this case be the end of his career, or the start of an unexpected liaison? Or will the mysterious forces at play be the death of them both? And just who is Hieronymus Bash?

Gothic Romance by LV Lloyd (Gothic light, but includes a trans side character.)

- When Jonathan Winters accepts a post as tutor to the only son of Lord D’Anvers, he looks forward to sharing his love of learning with his young pupil. Not even arriving at Castle Blackstone in the middle of a thunderstorm can dampen his enthusiasm, nor the fact that the wing above his head is forbidden. Absorbed with Evelyn’s education, Jonathan is completely unprepared to find himself the object of Lord D’Anvers’ attentions. Until D’Anvers kisses him...

Threadbare by Clare London (Beautifully written, but NOT HEA!)

- When Edward inherits the family textile mill from his deceased parents, he knows where his duty lies. As a young Victorian gentleman, he devotes himself to the family business and doing right by his customers and employees. What concern is it that he surrenders his own artistic ambitions and romantic passions? But a hideous accident at the mill one day brings him into close contact with Mori, one of his most productive workers, a beautiful yet seemingly delicate and vulnerable young man. Edward takes Mori under his protection, bringing him back to his house. At last, Edward has found a friend and companion. His fascination for Mori grows swiftly into love, and he’s drawn out of his quiet introspection into a world of delight and passion. Yet Mori has a private task that both baffles and concerns Edward: the completion of a stunningly beautiful, abstract tapestry. Edward doesn’t understand its significance, Mori’s devotion to it, or Mori’s strange behaviour when Edward tries to part the man from his mission. Mori loves him in return, he’s sure – but can that ever be enough? As Edward is tangled more deeply and irretrievably into the web of Mori’s love and mystery, what bittersweet price might he have to pay?

Precious Possession by Clare London (Ambiguous ending!)

- Lucas Fides has inherited his Victorian family’s auction house, good looks and a keen, passionate mind. But he has far less control over his body’s desires than his business, hiding an illicit and unspoken love for his boyhood friend and dependent, Valentine. As a result, Lucas suffers recurring, deeply erotic dreams, where a mystery lover demands and guides his sexual responses. When the auction house runs into financial difficulty, Valentine introduces a new client to Lucas. Gideon Arnaud is a mysterious and charismatic man who seems to scorn society’s restrictions. He offers Lucas a spectacular collection of jewels for auction and also his intense, seductive attention. He appears to know more about Lucas than any stranger should. Affronted by Gideon’s bold pursuit, Lucas puts up a spirited defence, despite being increasingly exhausted by his dreams. His heart is already committed to Valentine, even if he thinks it’s his secret alone. When Valentine announces his engagement to Lucas’s sister, Lucas’s pain and frustration are almost intolerable. Torn between his need for Valentine’s comfort and the determination to avoid Gideon Arnaud’s disturbing presence, Lucas becomes more vulnerable by the day, until his loneliness forces his desire out of his dreams and into the light of day. The consequences will change his life forever.

The Blue Ribbon by Katherine Marlowe (I love everything she’s written, but this is one my faves.)

- Theo Aylmer's perfectly satisfactory life as a chemistry professor at Cambridge is upended when he receives word of his father's illness. Forced to return to Cornwall, he is robbed for everything he's worth by a dashing young highwayman. When he finally reaches his father's stagecoach inn, he finds it dilapidated and the village around it groaning beneath the thumb of the hateful Earl of Glynn. All Theo wants to do is return to his life and work in Cambridge, but as he tries to recoup the funds necessary to travel, he finds himself plagued by brandy-smugglers and rumours of ghosts. And at the center of all Theo's problems is a certain handsome highwayman who has charmed his way into Theo's bed and heart. When the highwayman turns up shot, Theo can't turn him away, even though doing so risks bringing the wrath of the customs men, the law, and the Earl of Glynn upon them both.

The Possession of Lawrence Eugene Davis by EE Ottoman

- At the beginning of the Great Depression Lawrence Eugene Davis returns to his family's ranch to set his father's affairs in order. But the house stirs memories of his unhappy childhood and his miserable time in the trenches. Memories are not the only thing woken, however, and Lawrence finds himself hunted and eventually overcome by the sinister presence. Salvation comes at the eleventh hour in the form of a stranger who claims he can rid Lawrence of the demon threatening to possess him—but in exchange he wants Lawrence for himself.

To Serve the Count by Cassandra Pierce

- In 1815 Austria, Rupert is cast out of his village after he is caught kissing another man and seeks refuge in the mysterious Castle Blutstark. He soon realizes that this is no ordinary castle, and his new master, Count Kaspar, is far from an ordinary employer. In fact, he isn't even alive in the conventional sense, and he wastes no time informing Rupert of his unusual new duties. Everything Rupert has ever learned in life tells him to run for his life, but then again nothing has ever prepared him to deal with the undeniable allure of his enigmatic new employer.

The Master of Seacliff by Max Pierce (I barely finished this one, because I didn’t like what seemed to be an abusive relationship and a vapid MC, but it follows in the tradition of Holt and Varga, with overall great reviews.)

- Seacliff is a mansion enshrouded in near-eternal fog, dark mystery and suspicion - perhaps a reflection of the house's master. An imposing Blackbeard of a man, Duncan Stewart is both feared and admired by his business associates as well as the people he calls friends. And his home, in which young tutor and aspiring artist Andrew Wyndham now resides, holds terrible secrets - secrets that could destroy everyone within its walls.

Guardian Angel by Hayden Thorne

- When nineteen-year-old Dominic Coville’s parents die in an accident, leaving him not only alone but on the brink of poverty, he desperately searches for work and is thrilled when the post of secretary is awarded to him despite his obvious inexperience and ignorance. Mr. Wynyard Knight of Mandrake Abbey, however, gladly welcomes Dominic and earns the young man’s immediate sympathy for his fragile health as well as gratitude for the promising new life now awaiting Dominic. Inside rock and timber, hungry shadows seek... But unusual things soon happen and appear to focus solely on him, and Dominic begins to wonder about the true history of Mr. Knight, the strange young man haunting the third floor, and Mandrake Abbey. With the persistent and increasingly violent attempts at communication by an angry ghost shadowing his hours, Dominic struggles to unravel the mysteries of his new home. And even with the help of a handsome young gentleman who’s an aspiring supernaturalist as well as his clairvoyant sister, danger closes in far too quickly. Then it’s only a matter of time before carefully constructed façades fall away, and the sickly, decaying underbelly of Mandrake Abbey’s centuries-old collection of stone and timber will reveal itself. Set in an alternate England sometime before the mid-19th century, Guardian Angel weaves a tangled and dark tapestry of old magic, romance, and madness, a celebration of classic gothic fiction and its macabre sensibilities.

Cast From The Earth by Leandra Vane (poly romance)

- An epidemic that turns men into monsters has seized the nation. At first the disease only spreads in cities but soon cannibals are roaming the prairie, threatening the quiet little towns of the late 19th Century heartland. At an isolated poor farm in rural America, Sara Warren has survived a tumultuous life of loss and an accident that leaves her with one leg – but she is hopeless of any other future until a woman named Cordelia arrives at the farm and changes Sara's life forever. Along with Dan, a man who can't hear and Grace, a young woman who is more concerned with her sewing needles than people, they face the oncoming apocalypse with their wits and their bare hands. When it seems like all is lost, a man from Sara's past named Jack returns to her life and they all realize the only way to survive is together. A story of romance, violence, sex, and the wild prairie that proves broken bodies still feel pleasure and broken souls can find love – even at the end of the world.

Gaywyck by Victor Varga (Book one of trilogy)

- The first gothic romance featuring gay MCs.

Robert Whyte replaces the traditional damsel in distress in the household of Donough Gaylord. He’s young, beautiful, an introvert not wishing to follow in his father footsteps--he longs to be an artist. Family friend helps him to become the librarian of Gaywyck, a house teaming with strange characters, and artists of various sorts. The house is in New England, but due to the original Gaylord owners, was built in the style of an antebellum mansion.

Donough Gaylord lives a grand lifestyle, is rich beyond imagining, but tortured by memories of dead twin and secrets that have dominated his life since boyhood. He spoils those of his household constantly, especially young Robert, who is like a breath of fresh air.

Without giving anything crucial away, I will just say that the events that cause Donough such pain are far from ordinary, and familial love is tested to the breaking point. If you don’t mind your romances a bit twisted, and with a million references to literature, drama, music, and painting, you will love this novel.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Deanna Wadsworth (Thoroughly enjoyed this one. It’s erotic, but also has a the enemies to lovers is really well done, and there is a twist ending.)

- Ichabod Crane, town schoolmaster and self-proclaimed supernatural expert, wants to better his situation by marrying the wealthy Katrina Van Tassel. But, there is a rival for her attentions. Local hero, Brom Bones. Brom lives to torment and tease Ichabod, leaving the schoolmaster wondering if he is more interested in besting his rival than winning Katrina’s hand. Especially when each time Ichabod goes into the backroom of his favorite tavern – a place men can be men –his imagination conjures Brom's face on every lover. Late one night, Ichabod is chased by the legendary Headless Horseman. Terrified the ghost wants his head, he tries to outrun the specter. To his horror, he is taken captive by the evil spirit. Ichabod awakens, naked and tied to a bed, only to discover the Headless Horseman is none other than his rival Brom Bones! Brom confesses that Ichabod has been haunting his own fantasies and he vows to make Ichabod Crane his in every way. Ichabod wants to believe the pleasure Brom offers comes from his heart, but he is afraid it is another one of Brom’s tricks. Though surely an enemy's touch has never felt like this...

Affinity by Sarah Waters (f/f)

- An upper-class woman recovering from a suicide attempt, Margaret Prior has begun visiting the women’s ward of Millbank prison, Victorian London’s grimmest jail, as part of her rehabilitative charity work. Amongst Millbank’s murderers and common thieves, Margaret finds herself increasingly fascinated by one apparently innocent inmate, the enigmatic spiritualist Selina Dawes. Selina was imprisoned after a séance she was conducting went horribly awry, leaving an elderly matron dead and a young woman deeply disturbed. Although initially skeptical of Selina’s gifts, Margaret is soon drawn into a twilight world of ghosts and shadows, unruly spirits and unseemly passions, until she is at last driven to concoct a desperate plot to secure Selina’s freedom, and her own.

A Light Amongst Shadows by Kelley York and Rowan Altwood (Dark is the Night series book one)

- James Spencer is hardly the typical troubled youth who ends up at Whisperwood School for Boys. Instead of hating the strict schedules and tight oversight by staff, James blossoms, quickly making friends, indulging in his love of writing, and contemplating the merits of sneaking love poems to the elusive and aloof William Esher. The rumours about William’s sexuality and opium reliance are prime gossip material amongst the third years…rumours that only further pique James' curiosity to uncover what William is really like beneath all that emotional armor. And, when the normally collected William stumbles in one night, shaken and ranting of ghosts, James is the only one who believes him. James himself has heard the nails dragging down his bedroom door and the sobs echoing in the halls at night. He knows others have, too, even if no one will admit it. The staff refuses to entertain such ridiculous tales, and punishment awaits anyone who brings it up. Their fervent denial and the disappearance of students only furthers James’ determination to find out what secrets Whisperwood is hiding...especially if it prevents William and himself from becoming the next victims.content warning: violence, sexual/physical abuse, some sexual themes

Recommended series w/Mediums and Things That Go Bump in the Night beneath the cut...

Hexworld series by Jordan L Hawk (I cannot express how much I love this series, and another novel is on the way!! A different couple in each novel, but they all work together or are related.)

- Dominic Kopecky dreamed of becoming a member of New York’s Metropolitan Witch Police—a dream dashed when he failed the test for magical aptitude. Now he spends his days drawing the hexes the MWP relies on for their investigations. But when a murder by patent hex brings crow familiar Rook to his desk, Dominic can’t resist the chance to experience magic. And as the heat grows between Dominic and Rook, so does the danger. Because the case has been declared closed—and someone is willing to kill to keep it that way. The 13th Hex is the prequel short story to the all-new Hexworld series. If you like shifters, magic, and romance, you’ll love Jordan L. Hawk’s world of witch policemen and the familiars they bond with.

Spirits series by Jordan L Hawk (Such detail. This series is amazing, and features a Native American MC and trans supporting character that is so well done.)

- After losing the family fortune to a fraudulent psychic, inventor Henry Strauss is determined to bring the otherworld under control through the application of science. All he needs is a genuine haunting to prove his Electro-Séance will work. A letter from wealthy industrialist Dominic Gladfield seems the answer to his prayers. Gladfield’s proposition: a contest pitting science against spiritualism, with a hefty prize for the winner. The contest takes Henry to Reyhome Castle, the site of a series of brutal murders decades earlier. There he meets his rival for the prize, the dangerously appealing Vincent Night. Vincent is handsome, charming…and determined to get Henry into bed. Henry can’t afford to fall for a spirit medium, let alone the competition. But nothing in the haunted mansion is quite as it seems, and soon winning the contest is the least of Henry’s concerns. For the evil stalking the halls of Reyhome Castle wants to claim not just Henry and Vincent’s lives, but their very souls.

Whyborne & Griffin series by Jordan L Hawk (I’ve read this series three times, and Griffin is one of my favorite characters in any series.)

- A reclusive scholar. A private detective. And a book of spells that could destroy the world. Love is dangerous. Ever since the tragic death of the friend he adored, Percival Endicott Whyborne has ruthlessly suppressed any desire for another man. Instead, he spends his days studying dead languages at the museum where he works. So when handsome ex-Pinkerton Griffin Flaherty approaches him to translate a mysterious book, Whyborne wants to finish the job and get rid of the detective as quickly as possible. Griffin left the Pinkertons after the death of his partner. Now in business for himself, he must investigate the murder of a wealthy young man. His only clue: an encrypted book that once belonged to the victim. As the investigation draws them closer, Griffin’s rakish charm threatens to shatter Whyborne’s iron control. But when they uncover evidence of a powerful cult determined to rule the world, Whyborne must choose: to remain safely alone, or to risk everything for the man he loves.

#gothic romance #historical romance #two men in love #m/m romance #f/f romance #poly romance #lgbt romance #kj charles #jordan l hawk #bonnie dee #summer devon #katherine marlowe #ee ottoman

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clevernewdimension · 6 years ago

Text

No Choice (M)

You were everything your father hated. A modern woman trying to break away from what was normal and right. Dressed in rather scandalous dresses and attending sinful things like petting parties quickly made you undesirable in terms of potential husbands, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be yourself, make your own rules and live your own life, a notion that seemed too advanced for 1920′s.

Not that it mattered, since the one man you wanted seemingly had no interest in you. Your father took in a boy when you were younger. An orphan named Sehun, from a land far away. He was left to die, his parents unknown. Your father raised him up to be his successor. Already he was an investigator at Scotland Yard. He was the child your father was proud of, not you.

Then, your father is killed. Murdered. Sehun is left everything while you are left only a few of your mother’s things. How will you both get along? What will happen? Will you finally tell him how you feel?

Genre: Romance with a lil mystery I guess.

Word count: 12.1K

A/N: If you don’t like blood or murder, I suggest not reading. Also a little bit of racism, because 1920′s. There is also Sexism, physical and mental abuse (Done by the characters father), attempted murder, death, murder, mentions of rape, out of POV attempted rape, and slut shaming.

The room was full of smoke as I smiled, singing into the microphone. The slow jazz playing accompanying my voice as I added to the peaceful atmosphere. A table to the side of men playing cars, some men at a bar drinking their whiskey and a few women wearing the finest of dresses huddled together. I could feel them glaring at me, the judgement in their eyes as I just kept singing.

A few eyes on me were more attentive than the women’s, however. Some young fellows watching, a drink in their hand and a cigar in their fingers. I could see the lust in their eyes for me, some of them even coming with some of the women that were here. I could see the eyes of older men follow me as I swayed, feeling the beads of my dress hit my legs.

They didn’t matter though. Only the eyes of the man at the door, looking at me with firm disapproval did. Sehun looked at me, brows knitted together with a frown as he takes a glance to the clock on the wall. He was an orphan who was taken in by my father. My father raising him to follow in his footsteps. He’s the commissioner of the London police, and Sehun is already an inspector. Grooming the young man in order to take his place someday.

Someone as handsome as Sehun shouldn’t look that serious all the time. He was tall, built from making sure he’s in shape. A much different sight from the string thin boy I grew up with. Now he was grown, and far too handsome for a place like this. He looks as if he could be royalty, a perfect prince. Anytime his eyes set on me it makes my heart beat just a bit faster. Lord knows I’ve had a thing for him since I was twelve. Before he became this stunning man, because while handsome, he’s kindhearted and loyal above all.

As my song finished, I get down from the small stage, walking over towards him. My heart beating fast in my chest just looking at him. I take a glass from the man who was watching me intently, finishing off the rest of the whiskey. I see the stain of my red lipstick on the glass as I smile before giving him a wink and sauntering towards Sehun.

A heavy trench coat on his shoulder hid his suit, his revolver at his side. His hair ink black as he frowns even more when I finally reach him. His lips always in a perfect little pout it seemed, and his face seemingly made to fit Aphrodite's description of true beauty.

“You know your father is going to be angry with you,” Sehun says, looking at me. His voice deep, but somehow soft at the same time. “He hates this whole movement. He wants you to be a proper lady.” Sehun spoke, but he didn’t seem disappointed in my choices. He never did, and I was thankful.

“My mother wasn’t a proper lady and he married her,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. I look at him, “Do you want a proper woman, Sehun? Or do you like a modern one?”

“Let’s get you home,” He says, ushering me out the door. He always seems to dodge this question when I ask. Perhaps he does like proper women and just doesn’t want to harm my feelings. He deserves a wife who would be good for him, after all. A good match with a beautiful woman.

I smirk, “That’s a shame, I wanted to go to a friend’s petting party tonight.”

“Y/N,” Sehun says, clearly shocked with his eyes wide. He looked so scandalized by the words I just said, looking around to see if anyone heard me.

“Like you haven’t been to one,” I say, smiling. “I’ve heard you talk about them before.” I remember clearly him talking about it with a friend. How I could feel jealous of some women I’ve never met and how they go to do things with him I’ve only ever dreamed of.

“Eavesdropping is not becoming of a lady,” He mutters, ushering me to wear he parked his vehicle. The light pink dusting of a blush on his cheeks makes me smile. For some reason, it was fine for young men to go to these things, but not women. I wonder what it would have been like, to sit on his lap and feel his hand on me. I shake my head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. I glance over at the automotive, rolling my eyes a bit. It was new, just given to him by my father. Dad always wanted a son, I could tell.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not exactly lady material,” I say, smiling at him. He opens the door, and I step in. The ride to our manor wasn’t long, just outside of London. The house was huge, vines crawling up the side and with acres of land. Sehun had a small house on the property, just a five minute walk from the house. I would sneak over there and convince him to play chess with me and listen to the radio as we talked. Now, it seems he’s too busy anymore.

Sehun opens the door for me and I nod. With a look forward I frown as I see my father in the foyer. He looks up from one of the seats that’s there, moving and walking up. His hair grey and his suit looked pressed to perfection. He looks at me, the way I’m dressed and how my make up is done and I see the anger building in his eyes. He looks at Sehun, “Thank you for bringing her home.”

“It was no problem, sir,” He says, nodding. Always formal and perfect. I can’t blame Sehun, though. After all, my father was the only man who took a chance on him after his parents died. Thankfully, Sehun was kinder than my father.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s late. I would like the chance to talk to my daughter alone,” He mutters, looking at Sehun. He pats the young man on the shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the station.”

Sehun nods, before giving me one last look before he leaves. His shoulders looking even broader as he was walking away. There’s something about him that just attracts me like a moth to a flame. The door closes, and when we can no longer hear his feet in the gravel I feel my father’s hand strike my face.

This was common. Ever since I was small I would find myself getting slapped over things. I knew that there was a part of him that just liked hurting people. It made him feel powerful.

“Why are you going around dressed like some sort of slag,” He says, shaking his head. He glares, obviously disgusted at me. “No upstanding man will want a woman like you! Not worth the trouble and already used up by random men from the street!”

“You still wanted mother even thought she was the same way,” I say, glaring at him. His face red from anger, the smell of scotch on his breath. Scotch always made it worse. Angrier and with a shorter temper.

Another quick slap the the face. “If you don’t start behaving, woman, you’ll force my hand to do something I’ve been wanting to do for a long while,” He yells at me.

“You’re actions are not my responsibility,” I scream, “You do what you choose, and it’s not my fault!” I smirk, “Besides, how would everyone react if they knew the commissioner of the London police was working for the biggest gang, huh? You dare talk to me about morals whe-”

His hand found my hair, pulling it and dragging me along with him. I fought, crawling at his hand and screaming, but it didn’t matter. I felt tears come to my eyes, as I screamed every profanity I knew at this man. He throws me to the floor in my room, glaring. “You dare not speak of that, girl, or else they will force my hand to make sure you stay quiet!”

The door slams and I yell out profanities after him. Tears fell from my eyes, the feeling of bitter anger rising. He’s hated me. Always has and always will. After mother died he couldn’t even look me in the eyes for two years. It’s not my fault she died, but he seems to think it is. I stood, screaming curses hoping to keep him up through the night as I got ready to sleep.

