#tudor crime

[puffpastrycrimewatch]

Heart man chilling with his Eldritch dog, cat and feral friend

Lmao idk maybe Amelias tweaking cause Tudor won't let her break some guys jaw for talking shit

[thatotherman001]

Some Doodles for @puffpastrycrimewatch

[puffpastrycrimewatch]

🖤🖤🖤🖤THEM!!!ヘ⁠（⁠。⁠□⁠°⁠）⁠ヘ🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I gotta draw them hanging out next!!! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

I'm so happy I could make your day better btw I know school sucks so bad (⁠っ⁠˘̩⁠╭⁠╮⁠˘̩⁠)⁠っ🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

@puffpastrycrimewatch they meet once again

was feeling motivated today so 🦅🦅🦅

[thomascromwelll]

"He picks up the gifts and leaves her. He stands outside the room. He leans against the wall, his eyes resting on a picture, where a twisted man adheres to a tree, and bleeds from head, hands and heart" —The Mirror and The Light by Hilary Mantel

Mark Rylance as Thomas Cromwell Wolf Hall: The Mirror and The Light | Episode two 'Obedience'

[trexalicious]

"Irrespective of what you might think about Harry, he is the victim of a narcissist. His wife is a narcissist and he's been ensnared by her..."

[wonder-worker]

“They [the people] love the Prince [Arthur Tudor] as much as themselves, because he is the grandchild of his grandfather [Edward IV]. Those who know him love him also for his own virtues.”

"Polydore Vergil remarked that “a vast multitude of persons” flooded London when the date of [Henry VIII's] coronation was announced. “[E]verybody loved him,” Vergil wrote of the ceremony, likening Henry to Edward IV “the most warmly thought of by the English people among all the English kings...and for that reason [Henry] was the more acclaimed and approved of by all.”

— Don Pedro de Ayala on July 25, 1498 / Lyndsi Lewis, The Politics of Public Relations: Concepts of Image, Reputation and Authority in Henry VIII’s England (LSU Master's Theses, 2015)

[elephantlovemedleys]

i was recently looking for available screenplays of tudor period dramas and came across then got this one of elizabeth (1998), thought i’d share some pages i scanned along!

[vilevexedvixen]

Fowler's Flower Pt. 3 - Crown of thorns

Abijah Fowler x servant!Reader

Summary: While the reader rests, her fellow English Roses stir in her absence. Their usual duties disrupted by Fowler's newborn vigor as of her arrival. Typically Mary serves as Fowler's go-to sacrificial lamb, but that morning Lizzy offered herself in her place when she sees Fowler about to torture the reader. Remembering exactly why she'd avoided Fowler's attention all this time...

TW: Sexual themes, breath-play, begging, and general religious fuckery.

Pt. 1 here

Pt. 2 here Dividers by @roseschoices

Lizzy couldn't sleep.

She often couldn't. A light sleeper at best, but this night even the twinkling of stars in the clear night sky felt like an agitating strobe taunting her from the heavens. The warm summer air feeling like a stale miasma that caught in her throat the deeper she breathed in a vain attempt to quell her nerves. It was almost funny, Mary's snoring was strangely calming by comparison. A reminder of her presence. Each breath of hers sounding slightly wheezy tonight, Fowler must have really done a number to her chest and back. An obvious observation, given she had just been tending to her wounds before bed. As with almost every night before.

Dabbing each cut and bruise with a rag soaked in what meager disinfectant she could make from the sake they shared with Fowler's prostitutes. Sparing some to drink as a makeshift painkiller, which Mary gladly indulged in between hisses as the disinfectant worked its magic. Her shaky hands causing some of the disinfectant to spill onto her clothes, which still stank faintly of it. Somehow, hearing Mary wheeze now stung more than seeing her stumble in as a battered wreck earlier. She could patch her up as best she can every time, but the damage will always last. Someday, she knew, would come a day her best efforts won't heal her.

