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likesomekindofcheese · 1 year

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Promised Series, Part Eleven (The Great Arranged Marriage AU)

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Grigor Dymov

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of sex, use of guns, and some violence, and a major character gets injured. Some fluff and Hurt/Comfort and DRAMA

Series Summary: When Emperor Peter's behavior towards your family threatens the alliance between them and Russia, the only way to solve it from breaking is through an arranged marriage with his friend, the handsome but heartbroken Count Grigor Dymov. A man you barely know.

Chapter Summary: Grigor and Y/N arrive at the Dymova Manor and Vineyards. But Marial is on her way, ready for a showdown...

COMMENTS. AND REBLOGS AS WELL AS ASKS AND MESSAGES ABOUT THE FIC ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED

Previous Chapters: One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//Ten

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A03 Link

As you awoke late the next morning. Both of you were smiling and giggling over all sorts of things as you ate your breakfast. A few fellow guests rolled their eyes over their cups and plates, but neither of you cared. Then, dressed in your peasant clothes, you hopped inside to cuddle, kiss, and talk for the rest of the journey.

The carriage kept wheeling by. Both of you were smiling. Your ribs hurt from laughing so hard with Grigor recalling memories and chatting.

“So, you both ate it?!” you cried.

“Yes! And you should have seen Peter’s face hours later! We were both curled up with our stomachs hurting on the floor! That’s what you get when you’re 15 and stupid!” he recalled.

“Well once, I was with my friend, we were about six, and we both snuck into my mother’s closet to try on her dresses until she caught us with them on!” you recalled.

You reached the gates, and they opened. Both of you exhaled deeply as you saw that familiar home.

A young maid was sweeping at the front door. She looked up and the broom dropped from her hands onto the ground, she let out a loud gasp. She ran inside, forgetting the broom, and soon in a panicked hurry, lines of the servants and serfs outside. They got into their lines with big eyes and struggling to smooth their clothes. The housekeeper’s jaw was still dropped as she scurried to her own place at the center.

The carriage stopped before the front door. Grigor went out and then skipped his way to the front and helped you out.

“Here, my lady, take my arm,” he offered

“Grigor! How gentlemanly of you!” you replied.

“On occasion, I have been known to be a gentleman,” he boasted.

“Well, perhaps I should try and press my luck!” you retorted.

You accepted his arm with both hands curled around it demurely. You walked off the step onto the ground to face them. He turned to greet them, his free hand tipping off his hat.

“Hello everyone!” he chirruped.

“Master Dymov!” greeted the housekeeper. There was an echo of “Mousier Dymov, welcome!” among the staff as they bowed their heads.

Grigor cleared his throat and looked down towards you. It was comforting that those many familiar faces were smiling at you, eyes beaming.

“Everyone! I trust you are well acquainted with my wife already!” he announced.

He led you by the hand forward and they all bowed their heads respectfully again, keeping their smiles.

“Of course, we are,” said the housekeeper.

“How is the dog? Where’s Sonya?” you asked.

“She’s quite used to being the sole mistress of the manor now! Spoiled little thing!” The housekeeper joked.

As if on cue, little Sonya ran forward from the house letting out excited whines and barks. You leaned forward and picked her up, cuddling her as she licked your face eagerly in greeting. You laughed from how the little pink tongue tickled your nose.

The staff began to look at the carriage. One serf looked at Grigor with a tilted head.

“Mouseier Dymov, there’s no luggage!? And why are you dressed in peasant garb?”

“There are clothes here! We had to run from the palace- I’ll explain it later before dinner,” he said.

You bent down and released Sonya to the ground where she skipped around, sniffing and wagging her little tail.

“Would you like us to bring you both a change of clothes?” the housekeeper suggested.

Grigor grinned devilishly and then went over to you, scooping you into your arms as you let out a little laugh and smiled ear to ear.

“My wife and I have some catching up to do. And I’d like to test the sturdiness of the antique bed in the master bedroom,” he explained with a wink at her.

With a squeal from you, he ran through the house, passing the servants, with you still in his arms. He went up the stairs quickly and into the master bedroom. He kicked the door behind him and plopped you onto your feet before he began to embrace and kiss you, then he buried his face into your neck to pepper little pecks across it.

“A woman beautiful as you shouldn’t have an inch of clothing on her, it’s a crime,” He said, reaching his arms to undo the buttons behind your dress.

“You say that like it should be a law!” you teased, removing his coat off his shoulders.

“Remember who my friend is. Don’t tempt me more, Y/N,” he countered.

Once it had been only you and contained scenes of both peace and misery, and now as you shred each other’s brown clothes off each other onto the floor.

The next morning, you sighed happily as you yawned and stretched to the morning sunlight. Grigor was propped on his stomach. You turned around just to watch his lovely face and form.

His brow crossed and he let out a groan, signaling awakening. Eyes still closed he began to reach his hand out to tap the other side of the bed only for it to land on you. His eyes shot awake to see you.

“Oh…that’s new…” he muttered.

“Good morning, husband,” you greeted, kissing his cheek.

Just like yesterday, you ate your meals practically huddled together. He would give you part of what he had and him part of what you had. Sonya was on your lap, trying to reach to get bites directly on your plate.

“I missed you so much!” you cooed at the dog, scratching her ear.

You spoiled her with a large portion of leftover ham. Proud of herself, she hopped off you and onto the floor, prancing as she went to a corner to work on eating it.

“My turn,” Grigor said.

He placed you on his lap and was kissing you, both of you just overjoyed to be in each other’s company when there was a knock on the door. You opened it to a young male servant.

“There’s a visitor- he says he is family of Madame Dymova,” he announced.

You shot off of his lap. Both Grigor and you looked at each other. His eyebrows lowered, and he reached a hand up to calm you, clutching yours.

“It’s a male visitor, you have no reason to panic, Y/N,” he assured.

“Be with me…just to be careful…” you asked.

He nodded. He then strided forward as you followed.

You walked downstairs only to see your brother. His hair was windswept, his coat and boots dirty, and there were circles under his eyes. On his face, there were two distinguishable bruises and his knuckles had cuts on them. He gave you a smile.

You let out a gasp and ran up to him. You let him into a large hug.

“You’re alive! You’re alive!” you cheered.

“I am, Y/N, and you’re going to be alright,” he comforted.

“Well- huzzah then,” Grigor said quietly.

The three of you went into the parlor and sat down on the couches. You and Grigor close together and your brother on the opposite side. A servant was rung to offer a plate of sandwiches, water, and strong coffee. Even Sonya was running up to bark at him in greeting, begging to be petted on.

“What happened?” Grigor asked nervously.

“I confronted her. We fought. She got me good. I got her good. But not enough to kill either of us. Guards ran in from the Empress. Said she was passing by and heard a scuffle. She sent them in and tore us apart and she gave us a scolding- she detests violence.”

“So Marial is still alive…” you confirmed.

“Yes she is, but I burned the paper with the address- there’s no evidence where you are. She won’t be able to find you,” your brother said.

But not for forever you thought grimly.

He reached over and began to drink some coffee in a blue porcelain cup. Grigor himself took out a small flask, poured a bit of alcohol into his cup, and began to drink it.

“You may stay here; you will always find a sanctuary with us- you’re my fucking brother now, after all!” Grigor confirmed.

“Thank you- I can’t stay forever. I promised my wife I would return before it was time for her. I’ll stay by for a week, just so my sister can have some peace of mind. And…just in case Marial locates you both…” he said.

You looked outside. Birds were flying from tree to tree. Some snow had melted, as it was now getting to be late winter. The ground was either white or brown and the trees were mostly bare.

“Can we hunt in the forests around here?” you asked.

“Whenever we like, I have guns and grounds here for that,” Girgor said.

“And are there some targets? Or can we have some made?” you asked.

You turned your head to look at the men.

“Yes, that can be done,” Grigor assured.

You took your hands and folded them onto your lap.

“I need you both to teach me how to hunt. How to shoot a gun…” you said seriously.

Your brother choked on his coffee.

“What?”

“You heard me. Both of you. Teach me how to hunt. Teach me how to fire a gun. I’m not suggesting, I’m not hinting or even asking…I need to know how to shoot. How to kill.” You commanded.

Your brother scratched his head. Then he let out a sigh and nodded. Grigor set his coffee down and began to chew on a sandwich.

“Well…Sure thing! We can start this afternoon. We’ll go to the forest and practice with something small, easy- like a squirrel. I’ll show you myself how I load a rifle when I go to hunt, Y/N…will you join us?” he asked, turning to your brother.

He blinked and then nodded.

“Yes…. yes, I do…”

It was your second week back and so far, almost all your free hours were spent either hunting or shooting.

Just this morning, your brother said his goodbyes and began the journey home. He made sure to give you plenty of advice on how to aim. He was a bit hesitant, but you assured him that with this new, developing skill and your husband and servants constantly at your side, you would be safe. You would not be left alone with unwanted company.

One of the serfs, a skinny, short teenage girl named Olga, was helping you out. She flung discs made of clay into the air. You lifted the long, thin rifle and began to aim at them. You pulled the trigger.

FWOOM!

To your delight, you hit it. That was tricky. Only until yesterday were you finally hitting them. The disc shattered mid-air and the pieces rained onto the ground.

“I don’t think most ladies shoot guns or hunt, Madame Dymov,” Olga commented.

“Most ladies aren’t being threatened to be killed by their husband’s ex-lover,” you replied.

She shrugged.

“Huh, hadn’t thought of it that way…” she mused.

She ran over to the grounds to pick up the clay shards like a squirrel collecting nuts.

“I’m going over to the targets, should you need me- just be careful, I’m going to shoot at them,” you informed.

“Yes, Madame Dymov,” Olga replied sweetly.

There was a string of targets painted white with red circles getting smaller until the center. You made sure the servants kept Sonya strictly inside. If anyone was to reach out to you, even if it was your husband, they had to approach you from behind. With all this shooting you were intent on mastering, no innocent would be hurt. Only the guilty.

You lifted the gun and pointed at the first of the line of targets, squinting at the center. You fired. Then, reloading with a bunch of bullets from your pocket, you walked across to the next one, firing again. Keeping it up, despite the soreness of your arms, the muscles developing, you kept walking and firing at the targets. You only stopped once you had reached the end of the line.

Then you looked back, the smoke clearing, lowering your weapon.

A quarter of them had a bullet hole right where you aimed at the center. The timing was off, but you did it. You managed to do it- it was a small improvement. Well, that and the fact that you were able to shoot the clay discs. Any was better than none. It meant you would be ready.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You turned around to see your husband running towards you with a paper in his hand.

“What is it?” you asked.

He lifted up the paper. You saw it was an envelope with a pink wax seal.

“A letter from the Empress for you!” he announced.

“Oh shit! Let me see!” you insisted.

You reached for it, but he kept it high up. He smiled.

“Nope! You’ll have to jump for it!” he teased.

You kept jumping up, but with his tall height, he was able to keep the letter away from you easily. He even laughed a little.

“Nah-ah! Give me a kiss and I’ll give it to you!” he said.

Huffing, you reached forward, grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him down to you, kissing him right on the lips.

His eyes were open in surprise from the boldness of it, his hand voluntarily lowered. You ended it and grabbed it.

“You’re a brute,” you teased, admiring the wax seal.

“And you’re my dear,” he replied.

As you opened it, you read these words. You felt his hands over your shoulders, reading it too.

“Dear Y/N Dymov,

I am so dearly sorry. Please forgive me. These past few months mail coming into the palace has often been tossed and intercepted. Keeping myself, my claim to the throne, and my child alive has been occupying every minute of my time. I never received your letters since many on Peter’s side would toss and burn them at every chance, so I never got word from you. Then one day, a soldier of Peter’s confessed he had one from you saved. I asked him for it and read it.

I am glad that your dear Grigor wasn’t harmed as well as you. And as I am a merciful empress, I will make sure in the future, he will receive pardons for his activities with Peter and be safe, per your wish. Just if he remains no threat to my reign and claim as ruler.

If you have any more concerns, please reach out to me. There won’t be any more soldiers burning letters for war. Just ask, and I will gladly help you.

Sincerely,

Your friend and ruler,

Catherine.”

Grigor blinked. His hand opened and you gave him the letter to read for himself. Then he lowered it, his blue eyes tearing up a little.

“You…you wrote to the Empress…asking her…to spare me?” he asked.

“I wrote to Peter and asked him to keep you safe too,” you sighed.

You reached a hand to cup his face and he leaned into it. You swallowed.

“All I did here was worry for your safety…. I thought any minute you would die, and it tortured me…” you recalled.

He reached his arms around and hugged you, then kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you, Y/N…” he spoke sincerely.

“It never got to her.” You pointed out.

He let out a snort.

“Still! Not the fucking point!” he retorted.

You released the embrace. Then you went inside and at once wrote a response:

“Dear Empress,

I was glad to receive your letter. Your word, befitting our divine ruler, was like that from the angels.

But I must humbly ask for your help again. You will not like it, but you must be informed.

Marial is threatening to kill me to have Grigor for herself. She is being forced to marry to keep her family’s fortune. She gave Grigor an ultimatum- either have her or she would kill me.

She has killed before- Lady Svenska. Even bragged about it to him. She has taken a life and is willing to do so again-specifically, mine. And she won’t rest until I am dead.

We fled the palace safely and are staying in the Southern Dymova Manor.

I must ask for your protection from Marial, if possible. I know that our Empress of Russia is a kind, generous, beloved woman who will grant protection and assistance even for me, her humblest of subjects. At least, a little. Nevertheless, I need your help, Empress. Please help me. Please keep me safe. I am terrified for my life.

Please burn this letter after reading so she does not find it and locate me.

Your obedient servant and subject,

Y/N Dymov.”

You ordered a serf for it to be sent to the palace soon.

You paced around the house for the rest of the day. Conveniently, you found where the stairs leading to the roof were. Once you opened the door, you saw you could even walk around on the roof with a balcony overlooking the Dymov lands. It was not a bad spot for a picnic in the future, you noted.

For extra measure, that night at dinner, you did not use your sharpest meat knife. You brought it to your room in a drawer. That day forward, you always kept it strapped to your leg and bullets in your pocket. Then you asked for a rifle or pistol to be placed in every room of the manor. Just in case.