Sehun stretches, the morning light coming into the window as he listened to the news of the day. A few of his friends in Scotland Yard talking about their girlfriends or their late night escapades. Baekhyun asking Sehun if he found a girl yet, picking on him like he normally does. “No,” Sehun mutters, “I was up last night drinking with Sir Lance. Talking and playing chess.”

“Sounds boring,” Baekhyun muttered, rolling his eyes as he leaned against Sehun’s desk. “At least you didn’t have to play babysitter to his daughter. First break in what? A week and a half? Maybe she’s finally settling down.”

His mind is filled with the image of Y/N. Her smile, her laugh, all the times they played chess and she won more often than not. Her smile when he told her she was better at the game than her father was forever burned in his mind. She was so beautiful that day, wearing men’s clothes and her hair down. Those lazy days growing up when she would dance with Sehun in order to teach him, how he knocked a boy out who kept pulling on her hair at school and skip stones in the pond on the property. They’ve been a part of one another for ages, and no one knows her better than Sehun. He’s known since before she did she wouldn’t just marry and be some man’s girl. She isn’t one to just accept being glorified property, and it was that fire and spirit that Sehun liked. Sehun laughs, “I doubt it. Y/N has probably just been more careful about not getting caught.”

“Just Y/N, not Miss. Lance,” Baekhyun asks, smirking. “Has that mess of a woman found a fond place in your heart, Oh Sehun?”

It’s nice hearing his last name first, like it should be, for the first time in a long time. They, along with a few others they knew, were either from Korea or had family who immigrated from there. Sehun pauses, looking away. That gave Baekhyun all the knowledge he needed. “Oh you’re smitten!”

“We’ve known each other for years, Baekhyun,” Sehun whines, rolling his eyes. “Obviously I care for her.”

Before he could say anything, he sees the assistant commissioner opens the door to his office, his face wide full of shock. He strides over towards Sehun and Baekhyun, “The two of you need to come with me. There’s been a murder.”

“This is London,” Baekhyun says, shrugging. “There’s murders all the time. One of the worst cities, really.” He’s not wrong. People are killed or almost killed everyday, especially with a serial killer on the loose and gangs in the streets.

“James Lance is dead.”

Sehun’s world felt like it paused as he looked at the assistant commissioner. It felt like he was moving in slow motion when he grabbed his coat and hat. Like the automobile didn’t move fast enough as he found himself driving up the road towards the only home he’s ever known. He walked past everyone and into the manor he’s knows to be a home for him.

It all felt too slow until he saw Y/N there, holding the bloody mess of her father and crying. Her long blonde hair was down, the ends damp with blood from leaning over the body. The sounds of her cries making him feel like shattering. He walked in, trying to make sure he didn’t ruin the crime scene. Minseok stops him, “She’s the one who found him… poor girl. Been crying since we got here.”

Sehun moved, kneeling and looking at her. She was absolutely distraught. He softly touchs her shoulder. She jumps, looking at Sehun. He could see her in one of her golden beaded gowns. Her hair a mess and makeup running down her face. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto Sehun’s. She reaches out, one hand holding his arm like a lifeline as she just turns and cries into his chest. The blood on her staining his suit, but he didn’t care. She needed someone there for her, and like hell was Sehun going to leave her be.

Sehun’s eyes see the dead corpse of the man who raised him. His eyes still open and blood poured from a stab to the neck. There was blood from his hand on the desk, and in a pool under his feet and Y/N.

“Come on,” Sehun mutters, “We need to get out away from here and let the investigators do their jobs.”

“Don’t leave me,” She mutters, her voice sounding so broken. “Please, Sehun.”

“I won’t,” He says, meaning it. “We need to start you a bath. Get you out of this… come on, the master bath is just though your father’s room. It’s the closest. I’ll go and get you a robe so you can get dressed when you’re done.”

Sehun’s heart breaks, watching her nod. It was like all of her fight was gone. Everything that made who she is was nowhere in sight. He helps her stand, seeing her skin and dress are stained crimson. Blood on her face, means she just have laid down beside the body after she found it.

He helped her into the bathroom, starting the water as she just stand there, staring at nothing. “Y/N,” He mutters, “Come on, you’ve got to undress. I’m going to go and get your robe.”

She nods, and starts to undress as he turned, moving and shutting the door behind him. He walks back to the study, seeing his friends all love over the body. “We’ll have to question her,” Minseok says, frowning. “See if she knows if anyone didn’t like him.” He places a hand on Sehun’s shoulder, “I’m sorry. He was like a father to you.”

Sehun looks at the body, watching as a medical examiner looks over it. He closes his eyes, turning away, “Can you at least shut his eyes?!” He moves, going towards Y/N room quickly. He opened the door, stepping inside her room for the first time. It was lovely, a large bed took up a lot of the space. A vanity next to the doors that open to a small balcony that overlooks the gardens. A desk with what I assume letter from her mother’s homeland of America. Friends she made from her time there. He moves, almost tripping on the edge of the rug as he walks into her bathroom. A black silk robe hanging from a peg in the wall. A large bath in the center of the room and a private room for the toilet, he’d assume.

His hand grabs the soft silk, holding it as he walks back to the study. He felt like he was going to be sick. The first person to ever give a damn about him was killed. Taken too soon. Mostly, he felt angry. He wanted the person who did this to pay. Whoever killed him, who hurt Y/N needed to rot in a cell until they execute them.

He walks past his coworkers in silence. He could feel their stares on his back. It felt like someone tied a weight to his ankles and threw him in the Thames. It’s as if no amount of trying, no amount of fighting will make this go away.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to peek out, seeing Sehun as she hid her body from him. It was odd, seeing her like this. Vulnerable. Scared. He hands her the robe and she closes the door after. When it opens again, she’s wearing it, tied tightly to her waist. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even look at her when she was like this, but she needed to be questioned.

“Do you know anything about this,” Sehun asks. “Where were you?”

“I was out,” She mutters, her eyes still red and looking like she was crying during her bath, too. “At a party. When I got home, I saw a note father left me to meet him at his study to talk about my future,” She says. He could hear her voice crack from the emotion. She looked a mess. Her make up running, her nose as well and her eyes red and puffy from crying. “I opened the door and he was just… there. Not moving.” She looks at Sehun, tears falling down her face, “I should have c-called the police first, but I just… lost it.”

“We don’t blame you,” Sehun says. He touches her shoulder gently, trying to make sure she feels like she isn’t alone. He, in a way, understood what she was feeling. He looks at her, seeing her vulnerable and scared for the first time in years, and something about that deeply unsettled him. He glances away, “Are you willing to answer Inspector Kim’s questions?”

Y/N nods, following him out into the study. The body was moved, all that was left was the blood on the floor that was being cleaned as they walked in. She glances at Minseok, walking over, “My mother is buried in the family cemetery. Through the garden… he’d want to be n-next to her.”

Minseok nods, his eyes with pity for her. “I’ll personally make sure that will happen.” He looks at the place where the body was, “Do you know of why someone would want to kill him?”

Sehun watches her bite her lip, before glancing at him. She looked scared. Guilty. Nervous. “I’m sorry Sehun… I never told you because he threatened to hurt me...”

It felt like his heart stopped beating when he watched her speak next.

“He’s… he’s been an inside man for the Elephant and Castle mob,” She looks over at Sehun, seeing him in such disbelief.

Minseok rolls his eyes, letting out a little noise of disapproval. “Miss Lance, if you’re not going to take this seriously-”

“I am serious,” Y/N says, glaring. For a moment, she was there. The woman he knows. That fire in her eyes. “In the wine cellar, in the back left corner. There’s a barrel. Large, Barone Ricasoli. His favorite. If you push on the front of it on the right side, it’ll open. All of the evidence is there. He keeps it there just in case to blackmail someone in that gang!”

Minseok looked over at Baekhyun, “Go look. I doubt it’s there, but it’s worth a look.”

Y/N spent the time while Baekhyun was gone glaring at Minseok and looking over at Sehun with a look of guilt.

When Baekhyun came back, his face was pale. “She’s… she’s right. It’s all there.”

Sehun’s world officially crashed down right then and there. He stepped away, out of the room and outside in order to try and clear his head. He walked around the house, a bit away from the front entrance in order to press his forehead to the wall and lets the tears he’s been holding back for a while start to fall. The pain of losing someone who changed your life for the better. The agony of seeing their body lifeless on the ground. Worse? The betrayal from learning that they are not who you thought they would be.

When he felt two arms wrap around him, he didn’t even bother hiding the pain he felt. Instead, he just let Y/N hold him and cry with him.

I frown, watching as the dirt they covered my father’s coffin in getting pressed down. Right next to my mother, as I find myself standing there, feeling a bit lost. Because of his involvement with a mob, they looked into our family’s money and assets. Turns out my father was smart, keeping a detailed record of his transactions and how he kept them completely separated. That money is now the governments, which is fine by me. I wouldn’t want that dirty money anyways.

Sehun places a hand on my shoulder, “We have to go in and hear the will.” I look at him, seeing him look just as sad as me. He wore all black, as I did, hat on his head and hair out of his face. The cloud cover making us both look paler than we are, since I’m sure this has taken a toll on our health.

After speaking to the people yesterday, I stayed with Sehun over at little house on the property. I didn’t want to be home, afraid of what I would do. Thankfully he understood. He always did. He asked me about what I meant about father hurting me and I told him. The slaps that would turn into punches and kicks when he’s drunk enough. He was upset for not having known… not seeing the truth. But he’s always been blind to who my father is, because that’s the way my father wanted it.

I just nod, silently following. He seemed upset, and rightfully so. “I’m sorry Sehun,” I mutters, “I wish I would have told you…”

“He threatened you, Y/N,” Sehun mutters, the anger and betrayal he felt seeping into his voice. “There isn’t a lot you can do about that, after all.”

I nod, following silently back into the study. It was a lot like before. Now the rug gone, since it was stained with blood. A man working for the government was there, looking at the will. An aunt and uncle from my father’s family, a VERY distant relation, what also there. Dressed in the customary black, her hair back and pinned in the perfect places. Her makeup was light, trying to make her seem younger than she is. She has a long neck, sort of like if a giraffe was made into a person. Her long thin fingers curled around the handle of an umbrella, like talons. My uncle was different. Where she was thin but small, he was tall and broad. He was a smiling man, who seemed to like to live life happily. A walking teddy bear. His blue eyes were kind as he just look at his wife, as if trying to will her not to speak. His blonde hair was graying, just like hers. Though she tried to hide it, but it stands out more since she has dark hair.

She looked at he, sneering. Her eyes inspecting my body, to see if anything was misplaces or out of line. Mourning wasn’t an excuse to have a lazy appearance, according to her. “Nice to see you finally dress like a lady and not some common whore for once.”

I had no patience for people like her today. I just buried the only family I had left and she dares to be like this? Today of all days? I glare, looking past her to the man. I smile, though it was fake, “What husband number are you, again? I can’t remember since they all seem to die around her.” I shake my head, “Makes sense, though. Since I’d off myself too if it meant I could be rid of her.”

Her face went red as a tomato the second she heard me. It was a low blow, using the death of her past husband against her, but he deserved it, the old bitch. “You little-”

“Enough,” The man in the room said, holding a paper. My father’s will. He was tall and thin, like a noodle that hasn’t been cooked. Glasses were on his beak like nose as he just ignored the two of us. “There are only two names listen on this will, so I will be brief. Y/N Lance shall receive all of her mother belongings. Dresses, jewelry and so on. As for the property, as well as all that is within the manor, besides the things belonging to Y/N Lance, and wealth, that has been left to one referred to as Sehun Oh.”

Once again, my father proved how he didn’t really care for me. Even after his death things like this still happen. Of course my father wouldn’t leave me the money or the house. He hated me. He always wanted a son, and Sehun filled that void. There was a part of me that was deeply angry about this, but I expected it.

My aunt looked at Sehun, “How did you manage to convince him to give it to you, hm? China man?”

My anger with her only went up as I glare at her. It wasn’t uncommon to hear that, racism against people like Sehun. Anytime I heard it made me mad. Sehun doesn’t deserve to be talked down to, like he’s less than. If anything he better that her.

Sehun looked over at her, glaring, “I’m Korean.” His face calm, refusing to show any hint of anger at her. I know this, since he’s perfected that blank look for years when facing adversity. People like her want a reaction, and Sehun found that if you don’t give it to them, sooner or later they stop.

“Who cares,” She says, glaring as she walked over to him. “I bet you changed the paperwork to you name! Poor little orphaned yellowman, take pity on me sir!” She glared, “Your kind is an infestation here!”

I move, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from Sehun. She glared, looking at him. “Shut up, you old hag,” I say, glaring at her. “You have no right to talk to him like that!”

She looks at me, “Aren’t you mad, dear?” She smirked, “But you expected this, didn’t you? He didn’t leave you any money because you’re a daft witted slag!”

“Better than a disgusting bitch who thinks she’s better than everyone else,” I growl, “All that you have has been handed on a silver platter to you.” I look at my uncle, fairly new in the family with a smirk, “She ever tell you her husband killed himself because she was having an affair with her driver?” I glared at her, seeing her rage building at me. “The one who, mind you, still work for you both? I wouldn’t be surprised if she leaves your bed in order to spread her legs for him in a guest room!”

She glared, “Like you’re one to talk! You’re an absolute whore who’s good for nothing. You let any man between your legs whether you know them or not!”

I just cross my arms, “At least I’m not you. Preaching about getting married and being loyal while getting fucked like a bitch in heat from someone that’s not your husband!”

I feel a sharp pain on my face as her hand collides with my cheek. I just glare at her as she moves, going to do it again.

Sehun catches her wrist, frown etched on his face. In situations like these, he normally keeps that blank stare. Seeing him angry is new. Annoyed, sure, but anger like this? New. He glared at her, “Get out.”

She gasps, her mouth hanging open in shock for a moment. She looks at him, “Excuse me?”

“This is now my property. Get out or I will have the police drag you out,” Sehun says, calmly, as he legs go of her wrist. “Besides, seems to me like there is a discussion your husband would like to have with you.”

It was satisfying, watching her leave in a huff. I see the beginnings of an argument as they walk out to their automobile. I did a rude gesture to her, making her face go red.

The man with a beak was still there, coughing as if you get out attention. He looked at me, “You must exit the premises as well.”

I look at him, my eyes wide. “You can’t be serious? I have nowhere to go...”

He looks at me, his eyes glazing over my body, “Perhaps you should have thought of that before. Gotten insured instead of… well…”

Insured. Another slang for married. Because apparently marriage and having kids was all a woman was good for. I open my mouth to say something, but I was cut off.

“You may leave as well,” Sehun says to him, before looking at me. “Y/N, if you’d like, you can still live here-”

The man gasped, looking horrified. “But she is unwed! You know as well as I that it is frow-”

“I fail to see how that is your business, sir,” Sehun says, pointing to the door. His eyes looking into his as if to challenge him. “Thank you. Your assistance is no longer required.” The man looks shocked, but quickly frowns and gathers his belongings.

Once the door to the office shuts, I start pulling pins from my hair. Even after dying my father wouldn't acknowledge me. I feel tears well in my eyes as I take the shoes on my feet off quickly, throwing them across the room and letting them hit the door the man just left.

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says, sighing as he falls into one of the chairs. “I didn’t know he’d do that… your his daughter. Actual blood daughter.”

“You’ve been his favorite for years,” I mutter, smiling at him sadly, “Don’t act like you never noticed. Even before I started acting out you were always the heir in his eyes.”

The guilt in Sehun’s eyes was clear. He had noticed. He would have been blind not to. He’s always felt guilty about it. “I can leave, if you want,” He says, looking at me as he leans back against the chair. “I can still stay in my little cottage on the property, give you the privacy y-”

“I don’t want to be alone,” I mutter quietly, causing him to stop mid sentence. “I’m scared, Sehun. What if they come after me next?” I feel tears start to fall again as I wipe them away quickly, feeling it start to claw at me. “This house became lonely after you moved to the other house. I’m afraid I’ll go mad if I had to live in this silence alone.”

Sehun nods, looking over at me. He looked heartbroken. “Then I suppose I’ll move in,” He mutters.

“You can take the Master bedroom,” I nod, “If you want to redecorate… it wouldn’t upset me. Get all new everything if you want, you can afford it now.” I wipe my face again, walking over to Sehun. I place a hand on his shoulder as I stand in front of him. His warm brown eyes looking at me, though their shine is dulled and the heartbreak still painfully there. “I’m sorry. I know Father meant a lot to you. I’m sorry for not telling you.” My lip quivered, “But, anytime I said I would be would… h-he’d hit me. No o-one ever saw it. I was s-scared.”

Sehun’s eyes fill with tears again. Of sorrow, of pain, of anger and of pain. I should see his shoulders start to shake as he finally start to completely crumble from the weight of it all. In a moment where he didn’t think, he wraps his arms around me, holding my waist as his head is buried in my stomach. I hear him cry, yelling curses at the man who raised the both of us. He held me tightly like I was the only thing keeping him sane. I let my fingers run through his hair, holding him close and crying along with him. Every sob that escaped him made my heart break more and more.

The next few weeks were a blur. Sehun moved in and got new furniture. The study left alone, neither of us wanting to touch it. Sehun made a new study out of one of the unused rooms for himself instead. I spent my days in the garden, the library or sneaking out for some fun. Dinners and breakfast with Sehun as the chef made food for us daily were the times when I got to see him. Other than that, he worked, trying to catch my father's killer while I tried to move on. It was fruitless. There was no evidence.

Friends of Sehun’s like to ask when he’s going to find me a man to marry. Apparently they think it’s his duty now to be sure I become a woman society would be proud of. I just roll my eyes, and started to go out even more. Rebellion was all I knew anymore. This night, I was at a friend’s large manor, my dress up as I felt fingers at my core. Two pairs of eyes watch my reactions, leaving kisses at all the skin that was showing. The woman smirks, moving and pressing her lips to mine, the kiss getting heated immediately. She was topless as I let my hand wander across her body. She moan in my mouth, tongue gently sliding against mine as the man’s tongue find my clit. I gasp, moaning in her mouth as she just greedily swallows them. Around me I could hear other couples are more getting heated as well. I let my hand move between her legs, making her gasp along with me, biting my lip as she shivers in anticipation. She moaned my name, fingers tangling in my hair as we kissed, swallowing one another’s moans.

I wanted this. I wanted to forget everything and get lost.

A knock at the door draws my attention. I roll my eyes, knowing it was going to be Sehun as I move, “Sorry,” I mutter, “Continue without me, I’ll take him away so everyone can enjoy their fun.”

“Y/N,” The woman mutters, smiling, “I’ll be thinking of you when I cum,” She mutters in my ear, making my face flush. She smirks, as I quickly get up, picking my knickers off the floor and slipping them on.

I open and close the door quickly behind me, seeing Sehun standing there, a scowl on his face. He was stressed. Not getting as much sleep these days anymore as he tried to kind something that was missed. His black hair a mess as he glared at me. His patience with me has been getting thinner and thinner, I could tell.

“I thought you were going to meet Kyungsoo for dinner,” Sehun says, shaking his head. His body language serious, a hint of anger leaking through as he clenches his fists. He’s, apparently, taken it upon himself to find me someone to marry since it’s what my father would want. It makes me scowl at the thought.

“He doesn’t like me and you know it,” I mutter, “Someone like him deserves someone that could make him happy. I’d make him miserable.”

I could see the fight just die in his eyes for a moment as he just moves away. He knew it was the truth. “You coming home?”

I nod, “You spent so much time looking for me, I might as well make it so it isn’t time wasted.”

“I parked quite a bit away,” He mutters, the biting cool air rolling in at night lately.

I look over him, seeing a nice suit and coat. The fluttering in my heart he always gets when he’s around made me smile. “What were you all dressed up for?”

“Minseok, his wife and their friend invited me to dinner,” he walks along, offering me his arm and I take it. “They’ve been trying to set me up with someone for a while. Minseok said if I blew them off again he’d never let me hear the end of it.”

The stab of jealousy hit my heart. “How was she? Pretty?”

He nods, “But she’s just so… air headed. Beautiful. Daughter a politician.”

I glare at the sidewalk, “I bet she would made a… a great wife.”

“Probably,” He says, shrugging, “But… we have nothing in common. I can’t spend my life with someone who only cares about people’s opinions and who only cares to shop about clothes they’ll almost ever wear.”

I laugh, “Well, you’re the heir to the Lance fortune. You’re an eligible bachelor. People like that are suppose to seek out people like you.”

“I don’t want that,” Sehun mutters softly. He smiles, looking at me. “You and I are not that different. I rebel too. I don’t want to wed some brainless woman just because she’s pretty and powerful. Just like you don’t want to marry a man because… well, you just don't want to marry.”

“Can you blame me,” I ask, shaking my head. “When a woman marries, she loses everything that is her and it becomes theirs. If it ends, it becomes his. We’re just living property who have children and nothing more.” I shiver, the breeze making me cold, “I… I want more than that. I want someone who will let me be myself. And I’m not talking about being married and still going to parties like this.” I say, gesturing back to the manor we just left. The street was empty, the lights on above us as we walked. “Unlike my aunt, I would actually take the loyal thing seriously. I just don’t want to be with a man who thinks of me as a doll. A trophy. I want someone who think of me as a person at the very least.”

