#HE WAS DEVOTED TO ELIZABETH BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE
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I’m watching a POTC marathon and every time I watch these movies I’m reminded that Disney princes did not set my standard for men…
Will Turner did.
#THIS MAN#THIS. MAN.#HE WAS SWEET#HE WAS DETERMINED#HE WAS DEVOTED TO ELIZABETH BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE#LIKE IT’S SICKENING HOW PERFECT THEY WROTE HIM#HOW DARE THEY CREATE A MAN SO FLAWLESS#I’VE YEARNED FOR THAT MAN SINCE I WAS 6 YEARS OLD#😩😩😩😩#don’t me the crazy lady in the corner#ames is just pining for fictional men again#nothing new here#ames on the mic#pirates of the caribbean#will turner#orlando bloom
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A Simple Act of Kindness - 9 / ??
Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)
Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Leatherface) x OC
Summary: Elizabeth wakes up in a stranger's home. Her fate to become another victim of the Hewitt family is all but sealed till a simple act of kindness changes her life forever.
Warning: (Encompassing the whole story in no particular order) dead dove, rape/Noncon, violence, forced marriage, kidnapping, cannibalism, explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, angst
Author Note: Minors DNI!
Word Count: 4,741
Chapter 9 - Enhanced Connection
Elizabeth curled up on the living room couch, legs tucked under her, a cup of tea in one hand, and a book on her lap. Getting sick had been a blessing more than a curse. She’d gotten over her fever a few days ago, but hadn’t been allowed to do anything but relax and rest. Allowed. It was strange. She’d fully expected that the moment her fever was broken she’d have to go back to doing housework, not that she had much else going on. But the moment Luda Mae saw her even attempt to pick up a broom she’d taken it away from Elizabeth, shooing her away.
It was weird, actually having time to think and not worry about her future. She absentmindedly rubbed her right wrist. They’d given her time to think about her life, the path that she’d taken and the one she’d been forced into. She wasn’t even sure if her family missed her yet. Did they know she’d disappeared? She wasn’t close to her parents, in fact, she hadn’t even talked to them since the funeral. She was far closer to her aunt, but that wasn’t saying much. Did they assume she was safe?
Safe. Such an odd word to think, considering her situation. But, at least for the current future, she was safe. He’d done it. Thomas had successfully won her over with his odd protective nature. He didn’t deserve her, after all he’d done.
She let out a sigh. His devotion to her, to be her protector, her caretaker, her partner extended further than she could have imagined. He didn’t even act as if she was being a burden to him. In fact, he got upset with her any time she tried to deal with her sickness on her own, any time she insisted he could leave her by herself. He wasn’t having it.
As much as she hated to admit it, she actually liked being taken care of for once. For years she’d been the one to take care of people, the support pillar both with her family and friends. But here, he took care of her. Her high fever lasted for four days before finally calming down. He didn’t leave her side during that time. He rubbed her back when she had to throw up, tried to make sure she had a damp cold cloth on her forehead or back of her neck, and made sure she ate and drank. He even tried to help her when she went to the bathroom, something she had to firmly put her foot down. She wasn’t quite that sick.
She took in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. He treated her as if she were a porcelain doll. For such a big, burly, man who had tormented her for so long, he was surprisingly kind and gentle. He had been so worried about her, that even in bed he just cuddled with her. There was a part of her that was glad he was worried about her well-being. She had little doubt that he, The Hewitt family for that matter, were the cause of her sickness. She’d been under so much stress in such a short amount of time it had weakened her body. To have all that stress suddenly leave, she was bound to get sick.
Elizabeth let out another sigh and set her tea on the coffee table. She couldn’t help but snort and chuckle as she glanced at the mug. Thomas had given her a look when she made tea in the morning. Tea? In this weather? But the blistering hot Texas air couldn’t dampen her mood or need to drink tea. One of the few things that had been bought for her. Hoyt had gotten all the items that were on the list she’d given to Luda Mae. Hell, he didn’t even make a comment about the items to Elizabeth. If he complained it was out of her earshot. The man hadn’t even tried to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t expect it to last long, but she was enjoying his lack of lewdness while it lasted.
She glanced down at the book on her lap and slowly thumbed the pages. It was a trashy romance novel Thomas had given to her. She wasn’t even sure if he knew what kind of book it was, although he did tear off the front cover. Undoubtedly not a fan of the handsome practically naked man holding his love interest in an intense way. But, he gave her the book to occupy her time. She highly doubted it belonged to Luda Mae. Which meant it had belonged to someone else.
Her chest heaved with a heavy breath. It did make her wonder though. When she left for her trip she didn’t pack much, only her favorite clothes, pictures and some jewelry. She hadn’t gotten the courage to ask, but, did they still have her things? Nothing had been returned to her, and she had assumed that her items had either been sold, thrown away, or destroyed. But, the appearance of the trashy romance novel meant that they kept some items of their victims somewhere. And, it gave her hope. Hope.
She hated the word, she hated the feeling. Hoping for something meant having a higher chance of feeling disappointed. She would rather expect nothing and be pleasantly surprised.
Leaning back against the couch, she stretched her legs out. Her body tingled a little. She was horny. The book didn’t help matters either. A week really wasn’t that long of a time, but apparently, her body had gotten used to their almost daily fuck sessions. She craved him. Thomas!
“Hey, Thomas. I really want you to fuck me.” She snorted at the thought. Not yet, she told herself. It almost seemed a little too soon to go about throwing herself at him. The last time she did that was out of desperation. He hadn’t tried to fuck her in any way. In fact, he was careful with his touches. The nightly cuddles were the closest thing to sex that they got to. She had been tempted to masturbate in the shower, but that required a lot of work and energy that she wasn’t quite ready to invest in.
Scooting down the couch, she stared up at the ceiling, tapping her fingers on her chest for a moment. She had an itch and really needed it scratch. Slowly, she lowered her hand down, brushing against her stomach before she paused. It made a little sound as it digested her lunch. Her gorge rose up momentarily making her fight it back. She’d already cried many times the last couple of days in private. Yet it was clear she had a few more tears to spill.
Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance. She was no fool and she couldn’t pretend, despite how terribly hard she wanted to. The Hewitt family, Thomas, were making her eat human flesh. It was inevitable and she knew that. Yet, once again, her choice in the matter had been taken from her. Only, they were feigning compliance with her diet. Her sickness made sure that she no longer had the energy to fight back, to question. It made her compliant and she hated herself for that.
She closed her eyes and silenced and stilled her thoughts. The peace and quiet of the house seeped into her body, relaxing her again. Thomas was home, down in the basement more than likely, but Luda Mae and Hoyt were gone, having taken the grumpy disabled uncle with them. He hadn’t been around initially. She wasn’t sure where he came from, but he was a grumbling member of the family who practically ignored her. She was okay with that. She was pretty confident that Luda Mae and Hoyt would return by dinner. But, it was actually nice to have the house mostly to herself.
Letting out a deep breath, she sat up and set her feet on the ground then stood up, stretching her body. It popped and cracked from her efforts, making her smile. She didn’t know what to do, but she needed to move around for a little bit. She glanced behind her, half tempted to take a walk outside. No one could stop her. In fact-
She blinked. It was the perfect opportunity to attempt an escape. She looked out of the living room window to the dirt driveway that led to possible freedom and the forest she could use to hide. She shook her head. It wasn’t the perfect time. And, she’d finally gotten a week of peace. Failing to get away from them would undoubtedly either end her life or force them to keep her locked up forever. And Thomas may not have the strength to protect her anymore.
Sitting back down, she grabbed the book that was on the coffee table and leaned back. It was easy to find the section in the book that was her favorite. She eased onto her side, engrossing her mind with the flowery language on the page. It wasn’t the kind of reading she normally enjoyed, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
The words on the page started to blur together as her mind searched for a pleasant sexual memory. The shower sex between her and Thomas, that wasn’t meant to be, was probably the best consensual sex they had. Then again, there wasn’t much to choose from. Her desperate attempt to get Thomas on her side when Hoyt almost raped her was on the fence.
But, oddly enough, it was the first morning sex between her and Thomas that her brain decided to focus on. Despite it being her second sexual encounter, it didn’t really hurt. In fact, it was probably the most pleasurable experience she had during those dark days. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been touching her while she slept. But it was long enough for her body to be completely ready to take him on. And the connection between them had been far more intimate than it should have been. The way he held her, the way their fingers intertwined, even his pacing was perfect. She had felt so hollow after because she actually enjoyed herself and it wasn’t right.
She refocused her attention on the page, biting her lip. The dark days needed to be forgotten. Her fingers slowly trailed down her stomach. Why was she so horny? She tapped her fingers on her belly. Why wasn’t there a bath in her room? She could badly use one to relax and play with herself.
She rubbed her palm over her crotch, digging her fingers in over her pants. It was a bad idea. Better to go to her room for some privacy, even though she was practically the only person in the house. Grunting in annoyance, she sat back up, slamming the book shut.
Her whole body stilled before she could sit up as her eyes landed on Thomas. He was standing in the doorway looking at her. There was an expression on his face that she wasn’t familiar with. How long had he been there?
Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “Hi,” she said softly. He walked over to her and she felt her body straightened as she watched him. He stopped in front of her and cocked his head to one side before reaching out and brushing one hand along her face. She couldn’t help but give him a reassuring smile.
“I’m alright,” she said. “The book you gave me is rather titillating is all.”
He extended his palm and she placed the book on it. The thought of him destroying it crossed her mind. He did seem like a jealous man and it wasn’t worth fighting him on, even though he did give her the book. Could he read? Did he really not guess what was in the book? So much for that gift. She sighed. It was fun while it lasted. But, if this was going to become a thing, she would rather not accept gifts.
He tilted his head to one side, slowly flipping through the pages then looked at her.
“Don’t give me that look,” she chided. “You were the one who gave me the book to read.” His brow furrowed, making her laugh. “I’m sorry, Thomas,” she said as she stood up. “It was a good book. Thanks for letting me read it.”
She started to walk by him, but he reached out his arm, wrapping it around her waist and stopped her. She placed her hand on his left forearm and looked up at him. She couldn’t help but look worried.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
His hand gently brushed her face. Her eyes closed as she let her body relax to enjoy the feeling. She felt him lean down and before she could open her eyes his lips pressed gently against hers. He didn’t linger, pulling away after only a brief moment.
She couldn’t help but give him a questioning look. “Are you okay?” she asked, running her hand up his arm to caress his cheek.
He took in a deep breath and let it out, giving her a little smile. He started to turn, but she caught his arm, stopping him.
“You know,” she said. Oh god, what are you doing? “I’m not made of glass, right? Like, getting sick didn’t ummm… didn’t suddenly make me all fragile.” It was the best she could do as a hint, not quite yet ready to throw herself at him. If he didn’t get it then she’d just have to go upstairs and deal with her horniness herself.
He gave her a puzzled look, dashing her hopes.
“Never mind,” she said softly as her cheeks turned red. Before she could turn away, he cupped his hand under her chin and tilted it up to look at her. His eyes searched her face and then he kissed her. It was harder, more demanding, she more than willingly replied with the same need. Her fingers desperately undid the buttons on his shirt and she felt his fingers pull her shirt up. She raised her arms so he could pull it off before she striped him of his shirt.
They both paused suddenly, breathing deeply, but also staring into each other’s eyes with surprise. Tying her hair into a ponytail, Elizabeth unhooked her bra and sank to her knees. Unhooking Thomas’s belt then the button and finally unzipping his pants made him moan. Before she could completely free him, he placed his hand firmly on her shoulder.
She looked up at him, frowning. Placing his hand under her chin, he forced her to stand up. She felt a shiver run through her body of disappointment. Opening her mouth to protest, he kissed her. His hands trailed down her body, firmly grasping her breasts, making her moan. He didn’t keep them there long as he slowly unbuttoned her pants. He clearly wanted her to be naked when she blew him. Not that she minded. She really wanted to get to the sex part.
She held onto his arm to slip out of her pants once they hit the floor. Hooking her fingers inside of her underwear, he placed his hands on hers to stop her.
Slipping his fingers in her underwear, he slowly slid them down while getting onto his knees. She placed her hand on his shoulder to step out. Her heart pounded in her chest. He looked at her pussy then up at her. Her brain refused to believe what it was seeing. Rising back up, his lips met hers as he pressed his half naked body close to her, cupping her face in his hands.
She was forced to take a couple steps back by his crowding till her knees caught the edge of the sofa and she dropped down. He was on his knees before she could think. His hands ran up her inner thighs, pushing her legs further out as his eyes stared at her. She couldn’t let her mind assume anything, instead focusing on what he was currently doing.
He rubbed her inner thighs for a moment, giving her goosebumps, then trailed his fingers close to her pussy, only to veer off and up her legs, running his fingers along her stomach to her breasts. She couldn’t help but whimper and move, scooting her ass closer to the edge of the sofa.
He ran his hands down her body, moving his eyes from her face to examine her scars again. Leaning him, she felt his mouth touch her skin. His hand slipped down, feeling the outside of her pussy, making her moan and raise her hips up. His fingers slipped inside her folds and she grunted at the touch. Despite the fact that she didn’t want to get her hopes up, a part of her felt a little disappointed. She actually wanted him to eat her out. It seemed only fair.
His lips trailed down her stomach. She was already a little bit horny, but with him on his knees as if he were her subject turned her on even more. The couch was almost a little too small. His height would strain his back a bit. It made her wonder if he’d power through, if he actually tried.
His lips went lower and then she felt his tongue brush her clit. It was enough to make her gasp and arch her back. With her legs spread, he had little trouble exploring her with his tongue. He brushed her clit with his tongue now and again, and each time she gasped, whimpered and wiggled. He didn’t forget his hands, running them along her body, sometimes squeezing her tits, other times teasing her inner thighs.
His tongue eagerly explored her, upping her impending orgasm. Her hands dug into his hair as she breathed deeply and moved her hips. The moment his tongue entered her vagina she couldn’t help but shriek a little, and push his head down.
He slipped a finger in her, rubbing around her walls. The feelings he was producing for her kept collecting in her core. She really needed to cum. There was a small part of her that didn’t want it to end yet, but her horny mind from earlier had already started working herself up. Her body felt strained and tense. She needed- Automatically, she grabbed the couch pillow and put it under her ass to raise her hips up. She put her legs over his shoulders, trapping his head, then dug her fingers into his hair.
“Make me cum, Thomas, please,” she begged.
He focused on her clit, licking and sucking and pressing, listening to her directions, as her mouth told him what she needed without her brain doing much thinking. The pent up sexual energy tightened, causing her muscles to tighten around him. He slipped a finger and then a second in her, rubbing the top of her walls, while his other hand rubbed her breast. It seemed to hit the right spot as her orgasm exploded making her scream and shake.
He didn’t stop licking her, didn’t stop fingering her, or using his other hand to stroke other parts of her until her whole body relaxed around him. She didn’t move, despite her back screaming at the awkward angle she’d ended up in, half folded. She watched as he sat up, his chin glistening from her wetness. Her eyes darted down, his cock was still trapped in his pants.
“You got something else for me, big boy?” she asked, widening her legs as an open invitation.
He had always wanted to taste her. Hell, the first night they were together he wanted to lean down and just lick her. She smelled so good. Having a simple taste with his fingers made him want more. But, he didn’t think that was appropriate. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because Hoyt never did it.
Thomas licked his lips. Her body shook and her legs had trapped his head so that he wouldn’t stop, her hands in his hair, pulling but making it feel so right, and then the way she almost sang as she came, he was hard as fuck. She barely even touched his cock. He had to fuck her.
Her eyes glanced down at his still trapped cock and her teeth brushed over her bottom lip, pulling it in. She looked back at him, into his eyes and deliberately opened her legs.
“Got something else for me, big boy?” she teased. She didn’t even bother to move from her awkward angle.
He would have gawked at her, had he not felt the urge to plunge into her pussy. He’d held off so long. So worried that he’d break her in her weakened state. He patiently waited for her to give him some sort of sign that they could have sex again. Only, she didn’t. At least, nothing he picked up on. But, watching her read that book and move her legs, rubbing her pussy. For the briefest of moments, he felt jealous and annoyed. But then, she gave him that look. Something he hadn’t seen. To embarrassed to ask him to have sex? Maybe. Didn’t matter now. Her legs were open and she was inviting him.
He slipped the rest of his clothes off and quickly rose high enough to brush her pussy with his cock. She groaned, raising her hands up to stroke his chest. Rubbing his cock against her, he pulled his emotions back, his need to just slam into her, fuck her hard and fast. It had been so long, too long. He needed to feel her wrapped around his cock once more. She’d always told him that he was big. Her cries and the way her face scrunched with pain haunted him. He was never going to hurt her like that again.
He moved slowly, watching her face. She let out a little gasp as she felt his cock against the entrance of her pussy. But she didn’t protest, instead, she kept her eyes on his. He moved his hips and his cock slipped up, rubbing against her clit. She moaned at the contact. He did it again, fascinated at her reaction. Reaching down, he guided his cock into her slit.
Her back arched slightly and she whimpered as his head breached her. “Oh, Thomas,” she breathed. Oh no. His brain panicked, causing him to pause. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head as she wiggled.
He was hurting her. Desperation hit him as he pulled out. He had no idea what to do. How to help. He thought he’d done a good job getting her ready. Slow or fast, it didn’t seem to matter. He would only cause her pain. How had they done it in the shower?
Her soft hands touched his face, making him look at her. Her laugh was so sweet and her eyes held such tenderness. She was sitting up.
“Thank you,” she said softly, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. Her legs wrapped around his waist. “It’s not that kind of no.” One of her hands ran down his chest and he groaned as she grasped his cock. “I want you. Fuck me. Please. Go all out.” The begging in her voice sounded sincere.
He still couldn’t help but hesitate, focusing on her face to make sure he wasn’t hurting her. He’d hurt her way too many times already. Never again, he had promised himself. Her smile faded as her mouth parted, only for her to force it back as he entered her. Watching her struggle to keep smiling, to reassure him, while also unable to keep her mouth from dropping confused him.
His uncle’s words circled in his head about just entering her fast. But last time she wanted him to be slow. Her right hand reached out and he automatically tangled his fingers with hers.
“Fuck, Thomas,” she breathed the moment he bottomed out, pressing his pelvis against her. He let out a groan of his own. “You’re so fucking big! You feel so good.”
The compliment both excited and confused him. She only had complained about his size hurting her. He moved slowly, almost leaving her before going back in. There was something about the intimate slow pace that soothed him. Yet, her moans and mewls excited him, spurring him on. But he had to keep his control. Curious about her reaction, he almost completely withdrew before slamming quick and fast into her. She yipped and groaned, closing her eyes as her body moved to him.
He picked up his pace, rolling his hips in curiosity. “Fuck, Thomas,” she moaned, her legs tightened around his waist as her arms wrapped around him. The way her body crushed against his, she dragged her nails along his back. He wasn’t sure what he needed. He wrapped his arms under her ass and picked her up. She let out a yelp of surprise and hugged him tightly for a moment.
He heard her giggle then moan as he lifted her up then let her body fall down onto his cock. Her mouth and lips went to his neck and along his shoulder. As light as she was, and as strong as he was, he knew he couldn’t keep her up for very long.
He bent his head to one side to kiss her. She must have read his need as her lips were suddenly on his mouth, pressing tightly. It sent a fire through him as her mouth parted and her tongue sought his. He wanted to touch her clit so badly, but he had to keep his arms under her ass. He clenched her cheeks, and she broke their kiss, letting out a choked cry as she rolled her head back slightly.
The sound scared him, making him slow down, he almost pulled her off him. “No, don’t stop,” she begged. Her walls contracted around him, encouraging him. He
needed assistance though. His arms were getting weary. As if noticing, she nodded her head. “Put me down,” she said. She lifted herself up, both whimpering as his cock left her pussy.
Dropping to the ground, she knelt on the couch and resettled her body. She placed her hands on the back and looked behind her. He didn’t need to be told twice. Sliding into her was easy and made them both groan. He couldn’t help but grab her hair, tangling his fingers in it and pulling her head back a little bit as he picked up speed.
“Fuck me,” she half spat.
The sound of their wet connection, her uncensored cries of pleasure drove him wild. She was loud. Far louder than she’d ever been before. Her hand slipped under her body, stimulating her clit.
Her breathing came out in short bursts before stopping for a moment, and then she let out a satisfied gasp. “Thomas,” she moaned. Her pussy walls clenched around him, enticing him to reach his own end.
He couldn’t help but slam hard and fast, the thought of hurting her was all but forgotten. His balls constricted and with a loud satisfy moan from his end, he came in her.
He bent over her as she leaned against the couch. His hands roamed her body while he tried to settled back to his normal self. He rubbed her round ass and for the first time he realized just how much he appreciated her body. It suddenly wasn’t just about making babies. It wasn’t about desperately keeping her around to be with him forever. He didn’t realize that giving her so much pleasure would enhance the sex and connection between them. This kind of sex, connection, was what he wanted and thought he could never have.
“Fuck,” she whispered, leaning back. “Should probably open up the windows or light a candle, this room is going to smell like sex and- oh fuck,” she said. “Thomas, we have to go!”
Before he could answer, she scooped up their clothes. He heard the sound of a car coming down the driveway. Looking out the window, he recognized Hoyt’s police car.
“Come on,” she said with a giggle as she grabbed his hand. He followed and couldn’t help but smile at her light-hearted sound of glee as if they had a secret no one else knew about. They were in his room before the front door was opened. Her laughter seemed to echo through the house.
Chapter 10 - The Basement
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A Pleasant Countenance
In all his three-and-twenty years, Charles Bingley had not once stopped to consider how different he was from his peers.
A Pride and Prejudice ficlet. Sex-positive asexual!Bingley.
It was fair to say that Mrs Bingley’s disposition was hardly ever inclined to discontentment; if anyone were to ask her, she would without a moment’s hesitation express her perfect contentment in her husband’s affections, and it did not occur to her to start questioning the veracity of her own statements until several months into their marriage.
When Charles had mentioned he was planning to invite the Darcys to Netherfield Park for the summer, she had rejoiced at the opportunity to spend some time with her dear sister; straight away, she had devoted herself to the preparations for their arrival, personally inspecting the guest wing until she finally selected a suite of connected chambers she felt sure would do nicely for Lizzy and her husband. She was therefore more than a little befuddled when upon the guests’ arrival, her sister thanked her for all her troubles, only to playfully remark that they would scarcely require more than one bedchamber between the two of them.
Jane held her peace for a grand total of four days before sequestering her sister to her own dressing rooms, and haltingly enquired as to the couple’s usual sleeping arrangements both at Pemberley and the Darcy town home.
“We always share a bed, unless Fitzwilliam is away on business,” Elizabeth replied simply, a slight frown creasing her brow. “You will pardon me, dearest sister, if I dare to presume what these questions tend to?”
“Oh, you will think me the worst kind of shameless busybody, Lizzy,” Jane exclaimed, twisting her hands. “It’s only – oh, I know it is hardly proper of me to even broach such an indelicate subject, but I hardly know who else I could turn to at this juncture.”
Lizzy was immediately on her feet, gathering her sister’s hands in her own. “You know you can always speak to me, my dear Jane. I shall spare you the indignity of needing to ask, and tell you that more often than not, my loving husband is wont to solicit my favours several times a week, and that they are most willingly bestowed on my part – heartily encouraged, even.”
Mrs Bingley’s head was spinning, and she felt more than a little faint as a result. “Several times a week,” she breathed, disbelief apparent in her voice, wondering for the briefest of moments whether her sister was teasing her for some strange reason. Her long familiarity with Lizzy excluded such a possibility, and she reluctantly had to acknowledge that her sister was in earnest – which begged a series of questions regarding the state of her own marriage she was scarcely ready to contemplate.
“Jane, are you – that is to say, does Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth bit her lip, clearly considering how better to address the issue. “Are you not satisfied with your marriage bed, then?”
Jane buried her face in her hands, her cheeks burning with shame. “Oh, Lizzy, I am the worst creature in the world.”
“Nonsense. I hate to be the one to tell you, dear sister, but if you are not happy with your husband’s attentions, your best course of action is to openly discuss it with him – you will do no favours to your marriage by keeping your feelings a secret to him.”
“How could I ever do such a thing? He would think me a wanton and the most ungrateful of wives, for he is very deeply in love with me, and the most considerate of husbands besides. And if he truly does not desire to share my bed, I can only conclude it is my own fault – that I have disappointed him, or that he finds my lack of experience in such matters off-putting in some way.”
“Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed, obviously scandalised that she could even express such a thought.
“I didn’t mean it like that, I – I know I have no right in presuming anything about Charles’ past, but you must not think me so naive as to believe that he never – but that is irrelevant to our current situation, in any case. Perhaps he merely finds me not pleasing enough to tempt him, after all.”
“Promise me you will talk to him, Jane,” her sister pleaded with her in a most urgent tone. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for him. He would hate to find out you’re hiding such a thing from him, believe me.”
She swallowed, looked around the room as if hoping that the solution to her problems might suddenly materialise out of thin air, but in the end, she could not find it in herself to deny her sister. Elizabeth hugged her tightly, and promised everything would be all right; all she had to do was keep her faith in the strength of her and Charles’ love.
.
.
In all his three-and-twenty years, Charles Bingley had not once stopped to consider how different he was from his peers. Even before inheriting his father’s fortune, his good looks and pleasant disposition had garnered him the attentions of many a pretty lady; and while he had always been partial to a good flirt – and even the occasional stolen kiss – he had scarcely given any thought to the many possibilities afforded to a young man when presented with a female of inferior birth eager to share her favours. At university, his friends used to jest that young ladies might consider themselves quite safe in his company, which he actually took as a compliment to the propriety of his conduct; it was on one such occasion that he had made the acquaintance of his good friend Darcy, as the gentleman was similarly being teased for being ‘too uptight to know his way around a woman’s petticoats’.
Upon his coming of age, his father had of course summoned him to his study and provided him with a series of entirely mortifying instructions as to how to conduct himself with females of good breeding, and what was expected of him when he entered the married state. What his father had failed to inform him of was how often a husband would be expected to share his wife’s bed, and after spending the past few years overhearing his eldest sister’s complaints concerning the frequency of Mr Hurst’s visits, and the many excuses she employed to discourage him in such endeavours, Charles had come to the natural conclusion that he ought to impose as little as possible on his adoring wife, regardless of his own inclinations on the subject.
If someone had ever chanced to draw his attention to this particular matter, he would have been forced to conclude that he had no strong inclination either way. The actual reality of conjugal relations had come as an utterly pleasant surprise for him, and he enjoyed every moment spent in such startling new intimacy with his blushing bride; however, more often than not he would straight up forget that such activities were now open to him, let alone expected of him.
As it was, he had been sparing no thought whatsoever to the whole state of affairs, and was therefore entirely shocked when his beloved Jane haltingly brought up the subject one evening, soon after the Darcys had departed for a short stay in town where his friend had been unexpectedly called on business.
“I – I would understand if you didn’t desire me anymore, all I ask is that you’re completely honest with me, Charles,” she concluded, very nearly in tears, and it was all he could do to take her in his arms and hold her quite possibly too tightly for her own comfort. He was about to vehemently deny such an outrageous suggestion, when he was suddenly reminded of the few – and entirely too reticent – confidences he had managed to extract from Darcy with regards to his marriage, and he stopped in his tracks as if struck by some kind of revelation.
Had he ever desired a woman, in the way most gentlemen of his acquaintance intended when discussing such matters? He knew he loved Jane in a way that surpassed any of his previous infatuations; he was most pleased to share her attentions when attending to their marital duties, though he realised now he had perhaps misjudged how affected she was in turn by such intimacies. But did he desire her? He – wasn’t entirely sure, but he was inclined to think that the nature of his love for her would make for a strong argument to disregard such a trivial distinction.