However, two weeks later, inevitably. It happened. Part of you hoped it never would.

And it began as a normal, if not peaceful day. You were sitting in the room with your beloved pianoforte trying a lovely minor sonata when you heard rapid footsteps across the hallway.

When you turned to the commotion, you saw Grigor at the doorway.

“Y/N! Y/N! Great fuck! We have to flee! Right fucking now!” he begged, his arms wide.

“What, what do you, uh, mean?” you asked.

A pit fell into your stomach. You knew what he meant. But you wanted him to say it.

“She’s here! Her! Marial! She’s outside the doors and she’s armed! Everyone’s rushing to lock and close the doors and windows!”

Despite the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up. You forced your breaths to be long despite your racing heart.

“Grigor…I’m not going to run from her,” you announced.

“What?”

Picking up your skirt, you hurried over to the corner where a rifle was prepared.

“I’m fighting back. And don’t stop me.” You ordered softly.

Before you went to the hallway, you paused and then looked at him.

“Should anything happen, I love you, Grigor. I love you more than I can say. And should I die, tell my family I love them. And I died fighting.”

Before your husband could protest, you ran. Past the panicking servants. You didn’t hear Grigor after you in footsteps or in voice.

You couldn’t live like this. Always running. Always afraid. Cowering in corners with false hope she would show mercy. No, you had to face her.

Attempting to calm yourself despite the lump in your stomach and the shaking in your hands, clutching the pistol as if it was a stuffed toy, you walked up the little flight of the stairs to the roof.

Quietly, you crept over to barely peer out of the balcony on top to the ground below.

You could even smell the vanilla of her perfume up there.

There Marial was. The top of her auburn head was giveaway enough. She was knocking on the door with one hand and waving a pistol with the other.

“Let me in! Let me in! Shit!” she insisted.

Madly she turned from the front door to the windows, eyes forward at them.

Good, you thought.

You squatted, one eye shut and the open one squinting to clear your vision, your aim.

“C’mon, Y/N, come out! What a fucking coward that bitch is! That fucking cunt, Y/N! I’ll kill you here!” she threatened.

You pulled the trigger.

FWOOM!

The bullet hit her skirt and she jumped, falling to the ground and the pistol skittering across the dirt.

“FUCK!” she yelped.

She looked up before you could duck and hide yourself.

“Y/N…you BITCH!” she yelled.

“Two can play at that game, Marial” you replied.

You reached in your pocket and quickly loaded the next bullet.

Before she could reach for it, you pulled the trigger again.

FWOOM! Her hand jumped, releasing the pistol. It fell a distance away from her. You used the time to load in a few more bullets. She tried to scramble, and you kept firing, Marial only niftily dodging the shots. But from how frantically she was jumping away, she was frightened.

Good, you noted again.

Quickly, you put another bullet into the gun and aimed it at her again. Your time with training had paid off. You could see her clearly.

You aimed it right into her heart and fired. Marial lurched one way but then let out a scream in pain.

“FUCK! My arm!”

You heard footsteps from behind and that voice you loved so much.

“Y/N! Y/N! Where are you? Where is my wife? Y/N!? What- holy shit, Y/N!” Grigor cried.

He pulled you close to him, his arms over your body as if to protect your vital organs. But not to restrain you from firing. He peered over to see Marial on the ground below. She held her arm, leaning over in pain and groaning. Then she turned her gaze up, her face turning white.

Without saying a single word, you aimed it at Marial and fired again. This time, it landed onto her leg. She let out another cry.

You felt Grigor’s heavy hands on you, but he was blinking, amazed. Marial reached for the gun and then quickly you shot into her other hand. She screamed again.

Then she finally paused, her injuries causing her to be unable to move. The gun was further away than she could reach and even if she could reach it, you doubted her ability to shoot at you with bullet holes through her hands.

She gazed up at you and you sat down at her. Her jaw lowered and she was unable to speak.

Keeping your glare at her steady, you raised your rifle, aiming at her heart.

Suddenly, there was a loud neigh of horses as soldiers on horseback arrived, surrounding the front yard. The surprise took you out of your aim and your finger left the trigger, not wanting to harm one of them. Right behind them was a carriage that rode up quickly along. It was there before you could even process what was going on.

“Everyone! Stop! By order of the Empress!” a loud voice announced from one soldier.

The carriage screeched to a halt. To your shock, out of the carriage was not only Orlo but also Empress Catherine herself. She got out and let out a gasp at Marial

“What is this? Are you hurt?”

“No, just having a nap on the ground! Of course, I’m fucking hurt!” she replied.

A soldier came by and swept Marial into his arms, but still holding onto her, restraining her. Orlo saw the pistol and ran up to it, he retrieved it and brought it to Catherine. Her pale face turned red, and she stepped forward, the bump of her pregnant belly aimed at Marial like that itself was a weapon.

“Have you threatened Y/N? What…what are you doing?” Catherine asked furiously.

You kept the gun up. Not sure what would happen. Not sure how badly she would be hurt. You couldn’t risk it.

Every head turned up to you. Orlo even adjusted his glasses and squinted at you high up.

“Holy shit!” he cried.

Marial leaned forward and began to yell, so hard, you could see the veins tightening at her neck/

“Grigor’s mine! He loves me!”

You heard your husband yell back from behind you.

“I fucking do not! I love Y/N! How many times do I have to tell you! And aren’t you already married by now?!? It’s done! For both of us! Go back to your husband!” Grigor protested.

He let go of his grip on you and ran forward to the balcony to face her from above.

“He’s a child! And you love me!”

“I don’t. I fucked you once years ago! Get. Over. It!” he spat back.

Marial let out a hiss, she tried to reach for the pistol but the soldier kept her away.

“I’ll kill you, Y/N!” she threatened.

You loaded another bullet and aimed the gun at her head, people ducked.

“Not if I kill you first.” You replied.

“EVERYONE STOP!” Catherine roared.

The soldier carried Marial to sit in the carriage. They began to dress her wounds with strips of cloth.

“Marial…I heard word from Y/N you were threatening her life. I hurried at once! I was going to ask you and her…but here…you already proved what was happening…” she said.

Orlo stepped forward. He handed the pistol to a soldier and then folded his hands in front of her. You could hear the seriousness in his voice all the way below.

“Marial, you are arrested by order of the Empress for the murder of Lady Svenska and for the threat of harm to Countess Dymov.”

“She shot at me! And got me!” Marial protested, attempting to wave a hand up at you.

Catherine looked up.

“Self Defense, Empress!” you protested.

Her lips were tight, but her eyes were soft.

“I see…but this will serve as a warning, Y/N.”

“Yes, Empress…” you agreed.

She then looked again at Marial.

“You are to be brought to the palace and once the physician sees to your wounds, you will be brought to trial. You won’t be able to breathe without a soldier watching you in the palace once you get there. Should you end up in prison, I’ll make sure it is decent.”

Marial’s jaw dropped and she blinked. The carriage door closed on her face. She was screaming protests and banging her fists on the window as it began driving away.

Finally, you let the gun drop from your arms. You felt dizzy. Turning around, you felt your own heart continue to race and felt your hands continue to shake uncontrollably.

“Oh God,” you voiced.

Your husband opened his arms and you accepted it.

“Grigor I…I did it…I can’t believe I did it…I…I almost killed someone-and I got her. I hurt her. I…I’m alive…I was…I was so scared…I thought I was going to die…” you voiced.

You half collapsed into his arms, and he met you there. You were crying a little and shaking and he still held onto you, embracing him like a koala and he embraced you in return. He rubbed your back.

“It’s alright, Y/N, you’re safe…you’re home, the empress is here, she’s gone, and you’re very safe and you’re with me…”

“I always feel safe with you, sweetheart…” you replied.

Both of you let out a huge sigh of relief. You were still embracing when there was an open door. Orlo had ran through, with the Empress right on his heels.

“Mouesier and Madame Dymov! What the fuck just happened?!” he cried.

“Come on downstairs, we’ll all have a drink and I’ll explain everything,” Grigor offered.

You reached over and grabbed his hand, and he squeezed it back. As all of you walked over to the parlor for drinks and to answer the numerous Imperial questions about the threat on your life, Grigor’s hand never left yours.

General Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen @queenlover05 @seraphicmercury

Promised Taglist: Taglist: @itsametaphorgwil @bluesfortheredj @grigorlee @retropetalss @queenlover05 @joeslee @grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil @always-a-fairycat @foxinaforestofstars @simonedk @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @queenlover05 @xviiarez @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf @jamesbuckybarns @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @rhapsodyrecs @ladystrallan

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writesology · 2 years

Text

A Great Big Misunderstanding

read on ao3 here!

tw: mentions of sex but there is none.

Summary: Riddle gets contacts and Trey helps him put them on- but of course, the rest of Heartslabyul doesn't know that.

“Trey, could I ask you for some advice?” At that, Trey looked up from the bowl of frosting and glanced at Riddle, who was sitting at the counter behind him.

“Of course. I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be, but you know you can tell me anything,” Trey said as he set the bowl down and dusted his hands on his apron. “What is it?”

Riddle sighed, taking another bite of his tart before looking at Trey. “Lately, whenever I go to class, I’ve been having trouble seeing what’s on the board. It’s not as bad of a problem when I sit closer, but in classes where I sit far from the front, it’s quite troublesome. I can hardly make out what’s written on it half the time.”

“Ah, I see what it is. Your eyesight’s getting worse. I don’t know what might’ve caused it, but you’re going to need glasses sooner or later.”

‘Trey, I can’t. For one, they’re rather noticeable, and I wouldn’t be able to hide them when I inevitably have to go home to my mother. You know how she is, she’ll be furious when she finds out.”

“It’s going to get worse if we don’t do something about it now.” Trey thought for a while. “Ah, how about contacts? They’re much less noticeable, and there are even magical ones that don’t have the problems you would have with normal contacts. That should be enough to hide it from your mother, yeah?”

Riddle closed his eyes to think, and when he finally opened them again, they were gazing at Trey with a determined fire. “Alright. That sounds good.”

Trey smiled at him, picking the bowl back up again. “I know a good place for contacts and glasses not too far from here. Want to go tomorrow?”

“Of course. Thank you, Trey.”

~-~-~-~-~

A few days later:

Cater strolled down the hall, scrolling through his Magicam feed as he hummed a song. He had just turned the corner, intent on going to the lounge, when voices from Riddle’s room piqued his interest. He silenced his phone, slipping it into his pocket, and crept closer to the door. With his close proximity, Cater could hear two voices deep in conversation. “…know it might seem scary, but I’ll try my best to be gentle, ok? Do you trust me?” That’s Trey, Cater noted.

“Of course! With my life, even.” And that’s Riddle-kun, his mind helpfully supplied. “But is… it going to hurt?”

“This is your first time and your body isn’t used to it, so you’ll probably have some form of discomfort. But I’ll try to minimize the pain when I put it in.” Heat prickled across Cater’s face as his eyes widened. This couldn’t be what he thought it was… right?

“Mm. Please make it quick…” The room fell silent, and Cater stayed quiet as he contemplated backing away. He took one step back, and then their voices returned.

“Riddle, please- stop squirming! Look, I’m trying to put it in gently, but I can’t if you keep moving like this.”

“I’m trying, but it’s hard when you’re holding me like this!” More heat gathered in Cater’s face and he tried to move away from the door, but his feet felt like they were glued to the ground.

I should not be here, I really shouldn’t be here-

“Just keep calm, it’ll be all over soon. Let me just make this wet again… ok, ready? Open, and don’t move.” There was silence again, and Cater flinched when Riddle suddenly yelped.

“W-what is this?! It feels weird…”

“Calm down! It’s in now. That wasn’t too bad, right?” Cater squeezed his eyes shut, still not believing what he was hearing.

Move! For the love of the Seven, Cay-kun, get outta here!

“Not really, no. At least it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Great. You’re doing really good, Riddle. I know it’s a bit much for you right now, but you’re handling it splendidly. One more, and then you can have some cake after.”

“Don’t make it seem like I’m a child… but I’d like that. Yours are always the best-” Cater, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence, finally ripped himself away from the door, and whatever force had been holding him in place quickly disappeared. His mind still in a daze, Cater turned away from the room and made his way to the lounge.

~-~-~-~-~

Ace and Deuce were playing cards in the lounge, but Cater hardly registered them as he walked over to the chair opposite them and collapsed into it with a blank stare. There was no way he had just heard all of that, no way in all of Twisted Wonderland- “…mond-senpai! Diamond-senpai!” Cater blinked, shaking his head, and looked up at Deuce, who was gazing at him worriedly. “Diamond-senpai, are you alright? You don’t seem like yourself today.”

Was he alright? He really had no idea how to answer that, so Cater simply blurted out what was on his mind. “I think Trey is having sex with Riddle-kun.”

“E-eh?! Cater-senpai, what?!” Ace exclaimed, dropping his cards on the floor with wide eyes. “With our dorm head?!”

“Th-that’s not true, is it!?” Deuce shouted, an intense blush spreading across his face. “It can’t be!”

Ace glanced at Deuce, then at the hallway Cater had come from. “I know we shouldn’t meddle in whatever dorm head’s doing… but I’m kinda curious… alright, let’s go!” Ace jumped up before anyone could stop him and ran into the hallway, and Deuce went after him as he desperately tried to get Ace to stop. Cater, though he really had no intention on going back, realized that he should probably stop them from getting into trouble, so he reluctantly left his seat and gave chase.

He soon caught sight of the two freshmen near the door, for once quiet and cooperating with each other. Cater stayed around the corner, adamant about not repeating his past mistakes, and watched the two as they listened through the door. By the Seven’s grace, Cater couldn’t hear what Trey and Riddle were saying from where he was, but from the terrified expressions on Ace and Deuce’s faces, it was clear that they were still doing… whatever it was they were doing.

Before long, Deuce had dragged both himself and Ace away from the door, hands shaking and face red, and Cater followed the two back to the lounge. Both of them plopped onto the couch they’d been sitting on before, and Ace put his head in his hands.