Sehun moves his arms from mine, quickly pulling off his coat and handing it to me. I smile, taking it. It was still warm from his body heat as we kept walking, my arm in his. “You said that was the least,” He mutters, “What about ideal? The most?”

“I want to be with the man…,” I start, sighing, “A man I love. Who respects me and loves me back.”

Sehun sighs, “That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

Sehun sighs, his desk piled with paperwork as he looks over the crime scene photos again. He’s been working other cases, but he keeps coming back the the case of Mr. Lance. He’s just looked over the most recent scene of another killing done by someone they’re calling ‘The Mutilator’. The man goes after women, rapes then and then chopped them up and placing their pieces in public for people to see. The eleventh woman murdered a few days ago, and they think they’re getting close. He has a type. Blondes who are average height. They’ve started telling women not to go out at night, since it looks like the person who does it shows no signs of stopping.

So, he takes his mind off of that by looks at the photos of the Lance murder. It’s been months now, and still nothing. Something isn’t adding up. There’s something missing, he just knows it.

Baekhyun stops, leaning against a pole that was by his desk. He frowned, “I hear you told Minseok you didn’t want to see Elizabeth again.”

“Not my type,” Sehun mutters, looking over it. It was almost an obsession. The man was a bad person after all, but Y/N still deserved answers.

“She’s young, beautiful, and powerful,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head, “How is that not someone’s type?”

“I’m too polite to say why,” He mutters again, leaning back and running a hand though his hair. There was a pain in his head the more he kept going in circles about this case.

“Is it because she’s not a rebellious modern woman who lives with you,” Baekhyun asks, smirking that knowing smirk that always ends up pissing Sehun off nine times out of ten. When Sehun says nothing, Baekhyun signs. “Don’t, Sehun. She’s not good.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” Sehun mutters, rolling his eyes.

“But I know how people see her,” He says, “I haven’t said this before, but honestly? She’s like an infection. You're better of getting rid of it before it kills you.”

His anger rises quickly, hearing that. None outside of Sehun knew the real Y/N Lance. Everyone is so quick to judge her when she’s kind and caring. She’s just different, and that’s a good thing. Sehun glares, “And where, exactly, would she go?”

Baekhyun just shrugged, “Well, I mean… she has skills to survive, if you know what I mean.”

Sehun looks over, feeling the anger bubbling up. His eyes on Baekhyun, daring him to speak. “No, I don’t. Please explain what you mean.”

He thought, for a moment, Baekhyun would take the hint and drop it. But no. Baekhyun just shrugs, “She’s been acting like a lady of the night, so I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for her to actually get a job being the whore she i-”

Sehun stood up and pressed Baekhyun into the pole in the middle of the room. Everyone knew Sehun was strong just by looking at him, but he was fast for his size. He was taller than him. Stronger, as the older man looked genuinely scared. “Baekhyun, I’m asking you as a friend to never speak about her like that again,” Sehun mutters quietly, so that the people around them couldn’t hear as the room went silent from the commotion.

When he moved, Baekhyun looked shocked. He shook his head, “You’re a fool, Sehun. How long?”

“Since we were kids,” He mutter quietly, knowing exactly what he was asking.

The door bursts open, the eyes of Junmyeon looking around. He worked at the hospital next door. A kind and gentle soul, with brown hair that was getting a bit too long now. He had blood on his shirt as his eyes shifts over the room. They meet Sehun’s and he walks over, “Get your coat. Come on.”

“What happened,” Sehun asks, getting it from the back of his chair. He was worried, hearing the tone of Junmyeon’s voice. Like he was talking to a patient or someone related to them.

“Y/N Lance has been attacked,” He says, voice stone and face pale.

Sehun feels his heart practically stop. Like everything slowed down as he tried to process what he just heard. Blondes. Average height. Goes out at night. He curses, following Junmyeon quickly.

“She was attacked, but managed to fight their attacker off,” Junmyeon says, “She… she was stabbed, but she managed to get knock him out. Not far from here, she almost bleed out. That woman is as stubborn as anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Is she…” Sehun asks, his throat becoming tight with just the thought. She can’t die. If Y/N dies then Sehun truly has no one else left in the world.

“No,” Junmyeon says, “She will be fine. Traumatized, but fine. We tried to ask her what happened but she just kept asking for you.”

The walk there was long. It felt like a decade has passed before Sehun’s eyes finally saw Y/N. Her face bruised, along with her throat. He assumes that there are more as he walks forward. Her eyes look at him, red as tears were spilling down her face.

“He… he tied my hands to a bed,” She muttered, body shaking. “Sehun, he was about to… he almost…”

Sehun moved, carefully wrapping his arms around her as she cried. She held onto him, clinging tightly as Junmyeon left the room. Sehun felt like he was going to die, hearing her in this much pain.

“I… I need to make a statement but I don’t want to talk to anyone but you,” She muttered. “I was walking to the underground to get the closes ride to the manor. He caught me, hands around my throat. He hit my head against the wall and when… when I woke up I saw him at this table. A knife… when he pulled away there was a woman there. Her body in pieces.”

Sehun listened silently as she deserved her attack, about how the man was going to rape her but she managed to get her hand lose from the rope. How she slashed him with his knife and took off running to escape. How she was stabbed and how she kicked him down the stairs immediately after.

It ended in tears as he just held her sobbing figure. The anger of seeing her hurt and abused like this was eating away at him. He held her softly, holding her as he tried to think of ways to make that son of a bitch suffer for what he’s done.

When she finally fell asleep, the nurse looked at him, about to tell him of her full condition. “She named you as her guardian,” The woman says, looking at the papers in her hand. “Other than the stab wound, she has scrapes and a bruised rib. We checked to see if he… well, forced himself upon her, and see no signs of that, as I’m sure you’re aware of.” She glanced at the unconscious Y/N, frowning, “This she’s been through the ringer, this one.”

Sehun nodded, feeling like his chest was tight as he looked at her. Bruised, scraped, a bit shaken but still here. There has never been a time more than now that Sehun was thankful for her fighter nature. It wasn’t until someone from the station had to drag him to work that he left, and even then, his mind was nothing but Y/N.

A few months pass as spring and summer faded into fall. The anniversary of my father’s death coming quickly. I sigh, walking into the house and shutting the door behind me. I could hear soft music coming from the parlor. I look in, seeing Sehun sitting there, a glass of scotch in his hand as he listens to Minseok talk. A woman beside him, sitting with a glass of wine that she sipped at. Baekhyun and another woman, both drinking, as there was a unknown woman beside Sehun. She smiled at him, gently touching him. He looked at her, smiling before turning and listening more to what Minseok was speaking about.

I felt the jealous feeling mounting in me as she leaned close to Sehun, whispering. I turned, going upstairs towards my room. I quickly changed, tying my hair up in a mess and removing all makeup from my face. She was beautiful. The type of woman who would be a good wife. A wonderful mother. An acceptable partner for someone like Sehun. I wore pants and an old shirt that was once Sehun’s when he was a teen before he grew like a weed. We snuck out when we were teens and went to see motion pictures.

I walk carefully down the stairs, quickly stopping by the kitchen in order to get a bottle of scotch. I open the door that leads outside, going out into the garden. The sky above was covered in clouds, but I knew the way as the wind brushed past me quickly. My feet carried me to the small cemetery. One or two dozen people laid to rest here. I walked in, seeing the place my father was buried, next to my mother. I open the bottle, pouring it out over my father's grave.

“You probably appreciate the drink before seeing me,” I say, as I sit in front of the grave. I smile bitterly, “You probably loved scotch more than you ever cared about me if we’re being honest.” I closed my eyes, letting the wind blow my hair around as the air gets cooler. I don’t know how long I sat here, just looking at the words carved into my father’s stone. His name. The dates. A sentence.

‘A wonderful father and husband’.

That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. I feel tears fall down my face, the smell of the alcohol still burning my nose after I poured more on the dirt. “You weren’t though. Perhaps to Sehun you were, but not to me.” I shake my head, “You hated me. You never said it, but I know you wanted to.” I glance over at my Mom’s grave, “You don’t deserve to rest next to her. She was kind. Thoughtful. You were nothing but greedy and only cared about status.” I laugh, my fingers gripping the grass below me, “You… you preached about your job and how you wanted to help people. To SAVE people. You’re such a hypocrite.”

Nothing moved as I just closed my eyes, “All I wanted was you to accept me.”

I felt the first few drops of water hit me, I just sit there, motionless. It was cold, freezing as I just looked at the grey stone ahead of me. I continued to pour the scotch out over the ground every now and then, my eyes burning. I hate scotch. I hate the taste, the smell, how angry it makes people. Thunder rolls above me as I just sit there, lost in thought.

I hate him. Hated, I guess, since he’s gone.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, before I look over my shoulder. I see Sehun, who was getting soaked from the heavy downpour that I just notice was no longer just a drizzle. He frowns, his hair falling against his forehead now. I let him pull me to my feet and I follow him inside without a word. Our clothes dripping into the floor as he just makes me follow him.

He ducked into the laundry room, getting a towel and putting it over my shoulders. He frowns, looking him my eyes, “You’re going to get sick, idiot.”

“Did he ever love me,” I ask, causing the hand ahead of me to pause, looking me in the eyes. The fact that it took him longer than a few seconds to say something gave me every answer I needed. “It doesn’t matter. How was your get together?”

“Awful,” Sehun mutters, rolling his eyes. “It was more of an ambush. But, you know me, I can’t say no to free food. Old habit, I guess. What did you do? Other than try to catch a fever, that is.”

“I sang at the bar, but spent the day just… getting lost in the city,” I mutter, “I couldn’t really focus today.”

“Considering I found you at your father’s grave pouring an empty bottle over a grave, I’d agree,” He says, looking at me. “For the record, it… it doesn’t matter if he didn’t love you. Because you’re too strong to let something like that keep you down.”

I glance up, seeing the water drip from his bangs. I move, pulling him close and wrapping my arms around him. It takes everything I have not to tell him how much I love him. How, even in my darkest times I know he’s there for me. But I hold back because I know I’d just hold him back. I scoff, “Sehun, I’d just hold everyone back…”

“You’re a survivor,” He mutters, “you survive, it’s what you do. You don’t hold anyone back.”

“I’m holding you back,” I say, feeling tears in my eyes again. “Finding a wife who doesn’t hate our situation must be impossible.”

“I don’t want a wife,” Sehun says, angrily. “I’m not even mid twenties and people already expect me to marry? Besides, I wouldn’t want to marry someone who won’t understand. I’m not just going to let you out into the street and kick you out of your home.” He looked towards the window just as a loud crack of thunder hit. We both flinch, not expecting the sudden change in weather. Sehun smiles, though it looked sad, “Besides, the person I want doesn’t care much for me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, “Whoever she is, she must be an idiot. But I understand how you feel...”

Sehun laughed, a fond smile on his face. “I wouldn’t call her an idiot. Just… oblivious sometimes.”

“So, should I take it your not enjoying your new status as a wealthy bachelor,” I ask, using the towel to take some of the water out of my hair.

“It’s awful,” He says, scoffing. “When people aren’t throwing their daughters to my feet, they’re insulting me because I’m Asian. I’d rather deal with the the prejudice people over the men begging me to marry their teenage daughters. I’m use to that, at least.” He takes his towel, running it over his hair before putting it around his shoulders, looking at me. “Teenagers. Little kids, practically. It’s gross.” He rolls his eyes, “Come on,” He says, “You get the chess board, I’ll start a fire. Hopefully we don’t come down with an illness.”

The fondness in his eyes towards me always made me pause and have to catch my breath. My father was never fond of me. People at petting parties look at me fondly, but never like this. They don’t know the real me, like Sehun does. The fact that he knows me and still sees me in a positive nature is nothing short of a miracle.

So, I acted on impulse. Nothing ventured nothing gained, after all. I reach towards him, holding his arm to stop him from moving. He turns back to me, confused and worried. Now or never. Either I do this now or I’ll never be brave enough to try.

I push myself on my tip toes, pressing my lips to his quickly. It was just a quick, peck. Nervous and chaste. I could feel him freeze, shocked by my action. The fact that he didn’t move had my mind whirling with negative thoughts. I was too afraid to open my eyes to see the repulsion I was expecting.

I felt something touch my forehead, staying there. I could feel his breath as he slowly spoke. “Y/N, please… if this isn’t serious for you, I can’t… I don’t want t be led on. My heart can’t take it from you.” I open my eyes, seeing the fear and worry in his. “I’ve wanted this, I’ve dreamed about this, but if you’re heart isn’t there… then let’s forget this. But if it is…”

“You’re the man I was describing,” I quietly whispered, our lips almost touching. “A man I love. Who will let me be myself. My heart has been yours since I was twelve, Sehun. How could I ever marry anyone else when my heart is yours?”

I felt him hold my face in both hands, pulling my face so that our lips were once again pressed firmly together. My hands hold onto his shirt, fingers gripping at the wet cloth. This kiss was nothing like the one before, where he was just frozen in place. This one was passionate, igniting every inch of my skin in a blaze. His teeth softly bit at my bottom lips, making me let out a small, quiet moan.

“Fuck,” He mutters quickly before slotting our lips together again. It felt like a dream, like this wasn’t real and I was going to wake at any moment. Many people would find this inappropriate behavior for people who are not engaged, but I couldn’t give a damn. My hands were shaking from the want and need I had for this man. I’ve never been this effected by someone ever, and now that it’s so close I could taste it, I was going to make sure I finally got it.

I run my hands down his chest, feeling one of his had moved to my hip and gripping slightly. “Sehun,” I mutter, “Please, make me yours.”

I feel him pause, muscles tense at my words. He looks at me, eyes wide. He looked like he was having a fight with himself, between what he wants and what is considered the right thing. “But we’re no-”

“I don’t care,” I mutter, looking his his eyes, “I trust you. I want you. I’ve waited for so long, don’t make me wait longer.” I could see his resistance melting at my words, how hearing that I wanted him made Sehun look at me like he was going to devour me. I smirk, “Besides, I’ve heard from some friends how they’ve enjoyed their time with you.” I say, smiling, before leaning in. My mouth right by his ear as I quietly whisper, “I have very high expectations and won’t settle for anything less. Think you can handle the challenge?”

Sehun’s hands grab my thighs, hoisting me up in his arms as I wrapped mine around him. His lips at my neck, teeth biting as I let out a sound of pain and pleasure. I was lost in everything. Just him being near me. I feet the fingers on my thighs tighten as I ran my fingers though his hair, gripping and forcing his lips back to mine again.

It didn’t take long for my back to be pressed into a bed, Sehun’s body over mine. I wasted no time forcing the suit jacket off his shoulders, the damp jacket being tossed aside quickly. The sound of the rain raging on getting drowned out by our breaths. I force the suspenders down off his shoulders before quickly pulling the button down open. I curse at the undershirt, hearing Sehun laugh before finally leaning back, pulling the button down away as well as the undershirt. I always wondered what he looked line under there, but I never imagined this. Soft skin with hard, toned muscles. My fingers trace a scar on the left side on his chest, from collarbone to sternum.

“Where did this come from,” I ask, looking up. I see him flush, a bit embarrassed, “Sehun, don’t be shy on me.”

“A few years ago, you had that man following you, do you remember,” He mutters, looking at me. His face flushed as he mumbled, “I confronted him. He said if I beat him in a knife fight, he’d leave you be. I won.”

I frown, looking at it, “Sehun, you shouldn’t have. He hurt you.”

He smirks, “You should have seen him. This one I wear proudly. He wasn’t too happy when I scared his face.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss softly to my lips, his hands running up my sides, before moving and slowly unbuttoning the shirt I wore. “I would do it again too, if it meant keeping that creep away from you,” He mumbles, kissing the hollow of my throat as I just let out a small whine.

I sat up a little, getting the shirt off me and unclasping the bra of lace I wore. His eyes loved along my torso, like he was mesmerized by the sigh. I move my hand, covering the scar from the night I was attacked, but he stop me. He looks, before looking at me. “Y/N, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You fought and won. Wear it with pride.”

“It’s hideous,” I mumble, feeling his fingers glide softly over the marred skin.

Sehun just chuckles, leaning in and pressing his lips to my collar bone. “That’s odd, because here I was thinking nothing about you is hideous,” He mumbles against my skin, pressing kisses everywhere he could. One of his hands moves, unbuttoning my pants while the other moves and softly traces his fingertips up my chest.

This was different. I was use to just pure need, looking for any one without a care. But this is Sehun, the man I’ve been infatuated with for ages. The one who I’d always fantasize about when with others. The emotional connection between us is making me feel as if I was intoxicated and he hasn’t even really gotten started. It was terrifying, in a way, how much power he had over me.

His hand went to my breast, fingers delicately circling the awakening bud. I close my eyes, feeling his other hand pull at my pants and underwear, pulling them off swiftly. I was completely bare under him, physically and emotionally. His lips press kisses down, settling himself between my legs as he looked at me, eyes not full of lust and pure animalistic need like I was use to, but with adoration. He moves, using both hands to press my legs open before he leans down over my most intimate area.

I was absolutely shameless in my moaning the second his tongue touches my clit. My back arches, fingers moving to his inky hair and holding on like he was my lifeline. I could hear him groan as I look down, seeing him with his eyes closed like he savoring the moment. My whole body shivered as I threw my head back, my feet moving and trying to find something to anchor onto.

He was taking his time. Slow and methodical, wanting to hear every sound and see every twitch of my body and commit it to memory. There was no rush, no fear of being found. It was just him and I as slowly brought me to the edge. My body tensed, my legs squeezing his head as I yelled out his name like a prayer. It felt so good, like my body was on fire by his touches. He make me feel like his every movement, every single circling of his tongue on my clit was planned and full of the years of need.

When I came back down, I look down and I see Sehun looking at me, chin resting on his arms over my waist. He smiles, “If you keep saying my name like that, I’ll get addicted.”

“Please do,” I mumble, hearing him laugh, his chest shaking as he leaned against me. He smiles, moving off the bed for a moment. I bite my lip, looking at him. Sehun is, truthfully, the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Seeing him shirtless like this, with pants on and his suspenders hanging made me bite my lip. It felt wrong looking at him like this. I’ve always imagined him, but seeing it is different.

He had a few scars on his back, too. One was alarming, as it went from one shoulder all the way to the opposite side down hear his waist. I was quickly distracted by the sight of his butt, however, as it’s always been rather round and I’ve wanted to see what grabbing it was like for a long time too. He turned, and I let my mouth fall open in shock for a moment.

Sehun laughed, seeing my reaction to his very big, very erect cock. I tried to not seem so surprised but he just smirked. He was nicely built as he moves back to me. Muscles hard from learning to protect himself as I let my fingers trail over his abdomen. “Like what you see,” He asks, a bit smug before hovering and placing his lips to mine. I open my legs widely for him, wrapping them around his waist.

“Show me what you can do with it, first,” I mumble against his lips, “Be ashamed if you were so blessed but can’t use it to it’s full potential.”

“Get ready, Y/N,” He says, smiling,“Those high expectation are about to be shattered.”

It was quick, the first thrust. I gasp, feeling him completely fill me and then some. He moved his head, pressing kisses to my neck and sucking on the skin there as he slowly pulled out. The drag of every single inch of him was like a drug. The small grunt he would make when he pushed himself back in was like heaven. It was slow, our lovemaking. One of his hands on my waist and the other tangling with mine. My other hand reached and grabbed at his ass, feeling the muscles move as he thrusted into me over and over. My body was on fire, hearing him mutter sweet words in my ear. It was never fast, or hard. That could happen later. This was a new experience. I wasn’t use to slow sex. Sex filled with love and passion. I was use to fast and rough, the fear of getting caught was a high but not like this. This, with Sehun, is unmatched.

He started to speed up, small noises leaving him now too. My mouth letting out every moan and whine. I’ve been saying his name over and over, feeling like I was flying. He made me feel wanted and loved for the first time in my life. He was close, I could just tell. The hand on my waist moved, fingers circling my clit as I choked back a moan of pleasure. Teeth bit into my skin as I held onto him as hard as I could, screaming his name a second time.

He pulled out, my hand moving towards his cock before he could. My fist wrapped around him as my hand went to his neck, pulling him to me. I pressed my lips to his, before opening my eyes and seeing him stare directly at me. The growl of pleasure that left him was stunning, staring in his eyes as he finally finishes is something I’ll never forget. Seeing him look at me before he collapsed on top of me. For the first time after, I got lazy kisses and mumbled praises until I fell asleep.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Sehun could feel the judgment from Minseok and Baekhyun the moment they found out. He’s been avoiding dates they’re trying to set him up on, not wanting to talk about women, not even talking about his future anymore. It wasn’t until they saw him changing into some new clothes after his got soiled at a crime scene that they saw the scratches on his back. At first they assumed he was visiting a brothel and warned him of the potential medical risks. Once they saw his cheek flare in a bright red blush did they put it all together.