Why must she always throw herself at his feet? Mary's but one person, no matter how hardy she reckons she is. Lord knows she can't work miracles, and there's only so many miracles she could pray for on Mary's behalf. She swears her prayers must have been heard on at least a few occasions. Rarely can she stomach a peak into the dungeon, even when it's not in use, but its proximity to the chapel makes some gruesome affairs hard to ignore. The depths of depravity and anguish she's seen Mary endure is nothing short of biblical. Sympathy aside, she knows were it not for Mary then she, Daisy and any other poor soul unlucky enough to spark Fowler's ire would have to endure that same torture. The last time that happened, well...

Her trembling hands fondled the rosary she hid beneath her garbs, less because of any explicit rule to keep it hidden and more a need to keep it close to her heart. As if on autopilot, she made her way to the chapel as she did most mornings. Almost as if the sun may not rise unless she prayed that the lord willed it to, even if she knew it must. Usually she'd make a detour to the kitchen first to gather up a little something for Mary to eat in case she was left in the dungeon overnight. It was a welcome change to not be sleeping alone for once, courtesy of Fowler getting his sadistic urges out of his system unusually early. One would wonder how a man like Fowler could even sleep at night, but his nocturnal tendencies seem to speak for themselves.

An unfortunate consequence of his near nightly habits is that Lizzy often guides herself to the chapel not by memerising the winding passageways that led there, but instead by the sounds emanating from the dungeon like clockwork. Finishing up just in time for the birdsong to begin, a jarring choir to cleanse her palate. Tonight her memory had to finally step-in, which actually led her to take a few wrong turns before finally reaching the chapel. Not even the birds had stirred yet, leaving nothing but the creaking floorboards to keep her company. And him, of course. Ever loving, ever looming.

As she knelt among the pews, gazing up at the carved carcass of Christ nailed above the alter with eyes half-closed, she could feel Mary's scathing nihilism get to her. Unsure if all her prayers were what kept her alive, or if their dismissal is what perpetuates her suffering, something she had no intention of testing. On which note, she began her morning mantra...

"Almighty God who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves; keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls; that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Her hands clasped tighter, as if the silence that followed her prayer proved the futility of her faith. On some level, she knew it, but it was the one thing that still granted her some semblance of dignity. Not her maintaining faith in the Lord or Church, but her continued role as a nun. Tending to Mary and other servants' wounds, cooking extra food from the kitchen for those in her care, praying on their behalf, mending their clothes, etc. Any task she could take on that resembled her old duties in the convent helped distract from the fact her new official role was as Fowler's.... "plaything". A role that she has thankfully gotten to neglect for some time, thanks to Mary, and which she fears _______ may not be fit for.

As if she spoke of the Devil - the heavy, daunting, unmistakable footsteps of Fowler arose from the end of the hall, alongside what sounded like a heavy sack being dragged across the floor. That can't be good...

Against her better judgement, she crept up to the chapel doorway to peak down the hall. Almost immediately, Fowler spotted her and greeted her with a knowingly vile smirk.

"Good morning, Sister Elizabeth!" he jeered.

She knew he played into her duties as a nun like it was some sort of amusingly pitiable delusion, but if that's what it took to keep his interest in her at bay then so be it. She frowned, "Yes, it has been a good morning thus far. May I ask what you've got there?" She knew very well what he had there, now that she had a closer look. The outline of her old servants garb in tatters and a limp head of messy hair, clearly _______ run ragged and unconscious.

"So you haven't met her yet?", Fowler's mocking tone irked her to no end, though she tried to hide it. Clearly in vain though, as his smirk deepened, satisfied with how easily he got under her skin. "Sorry to disturb your little chat with the lord, but the wine seems to have worked a bit too well on this one. Thank you so much for that little recipe of yours, it works wonders!"

Recipe? What recipe? Her mind scoured for what she could've possibly given him willingly. Then it dawned on her... the dwale? How could he have gotten the ingredients for that here?! She'd only managed to spare a handful of them she'd smuggled on her way here to use in emergencies, which he hasn't touched (to her knowledge), so how?... The distraught confusion he drew out of her with so few words tickled the base of his soul. Oh the guilt on her face was priceless!