“They really are, oh great Seven,” Deuce murmured, blankly staring at the ground. “I… I never thought dorm head of all people would…”

“I’ll never be the same again,” Ace moaned, leaning back into the couch. “Dorm head said he loved me and then sneaks off to do that… I feel like I’m in a romcom. That was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“You’ve definitely made worse decisions,” Deuce immediately replied. “But I can’t deny that it is like a romantic drama of sorts.”

“Right?! I wonder what either of them did to make them want to do that…” While the two of them were contemplating their life decisions, Cater perked up as he heard the door to Riddle’s room click open and just a few minutes later, Riddle and Trey emerged from the hall.

~-~-~-~-~

At the sound of their footsteps, Ace and Deuce froze as they slowly looked up at the both of them. “Hello everyone,” Riddle greeted, nodding at the three of them. “Doing well today, I hope?”

The three of them glanced at each other, and they all smiled awkwardly. “Goin’ great, dorm head. Thanks,” Ace said, laughing nervously. “I, uh, hope your day is great too.”

“It is, thank you for asking. Now if you don’t mind, Trey and I are going to get some cake.” Riddle smiled at the thought of sweets and continued to the kitchen, Trey following suit with a smile and wave, but Deuce’s sudden shout made them stop in their tracks.

“Vice dorm head Clover!” They turned to face him, curiosity in their eyes. “Did… did you just fuck dorm head Rosehearts?!” Both Trey and Riddle visibly flinched, glancing at each other with wide, surprised eyes, and Riddle’s hand had flown up to his face to hide his sudden blush.

“Th-that is a very inappropriate question! How did you even-” Riddle broke his sentence off and glanced at Trey as his childhood friend started laughing uncontrollably. “Trey, are you well? I fail to see what’s so funny.” Trey sucked in a breath to try and control his laughter before whispering a few words to him, and an amused smile spread across Riddle’s face. “Oh. Oh! I- I see!” Riddle also began laughing, and before long, the both of them were doubled over, cackling with laughter.

“You- you three really thought I was doing that with Ri-” Trey wheezed again, fighting for air in between giggles and snickers. “I can’t believe- is that what it sounded like?”

“To think you all misunderstood us so badly! It's a bit embarrassing, but I'm more amused than anything.” Riddle leaned on the couch, wiping tears from his eyes. “Yes, Trey is an amazing friend, but we couldn’t- we could never be like that.”

“Agreed. I wouldn’t have it in me to do it with Riddle of all people.”

Ace narrowed his eyes and pointed accusingly at them once their laughter died down. “Wait, so if you weren’t screwing each other, then what were you doing to make it sound so similar?!” One glance at the other was enough to make Riddle and Trey start giggling again, but Riddle was able to compose himself long enough to provide an answer.

“I got contacts, Ace. Trey was helping me put them in my eyes.”

Ace, Deuce, and Cater slowly turned to look at each other, realization dawning upon them.

“Oh.”

#my fic #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #cater diamond #trey clover #tw: mentions of sex

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fossilcookie · 2 years

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So the whole “Cookies reproduce via baking and not sex” thing

That doesn’t make a whole lotta sense when you look at it more closely

Cookies are shown to grow and age, but if freshly baked = newborn, what about several characters we see come out of the oven fully formed

Dozer, GingerBrave, GingerBright, and Dark Enchantress aren’t ever shown as babies, though Dark Enchantress makes sense as she was White Lily before falling into dough and being rebaked, but the other three still aren’t seen as babies ever

TLDR: The Baking > Sexual Reproduction Theory only really makes sense to me if I squint-

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #not a comic #cookie run headcanon #cookie run theory #TW: mentions of sex

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iceiclehorned · 1 year

Text

Continued from here

@nekasu / @nekasin

Her eyes were focused on him and the way he reacted to her bold gesture. She had figured there would be nothing wrong with it. It’s showcased and said to be beautiful in romance novels she had read. “Do you not like this?” She asks, eyebrow raised. “Perhaps you should let go of your desire for control, Neka,” there was something almost sultry in her tone. Admittedly, there had been times where she would get the Shogun to take control over certain tasks in order to read romance and sexual novels. Ei had particularly taken note in how women seduced their man and their attempts at dominance. Of course, sleeping with him was not her main priority by any means.

“We are here.” Ei had walked through the doors of Tenshukaku, placing him down on the floor. Said floor was littered with both the romance novels and erotica she had been reading. “Make yourself at home.” She ordered him. “Do you need anything?” Her gaze landed on him. It had yet to cross her mind that he could easily look at what she had been reading - but she had her guard down.

Ei had never intended for their relationship to take the gap that it did. She should have learnt much sooner that time is very precious and she had wasted much of it already. Her intention was to propose to him. First, she wanted to ensure that everything was sound between them. She heard proposals and marriages were important and very traditional things that should be handled with the upmost delicacy if one wanted it to go well. Reading romance novels had made her realise that it was typically a male that proposed to the female, yet she didn’t see why she couldn’t propose to him. She had made a few light preparations for the event, too.

#muse : baal #KNIGHT OF ETERNITY / Ei #I have … yet to get my tags sorted again #I am slow .#I figured I’d make this a cute little thread #since they’re lovebirds <3 #Nekasu #she’s coming after Neka #TW: mentions of sex #she is the one that asserts dominance #Nekasin #juuuuust in case #mobile formatting godbless

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smolvenger · 2 years

Text

Stella or Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Series, Chapter 4: Peonies

Pairing: Stella/William, eventually Stella/Male OC. Actually, it's Stella Ransome/Happiness and William Ransome/Being Held Accountable and Facing Consequences for Cheating on his Wife

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of two children, grief, children, Religion, Slow Burn to the Drama (tm) Descriptions of pregnancy, childbirth, and including a stillbirth so lots of ANGST and then lots of fluff. Foreshadowing. Divergence from canon, Being Anti-Will and Anti-C*ra (Fuck you, Sarah Perry), Stella has to give Joanna The Talk (tm).

Chapter Summary: Stella gives birth to five children from her marriage to William. Two die. After the loss, she receives a sign of hope. A mysterious occurrence gives way to rumors of a creature in her home, a threat to her young family.

Prologue//One//Two//Three

A03 Link

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!!

Word Count for Chapter: 9K!! (We're speedrunning 13 years and five kids so she is THICC! Go get a snack)

Stella and William Ransome are very happy together and adore their quiet domestic life. They live for each other and their three children, and William also loves and takes seriously his job as a priest in his parish in the village of Aldwinter. They had two other children who died, but despite suffering such tragedy, their marriage remains strong and as loving as ever- TV Tropes, under "Happily Married: Literature."

“They say we live secure at home, while they are at the wars, with their sorry reasoning, for I would gladly take my stand in battle array three times o'er, than once give birth.”- Medea by Euripides, Coleridge Translation

"A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies." Proverbs 31:10.

On Christmas day that year, I felt my stomach turn constantly. I tried to distract myself from the current merriment. Our families had gathered and delighted in games and gifts. I even took note of my in-laws. They were dressed in nice, smooth silks and owned pocket watches that glittered. The Matriarch Mrs. Ransome had several rings and a necklace with a real ruby in it.

They handed me a large box wrapped in beautiful, creamy wrapping paper. I had to open it carefully so as not to ruin it. Inside was a new dress made of silk.

“Why…it’s! It’s…”

“A beautiful daughter-in-law should have a beautiful dress to match, his letters did not exaggerate about you, my dear” Mrs. Ransome said kindly.

“Thank you, you’re very kind!” I replied.

I wanted to show respect for their high station and gratitude, especially as the new family member. I participated in Blind Man’s Bluff and exchanged every carefully selected gift for my in-laws and new husband. But there was a great, queasy pain in the middle of my stomach that not even my corset could help with. I had only had one glass of wine as was usual. We were careful with drinking. William would drink one glass of sherry every other evening I only had one glass of wine on holidays. Was I already drunk? I couldn’t be.

It was dark by the time everyone had retired away so I could flee upstairs to the bedroom.

I sat down before the fire. Its warmth was comforting and standing around only increased my pain. I could even lie down halfway down on the floor, curling up my legs as I did as a child when my stomach hurt.

The door opened and I heard my husband’s footsteps.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asked.

“My stomach…I feel ill…” I replied.

The fire cracked before us. Then the color in William’s face drained in a second. His eyes grew big and he clasped both hands on my shoulders.

“Stella…when was the last time you had your…your- unmentionable?” he asked.

We looked at each other. It struck me like lightning.

“Why do you ask?”

“I only ask because…”

“I…I don’t remember…”

Amid planning and helping run the Christmas services for the first time as well as the shopping and continuing social duties to the community…. I forgot to even note that something I normally expected monthly had not arrived.

We could only clasp hands. Then he brought his lips to my cheek to kiss as a comfort.

The next day it was open, and we ran to the doctor. During an hour of the visit, he looked at the sample, felt my body, and gave a wide smile. He went to William and shook his hand.

“Congratulations! Reverend, your wife is expecting a baby! Father Ransome indeed!”

He held onto the hand in brief shock and then released it, laughing and smiling out of relief and celebration. He even gave me a hug plainly in front of the doctor. But finally, both our expectations and our prayers were met. I had to rush home, go to the desk, and write to every member of my family with all of that bound excitement…I am pregnant! I wrote it down over and over. I am pregnant! I am pregnant! I am pregnant!

The house was bought and prepared to expect that we would have children. It was the expectation. At least four months after I was married even strangers in town would ask if I was pregnant yet. There were multiple rooms and so far, upstairs, there was the bedroom for us, a study for my husband, a third little flight of stairs leading to an attic for storage, but one special room to be preserved as a nursery and bedroom for little ones.

For my beloved Bible Study, I could hardly wait for when it to come back. We would devote ourselves to all sorts of fascinating insights on what scripture said, enjoy each other’s cooking, and then indulge ourselves in whatever tidbits there were. Especially considering my position, I had to know it. Sometimes the more scandalous ones I had a curiosity for.

Yes, it was gossip, but that feels such a natural thing to do among the women of a small town. It was like the weekly chapters released in newspapers- updates on who married who, changes in fortune, births, deaths, leavings- I would be on the edge of my seat to hear and discover the latest updates. Sometimes…perhaps sometimes, I could help.

6. Build relationships with women in the church to support, encourage and model Godliness to them.

Perhaps being married to the town priest was a gift all along, I would reflect. I could use this to help others. So far, it had not been as terrifying as first copying the list made so. I could help them, and I did. Families in need of money or arms to hold their babies and children. A prayer and sweeping off bottles for a drunkard. Some unhappy wives went up to me in tears, thanking them for assisting them in delivering their babies, praying for them, or offering to bake them a pie.

The first one in January I put on my thickest scarf and a coat with large pockets. The snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked to Mrs. Lee’s house. They were gathered in her pink parlor- chairs around on top of the pink rug. Women crowded around, trying to move the bustles on the back of their dresses to make room for all of us. The women had their thick wools and linen dresses on, and the fireplace was roaring. In the corner, there was a pot of tea and a plate with some plain biscuits- much needed after all the rich food from December. What I loved most was getting to know each of these women who would come in and greet me.

I learned all their names by heart now. But a gaggle of them were surrounding one that evening. Fanny was smiling and flashing a ring on her left hand. I could hardly restrain myself from gasping.

“Why…you don’t mean…really! You’re engaged!” I yelped.

We all smiled and applauded at her. She even showed me the diamond ring for inspection.

“Is it the Austrian fellow? Mr…Mr. Kroeger, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes! Vince! The best man in all the world!” she confirmed, nodding her dark head.

“The mechanic? Doesn’t he have a telegram…and he plays with all that electricity nonsense!” Mrs. Rogers commented.

“It’s not nonsense, it’s helpful!” a Mrs.Moore would interject.

Fanny stood between them, waving her arms to ask for peace.

“Oh, but that doesn’t matter now! I love him and he loves me, and I love him and we’re getting married- that’s all!” Fanny chided.

I felt grateful. She had introduced me to William in the first place and now she had her own man to love equally.

“Oh, you’ve been swooning for him forever, Fanny! I’m so happy for you!” I commented and gave her a little hug.

As we read passages and discussed them, even scribbling notes in our Bibles, the plates of biscuits were disappearing. Then Mrs. Lee looked over at me.

“Why are you so quiet today, Mrs. Ransome? You hardly had two words to speak, and we’re discussing Job! Of all the people in town, you should have the book memorized by now…”

“I have something…I was hesitant. I don’t wish to spoil Fanny’s fun…” I said, biting the inside of my lip. Secretly, I was glad someone noticed my silence and asked.

“No, you never could!” Fanny insisted, leaning closer to me even though she sat across me in the circle of chairs, Bible in lap.

Their eyes grew large. “What is it?”

From inside my Bible, I pulled out a small blue sock that I had sewed up. They erupted in applause and cheers and excitement.

“A baby! A Baby! Congratulations!”

“It’s my first…I’m thrilled, I’m frightened too. I never…I never felt sick all the time and yet craved to eat and sometimes I feel normal and yet sometimes I sense it inside me…” I confessed.

The mothers, young and old, gathered near me. At once they began talking about their own experiences. They told me what to expect. I could only hold my tongue, listen, and nod. We let out far later than normal and returned to our homes under the black sky and white snow.

With that excitement also comes fear when one is first pregnant. I would feel so ill that I would vomit in the mornings. I kept having to excuse myself to the chamber pots and outhouses. I had to often lie down and rest after two visits or one church service, staring up into the ceiling. But in those early days, I could carry about as normal as much as I could. When another woman needed help with the delivery of a baby, I would want to be present to know what to expect. I was more knowledgeable even as I flinched at each scream.

It was as the months passed that I became heavier and heavier. On the day of Fanny’s wedding, my large stomach seemed to touch the pew in front of me as I watched the ceremony. Then the child inside me would sometimes kick.

Every woman in town gave me recipes and stories and advice. We began preparing a room with a crib and were lucky to receive all sorts of gifts for the baby. All while I felt sick and the size of a whale all while dreading that day of the ninth month for the pain alone…. It was not uncommon for women to die in the childbed still. What if it was too complicated? What if amid expecting a new life, I Was counting down the days to my death? In our sewing circles, we began to sew our own mourning shrouds.