“Does it matter, when I love you more than life itself?” he pleaded by her, and was rewarded with a heartfelt sob she endeavoured to stifle into the lapel of his dinner jacket. “Jane, I am utterly pleased with everything that has transpired in our marriage bed, and if you wish for me to visit you more often, I shall be delighted to do so.”
“Oh, you must think me such a selfish, wanton creature,” she demurred, but he would have none of it.
“Nonsense. I am beyond grateful that you should value my attentions so highly,” he promptly assured her, pressing a tender kiss on her golden curls. “And I would suggest we retire to our chambers this instant, so that I might start making amends to my long-suffering wife.”
“Charles!” Her cheeks had blushed a dark shade of pink by now, which only made her more becoming to his eyes. “What will the servants think if we were to retire this early in the evening?”
“I have to say, my dear, I do not care a jot what the servants might thing,” he smiled at her, and offered his arm with all pretence of formality so that he might escort her upstairs.
#Pride and Prejudice#Jane Bennet#Elizabeth Bennet#Charles Bingley#Jane/Bingley#asexual character#sex-positive asexual character#I wrote a thing
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closed for @jancboleyn, post the private execution of elizabeth talbot; george's quarters.
A chance encounter in the corridors, ten years ago, might have been all that George or Jane saw of one another in the whole of a day. So vast at times was the divide enforced upon them as they tried to keep ahold of their tenuous position within Hampton Court that he often dreamt more often of his wife than he looked at her. It was never enough to subdue his passion for her or his reliance upon her, but George Boleyn looks back at those days and finds himself glad, now, that they are nothing more than a memory. He'd greatly prefer to keep it that way. He wants to ask her what she thought of those days, if the weight of them bore down upon her as they did him (and what a mockery of her senses and mind would that be, to ask, because of course it did), if she missed the press of his mouth to the junction of soft skin between shoulder and neck as much as he missed her own warm hands against his chest.
These are the follies of young men. George is not that man any longer. But he hungers, near ravenous, at times, for a chance to go back to the beginning of their union with what he knows now tucked close to his heart, to treat her as a newly wedded husband should've. He remembers being nervous. Uncertain. Tentatively excited, to have known Jane before they ever wed, to have grown up alongside her and know that they would continue to grow together. These are the follies of young men, George is not that man any longer, and that, in the end, is why he doesn't ask. Rather, he places two hands at her waist, looking at her with an expression somewhere between contemplative and devoted. "Try not to think of me as too much of a fool for what I am about to say to you, dear heart," he warns. The exhaustion of the day comes to settle, at last, across his shoulders.
His thumbs make small circles for want of anything to do, a self-assuring sort of motion that allows him to distract from the humiliation of being seen even in the presence of, perhaps, the one person who well and truly knows him. "But I have missed you. I've been unable to think of little else, save seeing you, having you here." George Boleyn is above all else an orator. A poet, if pressed, but someone a man who knows how to speak above all else. George gives her a rueful look, accompanied by the grin a love-struck fool, though what falls from his lips is nearer to sombre. "All day I've thought of what I should say to you, and now I struggle to find the right words as to why it is though my own thoughts are convinced you aren't with me now. As if you might disappear from beneath my touch." No longer do they face the threat of living under Henry's rule, held within the claws of suspicion and paranoia. Still, George wakes, sometimes, in the middle of the night, worried he might hear that Jane has been exiled, Anne arrested, the world falling apart at the seams all over again. "I suppose," he laughs, "that you have rendered me voiceless."
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CHAPTER XXII.
Anne went home to think over all that she had heard. In one point, her feelings were relieved by this knowledge of Mr Elliot. There was no longer anything of tenderness due to him. He stood as opposed to Captain Wentworth, in all his own unwelcome obtrusiveness; and the evil of his attentions last night, the irremediable mischief he might have done, was considered with sensations unqualified, unperplexed. Pity for him was all over. But this was the only point of relief. In every other respect, in looking around her, or penetrating forward, she saw more to distrust and to apprehend. She was concerned for the disappointment and pain Lady Russell would be feeling; for the mortifications which must be hanging over her father and sister, and had all the distress of foreseeing many evils, without knowing how to avert any one of them. She was most thankful for her own knowledge of him. She had never considered herself as entitled to reward for not slighting an old friend like Mrs Smith, but here was a reward indeed springing from it! Mrs Smith had been able to tell her what no one else could have done. Could the knowledge have been extended through her family? But this was a vain idea. She must talk to Lady Russell, tell her, consult with her, and having done her best, wait the event with as much composure as possible; and after all, her greatest want of composure would be in that quarter of the mind which could not be opened to Lady Russell; in that flow of anxieties and fears which must be all to herself.
She found, on reaching home, that she had, as she intended, escaped seeing Mr Elliot; that he had called and paid them a long morning visit; but hardly had she congratulated herself, and felt safe, when she heard that he was coming again in the evening.
“I had not the smallest intention of asking him,” said Elizabeth, with affected carelessness, “but he gave so many hints; so Mrs Clay says, at least.”
“Indeed, I do say it. I never saw anybody in my life spell harder for an invitation. Poor man! I was really in pain for him; for your hard-hearted sister, Miss Anne, seems bent on cruelty.”
“Oh!” cried Elizabeth, “I have been rather too much used to the game to be soon overcome by a gentleman’s hints. However, when I found how excessively he was regretting that he should miss my father this morning, I gave way immediately, for I would never really omit an opportunity of bringing him and Sir Walter together. They appear to so much advantage in company with each other. Each behaving so pleasantly. Mr Elliot looking up with so much respect.”
“Quite delightful!” cried Mrs Clay, not daring, however, to turn her eyes towards Anne. “Exactly like father and son! Dear Miss Elliot, may I not say father and son?”
“Oh! I lay no embargo on any body’s words. If you will have such ideas! But, upon my word, I am scarcely sensible of his attentions being beyond those of other men.”
“My dear Miss Elliot!” exclaimed Mrs Clay, lifting her hands and eyes, and sinking all the rest of her astonishment in a convenient silence.
“Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed about him. I did invite him, you know. I sent him away with smiles. When I found he was really going to his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole day to-morrow, I had compassion on him.”
Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being able to shew such pleasure as she did, in the expectation and in the actual arrival of the very person whose presence must really be interfering with her prime object. It was impossible but that Mrs Clay must hate the sight of Mr Elliot; and yet she could assume a most obliging, placid look, and appear quite satisfied with the curtailed license of devoting herself only half as much to Sir Walter as she would have done otherwise.
To Anne herself it was most distressing to see Mr Elliot enter the room; and quite painful to have him approach and speak to her. She had been used before to feel that he could not be always quite sincere, but now she saw insincerity in everything. His attentive deference to her father, contrasted with his former language, was odious; and when she thought of his cruel conduct towards Mrs Smith, she could hardly bear the sight of his present smiles and mildness, or the sound of his artificial good sentiments.
She meant to avoid any such alteration of manners as might provoke a remonstrance on his side. It was a great object to her to escape all enquiry or eclat; but it was her intention to be as decidedly cool to him as might be compatible with their relationship; and to retrace, as quietly as she could, the few steps of unnecessary intimacy she had been gradually led along. She was accordingly more guarded, and more cool, than she had been the night before.
He wanted to animate her curiosity again as to how and where he could have heard her formerly praised; wanted very much to be gratified by more solicitation; but the charm was broken: he found that the heat and animation of a public room was necessary to kindle his modest cousin’s vanity; he found, at least, that it was not to be done now, by any of those attempts which he could hazard among the too-commanding claims of the others. He little surmised that it was a subject acting now exactly against his interest, bringing immediately to her thoughts all those parts of his conduct which were least excusable.
She had some satisfaction in finding that he was really going out of Bath the next morning, going early, and that he would be gone the greater part of two days. He was invited again to Camden Place the very evening of his return; but from Thursday to Saturday evening his absence was certain. It was bad enough that a Mrs Clay should be always before her; but that a deeper hypocrite should be added to their party, seemed the destruction of everything like peace and comfort. It was so humiliating to reflect on the constant deception practised on her father and Elizabeth; to consider the various sources of mortification preparing for them! Mrs Clay’s selfishness was not so complicate nor so revolting as his; and Anne would have compounded for the marriage at once, with all its evils, to be clear of Mr Elliot’s subtleties in endeavouring to prevent it.
On Friday morning she meant to go very early to Lady Russell, and accomplish the necessary communication; and she would have gone directly after breakfast, but that Mrs Clay was also going out on some obliging purpose of saving her sister trouble, which determined her to wait till she might be safe from such a companion. She saw Mrs Clay fairly off, therefore, before she began to talk of spending the morning in Rivers Street.
“Very well,” said Elizabeth, “I have nothing to send but my love. Oh! you may as well take back that tiresome book she would lend me, and pretend I have read it through. I really cannot be plaguing myself for ever with all the new poems and states of the nation that come out. Lady Russell quite bores one with her new publications. You need not tell her so, but I thought her dress hideous the other night. I used to think she had some taste in dress, but I was ashamed of her at the concert. Something so formal and arrangé in her air! and she sits so upright! My best love, of course.”
“And mine,” added Sir Walter. “Kindest regards. And you may say, that I mean to call upon her soon. Make a civil message; but I shall only leave my card. Morning visits are never fair by women at her time of life, who make themselves up so little. If she would only wear rouge she would not be afraid of being seen; but last time I called, I observed the blinds were let down immediately.”
While her father spoke, there was a knock at the door. Who could it be? Anne, remembering the preconcerted visits, at all hours, of Mr Elliot, would have expected him, but for his known engagement seven miles off. After the usual period of suspense, the usual sounds of approach were heard, and “Mr and Mrs Charles Musgrove” were ushered into the room.
Surprise was the strongest emotion raised by their appearance; but Anne was really glad to see them; and the others were not so sorry but that they could put on a decent air of welcome; and as soon as it became clear that these, their nearest relations, were not arrived with any views of accommodation in that house, Sir Walter and Elizabeth were able to rise in cordiality, and do the honours of it very well. They were come to Bath for a few days with Mrs Musgrove, and were at the White Hart. So much was pretty soon understood; but till Sir Walter and Elizabeth were walking Mary into the other drawing-room, and regaling themselves with her admiration, Anne could not draw upon Charles’s brain for a regular history of their coming, or an explanation of some smiling hints of particular business, which had been ostentatiously dropped by Mary, as well as of some apparent confusion as to whom their party consisted of.
She then found that it consisted of Mrs Musgrove, Henrietta, and Captain Harville, beside their two selves. He gave her a very plain, intelligible account of the whole; a narration in which she saw a great deal of most characteristic proceeding. The scheme had received its first impulse by Captain Harville’s wanting to come to Bath on business. He had begun to talk of it a week ago; and by way of doing something, as shooting was over, Charles had proposed coming with him, and Mrs Harville had seemed to like the idea of it very much, as an advantage to her husband; but Mary could not bear to be left, and had made herself so unhappy about it, that for a day or two everything seemed to be in suspense, or at an end. But then, it had been taken up by his father and mother. His mother had some old friends in Bath whom she wanted to see; it was thought a good opportunity for Henrietta to come and buy wedding-clothes for herself and her sister; and, in short, it ended in being his mother’s party, that everything might be comfortable and easy to Captain Harville; and he and Mary were included in it by way of general convenience. They had arrived late the night before. Mrs Harville, her children, and Captain Benwick, remained with Mr Musgrove and Louisa at Uppercross.
Anne’s only surprise was, that affairs should be in forwardness enough for Henrietta’s wedding-clothes to be talked of. She had imagined such difficulties of fortune to exist there as must prevent the marriage from being near at hand; but she learned from Charles that, very recently, (since Mary’s last letter to herself), Charles Hayter had been applied to by a friend to hold a living for a youth who could not possibly claim it under many years; and that on the strength of his present income, with almost a certainty of something more permanent long before the term in question, the two families had consented to the young people’s wishes, and that their marriage was likely to take place in a few months, quite as soon as Louisa’s. “And a very good living it was,” Charles added: “only five-and-twenty miles from Uppercross, and in a very fine country: fine part of Dorsetshire. In the centre of some of the best preserves in the kingdom, surrounded by three great proprietors, each more careful and jealous than the other; and to two of the three at least, Charles Hayter might get a special recommendation. Not that he will value it as he ought,” he observed, “Charles is too cool about sporting. That’s the worst of him.”
“I am extremely glad, indeed,” cried Anne, “particularly glad that this should happen; and that of two sisters, who both deserve equally well, and who have always been such good friends, the pleasant prospect of one should not be dimming those of the other—that they should be so equal in their prosperity and comfort. I hope your father and mother are quite happy with regard to both.”
“Oh! yes. My father would be well pleased if the gentlemen were richer, but he has no other fault to find. Money, you know, coming down with money—two daughters at once—it cannot be a very agreeable operation, and it streightens him as to many things. However, I do not mean to say they have not a right to it. It is very fit they should have daughters’ shares; and I am sure he has always been a very kind, liberal father to me. Mary does not above half like Henrietta’s match. She never did, you know. But she does not do him justice, nor think enough about Winthrop. I cannot make her attend to the value of the property. It is a very fair match, as times go; and I have liked Charles Hayter all my life, and I shall not leave off now.”
“Such excellent parents as Mr and Mrs Musgrove,” exclaimed Anne, “should be happy in their children’s marriages. They do everything to confer happiness, I am sure. What a blessing to young people to be in such hands! Your father and mother seem so totally free from all those ambitious feelings which have led to so much misconduct and misery, both in young and old. I hope you think Louisa perfectly recovered now?”
He answered rather hesitatingly, “Yes, I believe I do; very much recovered; but she is altered; there is no running or jumping about, no laughing or dancing; it is quite different. If one happens only to shut the door a little hard, she starts and wriggles like a young dab-chick in the water; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading verses, or whispering to her, all day long.”
Anne could not help laughing. “That cannot be much to your taste, I know,” said she; “but I do believe him to be an excellent young man.”
“To be sure he is. Nobody doubts it; and I hope you do not think I am so illiberal as to want every man to have the same objects and pleasures as myself. I have a great value for Benwick; and when one can but get him to talk, he has plenty to say. His reading has done him no harm, for he has fought as well as read. He is a brave fellow. I got more acquainted with him last Monday than ever I did before. We had a famous set-to at rat-hunting all the morning in my father’s great barns; and he played his part so well that I have liked him the better ever since.”
Here they were interrupted by the absolute necessity of Charles’s following the others to admire mirrors and china; but Anne had heard enough to understand the present state of Uppercross, and rejoice in its happiness; and though she sighed as she rejoiced, her sigh had none of the ill-will of envy in it. She would certainly have risen to their blessings if she could, but she did not want to lessen theirs.
The visit passed off altogether in high good humour. Mary was in excellent spirits, enjoying the gaiety and the change, and so well satisfied with the journey in her mother-in-law’s carriage with four horses, and with her own complete independence of Camden Place, that she was exactly in a temper to admire everything as she ought, and enter most readily into all the superiorities of the house, as they were detailed to her. She had no demands on her father or sister, and her consequence was just enough increased by their handsome drawing-rooms.
Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a good deal. She felt that Mrs Musgrove and all her party ought to be asked to dine with them; but she could not bear to have the difference of style, the reduction of servants, which a dinner must betray, witnessed by those who had been always so inferior to the Elliots of Kellynch. It was a struggle between propriety and vanity; but vanity got the better, and then Elizabeth was happy again. These were her internal persuasions: “Old fashioned notions; country hospitality; we do not profess to give dinners; few people in Bath do; Lady Alicia never does; did not even ask her own sister’s family, though they were here a month: and I dare say it would be very inconvenient to Mrs Musgrove; put her quite out of her way. I am sure she would rather not come; she cannot feel easy with us. I will ask them all for an evening; that will be much better; that will be a novelty and a treat. They have not seen two such drawing rooms before. They will be delighted to come to-morrow evening. It shall be a regular party, small, but most elegant.” And this satisfied Elizabeth: and when the invitation was given to the two present, and promised for the absent, Mary was as completely satisfied. She was particularly asked to meet Mr Elliot, and be introduced to Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, who were fortunately already engaged to come; and she could not have received a more gratifying attention. Miss Elliot was to have the honour of calling on Mrs Musgrove in the course of the morning; and Anne walked off with Charles and Mary, to go and see her and Henrietta directly.
Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must give way for the present. They all three called in Rivers Street for a couple of minutes; but Anne convinced herself that a day’s delay of the intended communication could be of no consequence, and hastened forward to the White Hart, to see again the friends and companions of the last autumn, with an eagerness of good-will which many associations contributed to form.
They found Mrs Musgrove and her daughter within, and by themselves, and Anne had the kindest welcome from each. Henrietta was exactly in that state of recently-improved views, of fresh-formed happiness, which made her full of regard and interest for everybody she had ever liked before at all; and Mrs Musgrove’s real affection had been won by her usefulness when they were in distress. It was a heartiness, and a warmth, and a sincerity which Anne delighted in the more, from the sad want of such blessings at home. She was entreated to give them as much of her time as possible, invited for every day and all day long, or rather claimed as part of the family; and, in return, she naturally fell into all her wonted ways of attention and assistance, and on Charles’s leaving them together, was listening to Mrs Musgrove’s history of Louisa, and to Henrietta’s of herself, giving opinions on business, and recommendations to shops; with intervals of every help which Mary required, from altering her ribbon to settling her accounts; from finding her keys, and assorting her trinkets, to trying to convince her that she was not ill-used by anybody; which Mary, well amused as she generally was, in her station at a window overlooking the entrance to the Pump Room, could not but have her moments of imagining.
A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected. A large party in an hotel ensured a quick-changing, unsettled scene. One five minutes brought a note, the next a parcel; and Anne had not been there half an hour, when their dining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more than half filled: a party of steady old friends were seated around Mrs Musgrove, and Charles came back with Captains Harville and Wentworth. The appearance of the latter could not be more than the surprise of the moment. It was impossible for her to have forgotten to feel that this arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing them together again. Their last meeting had been most important in opening his feelings; she had derived from it a delightful conviction; but she feared from his looks, that the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him away from the Concert Room, still governed. He did not seem to want to be near enough for conversation.
She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their course, and tried to dwell much on this argument of rational dependence:—“Surely, if there be constant attachment on each side, our hearts must understand each other ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irritable, misled by every moment’s inadvertence, and wantonly playing with our own happiness.” And yet, a few minutes afterwards, she felt as if their being in company with each other, under their present circumstances, could only be exposing them to inadvertencies and misconstructions of the most mischievous kind.
“Anne,” cried Mary, still at her window, “there is Mrs Clay, I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her. I saw them turn the corner from Bath Street just now. They seemed deep in talk. Who is it? Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect. It is Mr Elliot himself.”
“No,” cried Anne, quickly, “it cannot be Mr Elliot, I assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning, and does not come back till to-morrow.”
As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was looking at her, the consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret that she had said so much, simple as it was.
Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know her own cousin, began talking very warmly about the family features, and protesting still more positively that it was Mr Elliot, calling again upon Anne to come and look for herself, but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to be cool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however, on perceiving smiles and intelligent glances pass between two or three of the lady visitors, as if they believed themselves quite in the secret. It was evident that the report concerning her had spread, and a short pause succeeded, which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther.
“Do come, Anne,” cried Mary, “come and look yourself. You will be too late if you do not make haste. They are parting; they are shaking hands. He is turning away. Not know Mr Elliot, indeed! You seem to have forgot all about Lyme.”
To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrassment, Anne did move quietly to the window. She was just in time to ascertain that it really was Mr Elliot, which she had never believed, before he disappeared on one side, as Mrs Clay walked quickly off on the other; and checking the surprise which she could not but feel at such an appearance of friendly conference between two persons of totally opposite interest, she calmly said, “Yes, it is Mr Elliot, certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all, or I may be mistaken, I might not attend;” and walked back to her chair, recomposed, and with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well.
The visitors took their leave; and Charles, having civilly seen them off, and then made a face at them, and abused them for coming, began with—
“Well, mother, I have done something for you that you will like. I have been to the theatre, and secured a box for to-morrow night. A’n’t I a good boy? I know you love a play; and there is room for us all. It holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne will not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like a play. Have not I done well, mother?”
Mrs Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to express her perfect readiness for the play, if Henrietta and all the others liked it, when Mary eagerly interrupted her by exclaiming—
“Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of such a thing? Take a box for to-morrow night! Have you forgot that we are engaged to Camden Place to-morrow night? and that we were most particularly asked to meet Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr Elliot, and all the principal family connexions, on purpose to be introduced to them? How can you be so forgetful?”
“Phoo! phoo!” replied Charles, “what’s an evening party? Never worth remembering. Your father might have asked us to dinner, I think, if he had wanted to see us. You may do as you like, but I shall go to the play.”
“Oh! Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do, when you promised to go.”
“No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed, and said the word ‘happy.’ There was no promise.”
“But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardonable to fail. We were asked on purpose to be introduced. There was always such a great connexion between the Dalrymples and ourselves. Nothing ever happened on either side that was not announced immediately. We are quite near relations, you know; and Mr Elliot too, whom you ought so particularly to be acquainted with! Every attention is due to Mr Elliot. Consider, my father’s heir: the future representative of the family.”
“Don’t talk to me about heirs and representatives,” cried Charles. “I am not one of those who neglect the reigning power to bow to the rising sun. If I would not go for the sake of your father, I should think it scandalous to go for the sake of his heir. What is Mr Elliot to me?” The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that Captain Wentworth was all attention, looking and listening with his whole soul; and that the last words brought his enquiring eyes from Charles to herself.
Charles and Mary still talked on in the same style; he, half serious and half jesting, maintaining the scheme for the play, and she, invariably serious, most warmly opposing it, and not omitting to make it known that, however determined to go to Camden Place herself, she should not think herself very well used, if they went to the play without her. Mrs Musgrove interposed.
“We had better put it off. Charles, you had much better go back and change the box for Tuesday. It would be a pity to be divided, and we should be losing Miss Anne, too, if there is a party at her father’s; and I am sure neither Henrietta nor I should care at all for the play, if Miss Anne could not be with us.”
Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kindness; and quite as much so for the opportunity it gave her of decidedly saying—
“If it depended only on my inclination, ma’am, the party at home (excepting on Mary’s account) would not be the smallest impediment. I have no pleasure in the sort of meeting, and should be too happy to change it for a play, and with you. But, it had better not be attempted, perhaps.” She had spoken it; but she trembled when it was done, conscious that her words were listened to, and daring not even to try to observe their effect.
It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be the day; Charles only reserving the advantage of still teasing his wife, by persisting that he would go to the play to-morrow if nobody else would.
Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to the fire-place; probably for the sake of walking away from it soon afterwards, and taking a station, with less bare-faced design, by Anne.
“You have not been long enough in Bath,” said he, “to enjoy the evening parties of the place.”
“Oh! no. The usual character of them has nothing for me. I am no card-player.”
“You were not formerly, I know. You did not use to like cards; but time makes many changes.”
“I am not yet so much changed,” cried Anne, and stopped, fearing she hardly knew what misconstruction. After waiting a few moments he said, and as if it were the result of immediate feeling, “It is a period, indeed! Eight years and a half is a period.”
Whether he would have proceeded farther was left to Anne’s imagination to ponder over in a calmer hour; for while still hearing the sounds he had uttered, she was startled to other subjects by Henrietta, eager to make use of the present leisure for getting out, and calling on her companions to lose no time, lest somebody else should come in.
They were obliged to move. Anne talked of being perfectly ready, and tried to look it; but she felt that could Henrietta have known the regret and reluctance of her heart in quitting that chair, in preparing to quit the room, she would have found, in all her own sensations for her cousin, in the very security of his affection, wherewith to pity her.
Their preparations, however, were stopped short. Alarming sounds were heard; other visitors approached, and the door was thrown open for Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, whose entrance seemed to give a general chill. Anne felt an instant oppression, and wherever she looked saw symptoms of the same. The comfort, the freedom, the gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure, determined silence, or insipid talk, to meet the heartless elegance of her father and sister. How mortifying to feel that it was so!
Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular. Captain Wentworth was acknowledged again by each, by Elizabeth more graciously than before. She even addressed him once, and looked at him more than once. Elizabeth was, in fact, revolving a great measure. The sequel explained it. After the waste of a few minutes in saying the proper nothings, she began to give the invitation which was to comprise all the remaining dues of the Musgroves. “To-morrow evening, to meet a few friends: no formal party.” It was all said very gracefully, and the cards with which she had provided herself, the “Miss Elliot at home,” were laid on the table, with a courteous, comprehensive smile to all, and one smile and one card more decidedly for Captain Wentworth. The truth was, that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath to understand the importance of a man of such an air and appearance as his. The past was nothing. The present was that Captain Wentworth would move about well in her drawing-room. The card was pointedly given, and Sir Walter and Elizabeth arose and disappeared.
The interruption had been short, though severe, and ease and animation returned to most of those they left as the door shut them out, but not to Anne. She could think only of the invitation she had with such astonishment witnessed, and of the manner in which it had been received; a manner of doubtful meaning, of surprise rather than gratification, of polite acknowledgement rather than acceptance. She knew him; she saw disdain in his eye, and could not venture to believe that he had determined to accept such an offering, as an atonement for all the insolence of the past. Her spirits sank. He held the card in his hand after they were gone, as if deeply considering it.
“Only think of Elizabeth’s including everybody!” whispered Mary very audibly. “I do not wonder Captain Wentworth is delighted! You see he cannot put the card out of his hand.”
Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and his mouth form itself into a momentary expression of contempt, and turned away, that she might neither see nor hear more to vex her.
The party separated. The gentlemen had their own pursuits, the ladies proceeded on their own business, and they met no more while Anne belonged to them. She was earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them all the rest of the day, but her spirits had been so long exerted that at present she felt unequal to more, and fit only for home, where she might be sure of being as silent as she chose.
Promising to be with them the whole of the following morning, therefore, she closed the fatigues of the present by a toilsome walk to Camden Place, there to spend the evening chiefly in listening to the busy arrangements of Elizabeth and Mrs Clay for the morrow’s party, the frequent enumeration of the persons invited, and the continually improving detail of all the embellishments which were to make it the most completely elegant of its kind in Bath, while harassing herself with the never-ending question, of whether Captain Wentworth would come or not? They were reckoning him as certain, but with her it was a gnawing solicitude never appeased for five minutes together. She generally thought he would come, because she generally thought he ought; but it was a case which she could not so shape into any positive act of duty or discretion, as inevitably to defy the suggestions of very opposite feelings.
She only roused herself from the broodings of this restless agitation, to let Mrs Clay know that she had been seen with Mr Elliot three hours after his being supposed to be out of Bath, for having watched in vain for some intimation of the interview from the lady herself, she determined to mention it, and it seemed to her there was guilt in Mrs Clay’s face as she listened. It was transient: cleared away in an instant; but Anne could imagine she read there the consciousness of having, by some complication of mutual trick, or some overbearing authority of his, been obliged to attend (perhaps for half an hour) to his lectures and restrictions on her designs on Sir Walter. She exclaimed, however, with a very tolerable imitation of nature:—
“Oh! dear! very true. Only think, Miss Elliot, to my great surprise I met with Mr Elliot in Bath Street. I was never more astonished. He turned back and walked with me to the Pump Yard. He had been prevented setting off for Thornberry, but I really forget by what; for I was in a hurry, and could not much attend, and I can only answer for his being determined not to be delayed in his return. He wanted to know how early he might be admitted to-morrow. He was full of ‘to-morrow,’ and it is very evident that I have been full of it too, ever since I entered the house, and learnt the extension of your plan and all that had happened, or my seeing him could never have gone so entirely out of my head.”