'Oh _______, I'm so sorry!', she thought, distraught that her remedies were used for such selfish, evil indulgences, let alone by Fowler of all people! He can't of been dragging her to the chapel. What? Was he hoping to wake her with pain in the dungeon? ________'d barely been here a day! She can't just stand by and let him drag them there!

Fowler reveled in Lizzy's anguish, watching her twitch with grief and anger for just a moment before he continued towards the dungeon. Suddenly, Lizzy lept to hastily block his path, compelled as if her body were possessed to do so. She'd never been so brash in a long while, not since he crushed her hands to bits. He'd thought he'd broke her, but so glad he hadn't! This was going to be fun...

(NSFW scene; skip if you'd rather not partake.)

"Volunteering as tribute, Sister?", Fowler said, barely leaving a second before casting _______ aside like a rag-doll to grip Lizzy's neck and drag her back into the chapel. Despite the sinking dread she felt as he dragged her body to the alter, she didn't fight back. Not if it risked him turning his attention back to _______, still unconscious in the hallway.

"On your knees, Sister", he growled,yanking Lizzy down by the neck, buckling her onto her hands and knees coughing and gasping for breath. "Look at me!", he grabbed her chin harshly to force her to comply. Her little holy charade was cute, but it got old quick. The mix of fear and hatred looked absolutely beautiful on her. Admittedly, her purity was part of what was so fun about her, a cruel bit of false hope he perpetuated by keeping that little bit of her intact. Wielding the threat of its ruin like a collar and leash around her neck. Speaking of which...

Fowler traced the tips of his fingers over her collarbone where her rosary barely peaked out, coiling a finger around to deftly coax it from under her uniform. "Did you think this would save you?", his grip loosened to let the beads slip through his palm, grasping it once more upon reaching the apostle's creed. Pulling it taut to squeeze the sides of Lizzy's neck and forcing her forward, her face barely inches away from the knot of his robe's belt. Her chest heaved as each breath grew more laboured than the last. Head sagging heavy over her shoulder as a dull fog enclosed her aching skull. The beautiful sight of her fighting to maintain her balance not at all discouraging Fowler from quenching the remaining flow of blood to her brain with the rosary in the slightest. If anything, seeing her so quickly slump into a heady stupor compelled him to pull it tauter. Bereft of air, her body grew heavy as clay - begging for Fowler to breathe life back into it again.

And that he did.

With barely a moment's notice he let go, her body collapsing to the floor, too weak to even lift her head let alone kneel. She wasn't sure how long she lay there for, but between deep gasps for air she could faintly hear Fowler circling her. Watching her.

"You know..." Fowler trailed off, "when Heiji had said he'd found a lady of the cloth up for sale I found it such a beautiful irony." He leaned down to stroke her cheek, working his fingers behind her ear to enmesh in her hair. Unceremoniously he dug his claws into her scalp and yanked her up by the hair, forcing her awake with the ache of it. Her pleading scowl denoting that her full, furious attention was back at him. Perfect. He continued, "Seems not even England's own are safe from the Tudor lust for pillage and plunder. Willing to cannibalise itself for gold to toss at another enemy. Doubt the money he paid for you is enough to rebuild your old monastery - but what a fat sum for the abbot to run away with, eh?"

Lizzy rarely dwelled on how she got here. Why would she? One day she was tending to the monastery's garden and blessing weary travelers seeking sanctuary; the next her room was exposed to the elements. Books and beams charred to bits and nothing of the monastery's holy relics left but the sun-bleached shadows on the walls they once adorned. While some of her sisters stayed to help repair the ruined remains, most fled to the few monasteries yet untouched by Henry Tudor's warmongering greed. One by one though, with barely a hope of normalcy left to cling to, they each were sold into contract work. Lords who thought themselves above the Lord.

"Now, since you're practiced in the ways of worship-" he began untying the belt of his robe, which slid aside gracefully - a stark contrast to the vulgar bulge it revealed, "I have something in need of your... blessing". His hands weren't really necessary to uncover the thick cock barely contained by his breeches.