But once the day arrived. William was in the forest on a hunting trip with the other local men and water suddenly burst from me. I began screaming in fear. What was going on even? My body was splitting apart, and it felt so much different than watching. My sister held my hand and led me upstairs to the bed. My mother ran out. Then every woman in town arrived in a flurry along with the doctor. They were crowded in my room, the door kept opening back and forth. I felt the pain split apart my lower body and everything was spinning. I kept crying and clinging to my mother’s forearm as she urged me to breathe and push. Mrs. May kept dabbing my face with cold water as a comfort.

But at last, there was a cry and not from me. The pain was stopping. The doctor’s head poked into my field of vision as he brought forth a small bundle in his arms and placed it in mine.

“It’s a girl!” he announced.

My mother kissed my head and every woman in that room asked after me, cleaning the bloody sheets and sighing.

I saw her. My daughter. At once the pain was forgotten and instead was great relief and joy. The door swung open and this time I saw William. He stepped forward and the doctor moved the baby from my arms into his. He looked down at the child’s face and after looked at mine. His face was streamed with joyous tears.

“We’ll call her Joanna.” He told me.

The baby would cry into the night and up late I would usually be there, far more than William was, to nurse and rock the infant back to sleep. To change diapers, feed, burp, and clean after spit-ups and messes, and carry the weight of that small human life in my arms. I made sure to eat fewer sweets and walk and garden frequently to be back to my normal size again and hear William call me “beautiful” once more. My mother was in town and often I would write or show up at the door with burning questions about what I should do.

I could not tell you the number of times, as I sat there on the front row of church every week, that the baby would burst into such violent cries in the middle of the service.

9. Attend Sunday services regularly and sit visibly so your husband always knows he has at least one ally in the congregation.

But a baby wailing could rock the earth- I had to try and rock the baby to calmness outside many a service.

This process was repeated five times in my life within a decade. But as you may recall, my first was a girl called Joanna and I said that I have two sons.

The second pregnancy was milder. I discovered it half a year after Joanna arrived in our lives. I felt still exhausted throughout my duties of having to immediately repeat the process of pregnancy. Oh, but there still was excitement. As we lay in bed, William would put a hand over my stomach and tell me as we drifted off to sleep. The last thing I recall hearing before going asleep was this:

“…and if it’s a boy, we’ll call him Joseph…”

Another flurry of months and I felt the breaking of water beneath me again. Our second child was on the way.

But what scared me as I walked around, my lower body pulling and twisting itself, was that I Was bleeding. Bleeding far more profusely than normal. I managed, with great effort, to push the child out of me.

I still screamed and cried as he did what he could to make sure I delivered it. The women again surrounded me to help. Downstairs, I smelled pipe smoke, and I knew the other fathers were sampling the Ransome sherry as normal, yet I felt as if the world around me would explode in flames as I pushed and pushed. I saw women bringing out more bloody clothes than the first time.

But after it was announced that a head was seen. I heard no crying. The doctor looked at me through his glasses, holding a bloody bundle. He was frowning.

“Mrs. Ransome…your baby died while it was still in your stomach.”

I began to sob again. It was not the face William was expecting to see when he was sent upstairs.

It was a girl.

It was not long until I was pregnant again. It felt constant. As I said, William could not resist a night of passion with me, and I could not resist a night of passion with him so I would oblige him.

Again, exhaustion for almost an entire year throughout my duties. Again, great pain in the ninth month. Again, push, push, push, push Mrs. Ransome, push.

But I heard a cry.

This time it was another girl. Julianna Ransome. A sweet, pretty thing. The prettiest baby I ever saw. Even Joanna, now three, would gaze at her and smile. She would feed little Julianna her peas from her dinner plate and want to dress her up like one of her dolls.

Again, she would cry during Sunday services. And with another little girl by my side, if one cried, I had to walk both out by me.

“Our Father Who Art in Heaven” could not be heard over Julianna’s lungs.

It would ricochet off the stone walls and drown everyone in its piercing sound, overpowering any psalm. I had no choice but to leave the church, one arm under Julianna and the other walking out Joanna with everyone watching.

"Let us wait a moment while she gets out," William announced.

I made no reply about it after. He continued his sermon inside.

Julianna lived for a year.

Both girls fell ill. They lay in their bed and cradles, foreheads burning. I recall William putting a cloth on Joana one evening as I held Julianna kept wailing as I attempted to spoon-feed her medicine. At midnight, Joanna blinked and looked around. She began to wiggle around in her seat like normal without the heaviness in her movements from illness.

“Her fever, Stella, it’s broken! Joanna’s fever is broken!” he cheered.

Julianna cried. Then stopped. Her pale skin turned grey, and she closed her eyes. Her body was suddenly heavier. As I undid her clothes and felt where her tiny heart was, it had stopped beating.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

I could not remember crying as much as feeling Julianna’s life slip out of her body as I held her in my arms. Losing my children was the second saddest moment of my life.

In the graveyard near the church, you will find two small crosses with two small angel statues. Those crosses I would bedeck with flowers on Saturdays, making sure they were fresh. On one, you will find the name “JOSEPHINE RANSOME” and on the other “JULIANNE RANSOME.”

The second month after Julianne’s funeral, I had a dream that kept me so shaken, it could not escape me even as I woke. It felt too visceral, too real. Most of all, it terrified me.

I dreamt I saw them. The two daughters I lost. Only they did not look like infants. They had grown to be little children. Both had long, light blonde hair like mine. Their skin was so pale it was translucent, glowing. They wore little white dresses full of ruffles on the skirts. I was so far away, and yet I could see them. They were alone in a crowd, wandering. Blood was falling from their mouths. They ran around, asking for help from strangers- any at all and each one kept refusing them. I kept trying to run to them but could never reach them.

The scene then shifted from the town to the church.

I was outside, watching the inside of the church through the stained-glass windows.

The bleeding girls wandered inside. William was preaching in his white robes with his arms outstretched on the pulpit. His eyes went from looking at the sky to the open door, looking away into the distance. The girls ran to him, tugging his robes and begging for help. Their bloody coughs spilled bits of red on him.

“Papa! Papa! We’re dying, papa! Papa, please! Papa! Help us!”

He ignored their cries.

I was pounding my fists on the windows, screaming at him. It wasn’t proper to scream, but I Was so frightened, desperate for him to carry those girls, his daughters, our daughters, to a doctor. Or maybe to hold them, be there for them in what could be their last moments. to help those sickly girls, that they were his daughters, that they needed him.

But instead, he walked right outside and wandered to the muddy marshes. A faraway figure- blurry in its exact shape- awaited him, beckoning him, and he could hear nothing else but its silent call pulling him away. With his long white sleeves, he seemed like a ghost. He was more drawn to the figure than the screams of the dying girls.

I ran into the church but by then, the two girls dropped lifelessly to the floor, blood spluttering from their mouths as I heard their voices. I ran over, cradling and embracing the two girls. They looked at me with their large blue eyes, just like their fathers. They spoke. But it was no longer a plea for themselves.

“Save yourself Mama…. save yourself…”

I woke up in a heartbeat. My eyes blinked, adjusting to our room in the dark. It was so quick it woke him up next to me. I began crying and William hugged and comforted me. I did not have the heart to tell him what I dreamt of.

I wrote it down in my little journal and kept it away from him. I didn’t dare speak of the dream, but he knew it upset me. Perhaps he knew it was a dream of the girls, at least. He knew I grieved for them so much. He did too.

It was so much so, that the times we coupled for the next year he made sure I would not get pregnant. There were women to help move in, spare coins to be given to beggars, as well as making sure Easter and then Christmas would go well. I had Joanna. She needed to be fed and dressed and cleaned and calmed after a tantrum. She was starting to walk and talk more. Now I could hold her hand as she waddled her way to church on Sunday for her father.

My own siblings were growing up as well. Dante and Elliott had already married and moved to London for better jobs, tiring of country life. Brian took up at the mill- saving money to move to Bath, he hoped, and have his own farm.

By then, Edith was staying to look after Mama and Papa but had her own job at a local shop. One day, the shop owner’s nephew, a handsome gentleman named Edgar Woodard, finally arrived and took a shine to her. He stayed longer in town and even after he went back home to another city, he kept finding ways to visit Aldwinter. And not for the beach.

Before we knew it, she had her romance at last and was engaged to be married to him once he had saved enough money for a home. Millwork was getting too much for my father as his bones got weaker and lost more of his greying hair. He made plans to retire. But it was a delight to have them around, especially to look after my little Joanna as I attended to members of the town weekly.

7. Reach out to those outside and facilitate relationships with all- women or men in the congregation.

One spring day I had numerous errands to attend to and my parents were at the home to care for the little girl. I had recently delivered some baked bread for one new woman. I tried to be polite and address her by her last name, but she kept shaking her head and insisted “Call me Martha” before taking the bread pan. She had too much to unpack to have me stay longer and talk. But she offered her gratitude for the welcome.

After I called on Mrs. Moore. She was leaning down to trim the bushes outside of her house when she turned and saw me walking down the road.

“Ah! Lady Ransome herself! A delight! Would you like to come in?” she offered, standing up.

I curtsied, smiled, and said yes. We both went inside her kitchen. Her husband was at work and her children at school and the lack of sound was nearly unsettling.

“How is the children’s Sunday School? I needed to make sure you had it ready…” I asked as she took off her green stained apron.

She sighed, “Teaching it’s new to me- and there are so many! They’re practically jumping off the walls!”

“Don’t worry…I’m here to help you…Children need pictures or things to interact with when you teach them! I’ll show you what I’ve noticed…”

As we went over ideas of what the class on David and Goliath could be taught, my stomach soured. But I hadn’t touched any of her cake. It grew gradually worse and worse. Eventually, I could not stand it.

“I…I, oh, I’m so sorry…” I excused myself. “I think I might need to leave early…”

I got up and clutched at my stomach.

“Mrs. Ransome?” she asked.

“I…I don’t mean to be rude; I only feel…I feel…”

There was a sudden rise of bile in my throat. Up, up, up, and it wanted to hurl out. I stepped away, holding it in. It wanted out, out, but I would not humiliate myself as a guest! I found a chair and gripped it, knuckles white from holding back the sick.

“Mrs. Ransome! Oh!”

She got a dirty bowl and placed it under me. I vomited out into it.

“Oh! Poor lamb! You poor thing!” she commented, gently patting my back.

She let me lay down on her couch. The doctor was fetched.

Please…please God, please no… I prayed silently.

I was careful in William's bed, but apparently not careful enough. The doctor arrived and examined me to confirm my worst fear.

“Congratulations are in order, Mrs. Ransome, you are expecting….should I fetch your husband?”

“Yes, you should…” I said flatly.

William immediately ran over but that was him when he worried, breaking out into a run-, almost knocking over vases in his distress. He held my hands and cupped my worried face.

“It’ll be alright…we’re going to have another sweet baby, my dear…” he tried to assure me.

Yes…another little one. A sweet round face with bright eyes, tiny clothes, and babbling like wind chimes. I told myself this was good news. But I silently resented any congrats.

But I thought of them…of my two dead daughters. How this one would die or bleed out or worse or live to be struck dead in my arms again.

I was far more nervous. I paced at night, struggling to sleep. I sewed more frequently to give myself something to do. In the privacy of our bedroom, I would cling to William and cry and cry and grieve Julianna and Josephine, and now the doomed child inside me.

I even stopped by the graves daily.

I would place my hand on Josephine’s and then Julianna's. I wiped away more coming tears. Then I looked up at the sky. I closed my eyes and placed my palms together.

2. You are to maintain daily prayer with God.

“God…please…please keep me calm. Find a way to soothe me. I ask you- give me peace! Give me the peace that passes all understanding! Speak to me and comfort me, I need it! And I need you, Oh God! If you are able, let me see something! Let me see something to know You are there for me and always will be, no matter what in my life! Show me a sign, please, if you can now!” I prayed.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed something on the grass. Something that during my tortured thoughts I never saw before.

In front of the gravestones were two of the prettiest blue wildflowers I had ever seen. Two! Each one is alike. Like the two girls had been. Like in their fates. Like in the sounds of their names. Like in their innocence and beauty. Like in how I carried and brought them forth despite the pain in my body. And alike in how I still loved them.

I began walking around the other graves. The blue wildflowers were starting to grow around there. Usually, if you go out to the forest, you must search like mad to find any semblance of blue at all. Yet here it was…everywhere.

In this graveyard and all this death…there was life. From dead bodies, these things of beauty grew, smiled, gave a scent, welcomed bees and bugs, and carried on. There was a large beneath one grave with an angel statue. I leaned down and plucked one flower-holding its fragile, green stem with the thumbs and forefingers of both of my hands.

If something fragile like that could survive and thrive amongst death, so would this child. And me.

There was my peace. There was my sign.

I looked up to the sky and whispered a silent thank you to God. I went home and pressed the flower.

Since that day, I kept finding blue everywhere. And it gave me a semblance of peace when I was frightened about the upcoming baby. Any blue flower I found I would now pluck and press. During those frightening nights, I would light a candle, open the book to see the blue flowers I pressed, remember the promise, and return to sleep deeply.

I asked William if we could walk by the beach after church and take Jo with us for one week. Looking down, there on the sands beneath me- I would find blue shells! I showed Joanna how to search and pick one up. She did so and would smile proudly at her prize.

That summer went we would go into the woods with the women’s bible study to pick blackberries, I would look for pebbles among the rocks on the ground. Lo and behold, there were blue ones. I would put it in my basket along with the berries and head home, where I would find places to keep them.

If I kept seeing the color in my house, then I would remind myself of that day, of that promise, that sign. And I would have peace of mind about the baby and myself. I went to the shop where Edith was working and indulge in buying a small blue-looking glass. If there was any blue item, I would save up my allowance to buy it. And of course, I would pluck and press and pluck and press any blue wildflower I found. My flower garden used to be filled with lilies and now was filled with asters. It was a pleasant nine months to spend. I would never stop collecting my beloved blue things.