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Modern AU BusinessWoman!Alcina x PersonalAssistant!Reader (part 1?)
Not me getting another AU idea while I need to finish Phyto's Guide and wanting to expand on my Werewolf/Assistant!Reader story for Alcina 😭😭😭
(Please, don’t steal any of this.)
But anyway. . . here's Modern!AU BusinessWoman!Alcina x PersonalAssistant!Reader that I need to get out of my head and share:
Alcina Dimitrescu is the CEO/president/top dog of some sort of business (wine? real estate? record label? IDK I don't do business people), and has been so for the past decade or so.
She's a mixture of Miranda Presley (The Devil Wears Prada) and Cat Grant (Supergirl)-- some would say an absolute demon, others would say a big ole bitch, but there's no doubt she gets her job done and done right the first time. Very high standards, very efficient.
She's also 6'5"-- 6'9" in heels, which intimidates the fuck out of her insecure male coworkers all the time.
She also goes through assistants like bubblegum, not in the sexual sense, but in the incredibly demanding and near-impossible boss way. The longest someone has lasted with Alcina was five months. The shortest = 1 1/2 months. Her standards are that high. (As you can see I drew a lot from Cat Grant because I was in the Supergirl fandom for a while don't shame me)
She is also an incredibly devoted mother to her 3 daughters, aged 12 to 16 (ages pending) and she somehow balances work-life very well. And those who can look Alcina in the eye can tell her family means the world to her and it's likely the only time she genuinely smiles and laughs when her daughters are in the office or she tells a story about them.
Not that those in the office would know-- they don't meet her gaze lest they chance being turned to stone.
(There are also rumors she's related to Countess Elizabeth Báthory or even Vlad the Impaler himself, what with her Romanian ancestry)
Anyways, she has the world in her palms, uber-rich, super fucking hot, and could get anyone and anything with a flick of her wrist. Top of the line style. Heels and eyes that could slice. And yet, in desperate need of a competent assistant that'll last more than 3 months.
On the other hand, you are quite the opposite of Miss Alcina Dimitrescu: practicality over panache for fashion, rather wear pants and loafers than skirts and heels (more for efficiency and comfort than anything else), not really into flaunting what you got. You come from a simple background, never really had money, just enough that it kept food on the table-- especially when you had a falling out with your parents.
You’re frugal as well. Your clothes are at least two years old, you dare not to shop too much for yourself, as you’ve been insecure with money before because of your parent’s kicking you out. Your phone is too many years out of date. A small one bedroom apartment. You prefer glasses over contacts because contacts are too expensive and its cheaper to just wear glasses everyday.
And yet, you’re whip smart. Efficient, stubborn, and determined to boot if you have the resources. You managed to make your way through college despite your parents not helping and you managed to land a good jig as the assistant to Nepotism Junior, one where you can afford a good, single, albeit small apartment, and you have at least a comma to your name when it comes to savings.
But it’s hard-- especially when you’ve been doing Nepotism Junior’s job for over a year during the year and half stint at the company. Long arduous hours where you are not only doing your job but also his while he does god knows what. It keeps you busy yes, but it also keeps his grubby hands and prepubescent one-liners away from you. So you can’t complain that it is all that bad.
(There is other things that may bring Alcina and the Reader first together, but I don’t want to divulge it here) It comes to a head one day when some misadventures and drunkenness leaves Nepotism Junior down for the count for an important meeting with some head honchos at the company. So you stand before them, giving them a presentation on the work he’s (read: you’ve) been doing for the past month. And frankly, it is some of your best work.
There are little hiccups, mostly just reanswering questions that some old geezers missed the first time. And Alcina has been quiet, for the most part as well, only sounding when she wants you to clarify somethings in “Nepotism Junior’s” presentation.
Somehow you don’t turn to stone when you meet her gaze at the head of table. Somehow your voice doesn’t waver like it would normally do. You know what you’re talking about.
“Give Nepotism Junior our congratulations for his work and presentation. We have a feeling we’ll be moving forward with his proposal.” She says, eyes on you the whole time. You can’t help how your mouth twitches at it.
And they leave. You go back to your desk and continue with your work, while Junior sleeps off his hangover. And that’s that.
Until it isn’t.
Because next week, you’re suddenly transferred to the Alcina Dimitrescu’s floor and you’re now her assistant. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
To say you hit the ground running would be an understatement. It’s more like dropped in the middle of the ocean and expected to get to land miles way by a deadline, no boat or raft in sight.
The first week is hell. Week two and three is practically purgatory. And week four is back down to hell (you swear Miss Dimitrescu was testing you that week and expecting you to break under the strain, however, you’re fucking stubborn like a bull and won’t be pushed around by this entitled, snobbish, egotistical--)
The money is far better than before (like nearly double) and you actually do things in your job description (and then some). And you don’t have to deal with Nepotism Junior’s remarks and alcohol breath at 10am. So frankly, it’s a pretty damn good upgrade.
Week 5 is marginally better, things start to settle. Week 6 is when you begin to get Miss Dimitrescu’s temperament and routine predicted and you start to notice things you didn’t before.
She likes her coffee with two creams and one sugar one lighter days. One cream and no sugar on harder days. On Wednesdays she’s noticeably happier and more relaxed as you’ve learned that it’s her and her girls game night. Her brow creases in a particular way when she’s reading business jargon. It furrows in a different way when she has to read horrible drivel. She likes talking to herself through problems. She likes that you know what she’s talking about and sometimes bounces ideas off of you. When she likes your ideas she hums and follows up with it. If she doesn’t she sends you on a fetch quest.
Alcina Dimitrescu also has a horrible sweet tooth, especially when she’s stressed, and there’s a secret cabinet, you learned, where she keeps her stash. You walked in on her stuffing her face with chocolate one time and was nearly impaled with a fountain pen. (You make sure to keep it well stocked after that)
She’s a stern, but predictable woman. With moods you’re slowly starting to foresee even before 9:30am, before she’s half-way through her morning latte.
By week 8, you got the hang of it and honestly, it wasn’t that bad. All you had to be was adaptable and resourceful. She can still be snippy, even unfathomably demanding, and yet you’ve also learned she tends to appreciate when you snap back (albeit in a more light hearted manner).
The first time it was a mistake, you happened to be drifting away with your thoughts about the day’s schedule and Alcina made a comment on something she received the other night. You replied with a bit of snark and the silence that followed nearly had you retch in fear. Her brow quirked. Her lips twinged. And her breath catch in her chest. She dismissed you soon after that.
(Holy shit, you nearly made the Alcina Dimitrescu laugh.... holy fucking shit.)
And to be honest, some of the verbal take downs she does to some of the other board members and peers is worthy of being quoted. You manage to stop yourself from giggling at the meetings, but you are near certain when you do Alcina Dimitrescu almost looks proud of herself. Like she did that just to see the mirth in your eyes.
The turning point of your relationship was about 2 and a half months into the new stint as her assistant. And it involved her three daughters. You’ve seen them before, in the large picture frame on Alcina’s desk and when you walk her down to her driver and hear the squeals of “Mother!” from the back of the car. But you’ve never properly met them.
There was an emergency with the board and the girls had a half-day for school so they’ll be at the building by noon. Alcina knew the meeting would be far longer than it should be, and the look (desperation? fear?) on her face told you all you needed to know. You placed a hand on her forearm, a sure, confident touch. “I’ll stay with them. You deal with this. They’ll be with me until you get done.”
Perhaps it was your tone or her lack of options, but she agreed.
Hours later, she found you and the girls in an unused conference room, where you set up a makeshift movie theater, projector showing a recently released movie, vending machines thoroughly raided, and girls sated, happy, and alive. Bela was napping on your thigh with your cardigan over her frame, Cassandra leaned against your shoulder and munched on left over snacks, while Daniela was between your legs and relaxing against your front. Cuddle bugs, you mentally called them.
(Alcina heart thawed just a bit when she snuck up on you four, too engrossed in the movie to notice her presence. The girls looked . . . happy and content, despite the situation at hand. Other assistants would have secluded them in a room and just ignored them in favor of work. But you? You didn’t make them feel like an afterthought. For that, Alcina had a profound respect for you in that regard. Plus, it’s not every day the girls are so . . . calm.)
(I’m a firm believer that a sure way to Alcina’s heart is by her daughters. Do good by her girls, you get along with them and foster a good, strong relationship . . . that’s a sure fire way to get Alcina to develop feelings for someone. Her girls come first. If a potential lover gave them the effort they deserve, well . . . Alcina would definitely take notice of them. Sue me for the softness, okay?)
Something shifted into place after that day. You two were a fairly well honed machine for the most part. Sure there were hiccups, typical of the workload, but nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. You wouldn’t say you two were peers or partners by any means, yet Alcina included you a bit more into the business side of things at times-- a second, competent opinion she would call it. Nothing game changing or revolutionary, just asking for your thoughts and perspective on some avenues.
The girls also came by the office slightly more after the impromptu movie day. Mostly to say hi and keep you up to date with school drama when their mother was wrapping up for the day. They also confided in you to some degree on some things they didn’t know how their mother would react to. Some anxieties and second thoughts typical of growing teenage girls. You, of course, keep their secrets, but informed Alcina that one of them may need some one-on-one time in the future. The single mother appreciated it.
She, dare you say, trusted you, to some extent. And for some reason that accomplishment meant a lot.
Next thing you know, it’s been nearly eight months and you’ve blown passed the last record for the longest assistant retention of Alcina Dimitrescu. The office floor has since shifted the when-you-will-be-fired pot to when-you-will-quit-or-be-promoted pot. To say they were surprised you lasted as long would be an understatement.
There are now sly smiles and inside jokes you and Alcina had. You two had a language that only you two could interpret. She would catch your eye across the ball room, where you stood off to the side to let her mingle and make more connections, and would give you a secretive, carmine smile-- a real smile, not those necessary, polite ones for business meetings. Real ones, that crinkled her eyes and deepened her laugh lines and made her gaze soft and bright all the same.
She told stories of her childhood and barely there parents and cute stories about her girls and their misadventures. You gave up some of your own, when the office was quiet and the dusk turned to night on a particularly long day.
Nine months. There’s a mishap in the dressing room and your boss needs help with one of her gowns she is trying on. You enter the space and nearly pass out with the full display of Alcina Dimitrescu’s back. She explains that the she can’t quite reach the back zipper and it takes all your might and will power not let your hands and fingers tremble. It takes a few tries, everything suddenly becoming Alcina and only Alcina, but you managed to zip her up. You still think about that dark look she gave you when you left the dressing room.
Ten months. Alcina adores the opera. She made sure that when business needed to take place in Italy, she invited you over the the centuries old opera house for your first ever live performance. You were mesmerized and were slack jawed the entire time. Alcina teased you that you looked like a goldfish throughout the night. It wasn’t until you’re in the hotel that you question why was she watching your stupid face instead of the opera.
Eleven months. She has tried to quit smoking multiple times. So far she has cut down to two a day and she’s real ecstatic about it because her daughters are. You’re happy for her and it takes you a few weeks to get used to the lack of smoke smell around her. You hate to admit this, especially with such an accomplishment, but you kinda missed it.
Twelve months. Cassandra is in the hospital, a sickness that needed such a drastic medical intervention. You taxi Alcina, Bela, and Daniella back and forth from their house to the hospital whenever they want. It breaks your heart each time to see how frail Cassandra has gotten in the near two weeks she’s been admitted. Alcina looks so tired. Exhausted. There’s a stoop to her shoulders not there months ago. She breaks down one night in your car. It’s the first time you’ve seen her cry and it shatters your heart and you desperately want to make it stop. She’s crying and apologizing, and crying and apologizing for her mask falling. You take her into your arms and hold her tight until the sobs stop raking her body. She clutches you like a lifeline. You two don’t speak about it the next day when you visit Cassandra again.
Thirteen months. She’s chatting with a beautiful woman, who is clearly flirting with your boss. She comes from a good family and is successful with several tens of millions under her belt. She’s a philanthropist and started multiple charities to help people. She’s kind and charming and down to earth. You hate her. And you hate Alcina more for not going back to her room with that woman. It’s stupid. This whole situation is stupid. Alcina can tell something is off with you but you feign exhaustion and retire to your hotel room. She makes sure to walk you to your door. You hate yourself more for letting you feelings go this far.
Fourteen months. An asshole accuses you and Alcina of sleeping together in the most sexist and homophobic way possible. You go off on him and he looks absolutely terrified of the look in your eye. By the time Alcina comes into the room to see what the ruckus is about he looks to her like she’ll save him from you. “Go on,” You say, voice dripping with venom. “Repeat what you said.” He nearly pisses himself doing so. Surprisingly, Alcina is calm. The asshole’s desk is empty by the end of the day and everyone in the office is giving you a wide berth. For the rest of the day, Alcina is looking at you with this strange glint of being surprised, proud, and . . . turned on? No, no that’s not right. Can’t be. She probably thinks you’ve lost your mind. That’s it.
Fifteen months. Alcina tries to kiss you. But she’s fucking drunk. And you’re certain she’s just vulnerable, you’re her only option, and the alcohol is making her do it. (It has to be) You push her away before anything really happens. She pouts in that adorable way unbecoming of a woman of her station. She’s confused as to why you don’t want her like she wants you. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh crossed with a sob. “If you even wanted me for half as long as I wanted you, you would’ve have tried to kiss me sober.” It’s cruel to say, dismissive. And it shows in her glossy eyes. You sigh and lead her to her room, it’s the very least you can do. An aspirin and some water is beside her when she wakes. But not you.
Sixteen months. Things are wrong. So very wrong. Alcina is cold and so are you. Keeping things professional, you think, like it always should have been. It was a mistake to let things progress the way they did. There’s a reason why these types of relationships don’t last, you think. And it fucking hurts. Each time you enter the office and let the unsaid words hang in the air. Sometimes you find yourself glancing after her, like a lovesick puppy and you hate yourself more for it.
Sixteen months and ten days. You hand in your two weeks notice.
Let me know what you think! I had to write this out because it was killing me! Hope you enjoyed!
PART 2
PART 3
#part 2?#could leave it there but idk what you guys think?#considering it was 6am before I went to bed when writing this it’s pretty good#my fic#fic ideas#fanfic ideas#alcina dimitriscu x reader#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu x reader#my fic ideas#re8#re8 alcina dimitrescu#re8 lady dimitrescu#lucidmagic#lucidmagic fics#lady alcina dimitrescu#re8 alcina#alcina x female reader
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How do you think Kaneki, Sasuke, Minato, Ciel, Vincent and gray fullbuster would react if they in a relationship with someone else and met his darling? Sorry, english is not my first Language.
Don’t worry about it, I understood you completely fine. Interesting idea though. Characters who are in the Anime together with someone won’t be the person who the Yandere is dating in here. And underaged characters are aged up in here. Also, I don’t know why but recently I fell in love with Gray even more.
Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, stalking, manipulation, threatening, blackmailing
Yandere is already in a relationship
Sasuke Uchiha
💙I’ll be going with his adult version in here because teenager Sasuke is unlikely to be in a relationship with someone else. And as terrible as this may sound to the poor person he’s currently together with, Sasuke is still a horribly possessive guy so he’ll have little to no problem dumping whoever is currently by his side. It’s not nearly as harsh and rude as it would be if he were still to be his moody teenager self, but it’s far from harmless and soft either. There will be no explanation from him why this sudden separation happened and if the other person were to turn out to be persistent and try to fix the relationship, he’ll snarl quite rude things at them. Otherwise they’ll be just coldly left behind from him whilst he is already busily chasing after s/o, focusing on the person he has declared to be his one and only.
Minato Namikaze
⚡️He’s a devoted sweetheart and it’s not like he didn’t love his partner, but meeting his darling was something magical and slowly something inside of him started wrapping it’s dark grip around him. Minato feels just incredibly guilty once he’s come to realize that not only he has lost all sorts of romantic feelings for his previous love, but has developed alongside with it an obsession for you. Out of loyalty he might just try everything to make his feelings for you at the very least normal and additionally tries to spark the love for his partner once again, only to imagine with every kiss that it would be you, not them. He’ll let the other person down gently and slowly though, the memories he had with them are still precious and even if it’s awkward, he’d want to stay in contact with them. And to not hurt their feelings instantly, he will stay patient and only be a friend to you before starting to court you.
Ciel Phantomhive
☕️At first filled with indignation with this unfamiliar situation, as soon as his possessive side has taken over, the Phantomhive won’t be really any different from Sasuke. Only that he is far more manipulative and cunning with this all, he has a reputation to hold and the person he’s engaged with is none other than Elizabeth Midford after all. They’re close allies and he doesn’t want to lose them so he’ll try to make it as quick and painless as possible, so that no one will be holding a grudge against him and instead understand that the best choice was ending the engagement. The truly sinister and ruthless part comes after and it isn’t him blackmailing and threatening you just yet. He’ll still strive for the gentlemanly way first and wooing you normally. And that is through guilt-tripping and emotional blackmailing, pretending to be a young and heartbroken man who just lost the person he wanted to be together with. In reality he doesn’t regret anything at all, it’s all part of his plan.
Vincent Phantomhive
🌓What a peculiar situation the Earl Phantomhive finds himself in, stuck between the person he used to be so incredibly fond of and now being pulled like a moth to a blazing fire to a new one. Vincent sees himself by all means as no one who’d ever cheat on their partner for personal fun, it’s distasteful to say the least. Yet with this new problem and the obsession coming with it, he sees himself forced to cut things with his old acquaintance completely off. He knows that he desires someone else completely and even if he’ll politely try to end things, there is this newly found coldness in his actions and words. The warmth resonating once inside of them now completely vanished, he knows too well that he’ll only be able to expose this fondness to you. His approach is not entirely like the one of his son, he’s far more manipulative with it, courting you whilst already guaranteeing that all other ties in your life slowly snap.
Ken Kaneki
🔲Stinging paranoia and possessively obsessive love is mixed together with incredible guilt and confusion, causing the half-ghoul to get dizzy as he has to accept that he’s brutally in love with another. His darling, walking carefree in a dangerous and big city where anything could happen anytime to them. Kaneki’s mind is literally just pushing him to do something quickly, the fear that rolls like overwhelming waves over him making him imagining the worst, finding you one day dead. He wants to be as nice as possible still, though he appears to be incredibly distressed and his reasons to why he suddenly doesn’t want to be together with the other person appear to be suspicious and not valuable enough. But in the end he won’t really be able to care too much about their sadness, they never knew him really in the first place and since his darling is now forever conquering his mind and heart, he has no place for another anymore.
Gray Fullbuster
❄️Just plainly tries to avoid his darling at first, he is a strictly loyal guy as well, aware on top of that, so he does not wish to end up hurting his current partner nor does he want to cage you in within his spiraling obsession. Distant and cold is what he might be in your eyes, trying about everything in his willpower to reject this tantalizing and alluring feelings he has. But the feelings for the other person grow dull until they’re nothing more than a good and close acquaintance of his. He’s a bit devastated afterwards, the feeling of submissive defeat has a hard effect on his mind yet he finds himself breaking up with them, being as reasonable as possible. Still stays away from you for a while after, he has to digest everything for now whilst his obsession starts to fully bloom and soon after he grows to be a protective stalker, slowly giving in under this heavy emotions of his.
#yandere naruto#yandere naruto shippuden#yandere sasuke#yandere sasuke uchiha#yandere minato#yandere minato namikaze#yandere black butler#yandere kuroshitsuji#yandere ciel#yandere ciel phantomhive#yandere vincent#yandere vincent phantomhive#yandere tokyo ghoul#yandere kaneki#yandere ken kaneki#yandere fairy tail#yandere gray#yandere gray fullbuster
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Re: the post you reblogged about Bush. I'm 21 and tbh feel like I can only vote for Bernie, can you explain if/why I shouldn't? Thanks and sorry if this is dumb or anything.
Oh boy. Okay, I’ll do my best here. Note that a) this will get long, and b) I’m old, Tired, and I‘m pretty sure my brain tried to kill me last night. Since by nature I am sure I will say something Controversial ™, if anyone reads this and feels a deep urge to inform me that I am Wrong, just… mark it down as me being Wrong and move on with your life. But also, really, you should read this and hopefully think about it. Because while I’m glad you asked this question, it feels like there’s a lot in your cohort who won’t, and that worries me. A lot.
First, not to sound utterly old-woman-in-a-rocking-chair ancient, people who came of age/are only old enough to have Obama be the first president that they really remember have no idea how good they had it. The world was falling the fuck apart in 2008 (not coincidentally, after 8 years of Bush). We came within a flicker of the permanent collapse of the global economy. The War on Terror was in full roar, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were at their height, we had Dick Cheney as the cartoon supervillain before we had any of Trump’s cohort, and this was before Chelsea Manning or Edward Snowden had exposed the extent of NSA/CIA intelligence-gathering/American excesses or there was any kind of public debate around the fact that we were all surveilled all the time. And the fact that a brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama was elected in this climate seems, and still seems tbh, kind of amazing. And Obama was certainly not a Perfect President ™. He had to scale back a lot of planned initiatives, he is notorious for expanding the drone strike/extrajudicial assassination program, he still subscribed to the overall principles of neoliberalism and American exceptionalism, etc etc. There is valid criticism to be made as to how the hopey-changey optimistic rhetoric stacked up against the hard realities of political office. And yet…. at this point, given what we’re seeing from the White House on a daily basis, the depth of the parallel universe/double standards is absurd.
Because here’s the thing. Obama, his entire family, and his entire administration had to be personally/ethically flawless the whole time (and they managed that – not one scandal or arrest in eight years, against the legions of Trumpistas now being convicted) because of the absolute frothing depths of Republican hatred, racial conspiracy theories, and obstruction against him. (Remember Merrick Garland and how Mitch McConnell got away with that, and now we have Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court? Because I remember that). If Obama had pulled one-tenth of the shit, one-twentieth of the shit that the Trump administration does every day, he would be gone. It also meant that people who only remember Obama think he was typical for an American president, and he wasn’t. Since about… Jimmy Carter, and definitely since Ronald Reagan, the American people have gone for the Trump model a lot more than the Obama model. Whatever your opinion on his politics or character, Obama was a constitutional law professor, a community activist, a neighborhood organizer and brilliant Ivy League intellectual who used to randomly lie awake at night thinking about income inequality. Americans don’t value intellectualism in their politicians; they just don’t. They don’t like thinking that “the elites” are smarter than them. They like the folksy populist who seems fun to have a beer with, and Reagan/Bush Senior/Clinton/Bush Junior sold this persona as hard as they possibly could. As noted in said post, Bush Junior (or Shrub as the late, great Molly Ivins memorably dubbed him) was Trump Lite but from a long-established political family who could operate like an outwardly civilized human.
The point is: when you think Obama was relatively normal (which, again, he wasn’t, for any number of reasons) and not the outlier in a much larger pattern of catastrophic damage that has been accelerated since, again, the 1980s (oh Ronnie Raygun, how you lastingly fucked us!), you miss the overall context in which this, and which Trump, happened. Like most left-wingers, I don’t agree with Obama’s recent and baffling decision to insert himself into the 2020 race and warn the Democratic candidates against being too progressive or whatever he was on about. I think he was giving into the same fear that appears to be motivating the remaining chunk of Joe Biden’s support: that middle/working-class white America won’t go for anything too wild or that might sniff of Socialism, and that Uncle Joe, recalled fondly as said folksy populist and the internet’s favorite meme grandfather from his time as VP, could pick up the votes that went to Trump last time. And that by nature, no one else can.
The underlying belief is that these white voters just can’t support anything too “un-American,” and that by pushing too hard left, Democratic candidates risk handing Trump a second term. Again: I don’t agree and I think he was mistaken in saying it. But I also can’t say that Obama of all people doesn’t know exactly the strength of the political machine operating against the Democratic Party and the progressive agenda as a whole, because he ran headfirst into it for eight years. The fact that he managed to pass any of his legislative agenda, usually before the Tea Party became a thing in 2010, is because Democrats controlled the House and Senate for the first two years of his first term. He was not perfect, but it was clear that he really did care (just look up the pictures of him with kids). He installed smart, efficient, and scandal-free people to do jobs they were qualified for. He gave us Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to join RBG on the Supreme Court. All of this seems… like a dream.
That said: here we are in a place where Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren are the front-runners for the Democratic nomination (and apparently Pete Buttigieg is getting some airplay as a dark horse candidate, which… whatever). The appeal of Biden is discussed above, and he sure as hell is not my favored candidate (frankly, I wish he’d just quit). But Sanders and Warren are 85% - 95% similar in their policy platforms. The fact that Michael “50 Billion Dollar Fortune” Bloomberg started rattling his chains about running for president is because either a Sanders or Warren presidency terrifies the outrageously exploitative billionaire capitalist oligarchy that runs this country and has been allowed to proceed essentially however the fuck they like since… you guessed it, the 1980s, the era of voodoo economics, deregulation, and the free market above all. Warren just happens to be ten years younger than Sanders and female, and Sanders’ age is not insignificant. He’s 80 years old and just had a heart attack, and there’s still a year to go to the election. It’s also more than a little eye-rolling to describe him as the only progressive candidate in the race, when he’s an old white man (however much we like and approve of his policy positions). And here’s the thing, which I think is a big part of the reason why this polarized ideological purity internet leftist culture mistrusts Warren:
She may have changed her mind on things in the past.
Scary, right? I sound like I’m being facetious, but I’m not. An argument I had to read with my own two eyes on this godforsaken hellsite was that since Warren became a Democrat around the time Clinton signed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, she sekritly hated gay people and might still be a corporate sellout, so on and etcetera. (And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that DADT, coming a few years after the height of the AIDS crisis which was considered God’s Judgment of the Icky Gays, was the best Clinton could realistically hope to achieve, but this smacks of White Gay Syndrome anyway and that is a whole other kettle of fish.) Bernie has always demonstrably been a democratic socialist, and: good for him. I’m serious. But because there’s the chance that Warren might not have thought exactly as she does now at any point in her life, the hysterical and paranoid left-wing elements don’t trust that she might not still secretly do so. (Zomgz!) It’s the same element that’s feeding cancel culture and “wokeness.” Nobody can be allowed to have shifted or grown in their opinions or, like a functional, thoughtful, non-insane adult, changed their beliefs when presented with compelling evidence to the contrary. To the ideological hordes, any hint of uncertainty or past failure to completely toe the line is tantamount to heresy. Any evidence of any other belief except The Correct One means that this person is functionally as bad as Trump. And frankly, it’s only the Sanders supporters who, just as in 2016, are threatening to withhold their vote in the general election if their preferred candidate doesn’t win the primary, and indeed seem weirdly proud about it.
OK, boomer Bernie or Buster.
Here’s the thing, the thing, the thing: there is never going to be an American president free of the deeply toxic elements of American ideology. There just won’t be. This country has been built how it has for 250 years, and it’s not gonna change. You are never going to have, at least not in the current system, some dream candidate who gets up there and parrots the left-wing talking points and attacks American imperialism, exceptionalism, ravaging global capitalism, military and oil addiction, etc. They want to be elected as leader of a country that has deeply internalized and taken these things to heart for its entire existence, and most of them believe it to some degree themselves. So this groupthink white liberal mentality where the only acceptable candidate is this Perfect Non-Problematic robot who has only ever had one belief their entire lives and has never ever wavered in their devotion to doctrine has really gotten bad. The Democratic Party would be considered… maybe center/mild left in most other developed countries. It’s not even really left-wing by general standards, and Sanders and Warren are the only two candidates for the nomination who are even willing to go there and explicitly put out policy proposals that challenge the systematic structure of power, oppression, and exploitation of the late-stage capitalist 21st century. Warren has the billionaires fussed, and instead of backing down, she’s doubling down. That’s part of why they’re so scared of her. (And also misogyny, because the world is depressing like that.) She is going head-on after picking a fight with some of the worst people on the planet, who are actively killing the rest of us, and I don’t know about you, but I like that.