She froze, it had been so long since she last serviced him, it was almost a lost art. Not only that, but she'd had the mercy of a blindfold each time before, shielding her from the harsh reality in front of her - even if the unmistakably horrid taste of him lingered long thereafter. Noticing her hesitation, Fowler resumed that same old mercy, tying his robe's belt across her eyes into a makeshift blindfold as she's so accustomed. "Now, petal, you finally ready to do your fucking job?"

Fowler was done playing games, he needed release and she knew it. Taking one last deep breath, Lizzy wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock and began sucking with all the energy she could muster. As good as it felt, it would take so much more to pull even a whimper from Fowler, so she gradually picked up the pace. Hardly a minute into it, and her jaw was already aching. She couldn't really complain about being so out of practice, but damn did it hurt.

Not at all satisfied with her pathetic attempt at a blowjob, Fowler gripped a fistful of her hair and rammed his cock down her throat as deep as it would go. In and out, like a roaring tide during a storm. Each thrust made Lizzy gag, she could barely breathe! Within a minute of Fowler keeping his pace, Lizzy started to black out. As her eyes fluttered shut, she felt the sting of a slap to the face as Fowler pulled himself from her mouth, "Don't go falling asleep on the job, Sister, understand?".

Barely with it, she nodded. Unsatisfied, Fowler slapped her again - this time garnering a yelp from Lizzy, "I could end you with a single thrust to the back of your throat. Now, be a good girl and beg me not to... beg like your life depends on it!"

Her mind raced, faster than her mouth could keep up. Fumbling and stammering between pleads and whimpers. She begged, "Please My Lord, have mercy on me! I beg of you... please don't kill me!" Her hands grasping at his loose robe in a show of desperation, garnering nothing but an unimpressed tsk from Fowler, "I know you can do better than that Petal... I've seen you beg more fervently in here for a heartier supper than you're begging for me now!" He leant in to grab for her rosary yet again, this time swiftly pulling it off her neck with a snap. A couple beads spilling onto the floor before he wrapped the remaining chain around her wrists to bind them together in prayer.

Panicked, she pleaded, "No, NO! My Lord please, I meant no disrespect I swear! Forgive me. Every breath, I cherish it as if it were my last, were it not for your benevolent mercy. Please oh PLEASE, have mercy on me My Lord!" That at least drew a smile out of Fowler, if a faint one. Fearful her pleas were insufficient, she began to pray;

"O Lord, my God, Thou art to me whatsoever is good. Remember me because I am nothing, I have nothing, and I can do nothing. Thou alone art good, just, and holy; Thou canst do all things, Thou accomplishest all things, Thou fillest all things. Turn not Thy face away from me; withedraw not Thy consolation, lest my soul become as a thirsty land to Thee. Teach me, O Lord, to do Thy will; teach me to live worthily and humbly in Thy sight!"

By the last word her hands were visibly, profoundly shaking. To say she feared Fowler for the longest time would be an understatement, but in that moment her fear overshadowed all other thoughts. And Fowler could hear it...

"Good, Petal."

Her trembling sigh of relief echoed throughout the chapel. A pleasant calm... before the storm.

"Now, open wide for me-" still with his grip on her hair he easily pulled her head to attention, though hardly needed to as she now willingly parted her lips for him, "That's better, my dear ~"

With her eyes closed she fully lost herself in submission, loose and limp. Were it not for the slight pressure she could feel pulling at her scalp she'd swear her body was moving on its own and not puppeteered by Fowler. Back and forth, back and forth... Soon all sense of time melted away. Maybe her mind and body had shut down, exhausted with panic. Perhaps she had truly began to accept it, relaxing into her role... NO! Her body stiffened with resistance, causing her to gag and force Fowler's cock from the back of her throat. But by then she'd served his needs, cum spilling from her mouth and dripping all over her garments. She could barely believe the sight of herself, disheveled and desecrated.

She hadn't a second to process what happened before Fowler had cleaned himself up and re-tied his robe. Her stare hardly seeing that the blindfold had been removed, everything still a-blur.