Sure enough, the day arrived, and my water broke. It was a little earlier than we thought, but the women from church fetched the doctor and hurried me to my home. One ran off to the church offices to find William and alert him. My mother and sister held both of my hands.

It was clear, straightforward labor without any complications and not if the others had been either. And I had a healthy boy.

William beamed again as he held the bundle. “His name is John Ransome,” he announced as the crowd burst into applause. Even Joanna was already gentle, charmed by this little, breathing baby doll that was her brother.

John was a delight. There was never a healthier, heartier baby. The women would coo over him when I brought him to church. I loved to put him in small outfits. The day Edith was married, she allowed Joanna to serve as a flower girl. William performed the ceremony. I was content to sit in the pews with little John in his finest clothes. He didn’t cry and only slept or looked around the wide building with his large eyes during the ceremony, charming any guest who met him.

I kept blue around John’s little crib. I found little blue wildflowers to put on top and it seemed Joanna followed my measure. She would pluck flowers from the ground and put them around his. This time, I was even more careful. Daily I would pray. My allowance from William’s salary would pay for doctor’s visits for both my children. So, help me, I would not lose them again.

John got big enough to walk and stand. He would lean closer to me when afraid. His sister at family gatherings would beam and play with her cousins. Despite his babyhood, John would cling to my skirts with tiny red fists and begin to cry if someone spoke too loudly. But he liked my singing and my lullabies as I placed him over my shoulder.

John admired his sister. Whatever she would do- and she would do a lot! The girl was always headed off somewhere to climb on something! - he would follow through and run off to play. Copying her every move like a scholar. One neighbor had a little girl called Naomi who was Joanna’s age. So many evenings her parents invited us over just for the children. The three little ones would practically race each other over the house. The two girls laughed on their spindly legs as John tried to keep up with his shorter, chubbier stubs for legs.

Long after dessert was finished and the night grew dark, our two children would slump themselves onto the chairs. They were red-faced and teary at things. They pouted.

“Looks like Jojo’s tired!” Will would say.

“Why, so is Johnny!” I replied.

We scooped them up in our arms. Will had Jo and I had John. It had gotten late, and they were too tired from playing- it was far past any bedtime. We walked off into that night as the crickets chirruped with the two children in our arms asleep, their legs dangling and only gently hitting our backsides.

Always late at night when both children were deeply asleep, despite my exhaustion, I gave into my desire for my husband.

I became pregnant again, but this time I was not afraid.

I had my blue prepared. I improved and reorganized my collection as my stomach churned and grew. I even became determined to begin to wear more blue clothes. Surround the child while it was in there. I found at least one way to keep it in a ring or earring or in a scarf at the very least.

It seemed to work. Again, it was another smooth labor and delivery. Another healthy little boy I named James.

My parents were delighted at the trio of grandchildren to play with. By then, Brian had his farm in the bath at last. Edith and her husband were living in an apartment in London. I was the only Harris sibling in town, and with access to little ones for them to play with (and to look after on my errands!)

In the evenings my father would come home and read and would delight them with his books full of mythologies. Not that William minded at all. My husband never feared Pagan stories, as other ministers might.

I would lay little James in my lap, bouncing him, perhaps giving him bites of the chocolate cake from my small plate. John and Joanna would crawl closer to their grandfather on the floor. My mother would sew, and William would light a pipe. My father sat on the largest chair with the book in his arms and start to read with his own commentary:

“Once upon a time there was a god of thunder named Zeus and his wife, the marriage goddess, Hera. They were king and queen of the gods, just as your papa and mama are the king and queen of your home! That should make you two the prince and princess!”

He pointed to the children sitting on the rug and they giggled in return.

I genuinely felt like we were royalty at that moment. Maybe of Aldwinter itself, dare I say. At such moments, I could never be happier- to have my husband and children around me in a warm house, fed and content as rain or snow pattered outside. My dear parents reading to them. Everyone was healthy. Everyone was safe and comfortable. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive and that all should experience such bliss that a loving home and family could provide.

There was one evening as it snowed outside that my parents brought over pictures of our family to share with me as well as another dinner, read, and chat. They were astounded at Joanna.

“She’s your spitting image!” my mother said.

My father closed his mythology book, pausing in the recording of Jason of the Argonauts and his sorceress lover Medea.

“I agree, she looks exactly like you, Stella!” he confirmed.

From the box of photographs, my father pulled out an old photograph of me when I was at the tender age of eight. Sure enough, she matched the picture. Jo had pale skin, as I do. She was small in structure for a little girl, as was I. And having Harris blood in her veins, she had very light-colored blonde hair-exactly like mine. We would laugh and coo and then give the little children kisses and spoil them with chocolate.

Not that everything was perfect. There was one element where I was struggling- Sunday mornings. William would always get up early and head over to practice and perfect his sermon as well as oversee every bit of the church itself.

I was left with the children. To make sure all three were dressed and ready for Sunday morning on time. Waking up, I placed my hair into a clean bun and donned a skirt. As time was moving on, the bustle was being thrown off in favor of simpler skirts. Then I would dress the two boys. John would mumble and complain about how his shirt felt scratchy.

“It will keep you warm…” I insisted.

“Can’t something else keep me warm!”

“It’s clean! There’s nothing else clean! You must wait for your shirts to be cleaned!” I reasoned.

He huffed and consented, but still frowned.

I then ran to James. His nicest shoes were missing I found out. He had developed a fondness for mud and dirt. As I rushed outside, there were the shoes in a mud puddle left of the vegetable garden. I picked them up, hurriedly cleaned them, and rushed to put them on his little feet.

Then I would hold his hand and walk him down the stairs for breakfast. John was already there pouting over an empty bowl.

“Please give me porridge, not toast!’ John would insist.

I then began to bring out the porridge and heat it up when James shakes his head and babbled “Toast! Toast!”

I heard the grandfather clock chime the hour. Sunday Schools were ending and out of the question for the children.

I would then begin bread for toast when I looked and realized there were two heads on the table when there should be three.

“Where’s your sister??” I asked.

They pointed out the front door.

Outside, sure enough, there was Jo in her wild, girlish glory. There was a tree right outside of our house and she loved to climb it. She was getting tall and her legs were long already! When they were little, all was so slow and now they were growing, and time was moving quicker! She had climbed all the way to the top of that tall oak tree.

I picked up my skirt and called up to them.

“Jojo, darling! We must go to church!”

“I don’t want to!” she insisted from high up.

“Why? Your father worked so hard on his sermon; you must be there!” I said, cupping my mouth so my voice could reach her.

“He gives one every week! And I Don’t feel like it!” she replied.

“But you’ll look so pretty in your new dress! And your grandmother gave it to you and it’s so-”

“I hate it! I hate that dress! Can’t I wear pants today, mama, please!? Jimmy wears pants and Johnny does, why can’t I?” she yelled from above.

“You don’t have any pants!” I argued.

If I had to try and climb it, I would. She was up on the tallest branch, her legs swinging defiantly in her shift and stockings. I tried to pull myself up one branch but there was only so much I could do. I tried lifting my leg, but I didn’t have the same strength and flexibility she did to get that high up.

“What would make going to church…. pleasant, for you, Jo?” I reasoned from below.

“I want pants! If I can’t wear pants, I won’t go!”

I knew the second she walked in wearing pants, there would be gasps and eyes full of blame directed at me. How could none other than the daughter of a vicar be so crude? Didn’t her mother teach her better?

My mind was racing. The boys were complaining about wanting breakfasts and what breakfasts they wanted. And in the distance, I heard the church bells begin ringing. The services were beginning already!

I ran inside and served the toast and porridge. As quick as I could, I went upstairs to Johnny’s drawer and pulled out a fresh pair of Johnny’s bigger pants and then a skirt. I returned outside.

“Here! You can wear pants- just wear a skirt over them, and please! We’re already late!”

Joanna obliged, she slid down and was happy to wear pants, even if in secret.

I made sure those loose strands in my bun were tucked away and any mud or stain or dirt not on my apron was wiped away the best I could. My stomach rumbled for lack of breakfast for myself. The three of us walked over, coming in right during William reading the scriptures:

“And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.”

Some of the elderly men glared at me. But many women, some with babbling children of their own sitting on their laps, nodded in understanding. I scuttled with the three to the front row.

“And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish and not that thy whole body be cast unto hell.”

Although we scuttled in, I would struggle to keep them still. John would wiggle his feet and ask for paper and pens to draw with. Joanna would read the Bible and then get curious about other passages and read them to entertain herself if she lost interest. James would look up at his father the whole time, swinging his legs.

Finally, my father retired. The house was too big, so they wanted to move. They were going to go to the next town in a smaller house and rent out the place to another young family. We said our goodbyes, but they promised to visit to see their grandchildren. And by then, my siblings were finding their spouses and having children of their own. They needed to save money for travel. They moved out to Bath with their other son and his new wife.

Now I had not the family I grew up with, but a family of my own to look after.

It also meant during every church meeting, Bible study, sewing meeting, and being at William’s side for each of his meetings, I had to be there and if my parents were occupied, the girls were by our side.

There was one day we were meeting in the sanctuary of the church detailing everything. Joanna was getting a collection of books to occupy herself. James and Johnny were all over the church pretending to be frogs and leapfrogging over each other while crying “ribbit! Ribbit!”

But little James was very bright. Of us three, James looked at the spitting image of William. Sometimes, when I placed him on my lap to hug him as he grew tired, he looked up at me with blue eyes. It would startle me inside. The very shade and size of my husband. His hair grew reddish blonde and curly. His cheekbones, his smile, and his mouth! All the same.

It did not stop at his looks. He also showed a vast interest in faith at a very young age. He always asked questions “what are angels, mama? What are demons? What’s hell?” Such questions I had to send for him to his father’s office for papa to explain.

But he was not the only one with questions. Joanna was a mad reader. She would sneak into her father’s study and read book after book after book. And not just the ones only for children.

She heard from the schoolteacher that William Shakespeare was the greatest writer of all time. She became determined to judge this for herself. The day after her eleventh birthday, she managed to find a copy of "Romeo and Juliet." Despite the more archaic language, she seemed to read it fine. Shakespeare was like the King James Bible that she was so familiar with.

But as we were at dinner and passing potatoes, she asked, “Papa, Mama, what happens on the wedding night?”

I nearly dropped the plate I was holding.

“What? What do you mean? “I asked.

William and I shared a look of panic.

“Juliet’s talking about her wedding night with Romeo in the play and she’s very excited- why?” She even boldly pulled out the tiny, thin book and flipped the pages. She pointed at the lines.

“What’s she talking about? She says they’re going to do an “amorous rite”- right here! What’s an amorous rite? She’s awfully excited about it- is it a game?”

And the two young boys looked up from their plates.

“I want to play the game too! How do you play it?” John asked.

William’s jaw dropped and he was barely able to voice an “uh” when I got out of my chair and walked over to Joanna, placing my hands on her shoulders.

“On Saturday, Jojo, I’ll take you to the beach. And…and I’ll tell you what it is. We’ll walk, we’ll pack a picnic, and I’ll tell you what an…amorous rite is. Boys, if you want to know too, you can ask your father.”

Saturday was overcast, but the sun would peek out. Neither too hot nor too cold, just right. But it was still bright in the day, ever with that blue sky. As promised, we walked some by the beach, Joanna was sweet enough to remember my enjoyment of blue. Here on the beach, we could see blue in its ultimate, eternal power. For when it was clear, the sky would be blue and then match the blue ocean to carry on for eternity. Joanna would look for blue shells and stones to fetch for me.

Then I laid out the blanket and got out the sandwiches from inside for us. She sat down nearby, picking at the crusts until working her way to the inside contents.

“Alright…Joanna, this is what an amorous rite is, this is what happens on the wedding night…” I began.

I never asked such questions. Only in small fragments from whispers from other girls was what I heard. Then my education expanded once I began my unmentionable. My mother taught me to not be alone with a man who wasn’t a gentleman if at all. There were animals around us and my brothers would make crude laughter at small phrases. Then I was engaged. And the horror of the act was a warning to me from every woman I met, including my mother. I was told every detail of what to dread. Women had to endure the unpleasantness, awkwardness, and even pain. The marriage bed was only pleasurable for the husband so you might as well enjoy the children that came from it.

So, help me, Joanna would not go through what I did.

I told her what happens and with as many details as I could. Ways it could happen and be done between a man and woman. I gave enough details that she would know what to expect when it was her time. Her jaw dropped.

“But…isn’t it sin?” she asked.

“Sometimes it is. Only if you’re not married or with someone you’re not married to, or you force it on someone else. And sometimes it isn’t. It can be very good, God made it! There’s a whole book in the Bible about it, even!” I spoke.

Over us, the seagulls squawked. A wind was sweeping her blonde hair in its direction. The ocean kept roaring in its alto lullaby.

“Really?” she cried.

“Yes!”

“Do only married couples, do it?” she asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“No, plenty of unmarried couples do it,” I answered.

I even told her it was how women became pregnant. That soon her unmentionable would arrive and if it stopped coming, it meant you were with child. But if you were careful, you could avoid it.

“Is…is that why sometimes there are pregnant women with no husbands who visit us?”

“Yes.”

“Why do the amorous rite at all! It sounds disgusting! It sounds like it hurts…”

I smiled at her grimacing, trying not to laugh. In her fascination, her sandwich had been untouched.

“It might a little at first. But not for everyone. And I will tell you…it isn’t as bad as you think.”

I moved closer to her and clasped her hand. She looked softly at me.

“When you love someone, when you fall in love, it can be beautiful. It can be a beautiful, beautiful thing. Your grandmother made me frightened when I was going to marry your father. She told me it would not be anything pleasant but…but Jo…”

I reached over and took her hand.

“It is! It is pleasant! It can be the most wonderful thing you will ever experience- if you love him, and he is your husband, and you tell him yes- you will have something wonderful and beautiful. You’ll feel safe and close to each other. It will be the most incredible feeling. I can’t even describe how wrong my mother and the women were. I knew that night that your father truly loved and cared for me. It wasn’t unpleasant at all! It was wonderful! And not just on the wedding night, but any night or time you say yes you may experience it again!”

She smiled at my words. I tucked away strands of her hair to see her face, but then the smile dropped.