Of course: none of this will mean squat if she (or the eventual Democratic winner, who I will vote for regardless of who it is, but as you can probably tell, she’s my ride or die) don’t a) win the White House and then do as they promised on the campaign trail, and b) don’t have a Democratic House and Senate willing to have a backbone and pass the laws. Even Nancy Pelosi, much as she’s otherwise a badass, held off on opening a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump for months out of fear it would benefit him, until the Ukraine thing fell into everyone’s laps. The Democrats are really horrible at sticking together and voting the party line the way Republicans do consistently, because Democrats are big-tent people who like to think of themselves as accepting and tolerant of other views and unwilling to force their members’ hands. The Republicans have no such qualms (and indeed, judging by their enabling of Trump, have no qualms at all).
The modern American Republican party has become a vehicle for no-holds-barred power for rich white men at the expense of absolutely everything and everyone else, and if your rationale is that you can’t vote for the person opposing Donald Goddamn Trump is that you’re just not vibing with them on the language of that one policy proposal… well, I’m glad that you, White Middle Class Liberal, feel relatively safe that the consequences of that decision won’t affect you personally. Even if we’re due to be out of the Paris Climate Accords one day after the 2020 election, and the issue of climate change now has the most visibility it’s ever had after years of big-business, Republican-led efforts to deny and discredit the science, hey, Secret Corporate Shill, am I right? Can’t trust ‘er. Let’s go have a craft beer.
As has been said before: vote as far left as you want in the primary. Vote your ideology, vote whatever candidate you want, because the only way to make actual, real-world change is to do that. The huge, embedded, all-consuming and horrible system in which we operate is not just going to suddenly be run by fairy dust and happy thoughts overnight. Select candidates that reflect your values exactly, be as picky and ideologically militant as you want. That’s the time to do that! Then when it comes to the general election:
America is a two-party system. It sucks, but that’s the case. Third-party votes, or refraining from voting because “it doesn’t matter” are functionally useless at best and actively harmful at worst.
Either the Democratic candidate or Donald Trump will win the 2020 election.
There is absolutely no length that the Republican/GOP machine, and its malevolent allies elsewhere, will not go to in order to secure a Trump victory. None.
Any talk whatsoever about “progressive values” or any kind of liberal activism, coupled with a course of action that increases the possibility of a Trump victory, is hypocritical at best and actively malicious at worst.
This is why I found the Democratic response to Obama’s “don’t go too wild” comments interesting. Bernie doubled down on the fact that his plans have widespread public support, and he’s right. (Frankly, the fact that Sanders and Warren are polling at the top, and the fact that they’re politicians and would not be crafting these campaign messages if they didn’t know that they were being positively received, says plenty on its own). Warren cleverly highlighted and praised Obama’s accomplishments in office (i.e. the Affordable Care Act) and didn’t say squat about whether she agreed or disagreed with him, then went right back to campaigning about why billionaires suck. And some guy named Julian Castro basically blew Obama off and claimed that “any Democrat” could beat Trump in 2020, just by nature of existing and being non-insane.
This is very dangerous! Do not be Julian Castro!
As I said in my tags on the Bush post: everyone assumed that sensible people would vote for Kerry in 2004. Guess what happened? Yeah, he got Swift Boated. The race between Obama and McCain in 2008, even after those said nightmare years of Bush, was very close until the global crash broke it open in Obama’s favor, and Sarah Palin was an actual disqualifier for a politician being brazenly incompetent and unprepared. (Then again, she was a woman from a remote backwater state, not a billionaire businessman.) In 2012, we thought Corporate MormonBot Mitt Fuggin’ Romney was somehow the worst and most dangerous candidate the Republicans could offer. In 2016, up until Election Day itself, everyone assumed that HRC was a badly flawed candidate but would win anyway. And… we saw how that worked out. Complacency is literally deadly.
I was born when Reagan was still president. I’m just old enough to remember the efforts to impeach Clinton over forcing an intern to give him a BJ in the Oval Office (This led by the same Republicans making Donald Trump into a darling of the evangelical Christian right wing.) I’m definitely old enough to remember 9/11 and how America lost its mind after that, and I remember the Bush years. And, obviously, the contrast with Obama, the swing back toward Trump, and everything that has happened since. We can’t afford to do this again. We’re hanging by a thread as it is, and not just America, but the entire planet.
So yes. By all means, vote for Sanders in the primary. Then when November 3, 2020 rolls around, if you care about literally any of this at all, hold your nose if necessary and vote straight-ticket Democrat, from the president, to the House and Senate, to the state and local offices. I cannot put it more strongly than that.
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Okay, Worm. Wormy. What race and class would the Mysmes characters play as in WoW? Feel free to give any other headcanons too. 🤲
hi hello I’m currently working on other requests at the moment but this one seemed fun to do while I take a break from homework!
Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact I’m a big fan of anything WoW related and have been for years, so let’s go 👀
Reblogs are highly appreciated. :)
RFA on WoW
Includes: All RFA Members + Saeran and Rika
Warnings -> N/A
Type: Headcanons.
Zen:
Blood Elf - Paladin.
It was the only race that had options to make it look like him.
Genuinely thought they looked really handsome/pretty while looking through the characterization screen.
He also felt like it would have been fun to try something on the Horde; a little different from the rest of the RFA.
Zen almost chose a warrior for the class but liked the idea of having the ability to heal as a Paladin.
Profession - Jewelcrafting.
A very rare profession in the game by now, but Zen assumed it was fitting for his character.
Prioritizes armor looks over actual stats.
“Where did all of your gold go—?”
“... Transmog...”
Yoosung:
Troll - Hunter.
Wanted to join the Horde along with Zen and guide him through it.
Couldn’t decide on a race at first but enjoyed reading up on the Troll story and statistics.
Gets way too attached to his pets and takes time naming every single one of them.
So many pets with the stablemaster. So many.
Accidentally killed a mob while trying to tame it; cried for about an hour. (Zen had to cheer him up until it respawned.)
Focuses on PVP way more than storyline.
Profession - cooking!
His bags are constantly full of food and potions.
Also just thought the campfire option was really nice. :)
Jaehee:
Night Elf - Monk.
Mr. Han wanted to be a Night Elf, so she was “kindly demanded” to join him.
She ended up hooked reading the description for monks and gets excited when a new ability pops up.
It reminds her of Judo a bit, even though they’re very different, but she compliments the animation on their stance.
Isn’t one for games most of the time, but starts reading up on the Night Elf storyline while on break.
A little down about the fact she’s on the opposite faction as Zen. (“Don’t you think he would look great in a show about these characters?”)
Profession - Inscription.
Also a very rare profession, but puts unwanted items and recipes to use this way.
It’s also a decently fast profession to complete during the day, so one she can enjoy after work.
It also goes well with Jumins profession.
Jumin:
Night Elf - Mage.
His first option was a Human, actually.
But Zen teased him about it being a very basic choice. (So, why not go with the second basic option?)
It’s canon that Jumin is interested in magic and witchcraft, so a Mage was the next best thing.
Specifically enjoys the talent of Arcane mage, but regularly switches to other elements. (Named the Elemental pet “Elizabeth the 4th.”)
Tries to get in contact with the developers to sell cat related products with in-game references.
Profession - Enchanting.
Doesn’t actually know how to use the profession and gets Assistant Kang to do most of the work.
She also has to trade a lot of materials if he asks. (Please just... use the auction house.)
Tries to somehow use enchanting in real life. Upset it doesn’t work.
Seven:
Gnome - Warlock.
Ah, yes. The most hated race in the game. That’s why he chose it.
Ends up attached to the little guy and gives him the wildest characterization options.
And, of course, the classic yellow engineering goggles were a necessity.
Ends up finding a rotation with Warlocks easier than anything else and finds out how to cast his spells all at once.
Has been suspended multiple times for that, though.
Profession - Engineering.
Not too much of a surprise but when Seven found out he can make stuff in-game, he was all over it.
Ends up making certain inventions in real life for his personal enjoyment. (And Vanderwoods demise.)
May or may not catch up with Yoosung in PVP to completely annihilate him. Bonus points if it’s in open world too.
Jihyun:
Human - Warrior.
Swears he would try another race next time but wanted his first to be a Human.
Also tries to make it look like himself somehow.
Didn’t realize he could have been any other class than a Warrior. It was the default and looked interesting.
Can’t tank very well but overall likes the idea of damage control. Even if it’s just... Pressing buttons.
Explores more than actually questing since the areas are really nice to just sit and enjoy sometimes.
Has taken a few screenshots for artistic references before.
Profession - Archaeology.
Most people with the profession just do it for XP or reputation points,
But this man will sit down and read every. Single. Site. It’s nice to hear him get excited and interested in his findings, however. (Same, Jihyun.)
Saeran:
Undead - Rogue.
Ray thought they looked a little creepy at first, but Saeran overall empathized with their story.
They’re the misunderstood outcasts of the game - why wouldn’t he play them?
The rogue was an interesting choice. The idea of stealthing around and using quick attacks was intriguing.
Doesn’t play too often but somehow levels faster than the rest of the group.
Ray will focus more on exploring, Suit enjoys PVP, and Saeran will actually pay attention to the plot.
Ironically dislikes Sylvanas.
Profession - Herbalism.
At first didn’t like the idea of actually picking the flowers in game before realizing that’s how you learn about them.
Makes a little section in his book specifically for these fictional flowers and their meanings, plus what they’re used for in-game.
Rika:
Draenei - Priest.
Not only envied their devotion but also their outlook on helping others.
Would eventually switch over to Lightforged Draenei once they’re unlocked, but gets attached to her original character.
I’m trying really hard not to make a “Light” joke or connect anything to the Naaru....
Is the teams healer and does an amazing job at it. Not too fond of actual combat.
Spends a lot of time in the Priest campaign hall doing dailies and class quests.
Profession - Alchemy.
The art of crushing an item down into dust in order to turn it into something else more useful for her character.
Doesn’t use the profession all too much unless absolutely needed, though.
Overall a fun player to work with and everyone’s go-to healer.
And that’s it! I hope you enjoy reading. :)
#mystic messenger#mystic messenger writing#mystic messenger fic#mystic messenger headcanons#mystic messenger fanfic#mystic messenger x reader#seven mystic messenger#v mystic messenger#zen mystic messenger#yoosung mystic messenger#jaehee mystic messenger#jumin mystic messenger#saeran mystic messenger#mysmes#mysmes headcanons#headcanons#writing#wow#world of Warcraft#games#fanfic
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A Darcy Day Off
As promised, I present ~6,800 words of a sick, miserable Fitz/willi/am Dar/cy. I’ve been working on this on and off for an embarrassingly long time so I’m glad to finally clear it out of my WIP folder to make room for new things. But honestly, it was a pleasure to write, and I hope some of you take pleasure in reading it as well!
Definitely he first chapter, and honestly the first 2 chapters are mostly exposition, so if you want to skip straight to the sickfic goodness and reduce the word count, head to chapter 3. But I had fun writing (and worked hard on) the banter and conversation in the beginning, so I opted to keep it.
( @chezsnez @empresskaze @groundcontrol21 you all asked so nicely, so I hope this is what you were looking for! )
1.
“Darcy, dear, what’s keeping you? I thought we were to meet in the library for tea,” Elizabeth called. She found him still in his study, hunched over the desk. She danced to his side, planting a kiss atop his head. He leaned against her briefly in greeting.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I had more business to attend to today than I’d realized. Just finishing up now.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then his nose, trying to be rid of a tickle that had been infuriating him all day.
“Always at your work. I wonder our estate isn’t the finest run in Britain. And here I used to think people of high class such as yourself worried for nothing but amusing themselves all day.” She gently rubbed his neck where she knew he always got an ache when he wrote. He kissed her hand fondly.
“You are of such a class, too, now, my love. And how do you know it isn’t the finest? I’d be willing to wager a year’s salary this estate could be measured against parliament’s own estates and be proven worthy, if I have anything to say about it.”
“You pour your very soul into all that goes on here, and it’s one of the many things I adore about you. I am proud every day to be the mistress of such an estate. Only I wish you wouldn’t work so hard and take more time to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
“Are you accusing me of ignoring you, dearest? Only say the word and I would throw all my responsibilities to the winds and devote myself fully to your entertainment.”
He kept his tone light and playful, teasing her, but looked at her closely even as he did. Had he been neglecting her too much of late? He had had several pressing business matters on his mind these last weeks, and he knew he had been at his desk more than usual. Lizzie had not complained of course, and had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but the last thing he would ever want to do is make her doubt where his priorities lay, namely that she was foremost in his mind and heart, and in all things.
“Not at all, for you well know I’m quite fond of my own company. However, I can't help but worry about you. You put too much responsibility on yourself; you are positively careworn these days. I only wish your more lighthearted side could see the light of day now and again, and not just when we’re alone.”
“I am my truest self when I’m with you.” He kissed her hand again, then rubbed his nose. “I will always struggle being lighthearted while working. The two have never gone hand in hand in my experience; gravity and soberness were expected whilst doing business in my growing years under my father, and others. All the more reason I have need of your influence.”
She kissed his head again. “Very well, I accept the mantle of helping you find levity in your working hours. If only so that the strain you put on yourself will not affect your health. You put on a casual, careless demeanor in public, but I know better. You bear the weight of the world on those broad shoulders of yours, and that is a burden no man is meant to carry, even by his own choice. So come now, and join your wife for tea. The letters can wait another hour or so, surely.
“Indeed they can.” He stood and stretched stiffly. The chill winter wind howled outside and the sound made him shiver, glad for the roaring heat from the fire nearby, and in every room in the house as he moved to escort his wife to the library.
~~~~~~~~~~
The couple spent a pleasant hour or two in their favorite room in the house, chatting warmly at times, and sitting in comfortable silence at others. The relentless wind made Darcy feel sleepy and lazy, and he wanted nothing more than to take his wife’s advice and take the rest of the day to relax. He would have been content to remain here for the rest of the evening with his favorite person and simply read and chat and perhaps nap. But he had two more letters that needed to make the post tomorrow, and if he did not finish them now, he never would. He stood quietly and brushed his lips across his wife’s cheek. She nuzzled back, then watched as he lingered before the library fire longer than necessary, warming his hands and rear.
“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I’ve developed a slight headache is all, and it makes the task of my remaining letters all the more daunting.”
“I can imagine. I wish you would take a day off sometime soon, so that you may rest for longer than a few hours at a stretch. I believe it would do you wonders. Winter is generally a time for peaceful contemplation, but it’s been a frenzy of activity for you these past months. You are overdue for some leisure, my love.”
“You are right, as usual. Sometime very soon, dearest, I will take a week or two off and we will spend all the leisurely hours together you could wish. Perhaps we’ll even have a romp outside in the snow. Within the next month, once this mess is more or less cleaned up. Would that suit you?”
“It would suit me very fine indeed. While you could never be accused of neglecting me, I have been missing my husband of late, most especially his smile. That has been the most absent part of you.”
“For that I am sorry. I don’t like to bring my business affairs into our life together. My lovely, patient wife. You are too good to me.
“Well and I could say the same of you, so there. Enough of that. Come kiss me again, then go to your work before you fall asleep standing up.”
“As you command.” He was truly in danger of this, as he felt his lids growing heavier all the time, so he forced himself to move away from the pleasant heat, going to her side and kissing her fully this time, savoring her sweet lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Away I go. See you soon, darling.”
Mr. Darcy could not rid himself of the clinging fatigue for the rest of the evening. His remaining letters took longer than usual, and he knew they were not as well done as they ought to be, but at least they were done. When they were finished, he tossed his pen aside eagerly and stretched his stiff neck. Perhaps he should take those leisure days sooner rather than later. He really hadn’t been feeling his best lately, and the wintery weather that had had them in its grasp for weeks certainly wasn’t helping. Also, he missed his wife, though he had just seen her. He missed spending time with her, and not just in stolen hours here and there.
Right now all he wanted was to curl up beside her in bed, and talk of sweet nothings, and perhaps make sweet love. Hopefully that would help shake this irritating headache. Yes, they were long overdue for quality time spent together. He would make arrangements for some time away immediately, hopefully as early as a fortnight from now. The thought immediately made him calmer as he finished up a few small things, then hurried to find her and begin the more pleasant part of the evening.
2.
“Heh-KERRR-CHOOOOO! Heh- heh- KITSHHH’CHOOOO”
A bellowing sneeze startled Elizabeth from her book the next morning, and the even louder one that followed caused her to go investigate it’s source. To her surprise, following the sound of the miserable sniffles led to her husband’s study, where she found him ineffectually wiping his dripping nose with an already-damp handkerchief.
“My dear Mr. Darcy, is that you making all that racket? My heavens, bless you! I don’t know as I’ve ever heard a sneeze so resounding in all my life. Were you holding it in all morning for it to grow to such a volume?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffled sourly. “It was merely a sneeze.”
She quirked an eyebrow, amused. “I would beg to argue. You sneeze particularly violently, my dear. Likely because, as I noted, you hold them in until you can’t anymore.”
“Well, since you are evidently the expert,” he muttered as he pressed on with his work, coughing softly.
She rarely saw this severe, prickly side of him these days, and this, more than anything else, concerned her and made her know he shouldn’t be teased at present. He really must be feeling poorly. She moved to his side and pressed against him as she had the day before, rubbing his shoulder. He did not respond, physically or otherwise.
“You are unwell, my love. You should go take some rest. You quite look as if you have gotten the wrong end of this cold of a sudden.”
“I am fine. Don’t worry yourself. I am only in need of some tea and I shall be quite well.”
“I’d be happy to fetch you tea, but I’d be happier to fetch it for you in bed, or at least in your chair in the library. I fear these large windows will do you no favors with the draft.”
“I have many things I need to see to today. I cannot take time to rest. And all my files are here in the study. I haven’t been ill since I was a boy. I’m certainly not going to be ill now.”
Lizzie sighed and shook her head at the foolishness of males. “Have it your way, then. I’ll see you get some tea. Was there anything else you’d like?”
“Just a scone or two. Thank you, dearest.” He finally turned his gaze to her, and she saw true gratitude there, despite the reddened, watery eyes and dripping nose. “And forgive my rudeness when you came in. You startled me, but I should not speak to you like that. Please forgive me.”
“Of course you’re forgiven, and I am sorry I startled you. You know I only worry about you because I love you.”
“As I love you, my Lizzie.” He coughed wetly into his handkerchief. “Now please, if you’d leave me. I really do have much to do, and you are ever my truest distraction. I will see you this evening. And please know, I am doing all this so that we can have our time together very soon.”
“Yes, my dear.” She sighed softly and made her way out, stopping one of the servants to request her husband’s tea and scones. She gave explicit instructions for the type of tea and what was to be in it, things to soothe an aching throat and ward off fever. If he wouldn’t have a care for his own body, she would be forced to do it for him. She only hoped he would see reason sooner than later and take himself off to bed before he caught his death in that drafty study.
~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, Darcy was endlessly studious and conscientious, not to mention stubborn, and so he stayed in his study, or was running around with different servants and community members all day. He did his best to conduct his business as excellently as ever, despite how very unwell he was beginning to feel.
When their paths would cross later in the day though, she could see he was flagging. His cough had become quite the nuisance, and his nose and lips were raw and chapped. Dark circles began to show under his eyes, vivid against sickly pallor. Every now and again, she heard a massive, wet sneeze disturb the air from wherever he was. She gave him sympathetic smiles and little encouragements whenever she could, but what she truly wanted was to see him to bed and tend to his every need there. The misery on his face made her ache for him. If only he wasn’t so proud. And yes, stubborn.
She was quite relieved when he joined her at their evening meal, wearily announcing he was done working for the day, and she told him such. He was quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the evening, aside from his frequent sniffles and coughs, and the occasional explosive sneeze, which never failed to make her jump, even as they became more and more frequent.
Taking his lead, she also said very little, reading exhaustion in every line of his frame, especially as his sneezes and coughs harshened. If she had been another woman, and he another man (indeed, her parents came to mind), she would have said again that she wished he would take the day off tomorrow. But it was not in her to nag, and if she had he would only have become angry, or withdrawn completely. She had said her part this morning, and she knew he had heard her and remembered. What he did from here was his choice alone.
She watched him unobtrusively as he dozed by the fire that evening, feeling such love in her breast for her dedicated, hardworking husband, but no small amount of worry either. They had been married nearly three years, and she had never once seen him ill. She hoped it was truly only trifling, as he kept insisting it was whenever anyone asked.
They went to bed earlier than usual, her feigning equal tiredness for his sake, so he wouldn’t feel he was being a burden. But indeed, all she wanted of the rest of this day was to lie beside him in bed, perhaps rub his back, and just be near him for whatever he needed. To her delight, that is exactly what happened. He said very little, and asked for nothing, stifling sneezes now and again even as his frequent, chesty coughing fits worsened, but merely lay beside her and let her rub away at his aches and chills as he fell asleep.
3.
Darcy and Eliza were both early risers, and both loved to greet the day while it was still fresh and full of promise. Being the man though, Mr. Darcy was always up and about before his wife, for it took him far less time to dress, and there were several things he liked to see to before breakfast, though he never neglected to kiss her goodbye as he left.
Imagine her surprise then, when the next morning found him still soundly asleep beside her when her maids came in to help her dress at their usual time. The sound of their arrival woke her, but her poor husband hardly stirred. She hurried out of bed, calming the poor, startled ladies in hushed tones, assuring them they had done no wrong. They helped her dress and fix her hair simply and comfortably before Elizabeth shooed them out again, saying she wasn’t sure what they should tell the other staff, as she had no idea what mind her husband would be in when he finally woke.
Lizzie sighed as they left. Now it would be all over the house that he was sick abed, and who knew what other irrepressible rumors. He would hate that. However, at present it was the truth so he would just have to deal with it whenever he woke. In the meantime, she picked up her book and read in the chair by the fire, wanting to be close when he woke.
That turned out to be shortly thereafter. He first began to toss and turn a bit, then he started to cough, then he nearly made her jump out of her chair with one of his tremendous sneezes.
“Heh -KER- CHUUUUHHF!” The noise was thick and miserable-sounding, more than hinting at painfully clogged sinuses and a raw, scratchy throat. While he was mopping the mess from his face with his handkerchief, his lungs decided to take their turn at clearing themselves as well, and he erupted into a series of wet, strenuous coughs.
She made her way to his side during this sad display, gently stroking his tousled hair as he quieted. He groaned softly when he was able and pressed into her embrace, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, eliciting a cluck of sympathy from his wife at his sorry state.
“My poor dear,” she murmured. “Your health is much worse this morning.”
“Mby head is like a lead weight od the pillow,” he croaked. “Fatigue weighs dowd mby limbs dreadfully.”
“Then you will not work today?”
“Mby wise wife advised that I look after mby body more, and today mby body tells mbe I must rest, so rest I shall,” he murmured sleepily. “As long as you’ll keeb mbe company?”
“I would love nothing more. This is perhaps not the leisurely day we had hoped for, but I’ll accept it just the same." She tenderly caressed his cheek, frowning as she felt it. "You are terribly feverish, darling." Yet she hardly needed to feel, for just by looking at his flushed, sweaty face and seeing him shake with chills, the fever made its presence known.
"And yet I'mb chilled to the bone. I had forgotten how beastly udpleasant it is to catch cold," he rasped with a thick sniffle.
"Indeed, it makes one feel for your poor sister all the more. It seems she is laid up with a cold every other week. Now, how does tea appeal to you? And perhaps some food? You hardly touched supper last night."
"Tea would be lovely. Mby abbetite still eludes me however. But, if only to please you, I would try sumb toast and an egg."
Lizzie had servants running for his requests in short order while Darcy tended to his nose, blowing it over and over, soaking through more than one handkerchief. His tray was delivered in record time. Seeing it arrive, Darcy slowly levered himself to a sitting position, pressing a hand to his temple.
"Mby head is throbbi'g," he mumbled.
Elizabeth pressed the cup of tea into his hands, looking sympathetic. "Drink some. It may help your head."
He did as he was bid, drawing his knees to his chest like a boy as he drank while she rubbed his back. However, another tremendous sneeze almost made him spill the whole thing.
“Ah- ah- KITCHSHOOOOO! Ugh…” He sought his handkerchief desperately, and when Elizabeth handed it to him, he pressed it harshly against his streaming nose to stem the flow, groaning as he did. Elizabeth hastily took the teacup from his again, for it seemed in danger of being upended at any moment.
"Bless you! My poor dear, what can I do for you? Besides keeping a stack of handkerchiefs here for your poor nose."
"I would ask you to help mbe dress in a few moments," he said, his voice muffled behind the fabric as he tried to rub away the headache between his eyes. "While I will be as quick as I cad, I must speak to mby steward and give hib sumb idstructions for mby absence."
"Can you not write him instead? I fear for you going out in the cold, lest this settles in your chest."
"Mby head aches too miserably to do a probber job with writing. I fear I would forget somethi'g crucial. Ndo, I'll quickly go dowd and speak to hib, and thed I'll return. Ndo going outside for mbe today, never fear."
She sighed and nodded, knowing he would not be dissuaded. "At least finish your tea and try some egg before you go so you don't collapse on the stairs."
"I'mb far from collapse mby dear, I assure you." His general appearance said otherwise though, as he had been miserably coughing into his handkerchief throughout the whole conversation, and had yet to stop shivering. However, she held her tongue and served him breakfast instead.
Lizzie saw he made an effort to eat as much as he could, and though it was only a few bites, she was slightly placated. She knew he would not relax until he had set what affairs he could in order. So, after his tea was gone, when he rose and began to dress, she assisted him, for she realized the sooner he left, the sooner he would return.
"I'd rather not ri'g for mby valet, as I'd be worried I would sdeeze on hib," muttered Darcy, looking embarrassed as she straightened his jacket while he futilely tried to blow his nose, which only served to make him cough yet again.
"It's no trouble at all, dear. Only please hurry back. I truly worry for that cough."
"I'll be back under your watchful eye as quick as I cad, dearest," he murmured, grazing her ear with his lips as she slipped an extra handkerchief in his pocket. With that, he was gone, his boots thumping down the hall wearily.
~~~~~~~~~~
Time dragged as she waited for him. While she knew he could take care of himself and she didn't need to be here the moment he returned, she also knew he would want her to be. Her husband was a strong man, but at times like these, he depended on her, and she was not about to disappoint him. So, while there were plenty of things she could have seen to around the manor herself, she waited in his sitting room with her needlework, keeping the fire high.
Finally she heard him in the hall. She rushed to open the door as he shuffled in, looking spent.
"Darcy dear! I expected you an hour ago!" she said, helping him shed his coat. Suddenly she felt his shoulders hitch under her hands as his breath scissored:
"Ktt-tsshhEEW!" The wet spraying sneeze was his response, only partially stifled by the sodden handkerchief he held. She blessed him worriedly as he again mopped his face.
"I'mb sorry, dearest," he finally managed. "I was stobbed many tibes between mby study and here to answer questions. I cabe as quick as I could."
He fell wearily into the chair nearest the fire with a deep groan and a deeper cough. He bent to try and remove his boots, but his efforts were hampered, as his nose streamed dreadfully if he bent over. He had to keep a hand pressed to his face as he tried to undo the fastenings with the other.
Elizabeth knelt in front of him and gently pushed his hands away, loosening and removing the boots herself as he leaned back in the chair, sniffling wetly.