"Clean yourself up, you look a mess", he said so nonchalantly as if the entire morning hadn't happened. As if _______ wasn't still laying there, having not stirred from her drug-induced coma. As if she hadn't just thrown herself at his feet to stop him dragging her away to the dungeon. Then the birds, in their ignorance, began to whistle.

Mary woke with a start.

Patting the straw mattress beside her. Her eyes unseeing, sewn shut with sleepy-dust and by the impulse to shield herself shield from the blinding sunrise. Feeling for her friend in the fabric, but finding nothing. Panic forced her eyes open to search for her. The room haunted by her absence, where...? The Chapel. Of course, bless her heart. The realisation of her morning habits quelled what anxieties had welled in that brief moment of terrible isolation. She'd be back soon enough. Praying her heart out for the lot of them, no doubt.

A sharp twinge forced Mary on her back once more as she tried to sit up. Every inch of her upper back and chest ached. Breasts abused, back torn open like a scratching post and she could've sworn the sharp, broken edge of a cracked rib or two was daring to pierce her lung if she dared rise too quickly. Easy does it now...

With a painful grown, Mary brought herself to her feet. Leaning on the wall every inch up. Little by little. She hadn't a crutch, so the wall will have to do. If the bustling just outside the door was anything to go by, the day's chores had already begun and she had missed breakfast. Dammit. She was no princess, but no sense in wasting good food - she needed it!

As if on queue, her stomach growled like a wretched beast, guttural and feral. 'Hush!', she hissed. She could last until midday, she reckoned. Just needed to... rest a bit more than usual, just not here, not alone. With aching shoulders she limped her way against the wall towards the kitchen, guided by the scent of the delectable bone broth stewing with the remnant's of Fowler's meaty supper from the night before.

The cook seemed to notice her struggling a lot, peeking up from his grand cauldron to shed a pitiful look of sympathy. "あなたはお腹が空いているでしょう？ほら、どうぞ!", he scooped a bountiful heap of bone broth for her to drink from. Warm and filling, just what she needed. Collapsing onto the wooden bench, she cupped her hands and gratefully accepted his gesture, "感謝に候ひます!" she exclaimed with joyful relief.

The broth was perhaps a tad too hot for consumption quite yet, but her aching stomach demanded sustenance! Other than the slight burn to her already desensitised tongue on the way down, all she felt was the pleasant (if bland) flavour of the broth. While so preoccupied by her food, she hadn't noticed Elizabeth's return. Even as she reached her bench and sat upon it with the weight of the world strapped to her back, making it creak evermore indiscreetly. One would think she'd gone deaf!

"Hey...", Elizabeth rested a quivering hand on Mary's shoulder, startling her and causing some of her broth to slip down the wrong hole. Choking it down, she coughed, "H-hey Sister Elizabeth, slept well?"

"You know I won't have", she retorted - some humour to her tone, though minimal.

Wanting to keep the mood light, Mary snorted, "No rest for the wicked, eh?", earning a light chuckle from Elizabeth. Music to her ears! She finished her broth as the two of them basked in each others' company in pleasant silence. A welcome respite from their daily trials. Soon enough though the silence was broken by Mary, with a concern that increasingly weighed them both down, "You think _______'ll be alright?"

"Lord knows, Mary. Lord knows...", Elizabeth mumbled, knowing exactly who knew.

[blogmollylane]

Finished reading: Heartstopper: Volume 2 by Alice Oseman

Newly acquired: The Nine Giants by Edward Marston

[midnightsaboteur]

Open Starter

Max Tudor - 31, bisexual, criminal enforcer/robber

Written solely in beta editor

Connection Ideas - Significant other, fwb/casual fling, affair, escort, fellow gang member

++

The distinctive sound of Max’s Chelsea boots against the hardwood floor signalled his presence before he knocked on the apartment door. The hour was late, yet that didn’t matter to him. As a veteran criminal, splitting his time between orchestrating robberies and enforcing the will of his masters, Max rarely kept expected ‘office hours.’ It wasn’t the first time he’d visited the apartment’s resident at an ungodly time of night, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last either. 