“But am I bad if I’m not married and I do it anyway?” she questioned.

“It’s considered a sin. Some might say you are a bad woman. You could land in serious trouble but…your father and I love you and we’ll be here to help you. We’ll always love you no matter what you do. Just be careful around a man you don’t feel good about, Joanna.”

She shivered.

“I’ll scream and punch his nose, mama, don’t worry!” she assured. I had to let out a small laugh at that.

She picked up her sandwich and finished it meditatively. I wiped the crumbs off her dress.

“But…That’s what the wedding night is about. That is the amorous rite couples and anyone in love does. Do you understand?” I finished.

“Yes…yes, I do…” she said, nodding.

“If you have any more questions, you can ask me. And if I'm not around and you feel alright about it, you can ask your father.”

“I shall, mama.”

A new puppy arrived soon after at the house. The children delighted in it. They trained it to sit, snuck bits of food from dinner to feed it, ran it around, and played with it. The dog sometimes would kill squirrels and we were forced to bury the little creatures. But it was in an animal’s nature to destroy, we told them.

Johnny was especially close to the canine. He scratched his ears on the rug and would talk to it.

“You might kill squirrels, but you’re not a bad dog, are you?” John would ask.

The dog smiled and panted, ears going down. I went forward to them and smiled, patting its head.

“Alright…we have to make sure he’s fed…and let’s make sure the leash on his post is tight…we don’t want him running away or getting hurt…” I offered.

It was my responsibility to make sure the dog was leashed and to help make sure he was controlled.

“Or killing something else!” John fretted.

The puppy grew with the children. Joanna turned thirteen and began her unmentionable at last. She lost interest in her dolls and would give them to others. She read more books. She would disappear with her friends for hours or sometimes for a whole day only to show up at dinnertime. Most of all, she and John had bikes. It was a constant sight to see Joanna pedaling around town, blowing out whistles, giggling, and having such fun with any person who wandered outside. John had one too and would follow her sometimes, but other times go to his “alone spots” to think or draw or collect wildflowers or help chase the dog to play with him. Only James would stick close to home.

We were all happy and content. All together.

I was back in my garden one day. Once I patted the ground and watered it, I noticed someone was running toward me.

It was a Mrs. Taylor. She was dressed in cream and her curly blonde hair was up in a bun with her cream hat. She was short and medium-sized but moved with great speed. I wiped off the dirt on my apron and walked closer to her. It was a delight to hear gossip right outside my door. I loved hearing from others what was going on, easy and fast.

“Mrs. Ransome! Mrs. Ransome! Haven’t you heard? Oh, how awful!” she huffed once she approached me.

A tightness gripped my throat.

“What is it?”

“A dead body was found!”

“What!”

Crowds would gather around to gape at the corpse like a fixture at a museum. Details were spread by word. I don’t recall seeing the body, but the details of its wounds made my skin crawl. Sure enough, there was a dead body. Then another. And another.

At the lady's Bible study, we finished our reading to discuss the anxiety of our systems. We were nervous. Even Fanny took out her handkerchief and was wringing it in fear.

“Please…not my little girl…please not my little girl…” she whispered.

In her brown eyes, you could see tears. Mrs. Lee went to her and patted her back in comfort, handing her fresh handkerchiefs.

Mrs. Bennet then turned to me “Do you know what I hear…there are reporters already!”

“Reporters? For our newspaper?” I asked.

“No, Big reporters! Big Newspapers! From London! They’re in Aldwinter and writing about the dead bodies found-About us!”

We were in awe.

“And do you know what they say it is…” One Mrs. Brown asked. She was a mousy Burnette with a large nose and spectacles.

The others leaned into her.

“What?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

Mrs. Brown gulped “They’re being killed by a giant, magical snake.”

A pause. “a snake?” and “magical?” was heard across the crowd of women. More than one crossed herself.

“A giant snake. A magical snake. A Leviathan…we have a Leviathan creature here in our village!” Mrs. Brown reeled.

We murmured and gasped in wonder as well as fear.

Mrs. Smith pouted her large, pink lips and shook her red head, “Well, I don’t believe in such things! How could there be a Leviathan? They aren’t real!”

“But there is something killing the people…and the bodies…” Fanny noted.

They all didn’t want to believe it, but there was enough evidence to suggest that indeed something different than what slid into our gardens.

The next night, there was a scream from the children’s room. William and I dashed out, looking frantically. Joanna and James seemed startled and silent in their tiny beds. It was Johnny…Johnny was crying and screaming, lashing back and forth in his sleep.

I ran forward, repeating his name and shaking him until he awoke. Tears were streaming down his face still.

“The serpents coming for me, Mama! The serpents coming for me!” he mourned into my nightdress, tears staining my shoulder.

“John, you’re here with your family…” I spoke.

Even William patted his back and his arm.

“It’s a dream, my boy, you’re safe here.” He spoke.

“But…there really is…really is a serpent! And it’s going to kill me!” John fretted.

“How could a serpent open the door? The doors locked…how could it get through? It doesn’t have hands since Eden. If it’s so large, it can’t sneak under…” William tried to reason him.

I went downstairs, fixed him chamomile tea, and returned it to him. I continued to offer my small embraces if he got teary again. He sipped at the steaming mug until it was empty.

“There…are you better Johnny?” I asked.

“Yes, better.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, mama.”

The boy was tormented by such nightmares for a long time. Sometimes I had to hold him and rock him to sleep just like when he was a baby and sing him the same lullabies. Weeks passed and still, everyone was on edge and jumping at shadows.

What broke me about it was not another corpse. A girl went missing- Naomi, the good friend of Joanna’s. The tears her mother cried would move even stone. It started to settle into me as well. That could have been me crying and in Naomi’s place one of my own children.

Once the children went into bed, my husband and I sat in the parlor in our clothes. The clock chimed midnight and finally, he broke the worrying silence on both our minds.

“Stella…I’m worried.”

“As am I, Will…”

“If this is a threat to our parish, and most of all our children, I won’t live with it, I won’t…Stella, I’m going to find the serpent…”

“Find it?”

“And consecrate it…”

“You could hunt it and shoot it…why consecrate it?” I asked.

“If it’s giant and powerful, what would a bullet do? What if it grows another head in its place? This is the better way. It could live and do what it does but be unharmed or harm others. Be a blessing even, could you imagine, Stella? So, help me, it won’t do anything more to us…or them…” he said looking upstairs to their rooms.

I took his hand “I…I will applaud you, it’s brave of you to do so…it’s only one of the reasons I love you.” I said.

“I love you too, dear…”

We kissed, sighing contentedly. He would begin his project privately, off to find it no matter what. He would vanish for an hour to search and then come home to help look after the children.

I knelt in front of my bed one night and folded my hands together to pray.

“Dear Lord, I ask you, should there be a serpent, at least, keep my children safe, keep them safe, oh Lord, keep my little ones safe from it. Protect Joanna, Protect John, Protect James. May William find the serpent if there be one. Amen.”

The next day a widower from London moved into town with her son.

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ruby-rebel-kjrp · 2 years

Text

Some five was supposed to be storming. The sky was still blue and cloudless. The earth was as dry and dusty as always. She wasn’t usually one to care about things the citizens said. But Ruby hated being called a liar. She knew she had faults. She said and did things that were questionable and problematic. She stopped caring about peoples reactions. But there was something about being called a lair that filled her with rage. Ruby wish she was lying. That she was still young and naive and trusting but no. She was bitter, and had the BLI signature of experimentation slashed across her lower body. The tracker in her arm was reversible. She just tore it out with a knife one night at 19. Sterilization was forever. The sound of heavy footsteps behind her as she walked through the late afternoon light perked her ears up. She wasn’t usually one people bothered, seeing she had an ability to go unnoticed. Bad day she supposed, hell bad week. Ruby didn’t have to turn around to know it was an exterminator.

“Look, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. Can I reschedule the violence and the foul language for another time?”

“No.” Oh wonderful. Marcus. Ruby didn’t care enough about BLI to pick a nemesis from exterminators like Adrian or Isaac. They for the most part forgot she existed, and she kept under the radar. But Marcus was different. Killing and doing a job is different than betrayal. Betrayal was different. Personal. He made it personal. Four years ago when she was taken in the middle of the night, sterilized. When she was butchered from a botched pregnancy termination. When she was separated from her brother and listened to her get tortured for hours. The worst events of her life were tied to one man. Marcus. “Sorry your having a hard time, pet. Anything I can do to make it better? I used to know how to make you feel really good. But then you had to go and be a disgusting little terrorist. Bad form”

Ruby’s green eyes closed. She felt her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands reached for the crowbar in her boot, her signature weapon against anyone. With speed and grace, it took one swift motion of pulling the crowbar out and spinning on her heel. When she opened her eyes she weighed her options. He was closer than she anticipated. His face was focused on her movements. The last time they encountered each other, she almost didn’t make it alive. He would be anticipating any tricks he knew, but he didn’t know all of them. With a elegant motion, her leg flew out to fly beneath her opponent’s legs, which was enough to throw off his balance, then with her crowbar, she swung. She got his face, not enough to cause serious injuries but she suspected she broke his cheekbone. Marcus stumbled, turning to the side to spit out a mouthful of fresh blood. “Here I was hoping to talk to you, maybe work out our differences. Maybe get back together. Yet all you want to do is fight? That is the starts of a very toxic relationship Ruby. I suppose we can fight.”

The asshole wasted no time pulling his blaster from its hold on his waist, and pointing it at her. Ruby wasn’t exactly afraid of this man, but she wasn’t stupid. She wanted to know why though. Why he needed to hurt her? After everything. It still wasn’t enough. “This isn’t looking too good for our heroine…”

“Why? You knew I was pregnant. You knew. You knew I was pregnant and it was yours. I don’t care because I would never want any part of you in me. But why did you let them terminate it. Why did you let them sterilize me?” Ruby was distracting him with questions she knew the answer to. For the city. Because she wasn’t worth it. Yadda yadda. But then he spoke “Well, personally I was in it for the sex. A warm body is so much better than a droid. Then I found out scum like you could reproduce. I didn’t want my dna mixed with scum like yours. So I told them to. And to sterilize you as well. Keeps your king from having the upper hand.”

There was something about his words that caused her to loose herself. Her hands reached for her crowbar. And she lunged forwards. Stabbing him with her trusty tool in the left eye. Marcus stumbled back, away from Ruby. Fresh blood ran from his eye socket and down his face, then his crisp white button down. Marcus dropped to his knees, then to the floor. Ruby’s eyes didn’t move, but her hands found the Exterminators weapon. She wasted no time. She pointed it at the man’s skull. Before she could hesitate she focused on everything he did wrong. He lied to her. He tortured her brother. He kidnapped them. He ruined her body. And she wouldn’t let it happen to anyone else.

And she pulled the trigger.

#some people think the murdering is a bad trait but personally I accept her the way she is #tw: mentions of violence #tw: mentions of murder #tw: mentions of sex

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contrivedchaos · 2 months

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Ok, imagine this, somehow someway Lucifer catches Sera leaving carmilla house clearly looking like she just had sex and he's just smiling and getting ready to tease her for eternity

Hahaha, I imagine Lucifer probably knows if something like that is going on in his realm. Considering the huge ass portal that appears in the sky whenever angels come down from Heaven. Unless Sera has her own back door that isn't so flashy and allows her to sneak by.

If he knew about it, he wouldn't say a word, but waggles his eyebrows suggestively at Sera during Heaven meetings.

#hazbin hotel #tw: mentions of sex #sera hazbin hotel #sera hazbin #lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin #anon #ask #fan theories

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moonlightpirate · 1 year

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Okay AO3 is down I was actually inspired to write. Sorry if this sounds bad. This fic is like a second part the first being Secret Worlds: The Necklace. In this part you and your boyfriend Joey finally get to see each other after your time apart. Yes it is fluffy and sex is implied. Again i made reader without gender so everyone may enjoy! Link to masterlist here. Link to ao3 here. Fic is below as well

Anxiously you pulled into Joey's driveway. Finally after months apart you were going to see him. Apparently he was excited as well as he was standing outside waiting for you. You fumbled at your seat belt as Joey opened the door for you. He laughed as you almost threw yourself at him as you jumped out of the car into his arms.

"I missed you too. How was the drive?" Joey chuckled as he hugged you tightly.

You buried your face against his neck breathing in his scent, "it wasn't a bad drive. How have you been?" You inquire as you step back and look into his blue eyes.

He smiled down at you, "haven't been bad. I wrote a few songs that maybe I can use on the next album.".

"Oh I can't wait to hear them! But let's get inside. I'm so ready for a shower and food.".

Out of nowhere he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer while his other hand gently brought your face to his as he kissed you passionately. You practically melted against him as time seemed to freeze as you kissed.

"Sorry I couldn't resist. It's been too long." He whispered as he broke the kiss.

You gently rested your forehead against his, "Don't be sorry and kiss me again.".

You pulled him back into another kiss. This one was a bit more passionate than the last one.

"Let's get inside before someone does see us y/n." Joey giggled as he went around to your trunk and helped you get your bags out.

You groaned playfully as you helped him with your bags. You made your way into the house, the door barely closed behind you before Joey spun you around and kissed you again. You laughed a bit as you wrapped your arms around his neck kissing him back.

"I seriously want food and a shower before all this dear." You playfully laugh as you pull back from his kiss.

"Sorry y/n I have just missed you so much. Go shower, what do you want to eat?" Joey sighed.

"Surprise me. I'm not picky, just hungry. If you want to order a pizza or something maybe you can join me in the shower instead." You winked as you turned and made your way upstairs.

You laid out some clothes on the bed as you waited for the water to warm up. Just as you took off your clothes and went to get into the shower Joey showed up at the door staring at you.

"Going to just stand there and watch me or are you going to join?" You tease.

Without hesitation Joey takes off his clothes and gets into the shower with you. He watches as you lather your hair with shampoo and rinse it out. Without asking he grabs the wash cloth and puts your favorite soap on it and begins to rub it over your body. You gasp and sigh as he stops and gently teases your body. Finally being overtaken by passion you turn and kiss him.

"Shall we take this to the bed my love?" He moans as you begin to touch him.