"Thagk you, mby love," he croaked.
"Here, have some more tea, I've just had Mary bring some. There, now what suits you best? Shall we cover you warmly and sit here by the fire, or would you like me to fetch you some soup? I won't ask if you want to call for Dr. Bishop yet since I know what you'll say, though I have half a mind to."
"There's ndo need for the doctor," replied her husband. "Whad I most want right now is to lie dowd and sleeb sumb few hours yed. Mby mind is sluggish. I cad hardly grasp on a thought except how exhausted I amb."
"Then take my arm and let's get you to bed, poor man. I imagine some more sleep will do wonders for you."
"I don't need help walki'g mby dear, I'm not invalid, only full of cold." Even still, he took her proffered arm as he stood and rested a hand on her shoulder warmly as she led him to the bedroom.
"That may be, but I'll see you there myself just the same to make sure there's no distractions along the way." She kissed his hand and caressed it fondly as they made their way to the bed. She helped him remove all the clothes she had helped him don not long before and replace them with his nightshirt. While he clearly needed to sleep, he also seemed loath to let her out of his sight. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment with her pressed against his side. She scratched his back fondly.
“You should lie down, dear. You’re more asleep than awake.”
Instead, he wrapped his arms around her unexpectedly, burying his face in her abdomen with a weary sigh. Elizabeth was slightly startled, but gladly reciprocated the embrace, burying her face in his hair. Her husband was an affectionate man, but not usually physically so. This gesture from him, while not at all unwelcome, was unexpected.
“I feel terrible,” he groaned, barely audible, leaning most of his weight against her. “Mby body runs amok with mbe.”
“So it seems. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this cold of yours on anyone.”
She held him for a few peaceful moments. Just as she was about to again suggest he lie down, for it seemed he was in danger of falling asleep against her, his back twitched violently and he tried to pull away.
“heh-GIHH’CHOOOO! Hehht-kk’CHOOOOOF!”
Neither had time to react as poor Mr. Darcy sneezed thickly, his face still pressed against his startled wife. She couldn't suppress a little gasp as he pulled away, stammering apologies and wiping his traitorous nose.
She was silent a moment appraising the state of her dress, then an unladylike snort of laughter escaped her, sending her into a little fit of giggles even as she comforted her overwrought husband, pressing him gently back against the pillows.
“It’s all right, my love. Such things happen. ‘Tis only a dress, and I have plenty more. It seems neither of us are coming away from this cold of yours unscathed. But there now, you’re completely spent. You can hardly keep your eyes open, red as they are. Take some more rest, my love.”
“You’re too good to mbe,” he croaked, fighting against his heavy eyelids but already nearly asleep, the handkerchief still in his limp hand on the bed.
She reached out, caressing his face and brushing hair from his brow. “No more of that. Close your eyes and sleep, for how else do you expect to get better?” She clucked her tongue softly again. “You really are painfully warm, poor man. It is most worrisome,” she said, more to herself than him.
“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, the last word turning into a snore as he finally gave in to the needs of his body.
~~~~~~~~~~
4.
That was to be the last interaction Mr. Darcy would remember for quite some time. He fell into a deep sleep then, and everything that happened over the next few days would be blurred flashes in his mind at best, hazed by illness and fever.
Of course, the same could not be said for Elizabeth. After he fell asleep, she left him and tended to some of her duties around the manor (after changing her gown, naturally). She did not want to hover in the sickroom, both for her sake and his, so she forced herself to stay away for several hours, knowing he would ring if he needed something.
Still, in the late afternoon she returned, unable to stay away any longer. He was exactly as she had left him, snoring softly. He didn’t seem to have moved at all in his sleep, which was most unlike him. She again went to feel his forehead, sensing something amiss. He was much warmer than before. A knot of worry pulsing in her heart, she tried to shake him awake. He opened his eyes and seemed to look at her, but she could tell he wasn’t truly awake, and didn’t respond when she spoke to him, only grunted and coughed, trying to roll over and sleep again.
Without further ado, she sent for Doctor Bishop, pacing the halls outside Darcy’s rooms until he arrived, wringing her hands in worry and opening the door to check on her husband every few minutes, to ensure he got no worse.
The doctor arrived quickly, heading right into the sickroom. He did a thorough examination, listening to Mr. Darcy’s heart and lungs, checking his pulse and 100 other things. Darcy woke briefly a few times, but only managed answers of a word or less before he dozed off again. His large frame looked somehow both bigger and smaller than it should, curled up limply on the bed, with only his breathing as evidence of life. After he was through, the wise doctor scrutinized his patient, deep in thought. Elizabeth remained silent, waiting with baited breath. Finally the doctor turned to her.
“You said he’s been overworking himself and run down lately, yes?”
“Yes, doctor. Business has been troubling him of late.”
“Hm. So it seems. Well, overall his vital signs are normal for a man with a cold. I see nothing overly alarming, excepting the high fever. That is a touch worrisome, but can at times be seen in such cases. No, I don’t fear any illness has befallen him except what you’ve said, a bad cold. I think he’s simply exhausted, and this cold has caught up with him and brought everything down at once. I’ll wager the fever will subside in a day or two, and the rest in the days after that as long as he gets the rest he sorely needs. I shan’t prescribe him anything except what he already has here with you, Mrs. Darcy. Let him sleep as much as he wants, keep him hydrated and don’t cover him too warmly, and I think this will run its course soon enough.”
It was as if great weight fell off her shoulders as he spoke. “Oh, thank you doctor! Indeed, I shall do just as you say, and make sure he does as well.”
“Please do. The stubbornness of the Darcys is well known to me, for my father and his father have been treating this family for generations. I’ll come round to see him every day until I’m satisfied he’s on the mend, if that suits you.”
“Oh, yes please, and thank you kindly. You have my deepest gratitude, sir.”
“My pleasure, madame. Until tomorrow.” He tipped his hat and was gone.
With a huge sigh of relief, Elizabeth collapsed on the chair at her husband’s bedside. After a moment, she found his hand under the quilt and held it, needing to feel his touch, even if in unconsciousness. After a moment, he unexpectedly squeezed it. She looked up to see his eyes were fluttering closed, but his face was angled toward her now. She took a moment to appreciate that fine face, though currently his nose, cheeks, and eyes were matching shades of red against the sickly pallor over the rest of him.
She sighed and softly kissed his hand. “Get well soon, my dear.”
He certainly took his time doing so, or so it seemed to Eliza. Either she or Georgiana were at his side at all times. He slept constantly, barely waking even to drink water. He spoke hardly at all and asked for nothing. He would intermittently shake with chills, or else sweat profusely. He sneezed in thick, messy fits, several at a time, but then would go hours between, until the sensation again overpowered and woke him. He coughed more often, since that it seemed he could do even as he slept.
Yes, he slept, but he was overall restless. Noise in the room roused him. He stirred when he was touched. He stirred when he coughed. He woke when he sneezed. His sleep didn’t seem peaceful, which was perhaps why he never fully woke, because he wasn’t fully resting.
The first night, Elizabeth slept in her own rarely-used bedroom (she much preferred sharing his), wanting him (and herself) to rest as much as possible. The second night though, she was achingly lonely, missing his touch, his voice, and his smile. So, she crawled into her usual place beside him in his bed, pressing herself against him. She found herself cold, as she had been since he was ill from the worry, so his warmth was more than pleasant.
She herself relaxed immediately as soon as she was against him, but more surprisingly, so did he. He didn’t wake and hardly stirred when he felt her, but his breathing quickly deepened and he relaxed more fully as they rested against each other. Basking in the sensation of enjoying one another’s touch, they both slept the whole night that way.
~~~~~~~~~~
More than 48 hours after he first fell asleep, Darcy finally woke up completely. Naturally, it was a sneeze that did it.
“Heh’gihh’CHUUUHFF! AHHGK-CHOOOF! … ow….”
Something in the tone made Lizzie turn. She had been sitting facing the fire with her needlework, but glancing at the bed, she saw her husband sitting up, one hand to his temple, the other wiping his nose, and looking aware of his surroundings for the first time in 2 days. She dashed to his side, feeling his forehead at once.
“Bless you, dear. My, but it’s good to see you awake! Oh, and your fever is much decreased, how wonderful! How do you feel? Is your head hurting you? Here, drink some water, the doctor said you’re likely dehydrated…”
She wanted to prattle on, but she saw he was a bit overwhelmed, so she forced her tongue to be still. She gently grasped his hands, to calm him as well as herself, and kissed them fondly. She then handed him a glass of water, and he drank gratefully as she looked him over. He seemed a bit better, but he continued to look around in a dazed way.”
“Have I been asleeb long?” he finally rasped, his voice totally gone, and still stuffed tight with congestion.
“I would say so. It’s been two days darling.” She did her best to keep the worry and accusation out of her voice. He couldn’t help that he’d been ill.”
“Two days?! Good heavens.” He fell back against the pillows with a groan and a cough. “Ndo wonder I feel so sluggish.”
“Yes, but it seems you needed it. The doctor has been out every day, and he says you were suffering from exhaustion. Your body was taking the rest it sorely needed.”
“So it seebs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.
“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Sumb better, I thingk,” he said with a wet sniffle. “Less fevered. I am still weary, and will sleep another night soundly through, but I hope I’m on the mend now.”
“As do I.” She kissed his hand again, squeezing it tightly.
~~~~~~~~~~
5.
Mr. Darcy was indeed on the mend. He was moving about his rooms freely the next day, and 2 days after that, he was allowed by the doctor (and his wife, grudgingly) to resume his duties, though at a reduced basis, for his cough still lingered, along with some fatigue. Yet he was incredibly cheerful to be leaving his rooms, and everywhere he went, he had a spring in his step.
That same day he was freed found Elizabeth curled on the settee in her rarely-used personal sitting room, wrapped in a coverlet and trying to read. However, her dripping nose and throbbing headache prevented her from making much progress in the story.
A barking cough burst out of her against her will, making her drop her book. With a feeble groan, she reached down to retrieve it, holding a handkerchief to her streaming nose. She had known she likely wouldn’t escape catching her husband’s cold, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. However, she was not about to spoil his first day of freedom with her own illness, so she was hiding here to avoid him as long as she could.
Just as she was thinking this, she heard his boots in the hall, and she suppressed another groan. He knocked softly, then peeked in the door, looking happy as well as confused when he saw her.
“Mary said I might find you here, but I thought she must be mistaken. Whatever are you doing? I was hoping to meet you for tea.”
She took a breath to answer, but instead the urge to sneeze snuck up on her. She shoved her elbow against her face, turning away from him to stifle the stubborn urge harshly:
“HXXT’GH! HNNKT! HXXTCH! Guh…” she mumbled at the end, which turned into a painful cough that she hardly had breath for.
Darcy was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her arm and feeling her forehead just as she had his so many times the past few days. Concern and regret crossed his face. “You have a fever, dearest. It seems I’ve shared my cold with you,” he said, stifling a little cough.
“You always were the gentleman, never failing to share with a lady,” she groused weakly.
His low chuckle was warm. “I’m truly sorry. Yet I heard you hardly left the bedchamber while I was ill, so I suppose it was inevitable.”
“Especially since you sneezed on me,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.
“Indeed,” he chuckled again. “I’m sorry for that as well. But now, enough talk. Rest your voice. Come up to bed and I’ll see you get some tea and toast.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to go to bed, did that occur to you? I’ve spent all week in that bedchamber and I’d prefer to not be forced to go back,” she muttered petulantly.
“I can tell you’re feeling unwell, for you’re never so irritable. That more than anything tells me I must see you to bed immediately.” His tone indicated some teasing, but mostly seriousness. Without further ado, he scooped her up in one motion and stood, carrying her toward their bedchamber, a little smile playing around his lips.
“Why you--! I’ve never been thus treated in my entire life. Put me down, you terrible man!” Yet she couldn’t keep from laughing, miserable though she was, which of course turned into a cough. She hadn’t felt so ill in a long time. In fact, the overwhelming urge to sneeze was coming over her again. She struggled weakly to free her arms from where he had them pinned, but it was too late:
“Hhh’rrrrushh’eeeew! Herrr’CHEW! Hihhh’knn’CHOOF!” She sneezed explosively against his chest, covering them both in the spray. His steps paused as he looked down at her, open-mouthed, while she stared back, reddening in embarrassment, but slightly triumphant.
“...bless you, my Lizzie,” Darcy finally said, an odd smile on his face.
“Thank you. I’m terribly sorry!... But what choice did I have, when I can’t move my arms? Now we’re even, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” he chuckled again as he resumed walking. “And I suppose if you must sneeze on someone, it’s best if it’s me, as I can’t very well catch this cold again. But all the more reason for me to see you to bed. You look a mess. In the loveliest possible way, of course.”
“How charming you are, Mr. Darcy. You have quite a way of flattering a woman.”
He chuckled again, but by this time they had reached his bedchamber. He deposited her on the bed with the utmost gentleness, and proceeded to assist her in changing into more comfortable clothes. She shivered miserably as she changed so that her teeth nearly chattered. Darcy tucked her in warmly and quickly rang for some tea, then began to remove his own boots and coat. She watched him curiously, though with heavy eyes, for she suddenly she found herself exhausted. With pleasure she realized he planned to join her in bed.
He did just that a few moments later, pulling her close against himself and wrapping her in his big, warm arms. She nuzzled in gratefully with a sniffle and a cough. He buried his face in her hair as they settled, coughing as well.
“What are you doing, Darcy dear? I thought you had many things to do today,” she mumbled, already nearing sleep. “You’ve had so many days off yourself. You needn’t take another for me, though it seems we’re quite a mess still.”
“This has become the most important thing I must do today,” he yawned. “You were a saint to look after me this whole week, so now I must return the favor. I’m not likely to let an opportunity pass to spend time with you after these past weeks, for I’ve learned my lesson. And I too am already weary, for this cold hasn’t quite left me. A nap would suit me fine, especially if I can warm you in the process.”
When a servant arrived with tea, no one greeted him, and when he opened the door with the tray, he found it best to simply leave it nearby and duck out again, for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were fast asleep.
#sickfic#Sickness#sicknario#snzfic#snzblr#snzario#everyone is hotter with a fever#especially fitz/william dar/cy
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The Garden of Eden | Part IV: Betrayal
Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (4/4)~
Summary (Part Four): Warnings are to be remembered, although most stored away for future use only to be forgotten. Cycles repeat to teach lessons; to warn of future events. Threats may remain even if not for the blind eye to see. However, ignorance might be the biggest threat of all.
Warnings (in this part): murder, blood, death, poison, religious twists, dark themes
Word Count: 5,018 (haha this part ended up with the most words... to end it off I suppose!)
Notes: This is the last part of the Garden of Eden! I just want to say thank you to all who read - especially @etoile-writings , for supporting me. Please go check out her series Adam and Eve, as it is a literary masterpiece and she deserves so much recognition.
I have seriously had so much fun writing this - it really has been my pleasure. I also want to apologize to all those who may have been waiting for awhile for the final part! Disclaimer: I tried my best to edit the grammar and everything in this but this is the best I could do! I hope there’s not many mistakes I may have missed. Please ask any questions and give me all your comments about this finale - I’d love to hear any and all thoughts! I also hope everyone is safe, healthy, and happy :) Feel free to send in other requests, whether it be AHS or Supernatural.
Also a heads up - keep a look out for the final review and analysis if you are interested. It is still in progress but it should be out within a couple of days at best.
A few side notes - the Countess and James are still legally married here, as they are in the show, but in this situation it is only because they haven’t gotten the chance to divorce. This part may seem to have very long sentences, but I just wanted to let you guys know that it is a writing technique that I used to create mood, tone, and theme. That’s all, thanks!
Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss
Something about the young couple in the bar had your mind reeling. Their hands remained interlocked on the table, both of them staring at one another with all the joy and adoration that only true love can bring. Their relationship was new and exciting. The honeymoon phase was always so perfect. You remembered how that had felt with James; so invigoratingly energizing. It was enough to make you feel as if you ruled the world; love blinding a vision of truth. It was, for many years, what you had considered paradise to be.
Paradise.
You realized now that it never had been perfect with you and James. There were so many things standing in the way, so many hidden threats. When you were younger, it had been your parents and their obsessive need to marry you off like an object to a rich man. Even as he had began his journey to success, James’ social status as new money hadn’t seemed good enough to them. When you had first gotten back with James only just around a month ago, you had thought that you’d conquered everything. You had been blind to the truth which was right in front of you once again. You should have expected some kind of change in James. It was inevitable, after all that time spent apart.
But now, however, right at this present moment... well, now, everything was out in the open. Now, you and James truly understood one another. Now there really was nothing in your way. You could see no obstacles ahead, no threat, so long as James was by your side. All you saw was James, and all that clouded your mind was your admiration and devotion to him. He was your everything; your soulmate, your leader, your God. He had dragged you from the fire and brought your paradise back to you; good, true, and everlasting this time around. Your precious Garden of Eden, controlled by none other but you and your God.
Your God; who had been the utmost of clever in his recent schemes. He’d been outraged when he did it, but it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t brilliant. He was of excellent prosecution; his statement out in the open and clear. A Sunday morning: police finding piles of dead bodies compiled with numerous copies of nothing other than the book of God himself. It was sadistic and morbid, but it was perfect. It was everything that James needed to say. He was on the verge of something momentously renowned.
Once James was finished, no one would ever forget his message: religion was the worst thing to happen to society. It controlled the will of man, when truly nothing in creation could stop anything. Everyone was put equal on the Earth to sin, to live in the most pleasurable way.
It was the entire reason Adam and Eve had been cast down. They were sinners, except the garden was a place controlled by God’s rules. They had wanted to control their own lives, so God banished them to Earth. James, however, had created his own paradise; his own Garden of Eden. He had climbed so far above all other men that he now controlled the garden. He had to prove to others the ridiculousness of holiness--for all were meant to sin. Religion was, essentially, suppression. To some, it may seem horrible, but to you, it was art. A simple expression of belief that most didn’t understand.
Voices floated into your ears, startling you out of your thoughts. Soft echoes through the lobby of your beloved’s name piqued your interest, your feet immediately carrying you to the railing without much thought. You left your drink on the bar’s counter--still full, but long forgotten. Your eyes landed on four men clad in black suits, shiny gold badges on their shoulders reflecting light from the chandeliers above. You scanned the area, noticing a certain maid standing close by, listening in, much like you were.
“We have suspicion based upon evidence that Mr. March was involved in the murder this past Sunday. We have already taken the time to get a warrant for his arrest,” one of the officers explained to the receptionist at the front desk. Time seemed to take a standstill, your heart seeming to stop completely as your brain registered the man’s words. No, this couldn’t be happening.
The cycle was repeating again. They were trying to tear you apart again.
You didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. He said he was careful, and you could never see James making a mistake with something this important. He was detail-oriented, his brain practically ran off of the certainty of perfectionism. He would never let a small mistake ruin everything for him.
The entire empire he’d built, and everything you’d rebuilt, was about to be destroyed all over again.
Your body seemed to catch up with your mind as you sprung into action. You twisted around, your feet pushing you forward only to come to a halt at the close proximity of the once unknown presence behind you. Your eyes widened, a sharp breath escaping your lips at the stop you made compared to your sudden momentum. You stared into the eyes of none other than The Countess, clad in only the most extravagant clothing and makeup.
“That’ll be a hard one to get out of,” she said, although her face was seemingly expressionless. You stared at her, your frenzied brain jumping to the first conclusion you could make.
“Did you...” you trailed off, your breathing suddenly heavy. James couldn’t have made the mistake, so that means that somebody else had to of given the police some kind of tip in order for them to seek James out. The woman standing before you was quite possibly the number one suspect. “Did you do this?” Your voice held tones of disbelief and anger.
Would Elizabeth really go to such extent when she hadn’t even expressed a major disliking? She hadn’t talked to you at all since that first time, in fact the only interactions you’d had with one another were passing glances. She’d seemed to have just steered clear of anything to do with you or James. You had no idea what she had thought, but you had supposed that she didn’t care about you and James, otherwise she would have spoke her concerns. Had you been wrong about her? Could a simple mistake end it all over again? Elizabeth scoffed, her face hardening.
“Oh God no...” she said wryly, a small sarcastic grin forming on her lips as she looked at you quizzically, “what would I get out of it now? As I am still his present wife, I don’t need James dead to use his money. And besides, now that he has you he no longer bothers me.” She was smug as she spoke to you. She grinned, all teeth and mischief, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a winning situation for the both of us if you ask me.” She paused, her grin falling slightly as her gaze wondered off to peer down into the lobby.
“I could bet I know who the rat is, though,” She said, turning back to you. “I’m wagering it’s his loyal minion. That poor woman has been in love with James since the beginning of time.” She paused, her eyes intense as they rested on your face. “And based on your expression you think so too.” She smiled at you and then turned, walking slowly away from you. “Good luck,” she called back to you without turning around, your eyes watching her back as she went.
You stood contemplating her words for a moment. Elizabeth was smart and straightforward, and from what you could tell if she had a problem she would speak her mind. And what she had said made sense. Miss Evers was in love with James, but her love was unrequited, and that’s why she constantly seemed at odds with you. She could never even have a chance to be with him, so long as you were around.
Your feet carried you quickly as you raced to the elevator. The police were still conversing with the receptionist, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out where James was. You recalled a conversation you’d had with him in the morning, concluding that he had to be caught up attending to his hobby.
The police would find him in his office, in the middle of his business, and it would all be over. He would be taken from you once again.
You didn’t even knock upon arriving; you opened the door and closed it quickly behind you. You turned to face James, in all his blood-covered, god-like glory. You took in the scene of James’ office quickly, your eyes tracing over every detail. A large bin sat in the center of the room, a rugged corpse contained within it. James had been busying himself with pouring a substance over the body, of which could only be acid, as it had sizzled upon impact with the dead man’s skin. At your arrival, James halted his methods in confusion.
Several items were scattered across the floor, one of which catching your interest. The glass of the vase; a damp spot surrounding the area where the unaltered mess remained. The roses remained too, the petals wilting from lack of nourishment. You paused, your mind trying to puzzle out their unmoved position. Miss Evers had to have been in here since last night, so why wouldn’t she move them? She might have been scheming, but she was extremely adamant on being neat when it came to James’ specific rooms. You couldn’t see her ignoring it, and yet here it was sitting puzzlingly. You were caught off guard for a reason not entirely known to you. Something about their appearance had you alarmed, a string of words suddenly ringing out in your head; perhaps a memory brought to the surface.
“If you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.”
The old woman was suddenly prevalent in your mind, her warning dawning upon you, your heartbeat stuttering at the looming echo of her words. James was waiting for you to explain yourself--the police were coming--Miss Evers had betrayed you--everything you and James had worked so hard for was crumbling down around you. Your heartbeat was fast, the pulse beating quickly, perhaps the reason for the pounding in your head.
You looked James in the eyes, studying his features. He was so handsome--even before you knew him, that day in the garden when you had first seen him--you had marveled at his beauty. And that was before he’d become such a man; his features sharp and masculine, beautifully sculpted by the gods. His dark brown eyes and hair, so dull yet so prominent--a symbol of his darkness. You could stare at him for eternity and never bore, your love for him everlasting.
And yet, here you were at the end with no escape, hell a threat once again hanging above your heads, looming just around the corner. Just a few more minutes and everything would be over. Just a few more minutes and you’d be lost again, stranded without your guide; your purpose--your God.
“James,” you gasped, stumbling slightly as you made your way to him. You’d just managed to get to him before you fell over slightly, your arms reaching out to grasp onto his tightly. He caught you, keeping you level as his face filled with concern. The pounding in your head was intense, beginning to drown out your thoughts and quicken your breath.
“Darling, tell me--what is it?” James demanded, his voice panic-stricken. He lifted your chin to look you in the eyes, his widened orbs meeting yours with intensity.
“I-it’s--the- the police,” you barely managed to get the words out, clinging onto James like he was your lifeline. Nothing seemed right; your thoughts suddenly taking too long to form into words, your breathing heavy, vision blurry, and it was becoming much harder to stand. What was happening? You stared into James eyes, shifting all your focus into him. “They’re here to arrest you.” One hand gripped his arm firmly as you brought the other to rest upon his cheekbone, leaning chest to chest as your body began to collapse into him. He held you steady, forever the one and only thing to truly support you. “They’re going to take you from me,” you sobbed, an onslaught of tears overcoming you. “Again,” you cried quietly, gasping for air.
The door opened, your heart skipping a beat at the intrusion, your mind going straight to the thought of the police. Your eyes landed on Miss Evers instead, confusion settling on you once again. She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Why was she here now, to prove something? You wished you had the strength to question her, to say anything, but everything felt heavier and heavier as more time passed.
“Tell me,” James barked at her just as she’d closed and locked the door, “what in all creation is happening? Speak right this instant, and quickly.”
“The police are here,” Miss Evers explained, James grip on you tightening as you leaned onto him for support. He glanced down at you, worry glinting in his eyes as you just barely managed to look up at him.
“Darling,” he whispered, “what is happening? Are you ill?” A moment of silence passed as you tried to respond, your mouth opening but no words becoming audible. A moment of silence passed, the only action being James assessing you. Your words couldn’t seem to form, a burning spreading through your entire body. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. You began to wonder yourself if you were somehow ill.
“It was supposed to be me!”
The maid across the room suddenly shrieked, desperation clouding her judgement as she flung her arms up in the air. “I was the one for you!” She sobbed, stumbling slightly as an expression of hurt formed upon her face. “I always loved you, and these women--they never did! They used you, and I always cared!” James eyes widened, shock coming across his features. He stared at the woman, contemplating her words.
“But you never saw,” the woman said sadly, her head hanging in shame before her face went emotionless. “And so I did the only thing I could.” She looked at him, dead in the eye, a type of malice suddenly overcoming her. “You’d be surprised how easy it was.” Her eyes settled upon your frame, your head moving slowly to get a glance at her. You stared, blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out. You could barely comprehend what she was saying, but you felt as James’ breath quickened. It was taking all of your willpower to stay awake--you needed to, for James.
“What?” he stated, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, a rage within his eyes even you had never seen before as he stared at her. He was tense, as hard as a rock, glaring daggers at the woman who had seemingly betrayed him.
“I--,” Miss Evers hesitated, obviously intimidated by his fury, but decided to continue. “I’ve found that you have a secret stash of cyanide in the bar.” She faltered once again, her eyes shifting away from James and to the floor. “I wanted us to be together, and she-” she pointed at you, “-she was always in it for the money! They all are, all but me!” She burst into tears, falling onto her knees in hysterics. Your eyebrows furrowed as you racked your brain to gather all of the information. She poisoned you at the bar. You remembered brief flashbacks of the one tiny sip you’d taken of your previously forgotten drink.
James seemed to be shaking as he gently moved you to sit in a chair by the wall, turning away from you for only a moment. Your eyelids began to flutter as sleep beckoned you, visions of James’ movement around the room the only thing to hold your focus. A loud pop suddenly reverberated off of the walls as it rang out, causing you to sit up slightly from your slouched posture, your eyelids flying open to search for the source. James stood over the body of his betrayer, smoking gun resting within his palm.
You felt so weak, your thoughts jumbled, unable to focus on only one. Only now you knew it wasn’t just an overreaction. You’d only taken a mere sip of the drink from the bar, but you supposed now that it had been enough for the poison to go into effect. You wondered briefly how she’d gotten the cyanide into the drink in the first place, and exactly how much she had put in for it to have such a potent effect on your body.
Your eyes traveled to her corpse, and to the fresh blood splattered across the wall from the headshot. You blinked, barely registering what had just occurred before you. You were too dazed to process the incident, even if you understood what had occurred subconsciously. Relief was the only thing you felt; relief for one less thing to worry about standing between you and James.