Baekhyun kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want what happened last time to happen again. After all, he knows the man was in love, and people do crazy things for it. Minseok, on the other hand, was just looking at him, arms crossed with his chair pulled over to Sehun’s desk.

“Sehun, this is a mistake,” Minseok says, looking at the young man with worry. “Women like her don’t want marriage or children. What kind of legacy will you leave behind with someone like that?”

“Would you want to be married if nothing would belong to you or you’re seen as property,” Sehun asked, looking at him. “You know that I don’t like that whole law. You’ve known it for ages. What you don’t seem to get is this. I love her. I have for over a decade. Either be happy for me, or don’t speak about it.”

Minseok sighs, letting the sound of everyone else in the room fill the silence of their conversation. “Does she make you happy,” Minseok asks, looking up.

“More than anything,” Sehun mutters, smiling. “And, if that law was different, I’d ask her to marry me in a heartbeat.”

Minseok just sighs, “Alright. If it doesn’t work out, though, just tell me and I’ll help set you up again. I just… I want you to be happy. Especially since they’re officially closing the Lance case.”

Baekhyun scoffs, “All this time and we still didn’t get the asshole.”

Minseok looks at him, “Lance wasn’t the man we knew, Baek. I’m glad we found out about him snitching to the gang.”

When Sehun left work, he felt nervous. He’d have to tell Y/N that they’re officially stop investigating her father’s case. He didn’t know how it was going to go. He heart was heavy, as he stopped at the front door of the house. He was terrified that she’d be upset with him. These last few weeks have been nothing short of perfect. To finally hold her close and tell her how much he loved her was all he ever wanted.

He opened the door, looking around. He could hear music from a record player. He dropped his briefcase by the door, hung up his hand and coat before following the sounds. With one push of the study door, he peered in, looking and seeing Y/N on the ground, sitting and looking at a closed book. The fire crackling and music playing softly as she just looked… different. She glanced up, a small smile on her face, but something felt off about it.

Sehun moved, sitting down in front of her, the book between them. “Y/N,” he could feet his throat get tight from nerves as she looked up at him. “They… stopped the investigation. For your father’s murderer.”

Y/N winces at that, looking down at her hands. Sehun’s heart broke at the fight, He moved, holding her hands before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I failed you,” He could feel tears gathering in his eyes. “I wanted to find the murderer, to put you at ease and make them see justice, but I failed you.”

Y/N looked at him in the eyes. Her bloodshot as she bites her lip for a moment. “You… you were never going to find the killer…”

Sehun felt shattered, knowing that she didn’t believe in him.

She shakes her head, “Not because you’re not good at what you do but because… I… I hid evidence.”

He felt like his heart stopped. He looked at her, eyes wide, “Why…?”

He watches her open the book, showing it with the middle cut out. Pieces of paper folded up was there, one with blood on it, stained. Sehun takes the bloody one out, looking at her with confusion. She looked nervous, guilty.

When he unfolded the paper, he could see words written in blood.

‘Y/N did it’

Sehun looked at her, feeling sick as he sees tears falling down her face. “Why? How?”

She gestures to the other paper, “I… I had no choice, Sehun. He was going to sell me to that gang to be their personal whore. He already had the man in charge over, to try me out.” She glares at the ground, “I… he let me be violated just to get rid of me. So, after they left and he was about to talk to me, I just… I grabbed the letter opener and stabbed. I didn’t… I couldn’t… Sehun they hurt me and he just LET THEM.”

Even though she just admitted to murder, he couldn’t bring himself hate her, to shun her. Her shoulders shaking as she cried, “I didn’t know what to do! I was going to just be abused and raped over and over again!”

He stands, holding the papers, back to her as she cried.

“And I know you’ll probably hate me, but I can’t live this lie anymore,” She sobs, and his heart ached for her. “So, if you want to turn me in, I understand, but I can’t lie to you. I can’t let you go on thinking you’ve failed me. I’m sorry, Sehun. I’m so sorry.”

He looks at her, looking her in the eyes. Deep down, he knew that James Lance was an awful man. Just because he took him in doesn’t change that. All he can think about is what would happen to her if she didn’t kill him. If she let herself become this sex object for awful and cruel people. He couldn’t help but imagine it and just the thought makes him sick. “Answer me this question,” He mutters, looking at her. He sees her eyes meet his, “Did you really fear for your life? You didn’t do it just from wanting him dead?”

“He hated me, but… I loved him. Sure, we didn’t like each other, and part of me hated him… but I did love him. That’s why it hurt so badly.” She frowned, “I… I know this, what we are, is ruined, but I just had to tell you the truth.”

It was all complicated, but Sehun knew how he truly felt about this matter the more he thought about it. He turned, facing away from her and feeling the heat from the flames. Reading the contract between Lance and the gang leader cleared it all up. He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t. So, he looked at her.

“I love you, Y/N. This… what you have told me doesn’t change that at all,” He mutters, before taking the papers and dropping them into the fire.

#exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo scenarios #exo smut #oh sehun fanfiction #oh sehun smut

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ofaphrvdite · 6 years ago

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silence ! raise the royal standard, for the princess of hungary, AURÉLIA VANCURA, has arrived. being 26 years old, she is third in line to the throne. many around the court call her the chameleon, by virtue of her being ebullient and audacious, while also being unscrupulous and perverse. — played by jodie comer.

- THE BASICS.

full name: aurélia katalinka vancura name meaning: aurélia ‘golden’, katalinka ‘pure’ known in history as: the little rose, light of the east date of birth: july 1st, 1992/1639 age: twenty six star sign: cancer profession: diplomat for the foreign and commonwealth office (modern verse) / princess of hungary (royal verse) loyalty: hungary, house vancura, the entente alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: entp spoken languages: hungarian, german, english, french, advanced dutch, intermediate spanish, basic italian (royal verse) / english, hungarian, mandarin, french, spanish, advanced german, advanced dutch (modern verse) mother’s name: gabriella vancura father’s name: richárd vancura siblings, if any: pál vancura (deceased), dominykas vancura (older), adelaida & angéla vancura (younger), dániel vancura (younger) height: 5’8” hair colour: golden blonde eye colour: hazel

- BACKSTORY / MODERN VERSE.

ever since she was a little girl, aurélia had always possessed a mind above the rest. despite sending her to the top schools, her parents found their eldest daughter continued to best her tutors at every turn. it was in her third year of secondary school that the school made the rare call to put her forward a year, sitting her gcse’s after only one year of study. exams that she passed with flying colours.

though the vancura family had always been a competitive one, aurélia rarely found reason to quarrel with her older brother dominykas. whilst their siblings bickered amongst themselves it was often them against the world, each making no secret that they were eachother’s favourite. and so it was no surprise that after her studies she chose to remain as close to her brother as possible. if there was one certainty, it was that she would always have him to lean on.

it was through university that she discovered a love for two things: diplomacy and women. though she’d been vaguely aware of the fact that she wasn’t interested in any of the boys in her school growing up, she’d put it down to always being a year behind them in age which made dating that bit harder - especially when they were always so much slower than her. it was at oxford that she realised her gravitation towards other girls had been more than a familiar kinship, but intrigue. something she was happy to indulge in for the first time while learning the ways of language and negotiation. two subjects she was fascinated with and would serve her well in her future career.

after graduating with a first, aurélia immediately took a position in the public sector as part of the civil service fast stream in the diplomatic service division. with plenty languages already under her belt and a strong mind for debate it didn’t take long for her to rise in the ranks and soon was being sent from country to country for months at a time to represent the people of the uk. the job involved plenty of dinners at various embassies and it was at one of these very events in vienna that she was seated next to one of the country’s most famed sportswomen. in a rare meeting of minds, aurélia was convinced by theresa von hapsburg to abandon her duty for the evening and instead spent it with it her. not only could the quick witted woman easily keep up with her ( even best her at times ), but she challenged her. made her embrace a much less structured life and taught her a freedom she hadn’t ever allowed herself. aurélia in turn offered the wild spirit a home and place to belong and the two have been living together in london ( amongst other abodes ) in between their various travels.

her life remained much the same for years. work, travel, theresa and in the middle of it her brother and his wife popped out a kid and life continued on much the same. except now she was cool and fun aunt lia with a baby to spoil and none of the responsibility. unfortunately her peace was to be short lived and the gentle routine she had found herself in, one she had come to rely upon, was ripped away in one cruel and tragic sweep. with her sister-in-law’s death came unwelcome ground. her brother was replaced with a man she did not know, a stranger, and her niece was all but orphaned. in a position she was not prepared for, aurélia stepped up in her brother’s mental absence as a somewhat guardian to laima.

over time she grew to be fiercely protective of her niece and in turn wary and somewhat disillusioned with her brother. though she knows he is suffering, and so she cannot abandon him, she feels for the little girl who has been left without a mother and a father - the latter she deems an unnecessary loss. her relationship with him has become somewhat strained, but she has never been one to give up and intends stick by his side and fix what others might see is impossible. always striving for more, for the very best, aurélia will only be content when her family is whole and happy once again.

- BACKSTORY / ROYAL VERSE.

once a headstrong princess, life’s plans have forced aurélia to adapt to the hand dealt to her. her house, though stable in its seat, had been a power hungry one away from prying eyes. with siblings vying for only one throne and keen to prove themselves strong in the eyes of watching europe, she has become far more calculating in order to survive. but before the perils of growing up ( and the responsibilities that came with it ) she was every bit the free spirit. keen to stir up trouble. always batting her eyelashes to get what she wanted, and really who was surprised when she had been taught by arguably the best there was?

keen to builld a strong relationship with their neighbours and allies, the hungarian king and queen sent their eldest princess to austria frequently as a child where she built up a strong friendship with the princess theresa. in her eyes the older girl was everything she wanted to be, and she hung on her every word as if her advice were worth its true weight in gold. in actual fact it was more the blind leading the blind, but either way aurélia attributes many of the lessons she learned to the most innocent period of her life. alone in her rooms, when there is no company but the stars, she longs for those summers again where she could be the freest version of herself with her truest friend. something impossible for her to return to as that girl was long dead and the distance between them too great after her friend was married off. quietly, aurélia found herself resentful ( perhaps even envious ) toward someone who she had thought would always be by her side.

life for the eldest vancura daughter was uneventful, as if god had decided to save up the tragedy all must face in life for one concentrated dose. she was betrothed to a rich duke, and that rich duke so very sadly passed away in the war before she ever had the chance to don her pretty white veil. aurélia felt no particular loss and grieved as was appropriate for a fiance in public ( the black skirts had been so very ugly, and she had never suited such dire palettes ), only a disruption to her life that proved a mild inconvenience. she did not like not knowing what was next, and she had been left in an unsure position. something that made the now pragmatic princess anxious.

it was at the peace summit in switzerland where the pieces of her fragmented life began to slowly fit together - not long before they would be torn apart. at bern she flourished. her mother had seen fit to give her the same education as her brothers ( smart women were often more deadly than well educated men. no one saw them coming. they could tear countries apart and no one would ever suspect the pretty smiling blonde. ) and so she was well prepared to take a seat at the table with lord’s not used to a woman commanding anything. she exuded confidence and made herself impossible to ignore, and proved herself a keen and useful negotiator. her belief in herself that had begun with theresa all those years ago, had only grown with the introduction to the daughter of an italian duke. lucrezia had been her mirror in every sense. both girls so warm and fun loving, finding comfort in the spotlight of balls, always giggling and taking great pleasure in pulling the strings of the men attempting to court them. it was with slow realisation that whilst she rejected every man that came to worship at her renowned beauty, it was lucrezia she wished to spend all her time with. not just to share in their latest debacles and laugh over silly things, but she found herself longing to see her face every morning she woke, and if a day passed where she did not speak with her it was a sad day indeed.

it was on a warm autumn day that her feelings of love surpassed anything platonic. the two girls had taken their horses out across the countryside and spent the afternoon playing in a lake far from prying eyes. half giggly on the champagne she’d swiped, and half because lucrezia was suddenly so close and the air was so heavy that she’d blame flushed cheeks on that, the other girl had kissed her mid laugh and aurélia had decided she never wanted it to stop. weeks would pass and the two young girls found themselves in and out of eachothers chambers, going beyond two youths trying to find their place, her heart belonged to the other and she could not foresee a time they would ever part. the logical part of her knew it must end, they would all return home eventually and be forced into marriages they did not want, but she was so swept up in something so pure she was sure it couldn’t be wrong.

it was a perfect tapestry that would always need to be unravelled, but never did she expect for it to happen so violently. the thread was not slowly tugged upon, instead it all went up in flames and left nothing but ash. during a coronation ball for the king of prussia, pirates invaded the castle and began slaying anyone in their path all in the name of chaos. ever together, the two girls escaped with crowded ballroom full of screams and their relief, they soon realised, came too soon. it was aurélia that had made it to the end of the corridor first, lucrezia’s expensive gown becoming ensnared on a loose nail and leaving her to catch up. she’d waited for her by the door to a chamber they could barricade until the shouts had sounded from down the hall and left the princess frozen in fear. if she waited they would both die, and both the girls knew it. she had seen the resignation of her fate in her lover’s eyes as men had grabbed her and without a second’s thought the princess had closed the door behind her to hide. but not before the screams of lucrezia had reached her ears and she had burned the memory of the sword through her chest into her mind forever.

hours passed and even after the screaming had died down, aurélia remained under the bed she had hidden beneath, unable to calm her sobbing as she spiralled deeper into shock and grief. it was only after her brother found her and managed to coax her from hiding that she began to calm down long enough to accept that lucrezia was dead. dead because of her. a thought that was soon solidified as she was led from the room and saw the remains of her lover being carried away from the pool of pool she had left behind. knowledge that her brother had too passed away in the attacks ensured the princess did not emerge from her room for quite some time. the things she had seen she shared with no one, not even her brother. her secret could not be uncovered, and her links to the dead woman must remain unknown for the sake of her reputation. her life must still continue on.

the attacks left her forever changed. no longer was the warmth she exuded anything but a product of a practiced facade. the free spirit once cultivated had been cut down and locked away. she could no longer afford to behave so foolishly, and be so free with her bleeding heart. for weeks the princess did not leave the safety of her rooms and only ate when the pain of hunger distracted her long enough from her grief. when she reemerged into court, it was only when she was attended by a guard. her trauma was stowed away deep down, forced to be forgotten. it was at night where her survivors guilt manifested as night terrors. so often did she wake herself screaming that her guards no longer ran to her. now sure the only harm inside her rooms that could be done to her was herself.

it has been months since the attacks and aurélia is now at versailles to represent hungary and its new king. in her time of self imposed exile she has learned to play the game perfectly. at surface level she is a perfect princess, her brains now buried deep where they can be used to subtly move others into the places she wants. though she smiles prettily, it is often a front meant to sway others into doing her bidding. manipulation now a part of her day to day life. it is as this new muted version of herself that she finds herself reunited with theresa, and all the old confused feelings she has long since buried. though she will play good friends, their reunion will be tainted with the knowledge that aurélia has asked for a betrothal. hoping that marriage will banish the forbidden longings of her heart for good, and give her the position of power she so yearns for.

#! * INTRODUCTIONS.#! * INTRODUCTION / aurélia.#YEET #she gets one before izzy because its gay rights #lets go lesbians etc

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uzumaki-rebellion · 6 years ago

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Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chapter 7

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"You're the prince to my ballerina You feed other people's parking meters You encourage the eating of ice cream And you would somersault in sand with me

You talk to loners You ask 'how's your week?' You give love to all And give love to me You're obsessed with hiding The sticks and stones When I fear the unknown You feel like home You feel like home…"

Zero 7 – "Somersault"

N'Jobu breezed through his evaluations.

His debriefing meetings were informative. War Dogs in London and China were discovering connections between the Shield Organization and off-shoots of Hydra participating in the removal of targeted individuals with special powers and extraordinary abilities. He informed his handlers of Terrell Greenley and the trace he put on them. He had made a few covert trips to Los Angeles and found the institution where the family was being housed. More than likely the boy was now a human lab experiment, his DNA captured and saved for further study like a modern-day Henrietta Lacks.

He sent field reports back to Birnan Zana and shared surveillance photos of Shield and Hydra agents to a Southland embedded War Dog. He felt compelled to help the family escape, but he wasn't set up with the support and resources to place them anywhere. And even if he could, it would jeopardize his placement in Oakland. It could sever his ties to Califia. He wasn't willing to do that.

His parents were pleased to see him. Still disappointed that he wanted to be so far away from them, but happy that he looked well and thrived in his assignment.

Alone he called Califia to keep in touch with her and soothe her nerves. He spent a short bit of time with his friends in private, but his last free day took him to a protected domain connected to a military base.

He found himself walking through a private residence and being greeted by a cheerful looking Zinzi. In her arms, she held a baby.

"Prince N'Jobu," she said bowing to him slightly.

His arms went around her and he kissed her cheek and stared down at the child in her arms.

"There he is," N'Jobu said touching the baby's fingers.

"This is Gcobisa. Say hello! Say hello to the Prince."

"May I?"

N'Jobu had his hands outstretched. Zinzi placed her son in his arms and watched him rock the baby.

"He's heavy!"

Zinzi laughed and stroked her son's hair.

"This next one will probably be heavy too," she said stroking her stomach. N'Jobu could see the slight bulge in her dress.

"Kakade?"

"Yes, already again," she laughed.

"You were serious about pumping them out."

"Come, let us sit Prince N'Jobu."

She guided him to her receiving room that overlooked a grand hill. She had a tray of nibbles and libations awaiting him as they sat near one another.

"You look well, your Highness."

"So do you."

Her face was heavier and her body was fuller, but she was still his delightful friend and confidante.

"How is Oakland?"

He smiled and she grinned back at him. No words needed to be spoken about Califia. Zinzi was astute enough to see that he was beaming and madly in love.

"Oakland is…good." He started laughing and Gcobisa began to squirm, his tiny face not pleased to be in the arms of a stranger. He handed the baby back to Zinzi.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I am happy. The noise has finally died down about my marriage. Thank you for taking the bulk of the criticism. My parents have come to love Gcuma, no doubt because of this little one. They spoil him rotten."

"As they should. I guess my reputation as a player absolved me of being too much of a bad guy."

"I think it's your military record. They love to see you in uniform. The tabloids kept showing pictures of you in action on the base, and I swear, everyone forgot about me. What scandal? Look at Prince N'Jobu, he is so handsome, and oh thank Bast, he is an eligible bachelor again."

He rubbed his hands together. No. He wasn't a bachelor anymore. He had a wife. He felt a shiver go through him.

"N'Jobu?"

He glanced up at Zinzi.

"It is nothing, just a weird feeling came over me just now. Nothing bad, just a sensation…"

"Your woman is thinking of you," Zinzi said turning her baby onto his stomach on her lap. She bounced her legs gently and rubbed the child's back.

"Could be," he said, and he had the strangest feeling that Zinzi could be right. He hadn't spoken to Califia at all that day and the thought of her brought forth the weird feeling again.

"Could you excuse me for a moment? I would like to make a quick call."

N'Jobu stood and pulled out his comm tab. He walked a polite distance away from Zinzi and called Califia's cell. There was no answer. Odd. She kept her phone by her side and would barely let him get two rings in before she picked up. She was probably busy. He returned to Zinzi.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes. May I hold Gcobisa again?"

"You were always good with babies."

"This young one is going to grow up big and strong, yes?" he said staring the baby in the face as he held him up. Gcobisa's feet squirmed and N'Jobu pressed him against his chest and rubbed his back. The child relaxed in his arms.

"Tell me, is Gcuma doing well? I hear great things up and down the chain of command."

"He is doing excellent. He wants to retire soon."

"Retire? He has years ahead of him."

She patted her midsection.

"He wants time with his children."

"Are you happy, Zinzi?"

Her eyes lit up.

"I am very happy—"

"I did not mean to make you cry, Zinzi—"

"No…no…tears of joy your Highness," she said wiping her lids.

She stared at N'Jobu rocking her son.

"Have you found peace, my Friend?" she asked.

"I…" his voice trailed off. His mind tried to come up with the words to describe how he felt being in Oakland.

"She makes me want to be a better man every day, Zinzi. I wake up with her in my arms and I feel like I do not need anything more in this life. I have found my smile again. I have found my peace."

Zinzi's eyes welled up, and when her tears spilled, his did too. She reached over and hugged him, kissing his cheeks and wiping his tears away.

"We are so lucky," she said.

"We are."

She poured him some tea and they spent a lovely afternoon catching up and playing with Gcobisa until he was summoned back to the palace.

He left Wakanda early. His choice. Califia had reverted to contacting him only through texts and it concerned him. Her cell phone went to voicemail whenever he called, but within a few minutes she would text back that she was in the middle of something and that she would get back to him. She never would.

He was worried.

He didn't tell her he was coming home early. He wanted to surprise her.

Her car was parked in its spot and he saw her bike was there too. She was home. He dragged his bags out of the Lyft he summoned and walked into the townhouse. Music was playing in the living room from the TV. Old music videos. He could smell that she was cooking something in the kitchen. She wasn't there but he checked the oven. Turkey meatloaf. Her comfort food.

He hung up his jacket and placed his shoes inside the front room closet. Climbing the stairs, he saw that she wasn't in either of the bedrooms. The bathroom door was slightly ajar and he could see her moving. He pushed open the door.