"Well I think I'm clean enough for now." You say biting your lip looking up into his passion filled eyes.

You wanted him that much you knew so quickly you turned off the water and you both got out of the shower. Your lips crashed together as you stumbled your way to the bed.

************************

You had almost forgotten how passionate of a lover he was until you lay there wrapped in his arms almost gasping for breath. As you lay with your head on his chest you could hear his heart beating wildly. Gently he ran his fingers up and down your back and you just enjoyed laying together for a minute. Without warning the doorbell rang and you both jumped up forgetting that he had ordered food.

"Fuck, the food!" Joey shouted as he ran over to where he had left his clothes on the floor and quickly put them on and ran downstairs.

You laughed as you stretched out on the bed before getting up and also dressing yourself. After you ate, Joey grabbed a guitar.

"Can I play you a song? I wrote it for you.".

"A song for me? Oh yes please, I would love to hear it." You smile at him.

There was something about not only watching him play his music but listening to him sing that made you feel so at ease and forget all your cares. After he finished you went up to him and kissed him.

"That was beautiful.".

"So are you lovely." He smiled.

He set the guitar down and pulled you onto the couch with him kissing you.

*************

Later that night you cuddled against him on the couch mindlessly watching whatever was on TV as you both dozed on and off. You sighed and smiled as you looked up at him and slowly you lost yourself in memories of when you first met Joey.

#joey batey #reader x joey batey #the witcher #reader insert #genderless reader #I'll make a masterlist #my fic #drabble #fluffy #tw: mentions of sex #sex is implied #mostly fluff #lots of kissing #joey batey x reader

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screampied · 2 months

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໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ RIDE DA D!CK LIKE A CARNIVAL ! ’﹒⺡

geto, choso, gojo, toji, nanami.

જ warnings. fem! reader, riding, cowgirl / reverse, praise, degredation, shotgunning, (toji) overstim, impact play, size kink, unprotected, breeding, cőckwarming, toy usage, nípple play, mdni.

𖢺 CHOSO KAMO.

“princess, wait,” choso huffs out. he leans back, still gradually catching his breath whilst you straddled him. he swallowed thickly, dark irises staring right into yours. his gaze lingers down your body, and he lets off a soft pout at the feeling of being so buried deep into you. “i- i can go again, want you to ride me,” and then he pauses, running a hand through his hair. “oh. i mean—please. if you still have energy.”

“okay baby,” you hum, and your voice was so smooth. the way you called him your baby, it had him so weak. choso stared intently as you playfully give him a soft shove on his back. “just lie back ‘n let me ride you, yeah?”

choso’s heavily panting, he goes mute for a split second and it’s if as words was practically nonexistent for him. with a raring nod, he brings two big hands towards your hips.

“good boy,” you murmur, pressed right up against his ear. you were merely teasing. although, you felt his dick twitch eagerly inside you. choso’s fingers softly stroke against your waist, and he moans once you start to move your hips forward. he’s still so sensitive from before, just barely over the intense mess he made — and now, you were about to make an even bigger one.

“oh f-fuckkk,” he drags out. it was awfully cute, choso’s pitchy deep voice turning out to be far more whiney than he intended. you were gripping him tightly, hugging him with your walls before not even seconds go by and he throws his head back. “yeah, yeahhh. ride me like that, fuck me, fuck me good, princess. please.”

he leans back before groaning at the way your walls grip around him, hugging him so tightly. choso can’t keep his hands off of you, he runs the tips of his fingers against the edges of your waist before pouting. “harder, f-faster.”

you’d giggle, leaning in to kiss his nose. “are you rushing me, baby?”

“n-nooo,” he breathes, and he feels you gradually grinding your hips against him. you stare at choso’s face—beads of sweat race down the sides of his forehead, and he whimpers. “your hips, ‘s killing me. so good,” and he’s just rambling to you by this point. it was adorable, the way his jaw would clench or tighten. the angle you had against him made his mind spiral. his cock reached deep, hitting all the right spots to even elicit a sweet moan or two from you as well.

choso’s panting, you playfully run a finger down his bare chest and he grunts. you had an compelling rhythm, making him only want you more. he lets off a sweet whine once you lean right up to his ear, whispering a sweet, “don’t be shy, baby. you can hold my hips.”

“fuck y-your voice ‘s gonna make me cum,” he babbles, bringing his rough hands towards your waist once more. he was so cute, far sensitive from his recent release. choso was gentle with his touch but his fingers were no stranger towards your body, roaming all over your hips sensually.

the sounds your pussy made in retaliation, squelch after squelch — it rang in his ears. it drove him dizzy, his mind was in for a loop.

choso’s eyes sexily roll back, and a tiny smile presses against his lips. you watch as he removes one hand from your waist, reaching above him to hold onto the headboard. his biceps, they curled and flexed and it made you stare a bit too long.

“how’s it feel? is it good?” you’d hum, leaning in to sneak a kiss near the corner of his mouth. his lips twitch, and it's so cute.

“you always make me feel good, princess,” he huffs out, one arm wrapping around you. your rhythm . . it was purely hypnotizing, you knew just how to take him.

so much of his inches burying into you, you made sure not to bounce your hips but grind. adding just a bit of pressure—he loves when you start to get a bit sloppy. the way he’s leaning back, it was unintentionally attractive.

it doesn’t take long before choso was approaching another heavily anticipated orgasm. he felt it, and he squeezed your hips with a cute needy look in his eyes. “i-i’m gonna make a mess again,” and his breathing cutely picks up. choso pulls you closer towards him. you don’t expect for him to bring his mouth towards your chest, softly lapping his tongue against your perky nipples. “gonna, ‘m gonna cum.”

“m-make a mess for me, baby,” you moaned, making your hips slow down just a bit so he could stimulate your nipples with his tongue. “it’s okay.”

your words were so smooth, he got off to simply your tone. it was building up and up—his thigh continued to bounce. and for yet a second time, he whimpers out once he feels himself pouring inside of you. a thick stringy load, ropes and ropes of his cum filling inside of your sweet cunt.

“f-fuck,” he’d whine, and it was as if everytime choso sweared, it made him ten times cuter. you giggle, panting yourself before kissing near his nose. choso’s eyes—he could barely keep them open. “ride me,” he pauses between his words, and you watch as he leans back, bringing a hand towards between your legs to feel his mess he created inside you. “ride me again, and a-again, and again….please.”

𖢺 NANAMI KENTO.

with nanami, he prefers for you to ride him whenever — especially whenever he gets home from work. a long tiring day at work, he loves coming home to you in hopes that you’d ride all of his pent up stress away. and you certainly do, happily.

“i missed my wife,” he’d grumble, and he was so knackered. you could hear it in his voice, whenever nanami was a bit drowsy his tone would deepen a bit. he was so tender with his touch against your hips. softly tracing against your skin to make you nearly lose your mind. “and i really missed these hips.”

you sat still with nanami’s dick being stuffed deep inside of your pussy. just a single move and he’d be even deeper. the thought of that made you salivate. he knew he was big just as much as you did. always the perfect size for you, never otherwise.

“good girl. get niiiice ‘n comfortable for me, okay?” and his words went straight down between your legs, you let off a moan once you buried your face into his neck. his strong scented cologne he had on all day at work wafts against your nose.

“okay…okay,” you’d mutter, feeling his big hands make its way towards your ass. he was always so handsy, allowing his rough hands to meander and roam all over your rear. you shiver a bit, feeling the coldness of his watch band run across your skin. “s-so big, kento.”

“ah. don’t hide that pretty face from me my love,” he’d purr, making you sit upright to face him. once you start to move—he grips your waist with one hand, another cupping your face.

nanami brings you into a loving kiss the moment you start to jerk your hips forward. you moan into his mouth, skimming your tongue against his and he even grunts lowly. a smile pokes near the corner of his lips before you hear him chuckle.

he adored how weak he had you for him, your hips stutter the more he swiftly runs a finger against your waist. once he pulls away, strings of pretty spit departing — he huffs out a sweet, “are you gonna move or do i have to do all the work like usual, sweetheart?”

“s-sorry,” you’d pant, and he was merely teasing. nanami simpers at the cute pout spreading on your lips and you start to adapt to a sweet sweet rhythm. he was so thick, stretching out your walls with such ease. nanami groans, he was still in his work clothes. long black slacks of his were just lazily pulled down and he had a button up shirt. his worn out collar was covered with nothing but a few smeared marks of your lipstick. “f-fuckkk, kento.”

nanami’s breath gets caught in his throat, feeling how wisely you used your hips against him. the lights in the room were dim. a few sweetened candles lit, the perfect romantic scene.

nanami stared at you with such a look of love, a soft smirk purses on his lips before he pulls you closer towards him.

“always know how to make me feel good, my love,” he murmurs against your ear. his voice was a low rasp. nanami’s face started to get a bit flustered once you started to moan directly into his ear. “i know, i knowww,” and he was talking you through everything in that smooth rich voice. it got you ten times wetter than you already were. you didn’t even know if that was possible. “keep looking at me, sweetheart. i wanna get lost in my wife’s pretty eyes.”

your started to whine once his dick reaches a pivotal spot. so deep, you feel him expand anywhere and everywhere like it was nothing. as you stared into his pretty brown eyes, you quickened your pace by a few simple thrusts. nanami returns your gaze, and he’s so in love that he can’t help but smile as you’re completely losing yourself on him.

“kento, k-kento, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you’d start to babble after a while—you felt a bit woozy, leaning into his neck to softly suck against his skin. you nipped near the inner part of his collarbone, and he lets off a low groan. nanami leans back a little, just a little… and once he feels you grind in a back and forth motion he nearly loses it. so slow, the repetitive motion made his jaw tighten. you slip out a whimper once his cock prods against your g-spot, and your hands yank onto the fabric of his shirt.

“the pretty girl’s gonna cum on me, hm?” nanami teases, feeling you spread your legs against him a little bit. he brings a kiss towards your chin before bringing both hands towards your waist again. “look at that face, so cute ‘n needy,” and he can’t help but kiss you again. as you rocked back and forth, rotating your hips in long circles . . . he starts to pant himself. you start to nibble on his tongue and he chuckles, squeezing your waist before you whimpered.

once you came, it was so powerful. a bundle of nerves coursing all through your veins—you were speechless, breaking away from his lips before wrapping your arms around nanami. he found it cute at how you came a bit earlier than usual, but nonetheless he still made sure to praise you. “what a good girl,” he mutters in a husky voice before softly caressing your ass. “my good girl.”

𖢺 GOJO SATORU.

“pft. girl pleaseee,” gojo scoffs with a snort. he was so sassy, way too sassy for even his own good. he leaned back against the chair as you straddled his lap. “you wanna ride me while i wear my blindfold? easy, knock yourself out.”

“and you can’t touch me either,” you roll your eyes at him. he snickers with an attitude, not used to people matching his cocky energy.

a pout goes on his lips before he mutters, “whatever….fine,” and it’s so cute. he loved touching you whenever you rode him, so you can just imagine how he’d act right now. gojo sits up straight, and he watches as you drag his blindfold that was half on his face—moving it right down to shield his eyes. he can practically feel you glaring at him and he grumbles. “i won’t cheat or try anything, hmph.”

“good satoru.”

“the nerve,” he grouses cutely. “shut up.”

gojo grows quiet the moment you start to align yourself, he was definitely long. long and lengthy, staggering inches that was enough to stretch you out for hours. not even a second goes by and he whines once you make him pin his arms back.

perhaps he was a bit too cocky though, because he desperately wanted to grab onto your waist whilst you rode him. his tip was leaky, dripping profusely with his own pre-cum. his breathing was slow, becoming a bit irregular once you started to gradually sink down on his length.

“aw. for the strongest, he’s got such a cute little pout.” you tease, and he lets off a choked gasp once you start to move. you’d bet money gojo was glaring at you - but his eyes were hidden away, so you’d have no idea.

that made you smile, he lets off a husky groan the moment he feels you create up a slow yet steady pace. whether he wanted to admit it or not, gojo was no match for your hips. your hips, probably the only thing he’d fight against and lose. proudly though, he loved having you on top—despite being a brat about it or not. “heh, baby, if you’re gonna fuck me, go faster would ya? ‘m gonna fall asleep at this r-rate.”

and he literally eats his words the moment you push him back against the cushion. he found you doing things like this to be so hot. your pussy had him in a chokehold, no doubt. your torso was upright and your thighs briefly moved with your movements in sync. this angle, it had his head spinning. he wanted to touch you so bad, to see your face — but he couldn’t, and it made him pout even more.

“mhm. lot better.”

“do you ever shut up?” you snicker, leaning in to kiss near the corn ever of his mouth.

“so r-rude,” he’d moan, and he had to admit he was always quite talkative. especially during intimate times like this. each time you pressed a wet kisses against his mouth, his lips would twitch. he wanted more and more, becoming entirely greedy for more of your sweet touch. he was so shoved deep inside you, you felt him reach everywhere. his dick twitched inside you in more ways than you could count. “lucky i can’t see you right now. bet you got the most s-stupidest look on your face.”

“maybe i should have taped your mouth shut too.” you roll your eyes, swaying your hips in a circular addicting motion. it made gojo moan, his thighs aching for more as you continuously went against him.

“damn, that’s—kinda kinky,” he murmurs in a low tone, huffing out a single breath. “maybe you should have.”

despite gojo putting up a pompous front, trying to act like he’s not about to cum for the umpteenth time—you kiss near his neck to make him let off a moan. “you wanna touch me so bad.”you whisper, licking near his neck to hear his breathing hitch. you’re steady with your hips, and he swallows thickly before feeling himself start to approach that familiar finish. you’re so pressed up against him, your body heat forevermore clashes against his. the moment you jerk forward for about the dozenth time, gojo whines before he ends up shooting inside your cunt.

he’s panting heavily, heaving as he trickles ropes inside of you — you moan yourself as he stays still. your hips pause and he feels the tips of his ears grow a scorching hot. “i can feel ya smiling at me,” he grumbles, his abs flexing the more huffed breaths he took. you smile, kissing underneath his chin for a final time before removing his blindfold. his hair was all messy and ruffled, and gojo’s face grows flustered. “…don’t look at me like that. i’d still top you any day.”