Eyes shifting slightly to the left, you stared at the browning roses, the sweet old lady’s warning once again echoing, a distant memory brought to the surface of your mind. James crouched in front of you, suddenly the only thing in line of sight, his lips moving but you couldn’t hear his voice over your own in your head. The roses were dead. You left them on the floor. You betrayed them for--
You sprung up once again as a loud banging at the door shocked you back into your senses. James glanced briefly at the door before turning back to you quickly. He pulled you out of the chair, holding you up and close to his chest as he stroked your hair tenderly.
“James,” you just barely whispered as he shushed you.
“I know, darling,” He said reassuringly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “It’s all going to be okay, dear. It’ll all be over before you know it.” He smiled charmingly as you nodded weakly, holding tightly onto the cloth of his shirt to maintain stability. And you believed him in that moment, as he always seemed to find a way.
One way, or another.
You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as the pounding on the door increased. Or maybe it was the pounding in your head; at this point you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was just a figment of your imagination. Cold metal pressed against the skin of your temple, your brain too bleary to question it. Mere seconds passed as you contemplated moving, but suddenly it was as if everything had settled away. James’ warm body faded from your grasp.
-🤍-
Your eyelids fluttered open, eyeballs moving back and forth as you tried to become familiar with your surroundings. You recognized the familiar room immediately, for it was your bedroom when you had first moved into the Cortez. You felt strange. Zen, almost, but maybe that was just because the pounding was gone. You felt... disconnected. It was the most out of touch with yourself you’d ever felt.
You climbed to your feet from the floor, thoughts running rampant at what was unknown to you. Where was James, how did you get here, how long had you been here, and why did you feel so cold? Flashes of what seemed to be both years ago and only moments ago clouded your mind, filling you with dread. Scenarios of what could be frightened you and sent you into a state of panic, pushing you forward.
Out of the room you went, through the quiet and empty halls, searching, searching, searching--no fixed destination ahead except something, anything, that could lead you to your James.
It seemed that days had passed before you finally found the lobby of the hotel. Navigation through the building was proving to be much more difficult than you remembered. Why was it taking so long?
The lobby was sparsely populated, unlike the usually crowded area that you were used to. You glanced around, noticing only a few people in the bar, the receptionist, and someone asleep on the sofas. Your feet carried you to the hotel entrance, pushing the first door open, the sunlight peeking through the opaque glass surprising you. If it was the daytime, then why was the hotel so empty? On ordinary occasions people came and went like flies; the Cortez was a hotspot in the city of Los Angeles, after all. Your hands reached out to push open the door to the outside, the metal handle of the door cool against your skin, and then suddenly nothing. In front of you was the door no longer; profound confusion coursing through you as you stared at the walls of your bedroom once again. You had been there one second, and in the next it was as if you had been teleported back in time.
And so the cycle repeated for what seemed like years; many times set adrift through the halls, eventually to the lobby where the sunlight no longer shone through the windows and unusually few people inhabited. You were reaching forward for the handle of the first door for what seemed to be the hundredth time, only to freeze at the call of your name from a familiar voice.
“Y/N.”
Your name sounded of honey dripping off his tongue. It was like hearing that voice for the first time again. All your worries deflated and anxieties subsided--for you had found your God once again. You turned to face him, to see his face--the face you had longed to see for what felt like years but may have been minutes. You still didn’t entirely understand the detachment from your body you felt; it was as if you no longer had a life source, no blood running course or lungs cycling air. You felt out of place and trapped at the same time.
Just as your hopes had soared, they plummeted at the sight of the bare lobby. Emptiness sat instead where you had expected James to be, crushing all sense of direction. You wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the hotel to shreds with your bare hands. But just before you gave up all hope completely, your eyes caught on the tiniest of details.
Barely noticeable, unless payed close attention to; unless already a prominent object in one’s mind. Small, dainty, white petals lay scattered in high correlation, leading on to an unknown but obviously specific destination. You treaded lightly as you followed the path closely, afraid any disturbance would somehow make them disappear.
Unease settled through you, possibly just a usual feeling as of late, but considerably appropriate when meeting the isolate hallways once again. You began questioning your sanity; was this just yet another repeat in the cycle? You’d been lost for so long, was this just another loop? What was the energy here, and why did it not feel like you and James’ beloved Cortez, the place you called home? You felt like you were stuck in a punishment of some kind; a purgatory; a hell.
And at last, you arrived; the room in which this cycle had began, or ended. The office of James Patrick March: Room sixty-four. You paused, contemplating, before making a bold decision and gripping the handle, opening the door and entering the room. There you stood in what was once James’ office, now empty of most furniture, only few items remaining. And there it remained: the vase on the table in the center of the room, petals leading straight to their source.
Inside sat the very white roses themselves, southern California glory and all. They looked just like the ones in that very first garden: huge, bright and beaming, petals spread with all the beauty and radiance of nature and purity. And just behind them stood their God; the master of the garden who held the utmost control in his realm. Your God, who’d saved you from hell; who’d broke all cycles.
The feeling you felt at sight of James did not fail to excite you just the same as it had on that first day years ago. Something about his presence next to yours soothed you, for you knew that he was still there, that he hadn’t been taken from you, that no matter what had happened you were still okay so long as he stood next to you.
You rushed forward and into him, basking in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, but the challenge once again presented itself: an unignorably apparent absence of warmth. It’d been just before you’d first woken up what seemed like years, or maybe just hours ago, that you’d been in his embrace just the same, his warmth seeping into you and igniting your soul as you had faded in and out of consciousness. But now, you couldn’t feel it. You felt his body wrapped around yours, but nothing inflaming, the detachment from your own warmth just the same. It was missing, a shell of a comfort that used to always be present; something you had gotten entirely used to, for to be absent of warmth was to be dead...
You gasped, pulling away from James to look him in the eyes, the reality setting in and the drunkenness fading away. Your mind was becoming clear, all clarity suddenly bestowed upon you.
“James, are we...” you froze in panic, for it felt as if you didn’t have lungs, the normal rise and fall of the simplicity of breathing gone... the feelings of life were all gone...
And it clicked.
“James,” you whispered, your eyes tracing over the details of the room. The blood stains on the floor and walls were the only evidence of foul play left. You felt strange, for people didn’t normally expect to see the place of their death after the fact. Realizations settled over you as you stared at the room, just as you had initially when entering to warn James of the police, the truth of the events that had happened finally dawning upon you. In your poison-induced state of mind, it’d been hard to realize. You had been dying, the poison slowly but surely shutting your body down. You’d barely processed it when James had held the gun to your head and pulled the trigger, ending your pain.
“Yes, darling?” James replied to you, bringing you back to your conversation. You stared at him longingly. Although you didn’t entirely understand why you were still here, or the concept of the afterlife, you were glad to have James next to you. A moment of silence passed as you tried to pinpoint what you wanted to ask him exactly.
“I have so many questions,” you said, deciding to just speak your mind. You furrowed your eyebrows, blinking rapidly as you tried to sort out your thoughts. “I-I’m so lost, James.”
“Of course you are, dearest,” James said reassuringly, his hand brushing the stray hairs away from your face. He stared at you sadly. “I’m terribly sorry for all that happened, you must feel perplexed beyond understanding my dear.” He paused, his eyes traveling over your features as you stared up at him, listening intently. “This was simply my only choice, darling. You were succumbing to the poison’s grip long before I finished your pain. Miss Evers...” He trailed off, his jaw clenching tightly. “Nevermind that. I came to a conclusion upon the authorities’ arrival, and that was that if I was damned to be put away I might as well flee with you, my queen... it was the only right option.” He smiled down at you softly.
You smiled right back at him, your love for him the only warmth left inside of you now that you no longer had your body to call home. You basked in the feeling of being close to him as he pulled you to his chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss against your scalp. Even if you didn’t feel warmth, simply the love you had for him was enough. He tenderly stroked your back, calming your nerves. It amazed you how he could ease your mind so easily, if only just a little. However, you couldn’t shake your thoughts away. Sure, you could just let it all go, but the truth of the matter was simple.
Your entire life had been a cycle. A cycle of undeniable foolishness; you’d been ignorant of the truth for all of your living years. Oh, how it angered you. You hated something truly for what seemed like the first time in your life. You hated yourself; you’d let yourself believe false truths just to live in an illusion that you thought was happiness. You were naïve. And ultimately, that was what had ended you.
You’d ignored all warnings and left the roses to wilt, betraying the one thing that had always been on your side. You’d ignored all threats and committed yourself to making paradise in the land of the evil; it was simply impossible. The Garden of Eden wasn’t a place for the living. It was a place of freedom, and so long as you’re living, you can never truly be free. For in life, one threat always remains: death. You could never truly be protected. You could never truly have paradise.
But with James, in the Cortez, in the paradise he’d created for you... even death didn’t stand a chance. It was a gateway to greatness; a place where nothing truly stood in your way, where no threats were great enough. You couldn’t be harmed, or imprisoned, or separated here; you were finally utterly invincible; real Gods. Hell and Earth were no longer a threat. It was your true paradise that James had promised you.
Your Garden of Eden.
---------
Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series
Main Masterlist
#american horror story#ahs#evan peters#james march#kit walker#kai anderson#jimmy darling#kyle spencer#rory monahan#evan peters imagine#evan peters x reader#james patrick march imagine#james patrick march#james march smut#james march x reader#james march imagine#tate langdon#ahs imagine#ahs hotel#ahs: hotel#american horror story hotel#american horror story imagine#the countess#elizabeth march
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Rfa + minor trio being jealous seeing mc with another member pls. ty if u do :DDD
*Angst* RFA+Minor Trio being jealous seeing Mc dating another member.
Enjoy! (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) *Angst and NSFW warning*
☆Yoosung☆
"Congratulations..." They were the words he sent in the chatroom when you and Seven made it official.
Only he knew they were empty words though.
He really liked you, hoping to confess to you one day. Sometimes he had even imagined having a family with you.
But that was just how deeply he loved you.
Somedays he would just wish you'd broken up with Seven and ran into his widely opened arms.
Somedays he would wonder if it would've been him by your side if he had confessed his love a day sooner.
He always cursed himself out for thinking that way afterwards though.
He should be happy.
He has to be happy, for his two precious friends.
He avoided you and Seven for months, years... putting on a bitter smile when he had run into you at a RFA party occasionally.
It felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, he knew he had to get his feelings over with. But he just couldn't let you go so easily...
It wasn't until Seven proposed to you, in front of all the guests and members at the party.
He kept repeating the words in his head, "Please say no, please say no, please say no..."
But of course, you agreed and Yoosung sent you both his second congrats.
A few years later he started dating a girl he met at his vet.
Yoosung eventually got married to her and he was able to treat you and Seven the way he had before everything.
Yoosung and his new wife would never have the same connection he did with you though.
I mean she didn't have to go through getting compared with Rika.
He was happy with her, and you were happy with Seven.
He told himself, he was content with his life. And, he eventually came to believe it.
☕️ Jaehee ☕️
When Jaehee found out about your relationship with Zen through the radio, she joked that she was offended she had to find out through the internet and not personally by you or Zen.
She was confused about her feelings at first, she knew she was feeling jealous... but towards who?
She brushed off her feelings, convincing herself it was a neutral fangirl jealousy.
That wasn't until she found out how Zen broke your heart during an argument and you stayed at her house.
She felt so angry, how could he do that to you? He should've cherished you, loved you, because that's what you deserved-
That's when she realized, those feelings... weren't towards Zen but towards you.
Without even realizing it, her feelings for you have gotten so deep, she fell in love with you.
But it was too late when she did, because you were able to make up with Zen and you even told her you were going to get married to him.
That officially broke her.
She kept a straight face, continuing to work at her café for 2 years.
That was when you announced your pregnancy and even her hard metaled heart delicately snapped.
She cried silently in her house as she read your chats.
"Why am I crying?... I should be happy for her..." she repeated those words as she cried herself to sleep.
The next day she told the RFA she was going to leave, in order to travel the world to further her knowledge in her business.
You were sad, everyone was. But she promised to keep in touch.
She was able to keep her promise for a year. Until she fell out of touch with everyone, even you. And you used to be her best friend...
You were upset, why did she suddenly block you out of her life?
But only Jaehee and god would know how you had unknowingly broke her heart, because you never heard from her again.
♬ Zen ♬
Why did it have to be that trust fund kid, out of everyone else?
Himself for example... either way he just wanted you to be happy.
But sometimes he would wonder, if he had gone more less with those flirtatious jokes, would it be him next to you?
Did you think his flirts were nothing but a casual way of joking like Jumin told you?
Now only he would know, that he was being serious. That all those 'lighthearted' flirts sincerely came from his heart.
The way you were strong enough to have everyone open up to you, and the way you sincerely cared for everyone of them.
He fell in love with you, and he knew he would never be able to find another person like you.
But he tried his best to get over you. He still wanted to remain friends at the very least.
If he wanted that, he had to accept your relationship with Jumin...
Zen tried to love someone else, a beautiful woman he had worked with in one of his movies.
But when he saw you come in to congratulate him as Jumin held your waist his heart broke.
Eventually though, he proposed to the woman and at the wedding he felt shame because in the church, at his wedding with someone that wasn’t you...
He thought you were the most beautiful woman there.
“Why are these feelings still lingering?!”
Years passed... later finding out his wife has had several affairs, but he wasn’t one to judge. When he still had you in his heart.
He lived his life solely for his career in a loveless marriage life, until he finally shattered. He couldn’t take these feelings anymore, and when he left, nobody has heard of him again.
♛ Jumin ♛
It seemed as if he was cursed.
Every woman he had fallen in love with, the only two woman he’d felt emotions to, they all belonged to Kim Jihyun.
Although he’d never showed it, when you and Jihyun announced your wedding, he was bitter, “Already? Did you two even get to know each other, after all that happened with Mint Eye?”
He drowned himself in wine, everyday.
One day he even sat curled up on the floor as he soothed Elizabeth the 3rd in his arms as he whispered, “Nobody will take you from me...”
The past months he’d been out of character and he was aware of that.
Eventually, he was slowly able to return to his old self again but the only things that surrounded him in his life was his cat, work, and wine.
He never wanted to feel those emotions for you again because they were painful to get over. But had he truly, gotten over you?
He would’ve done everything to make you his if you didn’t belong to his best friend, and he knew V deserved his happy ending, after everything he had been through.
But what about himself?
You had a feeling, something wasn’t right. Jumin was different.
And everything poured out when all three of you went to get dinner, all the emotions stacked up spilled out in a single second.
The next morning you found yourself in Jumin’s bed as he slept next to you shirtless, with your clothes also coldly left on the floor, your heart dropped.
Then, you looked to your left to find Jihyun also sleeping next to you.
That was the start of your relationship, all three of you came to the negotiation that the two men would share you, to which you gladly accepted, because it was your idea.
You were sure it was a great idea because all three of you were totally content on it.
Others would point fingers, while some would worry, “Isn’t history repeating itself? Maybe not in the same way... but in a ominous way just like before. They’re dragging themselves into a toxic relationship again.”
You and the two friends didn’t care though, because all three of you was sure this was an absolute fantasy...
👓 Saeyoung 👓
With all the flirty jokes the two of you would send, everyone that had seen you and Saeyoung, they were sure you and he had a fling.
That’s what Saeyoung thought as well, that there was something between the two of you, but you must’ve only seen him as a friend because he was paralyzed for minutes as he watched you in Zen’s apartment.
You and Zen knocked down furniture desperate to embrace one another as your lips pressed against his, eager for his touch.
When Zen turned you against the wall as his slender hands reached under your skirt, Saeyoung didn’t want to see anymore.
He wanted to give you both the privacy, but it was also because he couldn’t bare the pain of watching you anymore.
That’s when he noticed Saeran behind him with his ice cream. “Was that Mc?”
Saeyoung nodded with a grin to act like he was fine as he tried getting back to work, Saeran rolled his eyes and threw away his finished ice cream in the trash.
That was when Saeyoung finally broke down, and he wasn’t sure why because he used to always tell himself he would be ready when this day came.
When he tried focusing on his work and it seemed impossible, Vanderwood offered him to come back to the agency. Saeyoung accepted the offer.
He grows further from the RFA and more immersed in his works, but still occasionally enters the chatroom to see how you’re doing.
His heart stings with a bitter smile when he sees the selfies Zen uploads with you and your son that has the same white hair and scarlet eyes as your now husband.
He’s happy to see you with a good life, a good life he thinks he was never capable of giving you...
🌚 Saeran 🌚
When he came home and started to live with his twin he’d been separated from for years, it’d be a lie if he said it wasn’t uncomfortable living with you as well.
He barely knew you except for the fact that you were Saeyoung’s girlfriend.
That was until Saeyoung eventually had to get back to his hacking work after devoting his months of time to Saeran alone.
You started taking care of Saeran, and it was awkward at first because he didn’t want you anywhere near him. The first two months were full of him just screaming and attacking you.
But eventually he realized how patient, loving and sincerely caring you were.
You became the only person he wanted to be touched by, and he wanted to be the only person able to touch you.
Of course he’d never said anything because you were the girlfriend of his brother.
Sometimes you would even give him cuddles, only supposed to be friendly hugs but Saeran didn’t think the same, because he loved you. In a different way from how you loved him.
When he couldn’t trust himself from you anymore he told you to stop coming near him.
It hurt you, because you didn’t know why, but you agreed.
You and Saeyoung never noticed how painful it was for Saeran when you kissed, and hugged each other in front of him.
He sealed his emotions away... for the happiness of his twin, and you, because he knew damn well his brother was good at making you feel loved.
♧ V ♧
He saw you as an angel, one that’d helped him realize the toxic of his relationship with Rika, one that’d helped him realize he was capable of real love.
But he had felt lost when he knew that the person he would experience true love with would never be able to be you.
Because you were already with Jumin, and V would never interfere with that, Jumin was his best friend, and he knew how well Jumin cherished you as his wife.
Whenever the people around V would ask him when he would find a new lover, he brushed it off. Sometimes hinting that he would probably never.
They all assumed it was because he had never truly gotten over Rika, but little did they know he had already realized it was never love.
Yes, the lingering feeling of guilt may have been still over him, but you were the one in his heart. He always caught himself staring at you at parties.
V wanted to avoid these feelings because he knew the dangers of it.
He avoided you and Jumin as he focused on his art, and Jumin didn’t have the time because he was always busy with you or work.
You noticed Jumin and Jihyun slowly falling out of touch. So you arranged dinner at a restaurant.
You drank until you were drunk.
V chatted with Jumin, it was a neutral talk between friends. They decided to drink until their hearts desires that night.
V was eventually the last one half sober with his high drinking metabolism while Jumin fell drunk next to you on the table.
V rests his head on his arms as he admired you for what felt like hours.
That was when he lightly placed his cold hands and lightly brushed your cheeks.
It was an selfish move, one that he would only know of. He softly apologized to the both of you and called Jumin’s driver to pick the two of you up before leaving.
The next morning, Jumin told you Jihyun had left to travel somewhere with the promise that he would be back one day, when he had gotten over his feelings. You and Jumin didn’t know what feelings he had been talking of but hoped he’d be back soon.
However the both of you gave up, when even phone calls wouldn’t reach him, and you were sure he’d never come back.
That was probably the first promise V gad ever broke.
🧸 Vanderwood 🧸
Vanderwood didn’t think much of you, just the fact that you were Saeyoung’s girlfriend.
But that was it, even when the two of you had occasionally lived together for a while when he was a “maid” for Saeyoung.
That was until he and Saeyoung came back from dangerous missions, wounds and scars all over their body, you would always scold them and treat their wounds.
The little actions you did for him fluttered his heart and he’d always feel envious seeing you with Saeyoung.
He drowned himself in work so he could distract himself from all the unnecessary feelings in his heart.
You would never have to find out about his feelings because there was no need.
You were as happy as you could be with Saeyoung and he didn’t need to ruin that.
He also didn’t really think he had a chance anyway.
But he knew what kind of dangerous job he and Saeyoung had.
So sometimes he’d wished you had just ditched Saeyoung and met someone with a far more normal life so Vanderwood would have to stop worrying about your wellbeing.
But at the same time he was glad you were Saeyoung’s girlfriend so he could always watch you from close.
Although you would never be his, close was enough for him.
Masterlist
#mysme#mysme headcanons#mystic messenger headcanons#mystic messenger zen#mystic messenger jumin#mystic messenger yoosung#mystic messenger v#mystic messenger jihyun kim#mystic messenger jihyun#mystic messenger baehee#mystic messenger saeyoung#mystic messenger 707#mystic messenger luciel#mystic messenger seven#mystic messenger saeran#mystic messenger hyun#mystic messenger jaehee#mysme zen#mysme v#mysme saeran#mysme seven#mysme 707#mysme jumin#mysme jaehee#mysme yoosung
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Countess Dracula
In Countess Dracula we have the tale of a lonely old woman who discovers that she can make herself young again, just so long as she doesn’t mind having to murder somebody to do it (she doesn’t). Our antiheroine uses this newfound youth to seduce the least interesting man in the movie, until at last her misdeeds catch up with her when her latest victim turns out to have been the wrong demographic to make the magic work.
Does that sound familiar? Yeah, this is a very Leech-Woman-y movie. It stars Nigel Green, the news announcer from Gorgo, and comes to us from Hammer Studios, home of Moon Zero-Two. The director, Peter Sasdy, never made anything that wound up on MST3K but he did work on the legendary Pia Zadora bomb, The Lonely Lady. Countess Dracula is not a wild ride, as its pace is fairly sedate, but it is certainly a ride nonetheless.
The count of somewhere or other has just died, leaving his realm to his nineteen-year-old daughter Ilona – and technically also leaving his spiteful widow, Elizabeth, free to marry her longtime lover Captain Dobi. Most people would consider this a perfectly acceptable retirement, but Elizabeth is impossible to satisfy. She doesn’t want to grow old while Ilona (currently on her way home from finishing school in Vienna) rules the county and gets all the attention. When Elizabeth discovers that bathing in the blood of virgins restores her youth, she embraces murder as a hobby and has Ilona locked up so she can stay in charge while posing as her own daughter! In that guise she sets out to pursue handsome young Imre, the son of her husband’s most trusted general, while jealous Dobi can only sit and seethe.
I bet you think you can guess how this movie ends. I bet you think Dobi tells Imre the countess’ secret, and the two of them defeat her. Or else the real Ilona escapes and meets him, they expose Elizabeth as a fraud, and then get married and rule the land with justice and mercy or something. That’s what would happen in a normal movie… but you guys know I don’t watch normal movies. Maybe instead you’re guessing that nobody does shit and Elizabeth just carries on her merry way until she’d destroyed by her own hubris? That’s more like it.
Not all of Hammer’s films were good, but they were generally pretty well-made and Countess Dracula is not an exception. The elaborate costumes and sets are very nice, although areas like the town square are obviously artificial and the old lady makeup on Ingrid Pitt as Elizabeth is pretty bad. There’s also a young woman made up in very ugly brownface as a ‘gypsy girl’, except they totally forgot to do any makeup on her for the scene where her naked corpse is discovered in the woods.
There are even a couple really well-done moments of storytelling and worldbuilding. A scene in a pub, when everybody falls silent as Dobi and Imre enter, shows eloquently how terrified the peasants are of the aristocracy. Elizabeth gets some chilling bits when we see the true depth of her depravity. She sees no difference between controlling people through love and controlling them through fear – either way, she gets what she wants, and their feelings don’t matter. My favourite detail is the subtle cultural conflict going on in the background, as the characters speak disparagingly of ‘Turks’ and yet have clearly picked up some bits and pieces of Ottoman culture.
Although its plot outline is very similar to The Leech Woman, the philosophy of Countess Dracula is completely different. The Leech Woman didn’t really give June a viable alternative to her poisoned fountain of youth. Old women in its world can only sit around and drink and know that nobody loves them. Elizabeth, however, has a possible future – Dobi repeatedly notes that he’s been waiting twenty years for the opportunity to legitimatize his relationship with her. He would have happily devoted himself to her for the rest of his life, and the two of them could have lived in retirement while Imre and Ilona gave them grandchildren to spoil. Dobi even says there is dignity in age, directly contradicting The Leech Woman by applying it equally to both sexes. June was more or less forced to become a monster, while Elizabeth chooses it explicitly.
So there’s honestly some pretty good stuff in this film. Where it unfortunately falls on its face is with the characters, none of whom can really be said to have an arc, and the ending, which is rushed and unsatisfying.
The movie’s main focus is always on Elizabeth, but she refuses to grow or learn anything at any point. She starts off as a nasty, selfish bitch and just stays a nasty, selfish bitch. She has no actual master plan, but seems convinced that she can keep up this charade indefinitely, even though Dobi points out the impracticality of that. Dobi believes she’s going mad, but the truth seems to be she’s just horrible. She is evidently terrified of growing old, but that is never explored. We see her react to aging, rather violently at times, but we never find out what the root of this fear is.
All this means that Elizabeth, despite being the focal character, is never sympathetic. June in The Leech Woman at least started off as somebody we could pity, before she descended into depravity. Elizabeth is a terrible person from the get-go, as illustrated in the very opening when she has her coachman run over a peasant who wants her to fulfill a promise her late husband made her.
Imre and Ilona are pretty much complete ciphers. Imre spends the entire movie in Elizabeth’s thrall one way or another. He is madly in love with her in her guise as Ilona, and after finding out the truth he’s too scared of her to openly defy her. The only personality trait he manifests is gullible foolishness, and any sympathy we might have had for him evaporates when he cheerfully kisses a barmaid’s tit on the same day when he’s proposed marriage to the woman he believes is his true love. Ilona spends most of the movie locked up in some mute peasant’s hut doing not much. When she finally enters the story properly, she comes across as stunningly stupid.
The character who does the most to try to thwart Elizabeth is her lover Dobi, but he’s less interested in stopping her from killing virgins than he is in having her to himself. He gets Imre drunk and tosses him in bed with the barmaid in the hope that Elizabeth will reject him, and later takes Imre to see Elizabeth bathing in blood to youthen herself. These things don’t work, partly because Imre is an idiot and partly because Elizabeth is always more evil than he thought she was, but at least he tries.
At the end of the movie, Elizabeth’s latest bloodbath wears off in the middle of her wedding to Imre, and she runs off to murder Ilona in order to make herself young again. Imre tries to stop her and gets stabbed for his trouble, which does at least expose Elizabeth’s evildoing to one and all, and she and Dobi are hanged. What happens to Ilona I’m not sure, but I know they didn’t have therapists in the seventeenth century. Nobody wins here. It’s a downer for everybody, including the superstitious peasants, who will continue to be terrified of their rulers now that their worst fears have been confirmed.
Several things might be made of the fact that it’s young women Elizabeth is killing. It’s interesting to note that the idea of male virginity is never even brought up. We could contrast two depictions of motherhood, in the form of Elizabeth’s jealousy of Ilona versus Juli the nurse’s unconditional love for her. There’s Imre’s description of ‘Ilona’ as embodying all aspects of womanhood, to which Dobi replies that no woman can be maiden, mother, and whore all at once… yet that is just what Elizabeth is trying to be. What I find interesting in this, however, is how the movie depicts Elizabeth’s own internalized misogyny, in the fucked-up attitudes she displays towards youth, beauty, and gender.
Elizabeth feels that age and experience have made her undesirable. Dobi assures her that he finds her as attractive as he ever did, but she evidently does not believe him, and her mistreatment of her female servants has a definite note of jealousy in it. She kills young virgins not only to gain their desirability, but because she hates them for what they have and she does not.