"Califia?"

She was facing the bathroom mirror with her thin red bathrobe open and hanging off her shoulders. Naked underneath she quickly pulled the material up and tried to tie it up. Her right hand shot out and grabbed for the counter, her hand then becoming a fist. He stood behind her and gazed at her face in the mirror. Her eyes were big and her lips were pressed tight. He reached up and pulled her robe back down so that he could see her breasts again. She tried to hide them when he first walked in, but he saw that they looked different. Fuller. He reached down and cupped them, lifting them up. She licked her lips and her eyes watched him.

"Show me what's in your hand," he said. Her fist went up to her chest. She opened it.

A small white stick with a word on it.

"I just took the test."

"We're pregnant," he whispered.

"We're pregnant," she whispered back to him.

His arms wrapped around her tight and she clutched at his elbows. Spinning her to face him he hugged her and peppered her face with kisses. He wanted to shout it out to the world, instead, he twirled her around the bathroom. When he put her down, he saw that her expression was happy, but not as happy as he was.

"What's wrong?"

She pressed her face into his neck.

"I'm scared. What if it's in there wrong? I can't go through that again—"

"Look at me. This time will be fine."

He grinned from ear to ear.

"I knew it! I told you I would get you pregnant. Oh shit. We did it, baby!"

She still looked frightened.

"We'll go in and see the doctor, get everything checked out," he said. He hugged her again.

"Califia, trust me, our baby is coming."

He turned her back around so she could see herself in the mirror.

"I haven't seen you for a whole month and look how beautiful you are carrying our child. Don't be afraid, girl. I'm here with you. Look, see what I see."

She looked at herself and his hands caressed her shoulders then massaged them. He bent down and kissed her ear and then her cheek. His lips nibbled down to her neck and shoulder.

"Look, that's my woman right there. My wife. And she's having my baby," he said. His hand reached down and rested on her belly.

"Safe inside you, right where it's supposed to be," he said.

She smiled.

"That's it, be happy my love," he said.

Her robe slipped down on one side and when she tried to fix it, he pushed her hand away. He slipped the crook of his fingers into the top of the robe and pulled it down on both sides of her shoulders so he could see her breasts again.

"Getting big already," he said tracing his fingers around her areolas then pinching her nipples. They swelled up into hard pebbles and then he cupped her fullness again. He felt his eyes narrow as his hands squeezed her breasts.

"You'll feed my baby with these…"

"Yeah," she said reaching up and stroking his scalp. Her other hand caressed the back of his neck. He knew she could feel the beginning of an erection poking her from him. He pressed into her.

"I missed you," he said pushing up against her more and forcing her hips to lean into the sink counter.

"I missed you too…" she said, her eyes closing as she thrust her ass back into him. He pulled her robe off and tossed it on the counter. His right hand slid around her hips, touched her stomach gently, and dropped down to her clit. He rubbed slow circles there and watched her face.

"I came back early to surprise you, but you did me one better. Having my baby, girl. Look at you."

His voice must've hit a lower register because she gasped when she heard it, her eyes flying back open to stare at his face in the mirror as he took the wetness between her folds and coated her clit with it.

"Damn these titties," he said reaching back for them. He played with them and she watched him do it.

He reached one hand down and unzipped his pants. She spread her thighs for him.

"Jobu," she said, and that sound in her voice made his face twist up. She could make him do anything when she called him that. He lined up his cock with her entrance. When their eyes were fastened on one another again in the mirror, her lips curled up and then she said, "Fuck me." He played in her entrance, not going all the way in, enjoying the feel of slight resistance that her opening always gave him when he went inside of her. The ring of muscle there was tight on him. It was happening to them. They were having the baby he dreamed of, wished for and prayed for. He would be there for her in all the ways she needed.

He wanted her tits in his hands again and he cradled them, indulging in their fullness. They were already swelling at six weeks, he could imagine them at six months and he felt his mouth water thinking about how thick she would get. He pumped his hips faster.

He had her ass clapping already and she was gasping from his breast fondling.

"You miss me fucking you?"

"Yeah!"

Her pussy was melting on his erection like butter. He stroked her belly again.

"I put that baby deep in you, huh girl?"

"Yeah."

"Deep in that pussy," he said.

The sight of her tits in his hands incited him to rock into her ass as hard as he could. His voice was gone and all he could do was moan with desperate breath. When he couldn't hold back, his voice cracked.

"…having my baby…oh girl…you're so beautiful…beautiful…fuck…that's it, that's it, throw it back on your big dick…throw it back girl. Just like that…just like that. This your dick, girl. This all your dick right here."

His eyes raked across her breasts again, watching them bounce in the mirror. Imagining her feeding his child turned him on so much. He couldn't get the image out of his head and he felt his dick swell more thinking about it. He rubbed his fingers on the tattoo of his name. She was his. For always. She was carrying his seed and he felt so proud. Covetous even as his hand covered her belly button. N'Jadaka was growing inside of her. They would be connected together for life. The three of them. His family. His very own family. He would provide for them. He would protect them. Califia and N'Jadaka were his forever.

"Lemme cum in my pussy," he demanded, but she was gone, her eyes squeezed shut, her ass cheeks bouncing and clapping with his dick pummeling her folds to oblivion. He slowed down to watch her face, his hips swiveling with small circles as he rocked into her cheeks softly. He felt his stomach flutter as delicate pants from her mouth made her lips tremble. She dropped a hand down between her legs and fondled his balls. He lost it.

"Fuck…fuck…fuck…oh, girl…I love you…shit….I love you…damn, Califia….damn," he gasped. A month was still too long to be away from her. He felt his semen surge and all he could do was get it deeper inside of her before he fell over.

The smoke alarm went off in the kitchen and it jolted them both with it's piercing screech. He pulled out of Califia, the rest of his semen splashing onto her thighs as she pulled her robe back on and flew down the stairs. He zipped up his pants and followed her.

She yanked open the oven door with thick oven mitts, and they both saw how extra brown the meatloaf looked as smoke drifted out.

"Shit," she said.

He glanced at the kitchen clock. The meat looked like it needed more time when he first arrived and he was surprised to see how long he had been fucking her in the bathroom. It seemed like a short amount of time, but clearly, they had been at it far longer. Even she was shocked. She plopped the pan of meatloaf on top of the stove. It looked crispy, dry, and pitiful.

"Let me take you out," he said turning off the oven and opening a window. She looked relieved.

"Mommy needs a break sometimes," he said.

Her face lit up when he called her Mommy.

"As long as Daddy is paying for it, we're good," she responded.

He grabbed her and pulled her in close, kissing her lips.

"I got you. Both of you," he said.

They made an early morning doctor's appointment. N'Jobu took the whole day off and drove her on the appointed hour. Califia felt a tension headache aggravate her mood. It was nerves. And anxiety. N'Jobu held her hand as their doctor smoothed a cool gel all over her abdomen for an ultrasound. When the wand was rubbed across her stomach, she wouldn't even look at the monitor. Her eyes stayed glued to N'Jobu's.

"Hey, I'm here," he whispered to her. She nodded her head, but still wouldn't look. She saw N'Jobu's eyes glance over at the monitor. The doctor hadn't said anything yet, she was still rolling the wand, and then she stopped. N'Jobu's eyes widened. He was holding his breath. Califia felt her stomach tighten.

"There they are," the doctor said.

N'Jobu's face broke out into the biggest smile.

"Look, baby. Look," he said.

Califia turned her head and stared at the monitor.

It looked like a tiny bean with a strong heartbeat. Her hand flew to her mouth and she couldn't help but cry.

"I told you, I told," N'Jobu whispered and kissed her lips. She lifted her left hand and held his neck. He kissed her tears away.

"Looks good," said the doctor. "This is the head end right here."

Califia and N'Jobu made out the shape.

"Heart sounds good," N'Jobu said, a huge smile on his face.

"Heart sounds great," the doctor said.

Another appointment was made for her to return for another ultrasound in a few weeks. She was prescribed pre-natal meds and Califia asked about her Doula accompanying her on future doctor visits.

Leaving the doctor knowing the baby was where it was supposed to be and thriving, Califia felt like she could breathe for the first time. N'Jobu took her to lunch and as they ate tacos, they agreed to call the baby N'Jadaka until they knew what sex it was. They also agreed to not find out the sex of the baby until it was born. They wanted her to get out of her first trimester first before they told anyone.

They were excited, and she couldn't tell if N'Jobu was more thrilled than she was. He just couldn't stop smiling or kissing her hand. He was constantly touching her abdomen.

When they went to bed that night, he held her so close to him and rubbed her stomach.

"Did you ever imagine that when we first met that we would have a baby together?" she asked.

"I knew that you were someone special. I knew that I was attracted to you. I also knew I felt something profound. Having a baby? No, but a spark was there. You?"

"I remember admiring your bracelet, and then I was looking at you…"

Her eyes sought out his and she shifted so that she could throw her arm around his waist.

"If I had been even later going to that BSU meeting, I would never have met you. Just that small thing and our N'Jadaka wouldn't be here now. Just that one tiny thing, or missing the meeting completely—"

"You don't think I would've eventually met you through Bakari?'

"I don't know. You weren't supposed to be at the apartment that day I came over to practice with him. If we never met at the BSU meeting, I still might not have run into you at the apartment. Usually, Bakari was over at my grandmother's. You being at the apartment with Andrea was a fluke."

"Wow. Andrea. That's a throwback name."

"You could be having a baby with her."

"She would've been down for it, believe me."

"Really?"

"She wanted to get married and everything."

"You never told me that."

"Why would I? Andrea was a great person, but you came into my life and changed the whole game for me. I think about that night when you first kissed me sometimes. What if you didn't do that? What if you and Xavier had patched things up? So many variables—"

"But we're here're now."

"Yes. Just you and me and N'Jadaka."

She smiled.

"I love that name."

"I'm happy you like it."

The next morning they went to a pharmacy for the prenatal vitamins the doctor recommended. As they stood in line to pay for them, a feeling of déjà vu swept over Califia.

"What is it?" N'Jobu asked thinking something was wrong with her physically.

"The last time I bought prenatal vitamins, I was alone. I wasn't sure if I could handle having—"

N'Jobu kissed her lips and stroked the back of her neck.

"Stop. Don't talk about that. Think only about N'Jadaka and right now."

It hurt him to think of the child they lost. It hurt him to think about how alone and scared she was back then.

He paid for the vitamins and took her back home where he ran a warm bath for her.

While she soaked in the tub, he sat at their dining room table and wrote in his journal. He found himself writing more and more after being back with her. Poems. Snippets of humorous conversations with her. Sketches of her. His child's name over and over. The dreams and plans he had for the three of them.

He wanted his baby to know about his bloodline. Know that it was royalty and came from a long line of powerful people. But he would also have to teach his child the importance of secrecy. Now that N'Jadaka was coming, N'Jobu faintly entertained the notion of returning back to Wakanda with him and Califia one day. Far into the future when the child was older.

He made a note in his journal that he would need to bring back Vibram ink after his next check-in. He would give N'Jadaka the same Vibram tattoo that was inked inside his lower lip. That way his people could identify N'Jadaka as one of their own. At that point, he did not think he could mark Califia in that way. She had no Wakandan blood. The reality was that someday in the future, N'Jobu would bring his child before the Royal Court without Califia. He would have to sequester her somewhere in Niganda or another bordering country until he felt his family could handle meeting his foreign wife. They probably wouldn't even recognize her as such. He could deal with that. She would always be his woman whether they accepted her or not. But he worried about his young one. Would foreign blood taint the baby's connection to the crown?

He pushed those troubling thoughts away and wrote about his happiness at becoming a father. When he heard Califia moving around in their bedroom, he went up to join her.

He found her rubbing lotion on her legs, her naked body so enticing to him. He squatted down in front of her and let his thumbs tickle her midsection. She smiled.

Clearing his throat, he lowered his head to her middle and sang Lullaby, Little One to his very own little one. Califia didn't understand the words but she stroked his head as she accepted the warm breath filled with love directed at her tummy. He kept his voice soft and sang all the verses for N'Jadaka.

When he finished, he stared at Califia, her eyes shiny and so bright with love for him and the baby. He was Bast blessed, and he knew it. Pressing his face into her tummy, he kissed her tattoos and belly button. Told her all the lyrics to the song and taught her to sing it with him.

He felt complete. At last.

"What do you mean I can't come to the baby shower?"

N'Jobu stared at Califia with an incredulous look on his face. She rubbed her round belly and stared back at him. At six months she was huge and wasn't sure how she would make it for three more months carrying their active baby. Her nose already looked like a big greasy bell pepper spreading on her fuller face, and her chubby thighs rubbed together so hard, she waddled like a drunk duck when she walked. Peeing several times a day and getting little sleep because the baby was nocturnal, Califia was ready to reach into her vagina and drag their over-active baby out. Three more months of this? Jesus F. Christ.

"The baby shower is for the mommy and her women friends," she said.

N'Jobu stood at their stove frying spicy fried chicken wings for her. The grease was popping and hitting the stove top, but his focus was on her.

"Ridiculous. In my culture, everyone comes to celebrate the new birth."

"My mother is planning it, so she's the one in charge. Talk to her about it."

N'Jobu stared down at her belly.

"N'Jadaka, tell your foolish grandmother that Baba is allowed to attend and celebrate you too."

Califia felt the baby's vigorous kicks.

"Nigga, see what you done did? Got this baby acting out again!"

"That's right, let Mommy know she's wrong for backing a sexist tradition."

Califia reached out and slapped the back of N'Jobu's head. Grease popped and struck her wrist.

"Ow!" she hissed.

N'Jobu pulled the last piece of chicken out of the fryer and moved the pot back. Grabbing a clean dish rag, he soaked it in cold water from the sink and wiped at the burn.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

He kissed her wrist then latched onto her lips, rubbing his hands on her ass. She pushed back from him. He was excited. They had a six-month check-up with their doctor that afternoon and they were given the okay to have sex. N'Jobu had focused all his energy on making sure she had made it through her second trimester before they even indulged in any sexual physical contact. When she was in her fifth month, they resumed oral sex, and she was always willing to give him a hand job before he left for work and when he came home where she would also suck his dick until he was moaning her name and ejaculating down her throat.

For some reason, more women were coming out of the woodwork after she got pregnant. She had a huge hissy fit one time when he allowed her to visit him at the apartment. He had left to go pick up fast-food from a corner kebab shop, and when she heard him in his hallway, she also heard his neighbor propositioning him. Telling him it must be hard to have a pregnant girlfriend and not getting good sex anymore. What was that bitch's name again? Alma. From Costa Rica. Long silky black hair, huge tits, big hips, and a mouth that did more than sweet talk handsome men. N'Jobu may have been on a diet by being with her, but she did catch him eyeing big asses and big lips on the menu of women who worked and lived around him. Looking but not touching. She was cool with that. It was natural to admire women. But it was the ones who came on to him that irked her while she was blowing up like a balloon.

"Whenever you want some, you can have it JoJo," Alma said.

"Is that right?" N'Jobu answered.

Alma laughed and then Califia heard N'Jobu open the apartment door, their bag of food gripped in his hand.

"What the fuck is going on?" she yelled at him.

He froze in the doorway. She could see Alma smirking and going inside her own apartment over his shoulder.

He closed the door and brushed past her, putting their food on the large table he had sitting behind his couch.

"Answer me! That bitch knows I'm in here making this baby for you, and she talks to you like that?"

"Ignore her."

"You couldn't! 'Is that right?' Why would you say that to her? That's giving her an opening to keep coming at you—"

"Califia, calm down. She's always like that—"

"Then you check a bitch!"

He stared at her, a slight grin on his face.

"You think this is funny?"

"I think you're hungry and we should eat."

He moved to the kitchen. Her temper was up. She waddled after him, her giant belly poking him in his back.

"Are you fucking other women over here?"

"No! C'mon, stop tripping—"

She pushed him in his back. He turned around and stared at her, his eyes still looking amused.

"I know guys who don't get pussy on the regular cheat on their pregnant partners. We haven't been intimate for a long time—"

"Baby, stop, you'll upset N'Jadaka—"

"Have you cheated on me?"

"Califia…"

He threw his arms around her.

"Getting all worked up because some woman I have no interest in whatsoever talks shit to me. She knew you were in here."

"Then you should've told her off right then and there."

"In the future, I will. Any woman who breathes wrong in my direction I will let her know from jump that it is not appreciated. Now let's eat, okay? What's wrong now? Why the long face?"

"What do you do?"

"What?"

"How do you keep yourself satisfied when we're not having sex?"

"Porn. I jerk off. I watch sex tapes of you bouncing on my dick."

He stroked her arms.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"You work so hard, and you take care of me and all my energy is focused on the baby all the time—"

"That's the only thing you should be focused on. I work hard because you and N'Jadaka are my responsibility. I'm satisfied with watching you grow bigger, feeling our child kick and move, and having you in my arms when I come home at night. You think getting pussy is high on my agenda? Girl, are you nuts? You think Alma or any of those women have anything on you?"

"I don't want to neglect you."

"The only way you could neglect me is if you left me. I don't think you're leaving any time soon. Shit, you can barely walk—"

She slapped his arm and he started laughing.

"Come here, silly girl. Let's go to the doctor and see if we can have intercourse. If we can cool. If not, don't worry about it. Porn is holding me down."

She slapped his arm again and the rest of their evening was perfect together.

The grease burn on her wrist turned into a dull poke of pain. She ate the wings he fried for her and rubbed her belly to calm down the baby.

"Call your mother and tell her I want a baby shower for everyone."

"You call her and tell her."

N'Jobu picked up a wing and ate it.

"Are you scared of my mother?"

"No."

"Then call her."

Their doorbell rang. N'Jobu answered it and she heard her grandmother and Junie walk in.

"We brought over some things to put in your freezer," Nana said shoving a big paper bag into N'Jobu's hands.

Junie helped N'Jobu put pre-cooked food into the freezer.

"Dayclean, this should help you out a bit," Nana said patting his back. N'Jobu kissed her cheek.

"Nana, N'Jobu is scared to call Mama and tell her he wants to come to the baby shower."

"She is intimidating sometimes," Nana said.

"I went to a co-ed Baby shower once," Junie said.

"See!" N'Jobu said.

"Boring as hell. All they do is play silly baby games and open presents and talk about diapers and formula and shit. Wasn't no beer or nothing at that thing."

"I would like to play baby games," N'Jobu said.

"Call her up," Califia said.

N'Jobu glanced and Nana who threw her hands up.

"Don't look at me," Nana said.

"I'll do it. Give me her number," Junie said swiping at his cell phone.

The townhouse was decorated in royal purples and white balloons with matching streamers.

N'Jobu got his way and Melissa changed the baby shower into an all family and all ages event. Califia was surrounded by her family and friends from far and wide. Soliel and Aunjanue flew in from Sao Paolo with Negra Lia. Bakari and Shavonne flew in from D.C. Rolita flew in from New York. Serah and her husband arrived from London.

Califia was a bit concerned having both her parents at the shower, especially when her father had invited his girlfriend. But they got along, and Califia even noticed her mother looking at Dante with fresh eyes. She wished her father's girlfriend was not there. The little girl in her still wanted her parents back together. But their focus on her gave her the parental reuniting she craved.

Everyone was ready for N'Jadaka to arrive. She could barely maneuver her own home nowadays with her feet swelling up every other day, and her back feeling the pull of all the weight she was carrying. She thought being a dancer and having an athletic body would make her pregnancy easy for her, but this child N'Jobu put in her was testing her resolve every day.

N'Jobu was a wonderful co-host as he followed Melissa's lead in greeting guests and making sure the baby shower ran smoothly. Junie was happy that liquor was available and even conceded that some of the games were actually fun. He won the "Guess the Baby Food" jar game and was geeked at winning a fifty-dollar gift card for gas.

N'Jobu's boss showed up and paid for all the liquor and food for the celebration. He even handed her an envelope full of money that customers from the shop put together for N'Jobu and her.

Bakari played D.J. and there was dancing and much merriment among their invited guests. It was almost too much for Califia to take in. Her eyes were on N'Jobu the entire time. He was strutting around so proud that everyone was celebrating his child. Califia took a moment to rest in his recliner and watched him interact with his mother. He was deferential with Melissa, and she could tell her mother's old Oakland friends were smitten with him.

Her eyes took in the spread of food, family, and fun. But always, her gaze went back to him. They had made a life together, and she was so very happy. Her thoughts took her into sad territory though. Her family got to celebrate new life, but his family had no clue that he was going to be a father. She carried a royal child in her belly, but her baby probably would never meet their paternal relations. She knew N'Jobu adored his mother. It must eat him up inside not to share his joy with her. At least her. But N'Jobu never mentioned it and she didn't want to sadden him by bringing it up.

She watched her man talk to Bakari and then he was gazing at her. Her body felt overly large and cumbersome and completely out of control, but in that moment of looking at him, she felt excited. Turned on. Horny as hell. What she wouldn't give to escape upstairs into their bedroom and have him bend her over. Her breasts were engorged and already spilling colostrum, the pre-milk that would nourish N'Jadaka, so her nipples were tender and often wet, and she so wanted N'Jobu to massage them and place his lips around them to ease the discomfort. She felt like her tits had become massive and N'Jobu enjoyed playing with them when they went to bed. She needed his hands on her now.