After three sharp knocks on the door, Max stood back and waited for them to come. If they deigned to look through the peephole before answering, they’d see him standing firmly in his three-piece suit and overcoat, his attention entirely focused on the door. As per usual, Max didn’t text or call when he came over to them. They understood that he could arrive when he liked, often when he needed to unwind. On that night, such a principle stood stronger than ever when considering the bruising on his knuckles, the slight scratch on his face, and the speck of blood on his tie. 

[malkaleh]

Re the tags on this post, what's the lore???

It’s mostly my joke that Owen’s entire thing is basically like ‘kitten thinks of nothing but murder and snark’ because he’s the ‘oh he’s so quiet and sweet’ (external impression) ‘I hate you, fuck off I’m reading or I will stab you’ (reality). This one loves very few people and he will commit Crimes for them. Please let him commit Crimes.

(He’s also very sweet, the most girl dad, one of the early childrens book writers and illustrators in England but he will Stab You Without Remorse)

[puffpastrycrimewatch]

Tudors old and concept designs

Tudor always had the magical tavern but he was a human with three or more hellhounds that looked like doberman, this was his very first design, not much story about him. I knew I wanted him to be an ally the main characters can rely on, a friend who was loyal no matter what because he's just naturally a nice guy

But I decided humans are boring...( And I wanted an object OC-) I was going to do some sort of technology but everyone does that...I mean I did too- so I decided on a human heart cause it's cool and kinda has the shape of a head and I haven't seen anybody do it

This was my first doodle of his heart design, I don't remember why steam is coming out of his heart tube but I'm going to bring it back to his design and try to figure something out

One the first concepts for dobi and yara, I forgot I gave her a yellow collar, it's cute I'll bring it back

[book-challenger]

Cool Cover Monday

Title & Author: The Gathering by C.J. Tudor

Summary: In a small Alaskan town a young boy is found with his throat ripped out and drained of blood.

Eerily this echos a case from 25 years ago, the town believes it the local vampire colony that live deep in the mountains.

Out of Towner Barbara Atkins dosn’t think this is the case, for one the evidence dosn’t add up and this town is hiding more than one secret.

As the snow and bodies piles up and the days shorten, time is running out.

Link: https://app.thestorygraph.com/books/44fbc27a-8c4e-4fcd-90aa-f892b7126491

[roseshavethoughts]

The Chalk Man by C. J. Tudor

My #BookReview of The Chalk Man by C. J. Tudor #Iamreading #Fiction

The Chalk Man by C. J. Tudor Title – The Chalk Man Author – C. J. Tudor Genres – Mystery | Crime | Thriller Published – 2018 by Crown Publishing Group (NY) Links – Amazon | Goodreads ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 5 out of 5. From the shocking first chapter, through to the whirlwind finale, The Chalk Man is a wonderfully rich coming-of-age story about love, loss, regret and desire. This novel has it all,…

[kindledspiritsbooks]

My Month in Books: May and June 2023

The Heroine’s Journey: Women’s Quest for Wholeness by Maureen Murdock If, like me, you picked this book up thinking that it is a feminist response to Joseph Campbell’s idea of the Hero’s Journey, you’ll find yourself disappointed. Less literary theory and more self-help, Murdock posits that women have been defined according to masculine values and successes and that a heroine must reconnect with…

[yaymiyas]

THE TALK

warning: yandere!isekai!crown prince, he is very mean in this, female reader

a/n: this is TECHNICALLY not a part two to the introduction but it sort of is….. it jumps from the conversation to the breakfast……..enjoy! ALSO ALSO ALSOOOOOOOO technically its female reader bc you got reincarnated blah blah

looking at the fragments of bacon he didnt want to eat, he let his fingers drum against the edge of the white plate. the fact that you, the daughter of a whore, lover to none, and nuisance to all, was right beside him made his food hard to swallow. the two of you sat in the dining room, and while he sat at the very end of the table with his back facing the door to the kitchen, your usual spot would be that of the opposite side. right across from him, back facing the entering door, but it seems after the poison didn’t hit quite deep enough in your veins, it did affect your brain because, for some reason, you thought it was brilliant to sit directly next to him. you weren’t as talkative as he would have thought of you, ever since you have learned of the activities he had decided to partake in, you started to demand his attention. at first, it didnt bother him much, since he himself started to believe that he was focusing solely on gracie that your suspicions were bound to grow, and grow they did.