What’s unusual is that she applies this same attitude towards the men in her life. Elizabeth is no longer attracted to Dobi, because he is old and experienced. Their affair has gone on for years, and in Dobi’s mind this has only deepened his love for her – but Elizabeth is tired of it and wants something new. Imre is young, handsome, and innocent. He has no wealth of his own and has not yet really accomplished much in life, but Elizabeth doesn’t care. If all she has to be is young and pretty, then how could she ask anything more of him?
Here, Dobi and Elizabeth represent two different versions of gender equality as it applies to sexual attractiveness, with him raising Elizabeth to his level, and her lowering Dobi and Imre to hers! Elizabeth treating the men in her life as she has been treated illustrates the inequality quite sharply, but what ultimately destroys her is applying the same standards to herself. She believes so totally that nothing else matters as long as she is beautiful that she doesn’t care what she has to do to accomplish it, or who sees her do it. In the end, she is undone by her own self-loathing.
#mst3k#reviews#episodes that never were#countess dracula#70s#magic voice recommends#we're running out of plots
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Isn’t she just delightful?
Catherine of Aragon has one of the more fascinating media legacies of anyone in the Tudor period, not in terms of how her image has fluctuated over the years, but because of how notably it hasn’t. Other hardcore Catholics of the Henrician court are inevitably vilified in stories from Protestant perspectives - Thomas More, Cardinal Wolsey, Jane Seymour and above all else Mary I, to name a few. “Protestant perspectives” doesn’t just refer to reformation texts, it includes books from the perspective of Protestant figures; usually Anne Boleyn or Elizabeth I, and more recently Thomas Cromwell with Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall books. Despite her unwavering faith in both the Catholic Church and her own position, Catherine’s reputation has, up until the past twenty years or so, remained close to stellar; her marriage into the English monarchy at a young age did well to divorce her from her parent’s religious persecutions, and her death some fifteen years or so before her daughter took the throne kept her from being tarnished by association to Mary’s resurrection of medieval heresy laws.
As a Tudor queen, Catherine has largely gone down in history for her irreproachable conduct, even after that history began to tilt towards the side of a religion she opposed - she is known for her charity, her piety, and her belief in her husband’s good nature no matter how vile his behavior grew to be, even at the expense of her own self image. According to Chapuys (who in this case there is no reason to disbelieve) she went to her grave questioning wether Henry’s actions after their divorce was her fault, wondering wether, if she had given him what he wanted, he may not have felt the need to break from Rome, mistreat their daughter and execute two men - one a long term friend and one his own grandmother’s religious advisor. Catherine is a noble figure, she is a tragic figure, she is most of all a dignified figure, and in Tudor media she is always given at least a sympathetic nod if not a complex or three dimensional portrayal.
The key phrase there, though, is as a Tudor queen. Whatever else she was, Catherine was decidedly not a modern woman, just like all of her female peers living five hundred years ago were decidedly not modern women; her unflinching religious beliefs, her many attempts at producing a male heir and her devotion to her marriage are admirable traits of a female noble of the sixteenth century, less so of a twenty first century wife or businesswoman. She was a product of her time, and modernized or semi modernized Tudor media’s attempts to portray her - specifically the brand of modern Tudor media that sets out to depict Anne and Henry’s relationship as one of Sexy High Romance - always end up turning Catherine into a misogynistic caricature of herself, historical legacy be damned. The blog anneboleynnovels describes it best:
“Catherine’s greatest hurdle has been not Protestant novels, but modernized ones. These are the one subgenre in which her character at best is severely degraded and at worst is completely unrecognizable. It’s not surprising that it should be like this — finding modern corollaries to Anne and Henry, whether in an office, a Hollywood mansion, or a high school, is doable. As for most of the people who surrounded them, while some some people are harder to wrench into modern poses than others, it’s relatively easy to cut and alter those characters to make them work better in a modern setting. Catherine, however, is completely lost here. She needs to exist, or else the central conflict disappears — but she simply doesn’t have a real modern equivalent, at least not in the kinds of societies that modernizers write about; her determination that God had put her in her position and that she had to safeguard her daughter’s legitimacy, and thus her inheritance, is impossible to convey fully, especially since Henry’s historical behavior — taking a presumed inheritance from Mary, forcibly separating the two women, and confining them in residences of his choosing — can’t be precisely replicated in a modern novel without making him at best a creep and at worst a criminal. In neither case would that Henry be an appealing love object for a modern Anne, so his behavior is inevitably made more standard — he’s simply a wealthy man divorcing his wife of twenty years, and instead of taking her settlement and moving on, his wife just refuses to let go.”
As the post on Catherine’s fictionalized history points out, attempts to judge her through a modern lens, particularly in stories that center around that grand, not-at-all-murderous love affair of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn inevitably fail to produce a balanced assesment. Susan Bordo’s highly modernized study the Creation of Anne Boleyn treats her like a footnote at best and a self righteous fool at worst, while the Catherine of Suzannah Dunn’s The Queen of Subtleties is disgustingly nicknamed “Fat Cath” (stupid cow, how could she let herself go like that after six pregnancies?) and features its leading lady, another ahead-of-her-time portrayal of Anne Boleyn, going out of her way to condescendingly paint Catherine to the reader as vengeful and delusional. Anne of Hollywood and Anne and Henry present the worst portrayals, one a hideous, deliberately unsympathetic drug addict and the other a teenage psychotic forced on Henry by his father, leading her poor, brow beaten boyfriend by the hand.
That’s not to say it would be impossible to write a well rounded modern Catherine of Aragon, but most modernized Tudor novels simply don’t care to try and make her well rounded; she exists solely to be the convenient road block to Anne and a whitewashed Henry’s happiness, a flat example of the Hysterical Woman trope rather than a Queen, a mother, or a politician. It isn’t Anne Boleyn’s fault that this happens (she can’t exactly object) but this version of Catherine never fails to rear its ugly head in Tudor media that aims to portray Anne, literally or figuratively, as a “woman of the future.” Since that reading of Anne has gained momentum over the years, this Catherine inevitably does so too.
What makes the Spanish Princess so unbearable is how blatantly Emma Frost is trying, and egregiously failing, to flip the script on this. Whatever her personal dislike of Anne Boleyn, she is very obviously trying to take this fictitious version of Anne Boleyn that has sprung up over the past few decades - that of the rebellious, sexy, pseudo feminist Modern Woman™ - and apply it to Catherine of Aragon, who was neither rebellious, a feminist or, after six pregnancies, five infant deaths and a battle with heart cancer, all that sexy. The intimacy and very real affection she and Henry shared in the early years of their marriage is stilted and unemotional, replaced by an absurd number of sex scenes and a very out of place “warrior kween” nickname. It isn’t enough for Catherine to organize a massive military campaign and give a speech to an assembly of soldiers while heavily pregnant, real life accomplishments of hers which have gone largely unacknowledged - no, the Catherine of the Spanish Princess needs to literally fight in battle, pregnant belly armor and all, subtly implying that her many miscarriages were the result of her own behavior, never mind the fact that Henry’s later wives had miscarriages as well. The deeply devoted friends Catherine actually had, one of whom served her for decades and risked royal punishment to be with her on her deathbed, are either erased entirely or put into invented conflicts with her. Her relationship with the only one of her children that survived infancy is perverted into a cold, uncaring motherhood, marked by disappointment and a refusal to even hold her daughter, let alone personally teach her Latin, commission scholars to write books for her, and request those same scholars take charge of her education.
In place of all these details, the things that make the historically minded audience love Catherine in the first place, several sordid aspects of Anne Boleyn’s fictional representations are assigned to Frost’s Catherine of The Upside Down: the ~unnatural~ blowjobs and poorly designed French hoods, the general air of cattiness, the excessive nudity, the hatred of her daughter, the inability to sexually please her husband, and the weird sense of anger at all the women in her life all stand out as hallmarks of Anne Boleyn’s less flattering portrayals, but so too do the clear attempts to pander to a feminist audience and sell itself as new age and progressive.
The fouler examples of Catherine as a modern woman aren’t yet the prevalent perception of her; a gaggle of misguided twenty first century books isn’t enough to erase the near spotless reputation she’s maintained for half a millennium. But the Spanish Princess fails to depict a more positive modernization of Catherine because it’s lazy in the attempt - it sees the habit of trying to turn sixteenth century queens into anything but sixteenth century queens and tries to replicate it by taking a handful of theatrical trends and having their protagonist perform them. Those trends have been apart of Anne Boleyn’s portrayal in the media for so long it wouldn’t be that strange to see her acting that way on screen, no matter how historically inaccurate they may be, but to assign them to someone with such a vastly different public history as Catherine is just jarring. She wasn’t like that, nobody thinks she was like that, Tudor media has always known her as being not like that, and the result is something that’s confusing at best and outright offensive at worst. It’s not fun to watch, but it’s interesting to examine, broader context in mind.
(Also credit to @queenmarytudor for that image of Meg and Mary, and seriously, check out anneboleynnovels. They’re great.)
#the spanish princess#Catherine of Aragon#the Tudors#henry viii#also I should say that I am not in any way a historian and you should take what I say with a massive grain of salt#this is just what I think
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prompt fill 7/80 - #11 - Have you seen the rest of their family? ft. Prince Richard Silvers, Klaude & Ezekiel Goldsborough (plus their father), and Elizabeth Valentine
oh boy this one is long. Richard and Klaude (and ezekiel and elizabeth) are characters i made years ago and wrote a bunch of stories for, but i never finished any of them. i do wanna rewrite those because i like them still lol. but have this new fresh thing with them instead, featuring both of the Goldsborough boys knocked up by their respective partners lmao
Silvers: Reunion
“Have you seen the rest of their family?” Richard asked, leaning in close to Elizabeth as they were escorted into the Goldsborough manor. “Klaude mentions his older brother and father sometimes in his letters, but I have no clue what they look like or what they're like.”
The younger woman shook her head, looking terribly nervous as they entered the huge house. She glanced around and fidgeted with a ring on her middle finger. “Ezekiel showed me a picture of his mom once back at the academy… but she passed away when he was a child, so I don't think that helps. Ezekiel mostly talks about Klaude when he mentions family.”
“Damn. That totally sucks. I should have done research. I don't even know anyone's names.” He hadn't been nervous about coming to stay with Klaude at his family’s estate at first. But now upon realizing he was going to seem foolish and uncaring, his usual confidence was dwindling away. He didn't want Klaude to think he wasn't interested in the rest of his family, to give him any reason to suspect he hadn't wanted to show up.
When getting married, one was supposed to be at least familiar with one’s partner’s family.
He'd just been so desperate to see his fiancé again that he'd bypassed everything else.
“Well, their dad’s name is Raoul, and their older brother is Manson,” Elizabeth said. “Ezekiel calls his two sisters by nicknames, but they live with their spouses so they shouldn't be here.”
“They have sisters?”
“Yes. It goes Manson, Klaude, Hattie, Lin, and Ezekiel.”
Richard chuckled a bit. “Zeke’s the family baby, huh?”
“Their sisters have kids, so those are the family babies…”
Why did Klaude have to be so tight-lipped about everything? He hadn't mentioned being an uncle, or that he even had sisters.
They were escorted through an entrance hall to a large study. Richard perked up as they walked in, but their escorts left them with just Klaude and Ezekiel’s father. There was no sign of the brothers. Richard struggled to keep from deflating. Elizabeth’s fidgeting increased.
“Ah, Prince Silvers, Miss Valentine. Welcome to my home. Was your trip pleasant?”
Richard took over the conversation before Elizabeth could have a chance, giving her time to calm her nerves. “It's wonderful to be here. Our trip from the Silvers Kingdom went smoothly, if not a bit slowly for my tastes.”
“I'm sure the two of you were eager to be here.” Though Lord Goldsborough sounded pleasant enough and had a small smile on his face, the look in his eyes was anything but friendly and welcoming. Richard couldn't blame him, considering the circumstances of why they were there. He applauded the man for being so composed. If the situation were reversed, his own father would have been livid. “Your sister, Princess Ronella, is not with you?” the man asked.
“She is back at the Silvers Palace, studying. Miss Valentine is now capable of providing the magic I need, so my sister doesn't have to trouble herself following at my heels wherever I may go.”
“I'm sure it's no trouble, helping her brother.”
“We adore each other, but circumstances kept her from her proper education. I'm glad she's able to return to her schooling at home and to spend time with her mother, as young girls should.”
“Indeed. And things have settled, in your kingdom?”
“Very. It is peaceful at last, and the people flourish. Miss Valentine was a wonderful help to my father and king and I.” Elizabeth jumped a bit, stuttering that she had just tried her best. Richard gave her a side-eye glance and patted her arm. “Without her magic, I may not have been able to come and pay my respects to you, Lord Goldsborough, and I would not be able to see Klaude again.”
“Thank goodness for Miss Valentine then. Klaude and Ezekiel are eager to see the both of you later.”
“A-are they doing well?” Elizabeth asked.
Lord Goldsborough gave them both a strained smile. Richard vowed to himself that he would find some way to apologize to the man, on behalf of himself and Elizabeth, but mostly himself. He was sure Lord Goldsborough would be more forgiving of Elizabeth, a sweet girl who hadn't intended to defile his youngest son. Richard knew that on the other hand, he'd caused a full-blown scandal, and the blame for it laid mostly on him. Now Lord Goldsborough had to rush to arrange a wedding between his second eldest son and the crown prince of a large empire, whereas Elizabeth and Ezekiel had a bit of time and far less prominence.
“They're both doing well. Klaude will be especially glad for your arrival, Prince Silvers. He has yet to give birth, though the doctors say he is due any day now.”
“I'm relieved I could make it in time before the birth,” Richard told him. “Is Klaude here? Ah, and Ezekiel as well?” he asked.
Lord Goldsborough took a seat on a fine chair, crossing one leg over the other. “You’ve both had a long journey. Why don’t you sit and have some refreshments? Klaude is resting, but I’m sure he’ll be up later in time for dinner.”
They’d been sitting on a train for hours and had eaten right before arriving so they wouldn’t have anything in the way of seeing Klaude and Ezekiel right when they arrived, so Richard absolutely did not want to sit again. However, he had to be polite. It wouldn’t do for a prince of his standing to turn down his host, especially not after his sister had drilled it into him that he had to actually behave like a royal while around nobles.
So he gestured for Elizabeth to sit at the end of a loveseat and took a seat on the cushion next to her even though he felt like Lord Goldsborough was purposefully keeping them from seeing his sons. “Thank you, Lord Goldsborough. We’d love some refreshments after our trip.”
“I’ll go ask a maid to bring some tea. Then we can discuss a few important matters.”
“Of course. Whatever you’d like.”
Lord Goldsborough stood and left to speak to one of the servants they’d passed on their way to the room. As soon as he’d left the room, Elizabeth turned to Richard and said, “I wonder why we can’t see Ezekiel… he said Klaude was resting, but he hardly mentioned Zeke…”
Richard slumped back and scoffed. “He’s not letting us see them yet because he hates us, Elizabeth.”
“Wh- what?!” she cried. He shushed her and glanced back at the doorway. Though frazzled, she quieted down and asked, “Why do you think that? Does he really hate us?”
“Of course he does,” Richard replied. He shrugged and looked around the room. Nothing caught his eye. All the decorations and furniture were standard for a nobleman’s manor, all expensive but impersonal items to show off wealth to any guests. Elizabeth looked even more anxious, so Richard explained, “Elizabeth, two of his sons are carrying our children, children conceived out of wedlock. His youngest is pregnant with a commoner girl’s child, and his second eldest is about to give birth to a foreign crown prince’s illegitimate firstborn. It’s a huge scandal for the family, especially with us being gone for six months. We can’t even marry early and try to conceal what happened. Klaude is due any day and Ezekiel is what? Almost eight months along?”
“Y-yes, almost eight… I can see what you mean, now… I never thought about it like that. I hope Zeke’s been alright. He was so worried when he found out about the baby, and then I had to leave and it took so long for us to come back. I hope he hasn’t been stressed out about a scandal.”
Richard waved her concerns off. “Eh, Ezekiel’s probably not too affected by that. Klaude and I are the ones with the major scandal.” Which Klaude had complained plenty about in his letters, even saying that he’d once nearly punched one of his relatives for making a comment about the baby being illegitimate. Richard had thought that meant his older brother and Klaude was just wording it strangely, but now he wondered if it was a brother-in-law that had asked Klaude how he felt about carrying a future bastard king.
If he could figure out which relative had said it, maybe he could humiliate them with a spell of some sort and make Klaude laugh. It was hard to get Klaude to fully laugh, and he loved whenever he managed it. Surely a good bit of revenge would work.
He hoped that Klaude’s father wouldn’t keep them apart for too long. Though he understood why Lord Goldsborough wanted them away from his sons, he missed Klaude and was impatient to see him again. It’d been a bit miserable back at home without Klaude to talk to every day. He missed spending time with the man and devoting his time to getting his cold exterior to crack. Those moments when he got to see Klaude’s softer, affectionate side… Moments he knew he was seeing a part of Klaude no one else got to see. He’d really missed them dearly.
Richard was also quite eager to see how Klaude looked, heavy with his child, ready to deliver any day. Klaude’s belly had been noticeably rounded out when he’d last seen him, a small swell that Richard could hardly take his hands off of. Having seen a few other full-term people before, it wasn’t difficult to imagine a full belly and swollen breasts on Klaude. And it was just as easy to imagine him still fitting into his typical formal and well-tailored clothes, even being nine months pregnant.
He sighed, wishing he could lean against his arm or bounce his leg. It was killing him to be patient.
Still, the image of Klaude and the good memories of spending time with him would have to remain just in his fantasy for now, until dinner. It would be rude of Lord Goldsborough not to have all of his family within the estate present at dinner when they had a guest of such high standing. At least Richard could count on that, that the nobleman wouldn’t dare to break the rules of high society in front of the heir of a kingdom much larger and far richer and more prosperous than his own country.
Glancing at Elizabeth, who was now solely focused on fidgeting with the spinning rings Richard had ordered to be made for her, he wondered if she was thinking of the same thing. Ezekiel was a bit too sweet-looking and gangly for his own tastes, but he imagined that being pregnant had filled the scrawny young man out and given him a healthier flush to his usual pallor. Certainly, it would suit him.
Richard told himself it was to help snap Elizabeth out of her anxious state, but he just really wanted to tease her to take his mind off of not being able to see Klaude yet as he asked, “So, how do you think Ezekiel looks?”
“Hm?” Elizabeth’s head shot up. Richard reached over and tried to fix her hair so it wasn’t so messy. He and his sister had tried to get her to stop looking so ruffled, but no matter what they did Elizabeth always looked like she’d been caught in the wind or had fallen. “What do you mean? He should look like he usually does… just, um, pr-pregnant.”
“Exactly. Klaude’s told me in his letters that he’s blaming me for how much sweets he’s been craving. Do you think Ezekiel’s indulging?”
She latched onto the wrong thing. “But you hate sweets…?”
“Beth. I have been utterly consumed with thinking about how I’m going to be putting my hands on every inch of Klaude’s heavy belly, and on everything else that’s changed with the pregnancy. You haven’t been thinking the same of Ezekiel?”
“Pr-Prince!” She covered her mouth with her hands, flustered.
“He’s always been a skinny little thing, and you’re a big girl. I bet he’s huge. I bet his breasts are nice and large as well, to feed the big baby you stuck in him.”
“I don’t get how you can say stuff like that with a straight face, Prince!” she squeaked. “Why do you always tease me like that?”
“You’re so easy, that’s why. Come on, haven’t you been thinking about it?”
“Of course I have! But I wouldn’t say it out loud!” Richard put a finger over his lips to shush her and she glared at him. “Prince…!”
Before he could keep teasing her, he heard footsteps. Richard looked behind them at the doorway and Lord Goldsborough returned, followed by a maid holding a tray with tea. Richard straightened up, putting on a charming smile.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long. I had to attend to something,” Lord Goldsborough said as he took his seat again.
“Not at all.” Richard took a cup of tea and waved away the maid when she offered milk and honey. He waited for Elizabeth and Lord Goldsborough to take their own cups before taking a sip. Then, he asked, “What was it that you wished to discuss?”
Lord Goldsborough set down his cup and put his hands on his lap. “I was hoping to take this time to discuss matters relating to your engagement with my son, about the wedding, Prince Silvers.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her tea to keep from reacting. Richard had no doubt she was remembering his many rants the past few months about how he didn’t care what they did for the wedding, that Klaude could handle that since it was going to be a wedding with Klaude’s country’s traditions. Richard would simply follow along, as anything would make him happy as long as Klaude was satisfied with it.
He wished he could say that to Lord Goldsborough, but didn’t think the man would enjoy hearing that Richard wouldn’t care if Klaude just wanted to sign a paper and go on with married life or if he wanted to consummate the marriage in front of everyone.
Definitely, he didn’t think Klaude’s father would want to hear that.
So he didn’t mention anything like that. “I’d love to discuss it. But shouldn’t wedding arrangements be made with Klaude…?”
“The family typically arranges things, and I have discussed things with my son in length the past few months. But since you’re a member of royalty, we would like to include you in arrangements, so as to avoid offending you or your kingdom.”
Richard did not mention that if Lord Goldsborough tried to discuss a wedding with his father or even anyone else in the royal court, that he would get laughed at and told the whole ordeal was ridiculous. He did not want to mention the words ‘concubine’ or ‘royal consort’ to Klaude’s father to explain that in his kingdom, Klaude would most certainly not be referred to as his husband no matter what their marital status was.
“Klaude has briefly mentioned to me how a typical wedding would proceed for your family. It all sounds quite agreeable.”
“Yes, he’s said you agreed with the procedures. But the details, rather, is what we would like your input on.”
“I’m sure whatever you have planned will be perfect! I don’t want to cause any difficulties when I know there is a limited amount of time to prepare things…”
Lord Goldsborough exhaled slowly. “It would be no trouble to fulfill your desires for the wedding… The staff is quite capable. And there is plenty of time to prepare.”
“But isn’t Klaude going to give birth any day now?” Elizabeth asked, and Richard wanted to take her aside and shake her for not listening to his sister’s social etiquette lessons. Somehow, Ronella would find out she’d spoken out of place, and he would be the one to get scolded for not looking out for Elizabeth.
Her question further strained the nobleman’s smile. It looked painful, how forced it was.
Richard wished he knew how to endear himself to Lord Goldsborough to make things easier on him. However, Elizabeth’s question made that impossible, driving it in that Richard was the reason he would be needing to prepare a wedding as quickly as possible.
At the awkward silence that followed, Elizabeth continued, saying, “If a wedding is difficult, then why not just have a small ceremony with an official? It’ll be quick and effective…”
“That’s preposterous. A small ceremony and impersonal signing before an official would be unthinkable for the Goldsborough family. And it would be offensive when Klaude is marrying a man of such high standing.”
“I guess it would be different than what a noble family is used to… but it wouldn’t be offensive. The royals in the Silvers kingdom don’t get married like people do here in Merlynd.”
“Yes, I’m sure their wedding customs are very different.”
Richard silently prayed to his patron goddess that Elizabeth wouldn’t mention that the kings of the Silvers kingdom didn’t have marriages, just accepted consorts that would bear children that would later be legitimized by the royal court.
His prayer went unanswered. She immediately replied, “The heirs and kings don’t get married at all, though.”
“What?”
Richard tried to salvage things, “While it’s true that we don’t get married in the sense that the people of Merlynd do, we do…” He had no idea what word to use in place of taking consorts or lovers. His pause made things worse.
Elizabeth seemed to realize that she shouldn’t have brought it up, leaning in towards Richard and asking in a whisper, “Is it not good to bring up royal consorts, or…?”
“Consorts,” Lord Goldsborough repeated, aghast. “You don’t take a husband or wife?”
“Klaude will be my husband according to Merlynic law, and I will personally consider him as such,” Richard assured.
That didn’t assure his future father-in-law. “And your kingdom will consider my son and his child as…?”
He avoided answering. “Merlynic law doesn’t apply in the Silvers Kingdom. But the concept of illegitimacy is very different and has nothing to do with marriage, in my kingdom. The term ‘bastard’ has no meaning. It will not matter to the royal court or to my father whether my child is presented for acceptance the moment after naming them or even years later.”
It was clear that Lord Goldsborough wanted to ask more about that, but he refrained, instead returning to his original topic. “Regardless… what would be your preferences for the foods that will be served at the wedding?”
Richard internally groaned. He hated details. At home, the kitchen would come up with things, and a list would be submitted to his father for approval. Sometimes Richard would suggest a meal if he wanted something, but his ideas were only ever one among the many ideas put forth by the staff.
How could Klaude’s father want to micromanage everything? Still, he had no choice but to go along with the tedious conversation.
He hoped that Klaude really was busy resting and was getting plenty of good sleep. At least then it wouldn’t be so bad, wasting his time discussing wedding details he was sure wouldn’t even come to fruition because of how quickly the wedding was to be thrown together now that he’d arrived.
-
“What do you mean Richard has been here for an hour already talking to my father?” Klaude snapped at a servant. “I told my father I wanted to be alerted as soon as he knew when Richard was going to arrive or did arrive.”
“F-forgive me, Master Klaude,” the servant stammered, wilting under his harsh glare. “Lord Goldsborough asked that no one tell you nor Ezekiel until after he finished speaking with Prince Silvers and his companion.”
“His companion? Is Elizabeth Valentine not here?”
His brother looked upset, standing and bringing his hands to his chest. “Elizabeth didn’t come with Prince Silvers?”
“Please don’t be upset, Master Ezekiel. I’m sorry, Master Klaude… I don’t know who his companion is.”
“Is it Princess Ronella?” There was no one else Richard would come alone with.
“N-no! It’s not a princess. It’s a woman with strange eyes.”
Ezekiel sighed in relief while Klaude was briefly confused. “It is Elizabeth, then. Thank goodness,” his brother said with a smile.
Klaude ignored Ezekiel and demanded of the servant, “Why did my father order such a thing?”
“Lord Goldsborough didn’t say. But he looked quite unhappy, Master Klaude.”
He scoffed. “Of course Father is unhappy. I’m also unhappy about the current state of things.” Ezekiel rolled his eyes and Klaude grit his teeth, turning his sharp glare towards his brother. There was no way he would ever admit that he was anxious to see Richard and upset that their father was trying to keep them apart. I’m certainly not upset! Klaude thought. It was the principle of things. It was rude of his father to deny his future son-in-law and daughter-in-law the chance to see their fiancés after their long travel just to be with them. He turned back to the servant. “But that’s no reason to keep Richard and Elizabeth Valentine away from us. Where are they?” he asked.
Gulping, the servant told them where their father and their guests were. Klaude grabbed Ezekiel’s arm and dragged him along.
-
Richard was considering faking illness to get out of discussing wedding decorations with Lord Goldsborough. It wouldn’t be hard to fake a cough and act like he was trying to hide being in pain. He was sure Elizabeth would freak out and convince the nobleman, and he could ask for privacy while Elizabeth gave him some excess magic, then explain to the woman that he was just pretending. It would probably work, provided that Klaude had told his father about his illness. He was sure that at least Ezekiel would have mentioned it. After all, the only reason why Elizabeth hadn’t stayed with her boyfriend through his pregnancy so far was that she was in the Silvers kingdom helping him and his father recover from the major spell they had cast. Or in Richard’s case, was still casting.
As Lord Goldsborough droned on and on about what traditional Merlynd weddings had, Richard wondered if Ezekiel was upset with him for keeping Elizabeth in the Silvers Kingdom for so long. Even though she had greatly helped Richard’s father and saved Richard’s life, he thought the young mage might still resent him a bit.