"You doing alright, Mommy?" Serah asked, snapping Califia out of her daydreaming.

"I'm fine," she said still watching N'Jobu. Serah followed her gaze and smiled at Califia.

"I see you are still in crazy love with that man," Serah said.

"I am."

Serah squeezed Califia's hand.

"Sis, I am still in awe that you two are having a baby. I did not imagine this for him at all. He looks so happy."

Califia beamed and squeezed Serah's hand back.

"Addae is talking about having a baby now because of you two."

"Really?"

"There's something magical about the both of you. This baby of yours is going to be something else. I can feel it. Are you feeling okay, physically?"

"Yeah. Just tired and so ready to get this child out of me."

"Gift time!" Melissa yelled rounding up everyone into the living room.

N'Jobu sat next to Califia in a folding chair and held her hand. They opened up gifts of baby clothes, and children's books, along with toys and gift certificates. Serah gave Califia a fancy negligee to help get her back into the groove after the baby was born and everyone chuckled, especially when N'Jobu tucked it under his shirt.

Dante gave her a gold necklace that was in the shape of a heart that could hold pictures inside of it for their family. Melissa gave her a matching tennis bracelet set, one for Califia and one for the baby. Nana gave them a three-in-one stroller that made Califia squeal. It was the one she had her eye on for months.

N'Jobu brought his gift out last, a beautifully decorated box with a silver and purple bow on top. She opened it carefully and pulled out a baby blanket. A baby blanket with Wakandan symbols. She opened it up fully on her lap and then she stared at N'Jobu.

"This isn't—"

"Yes, it is," he said.

She leaned over and kissed him. Their guests marveled at the craftsmanship of the blanket, the rich colors, and warmth. What they didn't know was that it was the blanket that she laid eyes on in a museum exhibit, a Wakandan exhibit. On a day when she first kissed N'Jobu.

"I brought it back with me when I first came back to Oakland. Just in case," he said. She was about to put the box away when he stopped her hand.

"There's something else in there," he said.

She reached back down inside and pulled out some purple tissue paper. She unwrapped it and it made Bakari take notice.

"Hey," Bakari said staring at N'Jobu. Califia felt her chest heave and she pressed his gift against her chest. Everyone saw fresh tears roll down Califia's chubby cheeks.

"What is it?" her mother asked moving closer to her.

Califia opened up her hands and they all saw it. The little red converse sneakers that Bakari bought her years ago. Califia caught Bakari's gaze and his eyes looked wet.

"I held onto them," N'Jobu said.

Califia threw her arms around him, still clutching the baby shoes in her hand.

"I had to save them," he whispered in her ear.

Califia was sure their guests were curious about her reaction to a pair of red sneakers, but they were the most precious gift she received that day.

Bakari fired up the music again and there was plenty of eating and drinking to carry them into the night, but Califia sat there in N'Jobu's recliner and held onto her baby's shoes and held onto N'Jobu's hand.

Califia's doula made her pregnancy so much easier to endure. She felt confident that her hospital stay would not be a harrowing experience, and the old fears she had about giving birth were far from her thoughts. She and N'Jobu took parenting classes to prep themselves, and her doula taught her meditation and breathing methods to comfort her during the birth. All they had to do now was wait for N'Jadaka to start the process.

The baby was late.

The original due date for N'Jadaka came and went. By that time, Califia was bigger than her townhouse. Tired. Irritable. So ready to have the baby in her arms and not resting on her bladder or mashing her vital organs anymore.

Each morning she woke up staring at her belly and fussing with the baby to come out. They were beginning to believe that they would have to induce labor although N'Jobu was against that. He wanted the baby to come when it was ready.

She awoke on a rainy morning with N'Jobu curled up around her. She had already urinated three times and finally had a moment of respite from the baby to enjoy her man's arms around her. He didn't have to go to work and Nana had prepared meals for them so neither of them had to cook.

Her breasts felt ridiculously itchy and she scratched them inside her gown. She felt N'Jobu's fingers sweep up around them. He rubbed and plucked at them, pulling down the top of her gown and easing the itch, but also arousing her. He must've heard her voice hitch because he began to play with her in earnest. The touch from his fingers and hands made her rub her thighs together. She could feel a lazy heat reaching down between her legs. She reached behind and tugged on N'Jobu's morning erection. His tongue licked her ear.

"Morning, baby," he whispered.

She turned her head so she could kiss him, and their lips stayed connected until she felt her breasts leaking.

"Oh," she said clutching at her chest.

His fingers traced the flow of liquid. He rolled her body towards him, his tongue latching onto a wet nipple and sucking it while playing with the other nipple, swirling his thumb around it. He squeezed the breast that was in his mouth and she felt her milk coat his tongue.

"Jobu," she whimpered as her thighs felt antsy.

His free hand dropped down between her legs, his fingers groping her center.

"Why are you so wet this morning?" he teased, his voice husky and deep that way it always was early in the morning. He continued to play in her folds. She tried grabbing for his dick.

"You want this?"

He stroked his dick and she pulled down the covers so she could see it. He stared at her leaking tits. They were so heavy and full of milk. She had started using her breast pump to help ease the discomfort of engorged milk ducts ready for a baby who refused to come out.

"Turn around. I'll give you what you want," he said helping her ease her big body back to her side. He helped adjust her pillows around her belly and legs. His fingers found their way back to her opening.

"Damn, baby," he moaned when his fingers sank into her.

He shifted his body and she felt like she wanted to cry when he finally pushed into her. His fingers clutched at her breasts again. He was gentle with his thrusts, not going too deep, and they both released heavy sighs of contentment at being joined together again. She felt his lips on the back of her neck, his warm breath showering her with needy panting. She shifted her thigh and he slipped in deeper, causing him to groan louder.

"You're taking me so good, girl. Fuck, I miss this pussy."

His fingers teased her clit and she came easily with just a few strokes, and yet she still wanted more. N'Jobu was caught up in her pussy. He couldn't fuck her into the mattress like she knew he wanted to, but he was damn close despite trying his best to be careful because of the baby. But he was hitting it deep. She came again quickly.

"You just keep cumming on my dick," he groaned. Reaching for her breasts again he squeezed them and they expressed more milk at his touch and it dribbled down his fingers.

"Shit," he said. His dick swelled and he came inside of her, his breath desperate in her ear.

He kissed her face and neck and held her as his body calmed down.

"Goddamn that felt good," he said rubbing her back.

He placed his hand under her belly.

"You feeling okay? The baby isn't moving too much?"

"Slept through the whole thing," she giggled, placing her hand on top of his, "I think us fucking keeps N'Jadaka sleepy."

N'Jobu helped her up so she could go to the restroom and clean up. When she returned to their bed, she let N'Jobu rub her belly and back some more until she drifted off to sleep.

She awoke two hours later feeling constipated. N'Jobu was downstairs watching tv. She could smell food wafting up, so he must've cooked something fresh instead of microwaving one of Nana's pre-cooked meals.

Her bladder emptied readily on the toilet but she couldn't get a bowel movement going. She opted to take a warm shower. She was grateful to have the shower chair N'Jobu bought her. When she ran the water, N'Jobu called up to her.

"You need help?"

"No, I got it," she yelled back down.

Pulling off her gown, she sat in the chair and held the detachable shower nozzle in her hand. She washed and rinsed herself, and thought about calling N'Jobu for her back. The constipation was annoying the heck out of her. She just wanted to take a good solid shit.

She turned off the water and sat in the shower chair enjoying the steam in the bathroom. Grabbing a towel folded on the bathtub ledge, she wiped the front of her body. She could hear N'Jobu laughing at the TV and she wondered what he was watching. She raised up from the chair and found herself peeing all over her thighs. Jesus, now she was losing control of her bladder…except the fluid she saw wasn't urine.

"N'Jobu!" she screamed clutching the sides of the chair.

Chapter 8 HERE.

#njobu #n'jobu #wakanda #black panther #blackpanther #erik killmonger #n'jadaka #njadaka #erikkillmonger

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alwayslilmisstreated · 6 years ago

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Alice the Third

*(This is an idea a friend and I played around with once I introduced her to Ike/Rev. It is nowhere near complete but I’m really enjoying making it come to life! Without further delay: (Modern day)If Alice marries Sirius and her sister comes to Cradle.)

The story starts out innocent, but it will build in language as well as content. You have been warned.

Rated: Explicit, 18+

Chapter 1 - Strange Meetings

“Are you, Mari?”

My head snapped up at the sound of a gentle male voice. Slowly I took one headphone out and studied him before answering.

The circumstances were weird enough, even for me, and I was the only female Major in the English Army. I hadn’t seen my little sister Alice in almost six years, and about five months ago out of nowhere I started getting these letters from her. Although I wasn’t living full time in London anymore, always ready to go wherever the war took me, rumors of her sudden disappearance still reached me.

Naturally when she’d appeared in my flat one night, I was angry as hell at her for not telling me where she had went, but being me, I had shut up and listened. She hadn’t told me everything, just that she’d traveled to another world and she’d found the love of her life and she was getting married, and she wanted me to be there. Are you fucking kidding me?

Alice stayed in London that month and disappeared the next, just in time for my next job assignment in Germany.

So here I was, in St. James Park at eleven o’clock at night, meeting a strange man that Alice had sent to bring me to wherever she was for the next month.

“Are you the White Rabbit?” I tested, standing up straighter and watching his eyes. I could always spot when someone was lying to me.

The man chuckled, shaking his head and pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’re just like she said you’d be.”

I raised my eyebrow at this. Just what else has she been telling you...?

“I’m Blanc Lapin.” He continued, holding out his white-gloved hand to me.

I shook it firmly, releasing it just as quick, still not sure what to make of this guy. He was impeccably dressed, but very twitchy. I was a female soldier wearing leather pants and boots of all things.

“We should go, we don’t have much longer before the portal will close.” He nodded to my oversized army issue duffel bag strapped to my back, and a small black leather bag at my feet. “Is that all you have?”

Rolling the muscles in my shoulders to loosen the strain from the weight, I nodded. “These are mostly presents, I hope that’s okay. She didn’t really tell me about anything I couldn’t bring..”

Blanc nodded, grabbing the small bag and started quickly walking down the path, beckoning me to follow. “You’ll have to talk to Ray about that when you get to Black Territory, but I think you’ll be alright, as long as strange hands don’t get a hold of any weapons you may have brought anyway.” He eyed the belt at my waist where my issued pistol sat on my hip.

“This is my personal protection.” My tone was unintentionally sharp. “But if it’ll protect my sister, I’ll hand it over...”

I promised Alice I wouldn’t cause any trouble. That included many things, particularly back talking her new friends and family.

“I’ll explain more when we get there,” Blanc promised. He suddenly stopped, holding out his hand so I wouldn’t walk past him. “This is it.”

I didn’t see anything. It just looked like open space to me.

“Just relax.” Blanc smiled, before he stepped forward and disappeared into thin air.

“What the fuck?!” I spun around, but sure enough he was gone. I pinched myself. “Fuck!” I yelled into the night once more. I took the step.

The world spun upside down and the park was quickly out of sight, replaced by the vast night sky illuminated by a full moon and twinkling stars. I was falling, down a hole that seemed as wide as it was long.

If Alice could travel back and forth I would surely be fine, right? I tried to shake the thoughts away that I may become a pancake at the end of this. Why hadn’t I taken a sip from my flask before we stepped through there?

It wasn’t until I realized everything around me was moving slower, wait, was I floating? I couldn’t see the bottom, how deep was this hole anyway?

When I looked up to see where we had fallen from I was startled to see the exit falling out from under me.

I continued floating through the air, slowly approaching a landscape unlike any I had ever seen before.

There was a deep, dark forest, a large city to the North and, a sister looking tower that appeared bigger than the Eiffel Tower. Shivers ran down my spine as I glanced it over. Something wasn’t right about it.

How any of this was possible, I didn’t know, but I knew for a fact I wasn’t dreaming.

Moments later, I felt my body growing heavier, and I began to fall faster.

I squeezed my eyes shut and hit the ground with a crouch. The impact was harder than I imagined, but I refused to show any pain, gritting my teeth I rolled to my feet and stood, taking in my surroundings.

I was in a rose garden that looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale. Off in the corner was a large hole with a preternatural light shining out of it from above.

“Are you alright?” I jumped as Blanc suddenly appeared at my side, almost losing my balance in the process. He reached out to steady me before I had even registered his movement. Rabbit like, indeed. His touch on my arm was warm, but I still stepped back, putting a safe amount of space between us.

“I’m better than alright.” I grinned at him lightly. “Let’s go.”

Blanc led me through a nearby door, which led to a huge spiral staircase that appeared to be a housed in the middle of an official building of sorts.

“Did we really just land on the roof of this place?” I asked, pulling my flask from my pocket, unscrewing the lid and taking a deep swig. I passed it to him, but he politely declined.

“We did, indeed.” He smiled brightly.

Shrugging I took another sip as he led me down a hall and another flight of stairs. Blanc opened the front door for me, leading us out onto a moonlit cobblestone street where a carriage was waiting.

Blanc opened the door for me, helping me step up with my bag on my back, sliding in across from me with the rest of my luggage. A voice from the driver’s box called down, “I see you secured the other idiot. Congratulations.” I heard the crack of the whip and we were off.

“Did he just call me an idiot?”

“You’ll get used to it.” Blanc answered, sitting back in his seat to study me. “Just how much did Alice tell you about Cradle?”

I hesitated answering him. What if I knew too much and it got Alice in trouble?

He seemed to sense my thoughts. “I encouraged her to tell you a little actually. That way it might not be so much of a shock.”

I relaxed a little and told him all that my baby sister had told me about her new home. Magic Crystals, 500 year feuds, fictitious characters that are actually real that I may or may not have tattooed on various parts of my body.

“She said something about people from our world being able to repel magic,” I started, not really sure how this would sound. “Can I do that too?”

“Yes,” he smiled. He then showed me the map he had once showed my sister when she first came here. “The West is ruled by the Red, while the East is ruled by the Black. We’re currently in the Central Quarter, which up until recently was the peaceful ground in between. The place where we landed is called the Garden. This is where Cradle’s most powerful figures gather for debates and trials. Usually everyone except for high ranking army officials and myself-- the official record keeper-- are forbidden from entering, but since we are at peace and King Lancelot is Sirius’ best man, some strings were pulled in your case.”

This was a lot more complicated than I originally thought. I just hope I could keep my promise and not cause any mayhem in my time here. Alice had her secrets, and I had mine, but sooner or later they would come to light.

“There’s one other thing,” Blanc said, startling me out of my thoughts as I stared out the windows of the carriage, watching the strange lights from the crystals dance.

“What’s that?” I asked, taking another sip from my flask.

“I have a feeling everyone with the Black Army is going to be quite taken with you.”

“How is that a problem? I’m going to be living with them for the next month, isn’t it best we get along?”

“There is a rumor going around that someone from the Red Army wants to tempt you as well. It’s highly unlikely that some unforeseen difficulties may arise between you and a certain someone. Maybe even myself and Oliver.”

“What are you talking about, Lapin?” My military voice was coming out and my tone was sharpening. “I’m not going to cause any problems for my sister or anyone--”

“Listen well, Mari.” He cut me off. “I gave this same warning to your sister months ago and it didn’t do any good. Let’s see if you’re better at listening than she is. If you want to make it home, there’s one kind of magic you must not fall under the spell of. It’s the strongest, oldest magic in this land-- love."

“Love?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him.

“Strictly speaking, love on its own doesn’t constitute magic. But what I just told you wasn’t just some silly metaphor about life either. Only tragedy awaits those who fall in love with somebody from a different world. If you dream of going back to your world, it will remain nothing more than that-- a dream.

Other than my sister I had never loved anybody before. Being in the military, you learned not to get attached to anyone, because you never knew if you were going to live throughout the day. This was going to be a piece of cake. Nobody could fall in love in a month, right? Oh wait, Alice..

“Don’t worry about me, White Rabbit. I’m the last person you’ll catch falling in love.” I turned my gaze back to the window, letting myself get lost in the differences of our worlds. So I didn’t hear the words Blanc muttered under his breath next.

“If I had a tart for every time someone said that to me....”

Little did I knew then that I was about to fall in love with someone from Cradle, the country shrouded in magic and mystery that would be my home for the next month.

Blanc smiled at men and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "It seems we have another problem. I never told you my last name."

13 days remained until the wedding.

And 30 days remained until the next full moon.

#ikemen revolution

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maevefiction · 6 years ago

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 42

We left the Gold Coast on February 13th, returned home for two days, then were off again…first to Berlin for a screening of ‘The Night Manager’ with a Q & A session, then on to Vietnam, where shooting began the day after we arrived. The entire experience there was life-altering, in a way. The people, who were so kind, generous, and welcoming, and the locations, some of which had never before been filmed, were majestic and evocative of a land time had, to our benefit, forgotten…but most of all, the opportunity to immerse myself in a culture I had little knowledge of was humbling, and miraculous, and I made every effort to be out and about with every spare moment I had. When production wrapped in mid-March, Jordan announced that he was planning on relocating to the area, and I found myself just the tiniest bit jealous. There was such a sense of peace there, despite such a tumultuous upheaval in the not so distant past…a testament to the human spirit, our ability to keep pressing onward, to continue to live, and even thrive. A lesson in perspective, I suppose.

Tom was due in Los Angeles on March 20th for a photoshoot, so we opted to go directly there instead of heading home to London and then back out again. The 21st was booked with interviews, which would be followed by the official ‘I Saw the Light’ premiere on the 22nd. This was the first time I’d be walking a red carpet with him, other than the brief appearance at the Cube. Though Tom normally preferred the Beverly Hills Hotel, we were staying at the Loews Hollywood due to its proximity to the Egyptian, where the screening would be held, and Sadie’s Kitchen, the venue chosen for the after party. Our room was on the 15th floor, modern décor in shades of grey, white and burgundy, with a view of the Hollywood sign…currently packed with a team of stylists, garment bags and rolling racks making me feel like a sardine in a tin. Granted, a very lovely tin, but a tin nonetheless. Tom was almost ready to go, his bright blue suit complementing his eyes perfectly, black necktie offering a bold contrast to his white dress shirt. I was still in my skivvies, one of the gals taping me into my strapless bra ‘just in case’. Despite the opportunity it created for an epic wardrobe malfunction, I was totally in love with my gown. It was strapless with a sweetheart neckline, gradient purple, near black at the top, fading to pale lilac midway down in the front and plum in the back. The skirt was floor length and full, and both a portion of it and nearly the entire bodice were decorated with silver vines and leaves, cascading downward like a waterfall. I’d opted for dark purple heels, on the thick side because I figured there was less of a risk of tripping in front of the press line that way. Around my neck was my tourmaline necklace, and my hair had been pinned up in a loose bun. As I pondered what food choices awaited me at Sadie’s, the gal announced that my tits were secure and I was instructed to step carefully into the gown, zipped up, and released into the wild to fend for myself. Tom’s hands descended upon my shoulders as I inspected the contents of my clutch one final time, making sure I had a room key, my cell phone, tissues and a Snickers bar.

“You look gorgeous, as always.”

I turned my head to meet his gaze. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” He grinned, releasing me, and I spun around to get a better look at him. “Mmm. That is a nifty suit. To the left…to the right…where will…aha, LEFT. What’s that, eight out of ten or something?”

“I didn’t realize we were collecting data. Will the results be in the form of a bar graph or a pie chart?”

“A fifty page thesis, actually. Available for sale on Amazon. I figure we can fund our retirement with it.”

He laughed, interrupted by his phone chirping. “Car’s here. Let’s roll.”

“Walk. I’m going to walk. Probably. Rolling sounds like ‘a YouTube Star is Born’. But I suppose that could fund some shit too…”

We exited arm in arm, piled into the elevator with a bunch of other fancy people I didn’t know, then climbed into the black SUV waiting for us. It was still light out, the day bright and sunny. Our vehicle was sixth in line when we pulled up to the Egyptian Theater, and my jaw dropped at how old-school big-glam Hollywood it looked, the red carpet lining the courtyard, velvet ropes and press wherever I looked. It was far from my first rodeo, but it was the first time I’d be at such an event in the capacity of ‘movie star’s plus one’. A low whistle escaped my lips.

“Wow, so we’re like, really doing this. Surreal, Tom. Sur-REAL.”

He took my hand in his, pulling my attention away from what I could see outside the window. I smiled at the sight of the excitement written all over his face. “It is that, positively. And I’m…I’m…well, I’m like a live wire, Maude. Crackling and vibrating and super charged with energy because I’m not walking this one alone, you’re going to be right by my side and…” He let go of my hand, flinging both his up in the air and waving them around jazz-style as he grinned. “I. AM. UNCONTROLLABLY EXCITED!”

I leaned in to kiss his cheek, quickly wiping the lipstick I left behind away with one of my tissues. “My god you are just too cute. Does this car have a sick bag? Because the cute is going to make me barf, for sure.” I mock-gagged.