for weeks, months, up until the poisoning you were all up on him. he was certain that you were attempting to skin him alive and wear him as a coat it was all mildly unpleasant but more irritating. saer never had a taste for you; rather, he actually hated you. to no one’s fault but his own fathers, he was forced to marry you out of pregnant promises. your father, sir tudor, wasn’t the poorest dope saer’s father has ever seen, but he was the loyalist. he worked on the gwynn estate, doing a multitude of things for the family, automatically gaining the trust of the duke and then the king himself. at the time, king gwynn was more fascinated with how a man with such little knowledge could become his most loyalist man, but that he did. following the pregnancy of both the queen and your mother, he decided that the best course of action was to marry his second unborn son off to the unborn daughter of a freeloader.

an icy shiver runs down saer’s back, forcing him to shake his shoulders and head. looking up from your half eaten plate, raising your head to the sudden movement. he was quiet the whole time, poking at the small slivers of bacon like they were the nastiest things on earth. you werent surprised that he wasnt talking; no, you were actually relieved. it wasn’t because he wasnt attractive or anything, he certainly does look like the main lead; its just the talk you had prior to the breakfast that was replaying in your head. cynthia and amanda didn’t give you much information, since, from the looks of it, they didn’t want to say too much. either their heads were on the line or yours were. you never thought about asking tily, even though she was the one that brought you down here. it just felt too weird knowing she was the one who weirdly had something against you. from your fading memories of ‘obsession falls’, you remember reading online forums and tweets about the whole thing. it seemed like the only real crime edina committed throughout the whole book was wanting her husband to love her. she did everything he had asked of her, from the way she talked to her style of clothing, even to what letters she can reply to. in olden standards, she seemed like the perfect obedient wife. this might have been your first mistake, but you didn’t read too much on saer or his backstory, so you never really understood the reasoning for his hatred of his wife, but you knew it was deep and it was boiling.

clearing your throat, you believed it was a better time than ever to clear the air and get to your point. you never understood why edina allowed things to get as deep as they were, but she was made just to be killed. it sucks that no matter what you do or say, saer will always hate you because you are edina.

“saer,”

“ae.”

that stupid nickname. shutting your eyes tightly and fighting back against any light to seep through, you sighed heavily. the whole time, saer had been watching you carefully. even though it was from the corner of his eyes, he was indeed trying to calculate your next moves. it was kind of silly that your sudden change in physical response is making him antsy, but how can anyone fault him? the last time the air-headed cunt decided to change the way she was reacting, gracie was suddenly engaged to alastair and smiling in his face about it. it was enraging. other than the fact that you were in his life to begin with, knowing that the reason he couldn’t slit the throat of his ex best friend was all because you decided to breathe. those two minutes were the longest two minutes of his life. he watched as your head dropped down on the table, making a very sudden and loud noise with it. saer had sternly told any and all servants to leave the two of you be if any loud, disruptive noises were heard. he even double checked that he sent your nosey maids, cynthia and amanda, home around that time. he knew that if they were present in the building, you weren’t going to eat that poison.

it was infuriating to watch them care about someone as lowly as you. not just them, anyone. reading gracie’s letters, asking how you’ve been and to see you before she even utters a word about him, was beyond hurtful. it felt as if his whole world was falling apart, all because you decided to have superpowers and not die. this was the only way to get back at you. he has tried strangling you. he has tried slaying you. each attempt was caught by either maid, cynthia, or amanda. it made him sick to see you get dotted on. seeing the frilly outfits they were making you wear, as if you were a porcelain doll not worth anybody’s touch. you were disgusting. a disgusting being that deserved to die. so why. why were you here? why were you looking at him like he had done something wrong. 

“enough with the causalities, i would like a divorce saer.”