Ezekiel could hate him, for all Richard cared. He was glad to no longer be dying, and relished being able to get through the night without choking on blood from a decaying throat and that he was able to eat with far less pain.
“Another thing, Prince Silvers,” Lord Goldsborough started, and Richard got ready to start coughing.
Neither of them could continue though, as a raised and angry voice barked, “Father! I told you I wanted to be there to greet Prince Silvers and Elizabeth Valentine!”
Richard snapped his head around to see Klaude pulling his brother by the arm towards the doorway. A servant was walking alongside them, worried. But Richard’s focus went straight to Klaude.
“What are you doing here, sons? I told the servants I wanted to speak privately to our guests-”
“Thank you for this blessing, my Goddess,” Richard clasped his hands together and prayed quietly. He could hardly believe his eyes.
While he’d expected Klaude to have a heavy belly and a somewhat swollen chest, he’d been using the average expectant person as a basis for his mental picture of what he imagined Klaude to look like. With Klaude being so tall and broad, he’d also imagined that while his almost due belly would be large, it wouldn’t be as prominent as it would be on a smaller, slimmer person.
Klaude, in a sweater that clung to his figure and fought to keep him covered, was huge. He waddled towards the doorway slowly, a hand hooked under his massive belly that was in no way only carrying one child. He was expecting at least hefty twins. And not only was he clearly carrying twins, but it was obvious Klaude had been indulging in more than the occasional craving for sweets that he’d complained about. He’d filled out wonderfully, all curves where he’d once been simply muscular. His overstretched clothing left nothing to the imagination.
“How could you forbid the servants from letting us even know that our fiancés had arrived? It’s not very discreet of you-”
Ezekiel waved to Elizabeth, a shy smile on his face. Elizabeth waved back.
Richard swallowed hard, drinking in how gorgeous Klaude looked. His blond hair was thick and shiny, longer than Klaude usually kept it, allowing it to look fluffier than it used to. His hips, already what Richard had teased were perfectly child-bearing size, had widened, and his ass and thighs had grown with them. He didn’t let himself think too long about what his fiancé would look like stripped naked, flushed and full and no doubt covered in stretchmarks- Richard didn’t think he could take it. It was a fight not to open his mouth and say something stupid.
“My great Goddess…” Richard murmured, seeing how Klaude’s broad pecs that had started softening six months ago had grown into a proper pair of breasts. Klaude had hated when he tried to get his mouth on them before he’d really started producing milk. Richard had a feeling the next few days were either going to be absolutely thrilling or incredibly annoying to Klaude once he got his hands on him in a private room.
He spared a look at Ezekiel. As he’d imagined, the young man sported a normal eight months pregnant belly, which stuck out obviously on his thin frame. He’d filled out somewhat, now looking healthy instead of underweight, and there was more color to his face. Elizabeth was sure to be happy, at least.
Richard looked back at Klaude. As he argued with his father, his sweater rode up a bit. He was wearing something underneath, but it still made Richard feel like he was going to burst. He grabbed Elizabeth’s arm before he could explode and make Klaude hate him. “Elizabeth,” he hissed, “-Though I was teasing you before, I really just wanted to spend time with Klaude, not immediately get my hands on him, by the Divine, Klaude is so enormous and sexy. Don’t let me say something vulgar to him.”
“Uh… um, well, don’t say that to him? Goodness, he is very big, though. It might upset him.”
“Elizabeth. I’m going to die when I get my hands on him. I’m going to die if we don’t find a private room soon so I can make up for not being around to see him transform into the divine being he is now.”
She tried half-heartedly to pull away, then sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t say those kinds of things to me. The past six months have been… something else.”
“You’re the only person I can talk to about this.”
“But you sound uncouth,” she whispered back. To herself, she lamented, “I can’t believe I got used to you talking like this when it’s not teasing. I should be embarrassed.”
Teasing! Maybe that would make her understand how he was feeling. “Come on. You know you’re going to fuck Ezekiel as soon as you’re alone.”
She blushed. “We’re saving it for marriage!”
“I don’t understand you Merlynics at all. Klaude and I will be consumed with passion until you or Ezekiel drag us out for the wedding, and then we’ll be back at it until he goes into labor. In true Silvers fashion, I won’t miss a moment of these last few days. Do you think I saw my father at all before his second consort had Ronella?”
“Prince Richard, I don’t want to hear that,” she cried quietly. “Please calm down.”
Klaude had finally gotten to the doorway, but his father was using his whole body to block him, holding onto the doorway with both hands. Seeing his fiancé even closer was maddening. After six months without him, and now this-
Richard squeezed Elizabeth’s arm tight, desperate. “Seeing Klaude so hugely pregnant is without a doubt the most arousing thing I have ever witnessed. I am utterly consumed by him right now. If I don’t get my hands on him soon I am going to be sick. I am being deprived of divinity. Elizabeth-”
“I’m sure Klaude has missed you too, but really, Prince Richard. He’s right there and he’s looking at you, please contain yourself.”
“I might just have to shove you all out of the room and take him right here. I don’t think I can wait.”
“Richard!” Klaude cried. “You are completely disgusting! I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”
Richard’s heart dropped. He turned to look at Klaude, who had paused in trying to get past his father to stand stiff and red-faced. His father looked horrified, standing aside, and Ezekiel was covering his face with his hands.
“Klaude, my love, I-”
His fiancé took a few steps forward. “Shut up! What in the world is wrong with you, saying such- such depraved things in front of my family and Elizabeth?!”
“H-how much did you hear?” It wasn’t so horrible, surely, for Lord Goldsborough and Ezekiel to hear the last bit he’d said about having sex with Klaude in the study.
“You want me to repeat it?!” Klaude snarled, fists clenched at his side. “You’re sick!”
“The, uh, seeing my brother so… hugely pregnant and it being, er, arousing. That,” Ezekiel answered.
Klaude turned to stare at his brother, humiliation on his face. He huffed and hissed, “I can’t believe I actually wanted to see you!” Then, he stormed off as quickly as his pronounced waddling gait allowed, shoving past his father and brother.
“W-wait, Klaude! I’m sorry! You just look so perfect like this!”
“I hate you!” Klaude shouted back, voice cracking, not even turning to look.
Richard tried to get up. “Klaude! Please wait!” Elizabeth grabbed him and pulled him back down before he could take off after Klaude.
“Prince Richard! Don’t make things worse,” she begged. “Take a minute to settle down.”
“Argh!” Richard yelled, slumping against the back of the couch. “I can’t believe I said all that out loud!”
Lord Goldsborough cleared his throat. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “-I’m just going to make the rest of the arrangements on my own. Ezekiel, son, I’ll be in my personal study if you or your brother need me. Prince Silvers, if you require anything, my servants are at your disposal.” With that, the nobleman took off, sighing heavily as he left the room.
Ezekiel watched him go, then turned to Elizabeth with a big smile on his face. “Beth!”
Elizabeth, finally free from Richard’s grasp, got up and hurried up to him. “Zeke! I missed you so much!” She pulled him into a hug, careful not to squeeze his belly. “Are you alright? Have you been handling things okay?”
“I’m doing well. I’ve missed you too, Beth.” His eyes grew wet. “I’m so happy to have you with me again. I loved all your letters, but it wasn’t the same as having you here… I know your work in the Silvers kingdom was very important, but I still wished you were by my side every day.”
“Oh, Zeke… I’m here now! I’m never going to leave you or the baby for so long again. I mean, unless Prince Richard starts dying or something… He’s our friend, I would help him. It wouldn’t take six months again though, now that I know what to do to help him, um…”
“O-oh, yes, of course! Um, it’s nice to see you as well, Prince Silvers,” Ezekiel said to Richard.
The prince sighed. “Just ignore me and keep going with your cute reunion, Ezekiel. Don’t worry.”
“You look upset…”
“I’ll be fine soon once I figure out how to apologize to Klaude. Pretend I’m not here.” Richard waved them off, even though he felt incredibly jealous that Elizabeth got to have such a loving reunion with her fiancé. “Did Elizabeth write to you about how she’d cry sometimes because she worried about you so much?” he prompted.
“Beth…!” Ezekiel looked up at her, eyes filling with tears. He reached up to wipe them. “S-sorry, I’ve been so emotional… Oh, but you really worried so much?”
“Y-yeah, of course!”
Richard buried his face against the couch, pulling a cushion over himself.
-
After plenty of tears, sweet stories, and lots of hugging and chaste kisses that indeed made Richard rather jealous, Ezekiel and Elizabeth turned their attention to the prince again. Ezekiel peered over the edge of the couch. Richard looked up at him from where he was laying down holding onto a pillow. Seeing Ezekiel looking at him, he thought to himself that he was very lucky to have gotten with Klaude instead of his younger brother. Ezekiel’s cherubic features and timid attitude did nothing for him.
Truly, he and Elizabeth were a perfect match. Of course, he and Klaude were also a perfect match, even if Klaude hated him sometimes.
“Hello, Ezekiel.”
“Have you thought of how to apologize to my brother yet?”
In response, Richard pulled the cushion onto his face. He heard Ezekiel whisper something to Elizabeth.
Then, Ezekiel said, “You know, Klaude has really missed you. He tried to hide it, but he’s told me how much he was looking forward to you coming back, and how worried he was about you and your illness, especially when it got worse. It really scared him.”
Richard pulled the cushion down and sat up. He gave Ezekiel a confused look. “I never told Klaude about my illness getting worse. He knew about me coughing up a little blood before my father and king called me home, but I always said I was doing well in my letters to him. I didn’t want him to worry.”
Elizabeth frowned, tapping her fingers together. “I, uh… mentioned it in my letters to Ezekiel, since I kept him updated on how things were going so we could guess when I’d be coming home.”
Ezekiel rubbed the back of his neck. “And I showed Klaude those letters.”
“Why would you do that?” Richard asked.
“I thought he deserved to know, in case…”
In case he’d taken a turn for the worse. In case he’d died. “Oh.” Richard felt guilty, now that he thought about it. What if he’d ended up like his father, in a coma? His father had woken up after a few weeks and only now thanks to Elizabeth no longer required months of bed rest, but Richard knew in his case if he had ever tried to stop casting his spell or had been forced to, that he would have never woken up. Of course, it was highly unlikely he would have been lucky enough to end up in a coma. If his illness had progressed to the point that he couldn’t cast his spell, he would have most certainly just died. Probably on the spot.
If that had happened, and Ezekiel hadn’t been telling Klaude- if he’d believed that things were always going well like Richard had been assuring in all of his letters, then him dying would have come from nowhere. It would have caused a problem, then, if Ezekiel had known but hadn’t warned his brother.
With Ezekiel telling his brother about all of Elizabeth’s updates, but with his own letters assuring that nothing was wrong, Richard wondered if Klaude had thought things were even worse than they were. If he had someone telling him Klaude was ill, but Klaude saying he wasn’t, he would suspect that Klaude was far more ill than he was being told. And with Klaude knowing that Elizabeth was a bit oblivious at times and not very good at picking up on secrets, and knowing that his brother hated to upset him, it was safe to bet that Klaude had assumed whatever Ezekiel said was at least half as bad as what was really wrong.
“By the Divine…” Richard mumbled. If Klaude had spent the past six months worrying about his health while also dealing with a twin pregnancy by himself, it was no wonder he’d reacted badly to Richard being a fool in front of him. Though it certainly wasn’t his intention, knowing how Klaude took things, his fiancé had most likely thought that he didn’t care about his feelings.
He really needed to work on letting Klaude know he really did love him, and not just physically. It was hard, though, with how excited he got being around him. He made a fool of himself and spoke like he was flirting or started saying outright vulgar things. Even in other matters, his sister and father had scolded him for sounding too sarcastic or playful or being rude.
Well, he couldn’t help that his default was being very happy all the time. Maybe he could annoy Klaude into believing him by repeating that he loved him for more than his body so many times that it would infuriate him.
“Please don’t try to talk things out with my brother by driving him crazy until he screams at you and has no choice but to give up and believe you,” Ezekiel pleaded.
“How did you-”
“Prince Richard, we know you. We’re friends. You’ve done it before. I know it works, but it stresses Klaude out. And Father and Klaude will be very upset if you stress him out too much. Klaude actually wants to have a semi-normal wedding before he gives birth.”
“So try to come up with something else, okay? Klaude is probably stressed out now…” Elizabeth added. “Do you want us to come along as support?”
“If you come along I’ll default to teasing you and Klaude will think I’m not being serious.”
“He knows you’re never serious,” Ezekiel assured. “He gets over it.”
Richard stood up and pouted. “But I want him to know I really am being serious this time!”
Elizabeth came and patted his back. “Give it a good try!”
“I will!” He headed for the door but stopped two steps out of it. He turned to Ezekiel. “Uh, where do you think Klaude is?”
“I’ll take you to his room.”
-
Ezekiel brought Richard to his brother’s bedroom door and then left with Elizabeth to his own room. Richard knocked on the door and then pushed it open. Klaude never welcomed him into a room, even if he wasn’t upset with him.
“Klaude?” he asked, stepping into the room.
There was a sniffle, and then Klaude answered, “Richard?” The man was sitting on a small sofa placed underneath a window that had its thick curtains drawn. He had a handkerchief in one hand that he was holding up to his tear-stained face. His other hand was on his heavy belly, rubbing circles against it. “What are you doing here?”
Richard forced down his shock at seeing Klaude crying. “I came to apologize for how I acted earlier.”
Klaude scoffed and looked away from him. “Of course.”
“I got too excited. I, uh, didn’t expect to see you… expecting more than one child?”
“I’m carrying twins,” Klaude confirmed. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“It was very surprising.” Richard hadn’t expected that from Klaude. The blond wasn’t fond of surprises. He set that aside for later. “I’m sorry I embarrassed and upset you. I was thrilled to see you. I’m very happy to see you again. I missed you a lot.”
“...I missed you as well.” Klaude dabbed at his eyes.
Richard went and sat next to him. With his thumb, he brushed under Klaude’s eyes. Taking Klaude’s other hand, he continued, “And I’m sorry I lied to you in my letters. I should have told you when I was ill.”
Klaude crumpled, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
Bringing up Klaude’s hand, Richard pressed his lips to it. “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t know Elizabeth was telling Ezekiel everything. That he was telling you. I should have been telling you myself, so you knew exactly what was happening.”
“I- I thought you would die. Elizabeth said you might have to stop your magic, but that- And you were gone for so long. When I heard things were settled in the Silvers kingdom, but neither of you mentioned coming back…” Klaude sobbed a bit. “I thought you might not…”
“There was a point where it got so bad my father considered having me break the spell when I couldn’t breathe properly or eat at all, but Elizabeth figured out how to help, and I got better. I’m better than I’ve ever been since my illness first started.” Richard wrapped an arm around Klaude and pulled him close. Klaude rested his head against his chest. “It’s not completely healed, it won’t be unless I can somehow break the spell and sleep again. But Elizabeth healed the damage it caused, and due to reforms I could release a portion of people to lessen the spell, and with Elizabeth’s excess magic, the spell causes far less damage. There’s no more blood, and I can eat without much pain.”
Klaude made a small noise and nodded against him. Richard squeezed his hand.
“I really did miss you. It was lonely, not having you to talk to. Not being able to chip at your shell until you snap at me or I manage to make you laugh. Not being there with you for our children.” He rubbed Klaude’s belly. “I regret that I couldn't be with you for most of the pregnancy.”
“You're here. I was so scared that you wouldn’t come back to me. That's all I’ve wanted.” Klaude’s hand came to rest on top of Richard’s own. Richard kissed the top of his head, closing his eyes and relishing the weight and warmth of Klaude in his arms. It wasn't often that he got to hold him, not with Klaude’s height and usual aversion to affection. And he was enjoying it.
Klaude sighed, relaxing against him. His breathing evened out and slowed. Richard rubbed lazy circles against the side of his belly. He hoped he'd be able to touch him without any layers of clothing in the way, but he didn't want to ruin their moment.
Before he'd left, Klaude rarely wanted to cuddle with him. Now that Richard had him dozing off in his arms, he never wanted him to leave. It was wonderful. He hoped that Klaude would want more affection from then on. Maybe being pregnant and worrying about losing him would make Klaude a bit clingy.
Richard made a mental note to pray for it, and to pray that their children would enjoy extra affection as well. Though he adored Klaude and loved the challenge of breaking through his serious exterior, he wasn't sure if he had the energy to wear at two more Klaudes. While he certainly had the determination to, it might not be matched by what he was physically capable of.
The children were bound to take after him in some way, surely.
Resting his cheek against Klaude’s head, Richard exhaled and thought to himself that he was very thankful to be back with his fiancé after so long. He wasn't sure how he had managed.
He wished he could fall asleep with Klaude, but settling back and keeping his eyes closed was close enough.
Just as he relaxed, Klaude shifted and sat up. Richard opened his eyes to see that Klaude was scrubbing at his face.
“Ugh… I feel like such a mess after I cry,” Klaude grumbled. “I can only imagine how splotchy and awful I look.”
“Oh, it’s not bad,” Richard assured him. Sure, he was a bit splotchy and his eyes were puffy. But that was a given with how pale Klaude was, and Richard didn’t think it looked awful at all. The sight of him so heavily pregnant and having so obviously cried tugged at Richard’s protective instincts and made him feel guilty all over for having scared the other man so much. He wanted to wrap his arms tight around Klaude and smother him, keep him safe and happy all to himself, but let that stay a fantasy.
Instead of making Klaude upset by doing something foolish, Richard pulled out a fresh handkerchief of his own and wiped the last traces of tears from his face. Once Klaude was satisfied that he wasn’t so ‘messy,’ he leaned back against the back of the sofa and spread his legs to make room for his belly. Comfortable, he gave his belly a rub and then pulled up his sweater and the shirt he was wearing underneath it to expose his entire abdomen.
Richard bit his tongue before he could ruin anything by running his mouth again.
Klaude’s belly was flushed pink around the belly button with its tightness and covered with angry stretch marks all over. It was astonishing how Klaude’s abdomen had expanded and his skin stretched to hold their children and his new weight.
Watching Klaude rub his own belly, Richard was frozen. He didn’t want to disturb the blond, make him tug his sweater back down. As he stared, he noticed that Klaude avoided touching his popped belly button. It was probably sensitive, the prince reasoned, with how Klaude’s body seemed to be struggling to contain itself.
Glancing at Richard, Klaude seemed to notice him again and blushed, his hands stilling. “It- it feels nicer, like this.” Richard just nodded, swallowing. Klaude’s face reddened even more, but he lifted his hands and offered, “Do you want to feel-”
His hands were on Klaude before he even finished asking. His belly was warm and firm, and Richard applied just a bit of pressure to see how it felt.
“Mm- j-just be gentle, alright?”
“Will I feel them move?” Richard asked.
“They haven’t been terribly active recently… there’s not much room.”
As if to prove him wrong, Richard felt a shift under his hand and then a kick. “Oh! Hello there, little one.” He leaned forward and rested his head on Klaude’s belly. When he almost immediately felt a hand carding through his hair, he grinned like a fool. To the babies, he said, “I hope Klaude’s been telling you two good things about me. Actually, I hope he’s at least mentioned me. Even if it was just about how worried he was-”
“I was not worried,” Klaude insisted, embarrassed.
There was another shift and kick.
“Even they can tell when you’re lying, Klaude!”
“You’ve got them both riled… “
“They’re just excited to hear me.” He turned his head so he could look up at Klaude. “I’ll try not to excite them too much. Wouldn’t do to get them so excited to meet me that they come out before the wedding.”
“Exactly.” Klaude gave him a glare but then yawned.
Richard sat up. “Tired, love?”
“Always. Your children have been a menace to my sleep schedule. I’ve never taken so many naps in my life.”
Richard pulled Klaude against his chest. “How about a nap with me before dinner, then?”
“Hm, I suppose that would be nice. I’d rather not sleep on this couch, though.”
“To the bed, then.” He helped Klaude up and wrapped an arm around his waist to support him. When Klaude went to pull his sweater down, Richard caught his hand and went, “Ah-ah! I’m not done saying hello to the children just yet. We’re going to keep talking while you get some rest.”
Klaude scoffed. “I’m sure that’s your intention. But… well, just make sure it’s comfortable, my prince, or I won’t be happy when I’m exhausted.”
“I accept your challenge, my lord.”
#mpreg#male pregnancy#original#Silvers - story tag#prince richard silvers#klaude goldsborough#ezekiel goldsborough#elizabeth valentine
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♡Mysme Fluff Day 6: Both?♡
Characters: Zen, Jumin, and Saeran.
Word count: Roughly 450-650+ each
Summary: Taking a walk through the sweet and supportive domestic future, with the man of your dreams and the family you make.
ZEN || Marriage + Success ||
Time was flying by and Zen wanted nothing more than to be the one and only man in your life. He treasured you like you were a goddess, and to be your god would make him feel complete. You've been by his side for 2 years now and he felt like it was time, whether his fan were going to continue supporting him or leave. He didn't care, he wanted to be happy too and having to pretend that you both aren't together by not being seen out with one another hurts his sanity. So he ended up asking you to marry him at the end of one of his shows, this was completely unexpected but you were so happy.
Unfortunately there was some backlash from most of the younger fans, but the overwhelming amount of loving supporters grew fast. Everyone deserves to find love, even celebrities. The fans started to realize that Zen was a human too, not just some musical actor robot radiating pheromones. The wedding was small and intimate but it was beautiful; it was one of the best moments of your life as of yet. Zen was so happy that he could finally show you off to the world as the love of his life.
Since the wedding some of the younger fans that originally left, felt like it was better to sick around for his talent since they still loved the effort he always gave with each performance. Zen was surprised at the amount his fans grew, he never imagined getting more popular although wanting to be the best of the best. He pushes himself and worked harder for his fans, but you'd always remind him that taking a break is good for his health. So he'd listen to you.
Seven months after being married nothing really changed, Zen still loved you completely and endlessly. He continues practicing any chance he can get to show his fans that anyone can make it if they believe in themselves. Four months flash by and here you are, it's too surreal and you couldn't be happier for Zen. You're waiting at the table with your dashing husband as he waits for the results of his nomination. "Award for Best Emotion Capturing goes to... None other than... The one and only ZEN!"
Zen continued to grow for his amazing talents as opposed to just being eye candy. He never gave his fans less than 110% of himself, and he'd never change that. They loved him even when he had nothing and continue supporting him while he has everything he's ever wanted. The love and successes continued to grow between the both of you, and that'd never change.
JUMIN || Business + Pregnancy ||
Being Jumin's wife is amazing, he's caring, loving, and caters to your every emotion and need. He cherishes you as if you were an angel sent from heaven itself. Ater the wedding Chairman Han wanted you to be more hands on with the company; it felt like you were the perfect addition to the family, and the company needed a women's warmth. Chairman Han couldn't be happier with how Jumin has changed and opened up, he never thought he'd see his son so smitten for a woman. Jumin himself loved the idea of having you work for the company as you'd be around more often to see him. He tends to feel slightly uneasy without you when he's having a particularly stressful day.
Due to Chairman Han's gradual aging and declining health, Jumin felt the need to pick up more of the slack in the family business. You supported him through every obstacle that he was to face while handling multiple departments at a time. He never gave up and neither did you, staying by his side, giving him pep talks, and loving him were all he needed in order to keep the company growing successfully. There's been talk about having children mostly from your father in law, however neither you nor Jumin were opposed to having children.
The stress of running a company hasn't been the best environment to bare a child, although you've been trying. There was even a time where the stress of everything in your life caused you to have a phantom pregnancy. Jumin was with you every moment during that rough patch in your marriage. He bathed you, he would feed you, he'd stay up all night to make sure that you got evening peaceful sleep. He would do it over and over again if he needed to.
Work continued as always, even branching out on smaller businesses whether for his own or your philanthropy. Elizabeth even got to come to work more often, jumin was happy about it but if anyone was reaping the benefits of her visits, it was you. She had become such a loving support animal for you while you were going through changes. After Eight months your life had took an exciting turn.
You haven't been feeling well for the past two months or so; you chucked it up to be another phantom pregnancy up until you went to get a check up to be certain. There you were with the news that you were eleven weeks pregnant, tears of relief and joy streamed down your face. This was the most exciting news that you've had in a long time, and you knew that your doting husband would be ecstatic. You went out shopping afterwards to find something to share the news with your loving husband. You go into a pet store and find a tag before having it engraved with "Big Sister" for Elizabeth's collar. Sure the ultrasound photos would be enough but you wanted to involve the first little love in his life.
You come home before him and clip the tag onto her collar; Jumin was very hyper aware of everything in his home, so he'd notice Elizabeth's change right away. Jumin came come as Elizabeth walks over to her precious spot on the couch, catching his attention immediately. "Darling are you home?" He called out to you before giving his beloved pet a gentle ear caressing. He notices the tag as he holds her in his arms. He turns around quizzically to make sure he understands what he's reading. Once looking up towards you he is met with the ultrasound photos of the sweet baby in your belly. You've never seen this man cry since you've been with him until this very moment. Having a legacy born of your love is the most amazing gift you could've given him.
SAERAN || Babies + Ice Cream ||
You and Saeran were inseparable, he needed you and you wanted to give him the life he deserved. A life where he could make his own choices and and dream of anything his heart desires. He was so happy and free by your side. You cried for a few months after everything happened, as he still woke up in terror some nights. The memories of the mental and physical abuse and manipulation haunted him. But being by your side was all worth it.
The relationship between you and him progressed rather quickly, having got married after just six months. He was the sweetest thing as you guys were at the altar, the blush on his face seemed to shine adorably as he read you his vows. After the wedding you moved around to a little suburban neighborhood. It was nice, calm paced, and as far away from mint eye as physically possible. This was the perfect place to start a new life with this flourishing love.
You gave Saeran the idea and hope to open up an ice creamery; it would be perfect since it involves one of the things he loved the most since childhood. It was going to take some time as you work on the reconstruction process for an old retail space. Thankfully it was sold for cheaper since the previous owners wrecked it, but it gave us a lot to work with. With your help and the help of the RFA the ice cream shop was ready within about four months. The shop would've gotten completed faster, if you hadn't have gotten pregnant around month two and a half months into construction.
You still wanted to work with the others, acting as if you weren't pregnant to surprise everyone at the end. After weeks of creating the best ice cream profiles, you both set up the grand opening. It turned out to be a huge success, and you couldn't be happier seeing Saeran's childhood memory into a business. After closing, you gather your sweet husband and your friends and family to share the news. "I'm pregnant!"
For a minute you can see him physically shut down until he finally thinks about the past few weeks, and pieces everything together. His reaction was the purest form of affection you've ever seen. He cried happily as he held you close, gently caressing your belly as the group cheered on in excitement. Seven especially was excited to be an uncle, but what else was new.
"Twin Scoops", was decided as the official name of the ice creamery after finding out that you were pregnant with twins. Being pregnant was hard- being pregnant with twins was worse, but Saeran devoted himself to doing anything he can to make it easier on you. He couldn't be sweeter honestly and the day that you gave birth he held your hand through everything. Two beautiful crimson haired babies, one boy and one girl. He swore his life to be a better man, be a better father to your twins than the man who contributed to his life.
You could say your life was as sweet as ice cream.
@mmfluffweek
#mmfluffweek2020#mysme#mystic messenger#saeran choi#jumin han#hyun ryu#zen#mysme saeran#mysme jumin#mysme zen#mysme saeran choi#mysme jumin han#mysme hyun ryu#mm zen#mm jumin han#mm saeran#mm saeran choi#mm jumin#mm hyun ryu#jumin x reader#zen x reader#saeran x reader#mysme fluff#mysme fanfic#mystic messenger fluff#mystic messenger fanfic#mm fluff#mm fanfic
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