He continued to grin like a fool as he pointed to the window behind me. “We’re up! It’s time! Let’s go, my lady. LET’S GO!”

Before I could ask for a moment to get my shit together, he was out of the car, the roar of waiting fans greeting him as he ran around to my side and opened the door for me. I took his proffered hand and stepped out into the daylight, the roars growing louder, our names being shouted above the din by press and onlookers alike. As we made our way down to the entrance, Tom stopped to sign and take selfies as long as time would allow, and then it was time for us to strike a pose. The flashes were the worst part, a ceaseless strobing that made it very difficult to focus, but mid-way through my eyes and brain seemed to adjust and I found myself having a really good fucking time mugging for the cameras with the man of the evening. The interviews were a blast, Tom taking the lead and doing most of the talking, pulling me in here and there when it was someone he’d interacted with on previous occasions or mentioned my name. We were like a comedy improv team that sang on command, and by the time we made it into the actual screening I was totally high on fun. Not exactly the right vibe for such a serious, angsty, sad movie, but in the end I was grateful I went into it with a boost because the ended pregnancy talk scene was difficult to watch even though it was the second time around. There I sat, holding back tears with Tom’s hand in mine, shaking, and me rubbing his wrist with my thumb. As soon as the credits rolled we were ushered quickly to the car, and then it was off to Sadie’s. I was a very intimate setting, the décor an eclectic mix of woods, stones, metals and glass. The food was a bit too micro for my taste, and there were moments when I seriously considered grabbing an entire tray of hor d'oeuvres and making a break for the coatroom. Tom had been indulging in champagne all evening, and Rodney’s band was in the house, so I knew that it wouldn’t be long until an impromptu jam session occurred. I’d avoided going to the bathroom since we left the hotel, and the three sodas I’d guzzled made it impossible to postpone any longer. I kissed Tom on the cheek, leaving him with the drummer whose name I’d been given but could absolutely not recall and headed for the rest room. Fitting into the stall was the first hurdle, turning around was the second, and it actually got more and more complicated every step of the way until my hands were full of fabric and my ass was on the chilly seat. Figuring out how to wipe was the Rubik’s cube of the process, and I stared at the toilet paper dispenser for an untold amount of minutes. I heard the band begin to play Move It On Over, heard them finish, then start up with Long Gone Lonesome Blues. Tom’s yodeling snapped me out of my stupor and I bunched all the fabric in the crook of one arm, tore off the necessary quantity of sheets with my free hand and took care of business like a boss. As I thanked the gods for auto-flush, I unlocked the stall, dropped the fabric back in place and propelled myself outward…right into Lizzie, who was wearing a far more practical dress that wasn’t all floaty and poufy and just waiting for an accident to happen. She grinned.

“So? Enjoying the party? Or did you come in here to hide like, you know, I DID?”

I laughed. “So far, so good. Nice to know it’s not just me who seeks refuge in bathrooms, though. But this time it’s a legit visit. Which was terrifying.”

“Maude, there are more dresses in my closet that I wound up buying because they were unfit to return then I care to count. Wine, toothpaste, hair gel, lipstick, chocolate, things I don’t even know what they are and probably don’t want to…and lemme tell ya, I know all the best bathrooms for hiding in SO many cities all around the world. The private ones with really loud fans are just…” She sighed. “Perfection.”

Washing my hands, I nodded. “Oh yeah. Peace and quiet. If they only came with a Do Not Disturb sign…”

“Oh my GOD, there’s a bathroom in a restaurant in Toronto, I can’t remember the name but I know where it is, I can see it…damn…anyway, they HAVE that.”

“No they do not.”

She nodded, walking to the stall furthest from the door. “Yes they do! Best twenty minutes of my night a few years back.” Turning, she waved. “Okay, I’m goin’ in. If anyone’s looking for me…”

“I have no idea where you are.”

She blew me a kiss. “Bless you.”

As I re-entered the chaos, I was hit with an extra-loud, slightly slurred version of Hey Good Lookin’, and I couldn’t wait to round the corner and see Tom in action. And take a video. Which I’d totally post on Tumblr because surely it was something the entire world needed to see. The band had set up on one side of the dining area, which had been cleared of tables, and they were surrounded by cast and crew, some standing and clapping, others dancing. Tom was easy to spot, and as I worked my way through the crowd, I noticed that there was a woman hanging on him, her arm resting on his shoulder as she shimmied to the beat. She was waiflike, incredibly thin and tall, taller than Tom, even, in her white stilettos, her white mini dress so short I didn’t think it would be possible for her to sit down without putting on one hell of a show. There were triangular cut-outs at the waist, and her platinum blonde hair hung halfway down her back. Her eyes were huge, greenish-grey, and beautiful, the stand out component of her heart-shaped face with its perfect Cupid’s bow mouth. I’d never seen her before and had never asked him to point her out in the film, though I now recognized her from it, and as I registered that it was the woman he was terrified of running into, and that we’d forgotten the possibility of her being there, or at least I had, my heart began to pound in my chest. Claudia. Right there, in front of me, rubbing up against my fiancé.

As the song ended everyone cheered, and she placed her hands on either side of Tom’s head, turned his face towards hers, then kissed him squarely on the lips in far too intimate a fashion and for entirely too long. I heard a few gasps, but they were eclipsed by the roaring of my heartbeat in my ears, and I fought the urge to scream as I watched him gently push her away. He turned back toward the crowd, stone-faced, and when his mask slipped almost imperceptibly I knew he’d spotted me. I wanted to run, flee the scene, disappear into the night but this was a party full of his co-workers, part of the promo, and doing so would certainly hit the gossip rags in a flash and had the potential to damage the success of the film and so I stood, and I faked a smile as he walked toward me with the woman who possessed a cache of sex tapes starring them both at his side. Once they were two feet away, she opened her clutch and pulled out what I knew to be a hotel room key, as it bore the same logo as the one in my own. Her voice was a much higher pitch than mine, volume just loud enough for both Tom and I to hear when she spoke, pressing the plastic rectangle into his hand.

“Here’s my key. Panorama suite two. I’ll see you shortly.” She turned to me, smirking, then back to him, gesturing in my direction with her thumb. “You can bring her too, if you want, even though she’s not exactly my type. That giant cock of yours more than makes up for it.”

She grinned widely at me, then walked across the room, hair swaying back and forth as she rolled her hips, finally vanishing around the corner and into the hall that led to the exit after what seemed like forever. I heard Tom say my name, and I looked up, but I stared at the knot in his tie because I couldn’t look him in the eye. He took my hand in his, which I permitted, and after his first ‘good night’ it dawned on me that one, I should do the same because two, apparently he’d decided it was time to get the fuck out of there. As soon as we rounded the same corner Claudia had minutes earlier, I pulled my hand from his. Neither of us spoke then, and when he began to do so in the car, I silenced him with a terse ‘not now’.

The ban continued as we entered the hotel, and throughout the elevator ride. Once the room door was closed and locked behind us, I held up both hands, palms toward him.

“Tom. I’m going into the bathroom. I’m going to take this dress off. I’m going to take a shower. I’m going to try and calm down and return to some sort of quasi-rational version of myself. You are going to stay out here.” I could feel the rage bubbling up, words I shouldn’t say spilling out of my mouth. “Unless, of course, you’re planning on joining Claudia, which, FYI, I am NOT.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for that. That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. I’ll be out when I’m ready.”

Once safely tucked away, I focused on each individual detail of every task. Zipper down. Dress off. Hang up the dress. Tape off. Bra off. Underwear off. Water on. Test water. Step into shower. By the time I’d dried off, I once again understood that the man on the other side of the door loved me, and that I loved him, and trusted him, and that we needed to discuss what had happened because there was a side to this story I’d yet to hear, and doing or saying or thinking anything without having that knowledge would be unreasonable. And wrong.

He was sitting on the floor, jacket and tie off, shirt unbuttoned ,back leaning up against the bottom of the bed with his knees up and his head in his hands. Hearing me pad across the carpet, he looked up at me, his forlorn expression shifting briefly to one of desire, which baffled me until I realized I was naked. Knowing that he wanted me in the midst of all this was strangely comforting, and empowering. I pulled a robe out of the top dresser drawer, wrapping it around myself as I walked to the bed and sat down, his body to the left of my own. His gaze was cast downward again, and I reached out and began rubbing the back of his neck, speaking softly.

“Will you sit with me and tell me what happened?”

He nodded, rising quickly and joining me on the mattress. His eyes met mine, and he inhaled deeply.

“I had no idea she’d be attending. I didn’t even think to ask. If I’m honest, I hadn’t given her a single thought in months, not until we watched the movie here, and even then the possibility of her turning up didn’t even cross my mind for more than a few seconds…and I pushed it away as me being paranoid. As soon as I started in on Hey Good Lookin’ I felt someone to my left, which wasn’t out of the ordinary as people had been all around me since we began playing, but the someone was incredibly close, and at first I thought you’d snuck up on me and were going to join in, but when I turned to look it was…her. And there I was, in the middle of a song, in front of everyone, and I wanted to stop and get away from her but…”

It was my turn to nod. “In front of everyone. I know that feel.”

He shook his head. “I told myself to remain professional, to keep going, and I thought if I pretended that we were filming I’d be fine. Then she…she…she kissed me in front of everyone, and I just couldn’t believe it and she just kept going and I wanted to shove her off me but that would have looked…and so I did it as normally as I could and the whole time I was hoping you were still in the bathroom but then I saw you…” He paused. “And when I started toward you she came WITH me and then the keycard and what she said…then watching you keep yourself together when I knew you were…I’m sorry. So, so sorry. If that kiss makes it online…my god. I’m sorry.”

His head was in his hands again, shoulders shaking as he wept, and I recognized that this experience had been so deeply traumatic for him that he didn’t quite realize it yet, his unconsciously focusing outwardly serving as diversion. I wrapped my arms around him and held him to my chest, stroking his hair until he quieted enough to listen. When he was able to look me in the eye again, I began to speak.

“Thank you for explaining. That’s essentially what I thought had happened, and, I’m very sorry it happened to you.” His left brow rose. “What she did was so completely inappropriate…I mean, that’s not really surprising, but…yeah. Is it okay if I go through my thought process here?”

He half-smiled. “Yes.”

“Obviously, there’s a component of jealousy. That hit me first. This beautiful woman that’s been intimate with you kissed you right in front of me, and you look amazing together, and she’s tall and blonde and skinny…and the way she presented the keycard to you made it seem like you had an arrangement, a plan in place. Most of way back here all what was going through my mind was that you’d been secretly contacting her and set this all up. But, then I reminded myself exactly who, and what, she was to you, and the jealousy turned primarily to anger, directed at her, but there was still enough jealousy left to generate some serious nastiness on my part directed at YOU. And, like I said before, I wanted to avoid that because it was likely baseless and unwarranted, the jealousy. So I showered, and I listened, and DAMN that anger is way worse now and you should probably keep that room key far the fuck away from me…” I took a deep breath. “Sheese. Again, I’m very sorry this happened to you. However you want to handle it, I’m here to help. Whatever you need, okay?”

He reached out to touch my face, letting his fingertips drag across my jaw and down my neck before grasping my hand.

“I wasn’t even thinking of anything happening to me. I was afraid of what you’d think, and…”

I entwined my fingers with his. “I know. And I appreciate that. We’ve been through some shit, my dude, and I’m a runner. Or, I was. Now…you’re more important than my internal bullshit struggles.”

A smile lit up his face, but it faded quickly, replaced with fear, then sorrow, then anger over the next several silent minutes as he stared at me.

“Maude, all I know in this moment is that I’m finished being afraid of her. I remembered what you said back in New Orleans, our options, and…well, it’s time, I think, for her to know that what she views as having the upper hand…isn’t. Not anymore.” He ran one hand through his hair. “So. I’m going up there, and I’m going to deal with this for once, and for all. Unless you think it’s utter madness to do such a thing.”

My mouth dropped open as my brow rose. “Oh, it’s madness, alright. But I like it. Hmm…”

He laughed, then poked my collarbone softly with his finger. “Ah, a plan is afoot, is it?”

“No. A plan is a plan. Not a foot.” He groaned and covered his eyes briefly, gaze returning to meet mine as I continued. “Okay. Several things to consider here. Ideally, you’d do this alone. Are you comfortable with that?”

“Well, yes and no. Going in, absolutely. But when I visualize reaction scenarios, I am concerned that a situation might arise that would result in an unfavorable outcome.”

I snorted. “Yeah, as in her recording the entire exchange and then heavily editing it to paint you in a…a…let’s go with ‘negative light’.” He nodded. “The hotel security feed would take care of pinpointing when you entered and when you left, but everything in between is up for grabs, and that’s not acceptable. Having a witness seems warranted, but who’s the witness? Am I the witness? Does my bias preclude me from being reliable in reporting the truth?”

Tom nodded again. “Likely, yes. But you’re the only witness available who’s privy to all the details of the history involved, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else to maintain any sort of confidentiality.”

This was something I had zero desire to participate in, for a multitude of reasons. It was pre-Maude, and in that aspect, none of my damn business. But since Claudia’s future actions could significantly impact my life, even if said impact was short-lived, that made it potentially my damn business. Then there was what I knew…what she’d done with him, and, far worse, what she’d done TO him. Unsettling at best, rage inducing at worst…in other words, I’d be walking into a situation wherein keeping myself in check was questionable, but of the utmost importance. And there it was, another lightbulb moment in the life and times of Maude Gallagher-soon-to-be-Hiddleston. I chuckled, and he stared at me, confused, head tilted to the side as he attempted to discern what was amusing.

I patted his knee. “I’m just laughing at my own stupidity, because I totally forgot that I’m a member of your PR team and thus have a rather valid reason to accompany you since part of the discussion will include…PR. And it ALSO gives me a reason to behave myself. Total coup, right?”

His arms wrapped around me, kissing first one cheek, then the other. “Oh, yes. Check mate.”

“No, that’s just the check. The checkmate is me recording the whole exchange on my phone, which will be tucked in my bra. Or somewhere.”

He pulled back, eyes wide. “Isn’t this a two party state? I recall you mentioning that…”

“Yeah. It is. But that won’t stop me from leaking it if the need arises. You know, someone could steal my phone at any given moment. It’s totally possible. I’m forgetful. I leave things behind ALL THE TIME…”

“Maude, you are deliciously fiendish. And I love you so.”

“Aw, thank you, baby. And I’m a total hypocrite, because I just admitted to being willing to do what I believe she shouldn’t. Anyway…criminal prosecution for this sort of thing is very rare. She could sue, of course. But I don’t think I care. Do you care?”

“I do not.”

“Cool. Hopefully we’ll never need to use it.” I rose, both hands finger-gunning in his direction. “Let’s do this.”

He stood, tugging at the fabric of my robe. “Should you dress first, do you think?”

I glanced down at myself. “Oh. Right. This is not one of my ‘don’t fuck with me’ ensembles.”

Snorting, he began re-buttoning his shirt. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Thomas. I’m struggling to keep a firm grasp on my professionalism. Cease.”

“Firm grasp, you say?”

I pretended to not hear him and searched my travel wardrobe for something that would work, in the end opting for black leggings, a fluffy, grey, oversize turtleneck sweater and my Birkenstock boots. As I caught sight of myself in the mirror on the way out the door, I decided my choices were just the right mix of business and badassery…but a V-neck would have made hiding the phone a whole lot fucking simpler.

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

There we stood, outside Panorama suite number two, me turned away from the door with my shirt lifted and bra on full display as I wedged my phone into it and hit record. Tom and I exchanged a few words, and then it was Titty Time again. I was relieved to hear the playback was nice and clear and began another session, putting a finger to my lips to let Tom know we were on the record, so to speak. He knocked loudly, then even louder when there was no immediate answer. When he paused, a clicking that could only be high heels on tile was audible, its increasing volume indicating the wearer was travelling in our direction. The door swung inward to reveal Claudia, now clad in white lingerie, a lacy bra, bikini panties, garters and filmy white stockings, all paired with the same white stilettos she’d worn to the party. She placed one hand on her hip, smirking widely.

“Well, well, well. Hello, Tom. I expected you to turn up, but not…” A thumb with a fuchsia fingernail jerked in my direction. “…her. Not exactly a pleasant surprise, but, whatever. Come on in. I’ve gotten off with my vibe three times already but I’m still SO fucking horny. Just one kiss from you, that’s all it takes…mmmm…”

Tom held up a hand, palm towards her. “Stop, Claudia. Right now. Control yourself until we’re behind closed doors, for god’s sake.”

She bit her lip. “Oh my, someone’s feeling forceful. Must be my lucky day!”

We walked in past her, and she followed after closing the door and engaging the slide-bolt lock, stopping in front of the not-so-mini mini bar to face us.

“Anyone else want a cocktail before cock?” Neither Tom nor I replied. “Well I do. I need one. Who wears a turtleneck to a threesome? Christ.”

Tom’s jaw clenched, then released as he spoke. “I’m afraid you’ve misinterpreted the reason for this visit, Claudia. Hint, it’s not for a threesome. I’m only here to have a conversation with you, one we should have had quite some time ago. Maude’s presence is due to the fact that she’s a member of my PR team, and will serve as my advisor if necessary.”

She was stunned, silent, and the fingers she’d wrapped around a bottle of rum went white with the strength of her grip. When Tom noted it didn’t appear as if she’d reply, he continued.

“I’m not going to waste my time re-hashing the past, but I will say this…I made it abundantly clear that we were done when I discovered you were secretly filming our encounters. When I also made it clear that I didn’t love you, and pointed out that I’d never given you any reason to believe our relationship was anything more than purely sexual in nature, you threatened me. You threatened to provide a detailed account of our interactions to my family and friends, you threatened to publish all of the videos you’d made online, and you threatened to ruin my career and make my life a living hell.”

She’d done several double takes during his speech, looking at me, then back at him, then back at me, as if she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that I might be aware that something had transpired between them. She finally relinquished her hold on the rum bottle, lifting her hands in surrender. “Tom, that was…I was…I just said all that because I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

He scoffed. “Really? You didn’t mean it? Yet you accepted a million dollar payout from me?”

“I thought we had a future, Tom. Together. The money was like…alimony.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, Claudia. What I want you to know is that from this day onward, you are to come nowhere near me. If for some reason we find ourselves at the same event or function, don’t approach me. Don’t speak to me. And most of all, don’t fucking TOUCH me. If you refuse to comply, I will not hesitate to file a restraining order against you.” He took two steps closer to her, his face now inches from hers. “Do you understand?”

She didn’t respond, and he repeated the question, his tone far harsher, volume ratcheting up five notches on the dial.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Crossing her arms, she sneered at him. “You know, I still have all those videos...it would be such a shame if they went public and Maude found out what kind of person you really are…”

And there was my cue. I pulled Tom backwards and away from her, then stepped in front of him.

“Maude is acutely aware of the contents of ‘those videos’, Claudia.” Air quotes. I felt like an Office Space character for a second, and really, really wanted to tell her that if she would kindly fuck off and die that’d be great. “Opting to publish them is entirely your choice to make.”

Her laugh bordered on hysterical. “So you’re fine with ruining his career and making yourself a laughing stock? That’s cool. I’ll totally publish them then.”

I shrugged. “Be advised that there will be repercussions that will affect you personally and professionally if you choose to take such action.” She opened her mouth to speak, and I held up my hand to cut her off at the pass, my right index finger pointing up toward the ceiling. “First, since you’ll be violating the terms of the NDA you signed, a suit will be filed for breach of contract wherein we’ll be requesting both expectation and disgorgement damages. That means you’ll be on the hook for repayment of the one million dollars you received as a settlement, as well as any lost revenue Tom incurs as a result of the breach. Secondly, criminal charges will be filed under California’s Revenge Porn Law, which defines said revenge porn as the publication of nude photos or videos of a person one used to be intimate with, without their consent, with an intent to cause serious emotional distress. Each video that was filmed in the state of California would incur a penalty of a fine in the amount of $1000 and up to six months in jail…based upon Tom’s estimate as to video quantity, you’d be facing a prison sentence of up to ten years. Thirdly, and lastly, criminal charges and a civil suit will be filed for your violation of the Invasion of Privacy act. California is a ‘two party’ state when it comes to audio recordings of confidential communication in situations and locations wherein there’s a reasonable expectation of privacy. Audio that’s a component of a video is covered under this particular statute, and penalties include a fine of up to $2500 and a year in jail. Long story short, Claudia…do you want to wind up in jail? Because publishing those videos is how you wind up in jail.”

While I spoke, I’d witnessed her face first going pale, then gradually reddening until it reached a final almost-purple hue. She was shaking with rage, and I just stood there, certain she was going to attack me Dynasty lady-feud style. But she didn’t, pausing, instead to digest what I’d said as best she could and find a way around it. Her eyes, now more grey than green, narrowed as she spoke.

“My attorney will drag out your breach suit for years, and if you win, I’ll hide all my assets and file for bankruptcy and you won’t see a dime, ever. As for the rest, there’s no proof Tom never consented to filming. Same with that distress bullshit. My word against his. I’ll take those odds, and when I’m acquitted of all charges I’ll sue YOU guys for damages and take even MORE of Tom’s money.”

Raising my brow, I leaned in a little closer to her. “Tom saved all your texts and voicemails. Every. Single. One. They’re tucked away, safe and sound, on the very phone you sent them to.”

If Tom hadn’t been paying such close attention, the highball glass she picked up and threw would have hit me right in the face. He’d jerked both of us to the side, and the glass shattered when it hit the wall. With me in front of him, he propelled both of us toward the door at top speed, slid the bolt and pushed me out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him in the midst of the sound of more shattering glass and her screams of ‘get out, GET OUT’. We headed for the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, rushed back to our room, entered and locked our own door, both of us unsure as to whether we were pleased, frightened, or a bit of both.

I reached up under my sweater to pull out the phone, hitting the stop button to end the recording. Tom placed his hands on my shoulders, eyes on mine.

“Are you all right?”

Nodding, I felt my mouth twist into a half smile. “That went better than I expected, honestly.” I stood on my toes and planted a kiss on his left cheek. “Thanks for rescuing me from death by assorted beverage containers. How do you feel?”

His eyes shifted down and to the side, then returned to my face. “Relieved. Like I’ve gotten some closure, and that I’m no longer at her mercy. The fear, the anxiety in regard to my past actions becoming public…that’s subsided significantly. But there’s trepidation present, resulting from her expression of violence towards you, which I’m not quite sure how to handle.”

I slipped my phone into his pocket as I wrapped my arms around his torso. “She just realized she’s powerless, and she was NOT happy about it. Probably best to let it go and hope she finds a new hobby. Or a good therapist. Or Jesus. Something.”

“Maude, if that would have hit you…”

“It didn’t, though. I’m fine, you’re fine, and…that was over the top, wasn’t it? Was she aiming for me? Or you? Or the wall? Wow, I’m kinda freaked out now.”

He pulled me to his chest, kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry. I knew her behavior as I experienced it was abnormal, and I shouldn’t have involved you.”

I leaned back, reaching up to caress his cheek. “You realize I knew too based on your description of your experience, yes? I’m glad I went with you. She would have spun that visit in the worst way possible, Tom, if the opportunity presented itself. Now she can’t, and I’m glad for that. As for the rest…we have a plan in place if she releases the videos, and we’ll follow through with it. She knows now that you’re no longer afraid of that happening, and that you’ll fight back, and I’m thinking maybe that will take all the fun out of it for her.”

A heavy sigh escaped him. “I hope that’s the case, my love. Truly I do. And I’m not going to dwell on it, because allowing her to diminish our joy is akin to giving her precisely what she wants, and she’s stolen enough already. This shop’s doors are closed. Permanently.”

“That’s an excellent way to look at it, Mr. Eternal Optimist. The doors are closed and the shop’s in the rearview as we travel the road ahead of us into our future.”

He simply stared at me, a small smile upon his face, his eyes once again full of all those things that made me both weak in the knees and disgusted with my sappy-ass self all at once. I rolled my eyes.

“Man, you’ve gotta lay off that adorable shit. We’ve got three months to go until the wedding and when you look at me like that…I just want to say fuck it and go find a judge and do it, like, right now.” Next came the tears shining, ready to spill over. “No. Oh my god, not helping, Tom. NOT. HELPING.”

He laughed. “I’m not even sorry.”

“Color me thoroughly unsurprised.”

“I’d rather color your inner thighs with love bites.”

“That can be arranged.”

Less than an hour later, we were spooning, and I felt his breathing change as he slipped into sleep. I lay nestled against him, wide awake until near dawn, trying to force myself to stop thinking about Claudia. Her actions seemed, as I reviewed the evening’s events, to indicate she hadn’t quite…let go. Far from it, actually. I wondered what she actually wanted, after so much time had passed. Was it more money? Was it revenge? Was it still…Tom? Was it all three, perhaps? And then I found myself wondering how far someone who behaved as she had tonight was willing to go in order to get it. Whatever it was she wanted. And it shook me, so I sang our wedding song to myself in my head until I calmed down, finally dozing off reminding myself that things which were terribly frightening in the dead of night were often immediately vanquished as nonsense by the light of day.

#your light in the mist #chapter 42

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kiiruna-a · 6 years ago

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` ☆┆THE PRINCE , ABOUT .

full name : carlisle leblanc. nickname : carl, prince. specie : spellbound soul. age : sixty-two. gender : cis male. pronouns : he / him. nationality : french - english. residence : london, england. past residences : n / a. occupation : stylist.

hair : shoulder-length, way, honey blond & thick, a bit messy, but in a beach-wave kind of way. eyes : deep brown. skin : warm ivory, spotless. tattoos : a flower half-sleeve on his upper left arm. piercings : both earlobes. body type : a rectangular body shape, he’s quite tall & narrow. he has narrow shoulders, long arms & long legs & a flat, curve-less body. 190cm.

favorite color : blue, gold & white. favorite animal : cat & bird. favorite food : coq au vin & macrons. favorite drink : red wine, champagne & sparkling lemon water. favorite place : streets of paris, old buildings, art museums & libraries. favorite sparetime : reading, shopping, watching movies, playing the piano & dancing. aesthetic : antique pianos, old libraries, castles, messy blond hair, boys with flowers to their face, gold jewelry, feathers, roses, stars, porcelain cups with tea, decorated mirrors, old letters, crowns, intense eye contact, macrons, a beautiful smile, silk robes, white lace, white make up with red lips, marble statues.

positives : charismatic, carefree, confident, principled & passionate. negatives : materialistic, jealous, self-indulgent, disobedient & compulsive. fears : ageing. theology : atheist. orientation : homoromantic homosexual . shipping status : single // single // single .

carlisle started as not many has; a character, in a book. an adult homoromantic novel handed out from person to person in secret back in the days where love between men was still forbidden in the western world. a story of a french novelty, around 1910, where the french revolution had gone & passed, noble titles were reconstructed but with less rights, & the population was split in their trust. a noble man falls in love with one of the stableboys, & he tries to convince him he isn’t like the others. the tale is beautifully written, & the author has with care described carlisle & his features, his traits, his smile, his beautiful blond curls. the details brings joy as well as lust in many of the men that the book is passed down to, but one man didn’t stop there. one day the book was brought to the hands of daniel belmont, a wealthy wizard from london. daniel was mourning the loss of a lover to that of his boyfriend’s new wife, set up to him by his parents, & daniel drowned his sorrow in this piece of fiction. his heart was open, & he wanted to fill it with something, & said something didn’t become sex, cigarettes or alcohol, but the words of the book, & the details of carlisle’s face, hands & hair. daniel become positively obsessed, as he thought he was completely in love with the fictional character, that didn’t only remind him of, but seemed even better, than the lover that had been taken away from him. driven to the absolute edge of this newfound obsession, daniel decided to make it his new mission in life to be able to bring carlisle to life. he used every trick he could & pulled every string, sucked in the very corner of every book with knowledge in the magic to make it happen. he planned out every detail to perfection, working out a legal identity & a backstory, worrying many of his associates in the process... but it worked. daniel sacrificed a lot, but it worked. carlisle was brought to life through a ritual, sacrificing books, bones, blood which built a body & brought forward a soul. with daniel’s sheer image of what carlisle looked like, his eyelashes & nails were formed, & his eyes turned deep brown. he was bilingual, old-fashioned, mannered, & as beautiful as daniel had pictured him. together with daniel carlisle lived for at least twenty years. the issue with carlisle however, was always that no matter how charming, charismatic & romantic he was; he was self-absorbed, & sometimes shallow. he adored the attention daniel gave him, the money, the cash, the contacts, the big, beautiful london apartment with tall walls & majestic windows. he didn’t mind being daniel’s lover, but there was a very important difference between them. carlisle wasn’t human; he was a being brought to this world through magic. thus, he could never age. when daniel started growing old & gray, carlisle’s interest in him decreased. however, the old wizard who was still absolutely smitten & captivated by the man he had brought to life, let him live forward in peace, offering him everything he possibly could to make sure carlisle could live on in this world as long as he could, with or without the old wizard by his side. now, daniel is dead, & carlisle ran away to paris for a while, to make himself a new identity & make sure nobody would know him by the time he returned. he got to france, the place he felt like he was from even though he had never been there. he spent fifteen years exploring & living his best life, spent some time learning about the wine trade, & also studying fashion. back in london, carlisle has adapted more & more to modern life. he still feels like he belongs back in the old french castles he thinks he grew up in, & he still likes to think he is novelty even if his story was never a true fact; but he works as a stylist, he is obsessed with fashion, loves dating apps, & knows where to find the best macrons in town.

#( spoiled brat for sale )#( the p r i n c e ) // aesthetic .#( the p r i n c e ) // threads .#( the p r i n c e ) // answers .#( the p r i n c e ) // musings .#( the p r i n c e ) // headcanons .

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dustedmagazine · 8 years ago

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Dusted Mid-Year 2017, Part 1

Jaimie Branch is this year’s Heron Oblivion

It feels like it’s been 2017 for roughly a decade now, given the constant barrage of news and events, but actually we’re only about halfway though. So again, for the fourth time in a row, we have created a mid-year feature in which Dusted writers review each other’s favorite records, specialized expertise be damned. That’s right, veteran free-jazz expert Bill Meyer reviews Actress, outside-punk rock fan Ben Donnelly gets Tift Merritt, trad jazz authority Derek Taylor takes on Julie Byrne, etc. We are drawing outside the lines. We are making a mess. We are discovering things to like about records that would probably never have hit our turntables otherwise. We hope you will do likewise, reading about albums that you might not ordinarily consider, listening to the audio and maybe finding one or two things that make your own year-end list. We’ll run the first half of our picks today, covering Actress through Sarah Davachi. The second will be posted tomorrow and a collection of this-year-so-far lists on the final day of our feature.

Actress — AZD (Ninja Tune)

youtube

Who recommended it? Joseph Burnett

Did we review it? Yes. Joseph said, “(H)is tracks trace the boundaries between the dancefloor and the art gallery in ways that have rarely been achieved so successfully.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

In the video for “X22RME,” Darren Cunningham (aka Actress) conceals his face behind a welder’s mask and gesticulates in front of a crumbling concrete sound catcher that was built to amplify the sounds of advancing German bombers during WW II. The sight of these shielding devices resonates on the morning after a truck drove down the sidewalk of London Bridge, running over pedestrians, then disgorged its occupants into a restaurant district where they stabbed passersby with long knives. Cultural action vibrates within a milieu, and we live in a time where we are constantly reminded that the old fights come around again, new ones multiply, and our modes of protection will not keep us safe. Actress’s beats won’t solve that, but their adherence to dance floor functionality points to one option for working out the stress. Likewise the women’s voices that rise in multi-lingual layers above the electronic burble at the track’s end articulate connections and possibilities; people construct their lives in whatever circumstances they find themselves..

Blanck Mass — World Eater (Sacred Bones)

youtube

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? ��Yes, Ian’s review went up earlier today, saying it’s a record that “somehow [manages] to be both more relentlessly overwhelming and more immediately accessible” than his previous work.

Ben Donnelly’s take:

World Eater seizes the challenge of making everything loud at once, with rhythm sequences that fill up the 16th notes and every frequency. It's the same dare taken by black metal, and I daresay metal has something to do with the aesthetic, though the results of Benjamin John Power's production are brighter. When his synthetic valkyries are charging, it’s epic for sure. It's a victory gallop, not impending doom. And victorious he is. Looped waves of noise have the force of machines, and they all ring with the intent of a human somewhere behind the scenes, giddy with the godlike storm-bringing power he's discovered. So yes, "The Rat" has an industrial meat grinder beat, but it sounds like he's dropping pinball machines into the auger, not enemies. This is a dense record shot through the ribbons of darkness, but those bared fangs on the cover are smiling.

Bottle Tree — Bottle Tree (International Anthem)

Bottle Tree by Bottle Tree

Who recommended it: Eric McDowell

Did we review it? Yes, Eric covered it in a mid-May Dust, saying, “Over the cassette’s 30 minutes, the trio gets significant mileage out of contrasted layers, deft structural pivots and sudden harmonic cadences.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

Most records this year won’t pack quite as much into their running lengths as Chicago trio Bottle Tree does in a mere 32 minutes, and with fairly minimal means, too; just A.M. Frison’s smoked honey voice, Tommaso Moretti’s protean, quicksilver drum fills and the sometimes anchoring, sometimes intangible arrangements and guiding hand of Ben Lamar Gay. The trio can and does stop and go on a dime, takes switchbacks without pause, and somehow does all this in a form that’s never anything less than sublimely mellow. Whether it’s the gently clattering percussion and bass burbles behind Frison’s chanted and then crooned lyrics on “Open Secret” or the sunrise synths and steady, subway train drumming leading into the stirring chorus of “Permanent Change” (where, of course, the drumming changes up), Bottle Tree somehow twists classic song craft and the avant garde, pop and jazz, Motown and improv, into an effortless, instantly ingratiating Mobius strip. Whatever else that tree is growing, there’s lightning in some of those bottles.

Nathaniel Braddock — Quadrille and Collapse (Invertabrata)

Quadrille & Collapse by Nathaniel Braddock

Who recommended it: Eric McDowell

Did we review it: Yes, Bill Meyer covered it in Dust, writing that, “’Doesn’t Remember,’ … interrupts Philip Glass-like repetition with intricate bridging phrases, while ‘Silvering Ghosts’ sounds like Steve Reich adapted to West African and Caribbean picking techniques.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Braddock is known for interspersing American Primitive-style picking with West African blues, but this pristine and radiant disc seems to lean more heavily on Fahey than Ali Farka Touré. You may intuit the dry heat of African trance blues in “The Desert Within” but elsewhere shimmering flurries of picking evoke the Appalachia-crossed-with-raga musings of Jack Rose. The title track, balancing 18th century square dancing with post-modern notions of entropy, is a glistening intricacy of notes, grounded by low plunks like a kick drum but spinning off from there in dizzying circles. Closer “Tiger Bucket” swaggers. Strong rhythm cuts through the light-and-shadow eddies of rapid notes; it’s a spring-swelled stream that looks placid on top, but spits off bubbles and froth from its tumultuous undercurrents.

Jaimie Branch — Fly or Die (International Anthem)

Fly or Die by jaimie branch

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor, but the Dusted hive was in firm agreement

Did we review it? Yes. Eric said, “The Chicagoan-turned-Brooklynite’s overdue debut is bursting with the pent-up energy of years spent cultivating an impishly bold voice and collaborating widely without the deserved reward of a reputation outside the local scene.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

This time last year, I was giving a close listen to Babyfather in the wake of Brexit and wondering what we’d be listening to in the aftermath of a Trump election (not to say I told you so). For me, as it turns out, the answer was: Not much. I never got internet service for my new apartment and I’ve been reading a lot of books lately. I’ve enjoyed Migos, Pile, Colin Stetson, and Big Thief records, sure. I’ve indulged in long moments of peaceful repose to Young Thug’s “Safe.” The latest Overmono EP is solid. But that’s about it for 2017; my listening has been liberated from the ever-peaking insanity of the “news” cycle. It feels good, man.

And that’s how liberation should feel, shouldn’t it? You should come away empowered, relieved, unburdened. I wonder if that’s how Jaimie Branch was feeling as she wrapped up post-production last July for Fly or Die, her full-length debut. At a lean 35 minutes and two fistfuls of tracks, this record packs it in and lets it out: The swell of white noise before the count-off into “Theme 001,” a power groove of a song, shows right away that this is no free-jazz genre purist’s haven. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the album flows so well between songs like the “Themes” or “Waltzer” and the interstices of the title-track or end note “…Back at the Ranch” given Branch’s familiarity with band mates Jason Ajemian, Tomeka Reid and Chad Taylor. But despite a handle on divergent mile markers that would have lesser composers looking foolish, the deft touch she’s provided frees it only as far her leash will allow; as Eric rightly points out in his review, the glue is her voice, and she’s got a taut one here.

Nevertheless, calling Jaimie Branch a trumpeter or even bandleader feels preposterously limiting; this woman is living the art we need right now to survive. Does that seem over the top? Well, far be it for me to insist you listen. Or the overwhelming majority of us at Dusted. Or Branch’s bandmates. Or Rob Mazurek. Or Ryley Walker. Or Sarah Neufeld. Everyone hears the liberation at their own pace, after all.

The Bug vs. Earth — Concrete Desert (Ninja Tune)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://thebugmusic.bandcamp.com/album/concrete-desert"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Concrete Desert by The Bug vs Earth&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it? Mason Jones

Did we review it: Yes, Mason wrote, “As the guitars and piano are successively overwhelmed by sonic waves only to resurface with glints of beauty, it feels like an oddly peaceful, welcome drowning.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Two artists that seem, on the surface, to be radically different, find austere common ground in this disc. Dylan Carlson of Earth carves out epic meditative spaces with long, widely separated chimes of guitar, while Kevin Martin, The Bug, builds masses of shivering, shimmering hum. “Gasoline” and “Snakes vs. Rats” power forward on machine-drilled, industrial beats, the brooding heaviness set to foreboding motion. The long ones, “American Dream” and “Concrete Desert” wax elegiac, the ebb and tide of static eroding melody, like the crackle of clock radio cutting through the fading images of a dream.

Julie Byrne — Not Even Happiness (BaDaBing/Grapefruit)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://juliembyrne.bandcamp.com/album/not-even-happiness"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Not Even Happiness by Julie Byrne&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it: Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes, Jennifer said, “Not Even Happiness is a work of intimate loveliness, surely one of the most flat-out beautiful songwriter albums of a year that is just getting going.”

Derek Taylor’s take:

True to the unspoken, but venerable troubadour credo, particulars of Julie Byrne’s biography bubble up in the mutable, artifice-averse economies of her songs. A life lived with openness to extempore itinerancy and an abiding adoration for the natural world are points on the artistic compass, as are the bonds of family and interpersonal consanguinity even when at odds. Acoustic finger-style guitar lies at the core of Byrne’s performance tool box along with an ethereal voice that glides from a lilting, speakers-sating croon to candid spoken-sung salience. “Morning Dove” and “All the Land Glimmered” contain convincing evocations of the former, her starkly audible fretting on each folded directly into the gentle fractals of the tunes. Electronics and other instruments/effects enhance the equation on songs like “Natural Blue” and the interstitial “Interlude”, but Byrne’s fulcrum is usually the sturdy lattice work spun simply from words and strings. Lyrics and music coexist with equal and reciprocal weight and in their mingling revert to a pleasing and restorative weightlessness. Hers is not my usual wheelhouse, but one I will agreeably spend time in, soothing libation at the ready to augment those Byrne brings forth of an aural sort.

Evan Caminiti — Toxic City Music (Dust Editions)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://dust-editions.bandcamp.com/album/toxic-city-music"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Toxic City Music by Evan Caminiti&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? Yes, Brett Marion said, “Its slippery patterns [serve] as auditory snapshots of dank irradiated zones and heat realm communities quarantined in an airless isolation.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take

Guitars have receded under an ominous fug since Caminiti’s days in Barn Owl. Where slow bright arcs of tone soared over cuts from Ancestral Star and melancholic picked figures reverberated through Lost in the Glare, here the six-string sounds — sometimes Caminiti himself, sometimes augmented by Jefre Cantu-Ledesma — are ghostly wrecks, barely glimpsed through the haze. Caminiti incorporated field recordings from New York City into this apocalyptic mix, so some of the roar and hiss and rumble is just the sounds of midtown. Yet in “Joaquin,” the disc’s best, music slips under a pall of poisonous smoke, submerges in waves of material-destroying acid, goes down amid the distant hiss and clangor of machinery. Toxic City Music sets up an uneasy conflict between sound and entropy, and it seems that unmaking, rather than making, is winning.

Sarah Davachi — All My Circles Run (Students of Decay)

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://sarahdavachi.bandcamp.com/album/all-my-circles-run"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;All My Circles Run by Sarah Davachi&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? Yes, Eric McDowell said: “Davachi remains a composer of gently immersive and just-stable ambient textures — the kind best enjoyed in total darkness, relieved of as much extraneous sensory input as possible.”

Joseph Burnett’s take:

Even if I hadn't learned it beforehand, I would be certain that the influence of LaMonte Young hung heavy over All My Circles Run from the first note. Sarah Davachi's compositions share Young’s dutiful dedication to patience and stillness more than most, as the extended, shimmering and unwavering tones on "For Strings" make abundantly clear. But dwelling on the core tones of strings, piano, voice and organ so unflinchingly, she allows their strengths to be magnified even as her subtle sonic manipulations upset the listener's expectations. "For Voice" is the clear triumph on All My Circles Run: resisting the temptation to overplay the layers of wordless litanies, she allows each voice to glisten and shine even as it crosses paths with others. Combined, these haunting refrains form a mournful choir that hangs translucently in the air, so fragile one fears it could break apart at any second. So much "drone" music is sterile and intellectual, but Davachi's dedication to focusing solely on the essence of each sound source means All My Circles Run is as affecting an experience as it is interesting.

#dusted magazine #midyear 2017 #actress #bill meyer #blanck mass #ben donnelly #bottle tree #ian mathers #nathaniel braddock #jennifer kelly #jaimie branch #patrick masterson #the bug #earth #julie byrne #derek taylor #evan caminiti #sarah davachi #midyear

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