“okay, princess. whatever you say..”

“….”

𖢺 SUGURU GETO.

“go ahead ‘n lie back,” he murmurs in a soft smooth voice. a voice that had you soaking from underneath. your panties were still on, just barely though.

with strings lazily pulled to the side, you were propped up against geto and he has his chin softly resting on your collarbone.

“good girl,” he whispers once your back meets direct contact with his chest. by this point, you were basically cockwarming him. he stood tall and still inside you—geto groans, nipping a kiss near the inner part of your neck before uttering, “you have that toy i bought for you, angel?”

“y-yes,” you immediately reply. your voice was so shaky and soft. just a few touches from geto and you were easily stumbling over your words.

he feels you reach beside him, near the nightstand to grab the pretty pink wand he bought you as a surprise. not even wanting to waste time, you turn the switch on and with a loud buzz — it vibrates a singing tune.

“suguru,” you’d whimper out, trying to move your hips but he holds you steady in place. “can i move please?”

“you may,” he says in a low undertone. he brings a hand over you and grabs onto your wrist. you let off a moan once he holds the toy with you, bringing it between your achey clit. “spread your legs a little bit more for me. good, perfect.”

you gasp, feeling him gently rub the head of the toy against your clit whilst you were starting to grind. geto groans, feeling your left hand dig into his thigh.

“s-suguruuu,” you’d sob out, your lips cutely pursing together. he was very much thick, your thighs quivered and quavered from the sensitive stimulation. “fuck, ‘s good. turn it up a little more p-pretty please.”

he smiles, hearing you use such graceful manners like a good girl — his good girl.

geto goes through with your wish, turning the level up a single notch and you moan. sucking in a sharp breath, this position was so lewd. riding geto in reverse, it was heavily g-spot friendly. you went slow, moving your hips in the same recurrent rotation. it makes him bite his lip, his eyes flickering down towards your ass.

“so good for me,” he whispers against your ear. yet that’s when geto pulls you closer into him, biting softly near your neck. the vibrations had you trembling all in his lap, every nerve throughout your body, you felt its presence introduce itself.

geto snickers, feeling you grab onto his hand, moving the toy up and down against the entrance of your clit. in such a sensual manner too—he starts to whisper such filthy things against your ear while you’re getting off. “hear how wet you are for me, baby? so sloppy. pussy’s just talkin’ back to me. no fuckin’ manners, ‘s kinda cute.”

his words, it was so dirty.

you could barely process anything. you panted, staring right in front where a mirror was stood tall. the lewd reflection of you, you’re laid back against geto’s bare chest, slowly rotating your hips. your legs start to shake more and more from the toy’s vibration. teeth clenching, eyelids lowering, it was purely euphoric..

geto’s knees were raised just a bit to better support himself, and he brings a hand around your waist. his touch, it never failed to make you weak. he filled your pussy up with so many thick inches of his cock, his girth nearly had you drooling.

“easy, girl,” he whispers once you start to fasten your pace a bit. you were getting so close, you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue. his words stirred up butterflies in your stomach, and you moan once geto moves the toy aside just to take matters into his own hands. he starts to rub against your slick entrance himself, feeling just how soaked you were, mindlessly throbbing.

if it was anything geto was good with, it was his fingers. he snickers against your ear, maneuvering sweet circles against your cunt before your thighs start to lock and tremble. by this point, you were slowing down and you whimpered, feeling a familiar feeling brew up.

milliseconds later, he coaxed an orgasm out of you like it was nothing. your body felt limp, and you cutely went back against him, pant after pant. “awww,” geto hums, and his dick remains still inside of you. geto removed his lengthy fingers, only to bring them towards your face. “open wide for me, baby. taste how much of a mess you made on me,” and without a second of hesitation, you part your lips, moving your tongue, and take his fingers right into your mouth. you moaned, making your hips start up again because you wanted more — it was salacious, tasting your sweetness all on his fingers, lapping it up. “such a messy baby. should make you clean my cock up next with that pretty tongue of yours.”

𖢺 TOJI FUSHIGURO.

with toji, he’d have you riding him whilst he’s watching some movie or tv show. it’s playing in the background, and he has to keep turning the volume up notch after notch to drown out your cute moans. “doll, y’er gonna make me miss the good part.”

you huff out a single hitched breath, wrapping your arms over him. it was your idea to ride him, he didn’t mind, not in the slightest. toji was smoking too — a perfectly rolled up blunt sticking out near the corner of his lips. toji brings a rough hand towards your head, giving you a stiff pat.

he was so big, regardless of how many countless times you took him. you could never get used to his size. his cock stretched your walls out so easily, it had you drooling for more.

his base thwacked against you the more you piston your hips, moving back and forth in a repetitive rhythm. toji’s attention was mainly focused on the movie, a raspy chortle leaving his lips from the cheesy written dialogue.

he spots you glaring at him and he smirks. “what? can’t you see i’m busy.”

“pay attention to me,” you whine, and toji only snickers at your cute needy tone. your pussy wrapped around him, a tight snug and an even more perfect fit. your rhythm was smooth, it was a perfect mixture of not too slow — yet not too fast either.

as you stared into toji’s dark eyes, his senses was severely heightened and he takes the blunt from his lips before raising a brow. “gimme a kiss.”

“eh. don’t gotta give you shit,” he mocks your tone, making a pout form in your lips. he was such an insufferable tease, his left hand spanks your ass sharply, earning out a sweet whimper from you. toji caresses it afterwards, only to spank it again. “say pretty please. go ‘head, talk to me nice, little girl.”

you cutely glare before looking down, clawing near his perfectly toned chest. “i— can i have a kiss, pretty please?”

“it’s may i, not can i.”

“toji!”

he slyly smiles, rolling his dark green eyes. “i’m just fuckin’ with you,” and he brings a hand towards your ass yet again. his touch was so smooth, tracing your curves gingerly all against your waist. “c’mere ’n open y’er mouth.” he was balls deep, buried to the hilt and he lightly groans from feeling your warmth swallow him.

you were so toasty inside, you inch closer towards his face before opening your mouth slightly. toji licks his lips briefly, his tongue dragging against his scar before he blows smoke right into your mouth. you whine again from his teasing and he smirks. “oh. the baby’s still not satisfied?”

“want a kiss,” you pout, your weight just hovering over him. he felt your rhythm slow down and he chuckles — seeing you grow frustrated with your eyebrows curling into an irritated furrow. toji grabs your chin, and he pulls you right into him. you moaned, feeling him smack your ass to start riding him again. “t-toji please.”

“such a needy baby. always wanting a kiss,” and he gives you that kiss you so desperately yearned for. you whimper in his mouth, tasting how sweet he was. he places his blunt back near his tray and you were handsy, wrapping both arms over him. he chuckles, feeling you start to rock against him, his swollen cock was so fat inside of you—you just imagined the thought of him dumping yet another sloppy load into you. toji grunts, feeling you start to suck on his tongue, he leans back against the sofa while you deepen the kiss even further.

he groans, a hand curling around your throat, softly running a finger down the middle part of your neck before he briefly pulls away. toji’s eyes were half-lidded and right before he was about to finish inside of you, he pushes you aside to stare at the movie. black end credits were rolling and he grumbles. “tch. made me miss the ending.”

“s-sorry.” you mumble, catching your breath. you clearly wanted more . . still, he was stuffing you full with thick inches of his cock. you let off a gasp once toji lightly jostled you off of him. you land with a ‘oof’ — face flat on the sofa before he brings your ass a spank.

“yeah right,” he grumbles, grabbing his blunt again to stick it right between his teeth. he sucks through the air of the joint before groaning at your teasing arch. “know one way you can make it up to me. jus’ bend over ‘n face straight just for me, girl.”

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zarameraki · 2 months

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♡🍼₊˚・₊✧ 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸 ₊˚・🍼₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 toji loves boobs

: ̗̀➛ words: 982

: ̗̀➛ notes: this was requested by anon and i did post it through the ask but I wanted to post it separately hehe. ok enjoy

Toji had an outlandish kink.

It developed shortly after you’d given birth. You didn’t understand why he’d stare at you as you breastfeed your child. Well, he mostly stared at your breasts in his classic Toji style.

“What?” you bit out as he continuously watched you from the kitchen. You helped your baby latch onto your nipple and stared at your husband with a defiant look. “Oh, for God’s sake, Toji. Spit it out.”

“I want a taste.”

“Taste of what?”

“What that little brat is drinking.”

Your brows hit the roof of your hairline at his bizarre request. He couldn’t be—Wow, your husband had truly outdone himself in his kinks game. “Yeah, no fucking way. This milk is strictly for our child. If you’re so eager, open the fridge and pour yourself a cup. I’m pretty sure we’ve got cookies, too. But the oatmeal ones are mine—”

“I don’t give a fuck, doll. I wanna know what your milk tastes like.”

“Toji, are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not—You’re a grown ass man. I’m not going to, I don’t know, breastfeed you.”

“I’m not asking you to breastfeed me. I only want a little taste. I’m fucking curious, sue me.”

You scoffed, giving a small rock to your baby as he gargled and took small breaths in between the feeding. “Toji, I love you, and I love your abnormal requests during sex, but I’m not letting you taste my milk.”

Toji stared at you with a frown. A puppy-dog frown that melted your heart and added cracks in your defenses. He lowered his eyes and resumed washing the dishes. “I only wanted a small taste,” he mumbled in the most adorable manner.

Growling from your throat, you folded at his request. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Just—Just give me a minute.”

Toji abandoned the dishes and quickly sat next to you, ogling your breast. “What if he drinks you dry?”

“What if you drink me dry?”

“I don’t mind sharing. He’s my son, too.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled down at your baby. After a few minutes of drinking, he unlatched his mouth and you handed him off to Toji to burp him. “Wait here. I’ll go use the suction pump—”

“Fuck no. I wanna drink it straight from the source.”

You took in a deep, aggravated breath. “Fine, you dick. Put him to sleep and meet me back here.”

A tiny part of you was intrigued by Toji’s kink, but another was scared that he would drink you dry. The man was downright obsessed with breasts since the first night you slept together. During your pregnancy, he’d lay you back on his chest and massage them with scented oils, commenting how heavy they’d gotten. It was only a matter of time his curiosity regarding your chest would grow.

You unhooked your nursing bra and placed it aside, laying down on the couch with a groan. Toji entered minutes later and immediately covered your body with his looming figure, giving you kisses across your face for being such a kind wife. “Whatever. Hurry up so I can eat something.”

“I’ll cook,” he said, trailing kisses down to your neck and chest. “l’m gonna finger you, too, baby.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile.

Toji smiled and pushed his hands down your panties, parting your folds slowly growing wetter and wetter from his heated presence. He sought out your clit like the expert he was and rubbed it with gentle circles. Your lips parted with small, soft sounding sighs, fingers running through your hair and staying there. “That feels good, doll?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Yeah?” Toji pushed his middle and ring finger into your entrance. He began stimulating you with his quick thrusts. Your heels scraped up the couch’s surface, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip.

Toji ran his coarse tongue over your right nipple. You glanced down at him and scoffed from his cheeky wink. He kissed the sensitive bud, then locked his mouth on it, pulling it in. You wrapped a leg around the back of his thighs, and your hands cupped the back of his head as he suckled on your nipple. He moaned and took laboured breaths from his nose, and when you glanced down, you found trickles of white liquid at the corner of his lips.

“Toji, save some—”

He switched to your left nipple, leaving his fingers static inside your walls. He was too drunk on the taste of your breast milk to care about anything else. Your back arched from the sensation of him teething your nipple to produce more milk. Toji took his fingers out of your pussy and massaged your right breast.

“Toji, that’s enough,” you breathed, using his hair to pull him away. Thankfully, he compiled and released your nipple with a pop sound, licking around his mouth to taste the last bits of your milk. “How was it?”

Toji had to close his eyes and reel in a deep breath. “I’m gonna drink from these tits every night until they stop producing milk.” He gathered your breasts in both large palms and kissed the tips. “Gonna put a baby in you again so I don’t die of thirst.”

You chuckled in disbelief and smacked his back. He stared lovingly at you and kissed your lips. You tasted nothing, really. “Mmm. You know, if you make me a big dinner afterwards, I’ll have more milk for our baby when he wakes up.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“What I’m saying is, you big buffoon, that whatever is left over now, is yours—ah!”

You clutched to the back of his hair as he started drinking again, pulling up to sit on his lap. His strong arms stayed wrapped around your waist, mouth glued to your sore, puffy nipple.

Sighing, you smiled and kissed the top of his head. “You’re a kinky idiot, Toji Zenin.”

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craycraybluejay · 6 months

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You know how a pretty obvious majority of kinksters are submissives? You want to know a big part of the reason why it's hard to find a dom that's into the same hard kink you are?

Ask a hardcore masochist what they think of being whipped.

Then ask a hard sadist what they think of whipping someone.

Do you notice that the sadist/dom will often either dance around an answer or try to use soothing language/euphemism not unlike the way how in many places people are still expected to discuss sex if at all. Gentle, calculated language.

The issue is, especially with a new surge of purity culture overtaking so-called "leftist" online circles, is that fantasy becomes a moral judgement.

Sub with a noncon kink: "I want to be raped" (cnc but like. People can talk ab it how they want don't cancel me fr.)

Response from Normies: "well that's weird and kinda dark but ok"

Dom with a noncon kink: "I want to rape"

Response from Normies: "I'm calling the police and you should kys and you're also a sexual abuser and even though you haven't said anything about kids you're also also a pedophile :)"

Not only does the attitude of murderous hatred against doms/tops with hard kinks/fetishes/paraphilias make it difficult for them to practice those kinks (safely and ethically) out of fear of social backlash if it's ever found out even if both they and their partner[s] had a great time and are fine-- but, it actively puts innocent people in danger by equating thoughts and attractions of ANY KIND to the act of hurting others against their will. It equates fantasy, which can oftentimes be played out safely if in a modified way with real harmful actions.

Also, kink is still illegal in many places, so don't "its illegal" me about harder kinks. Law is not morality, none of us are free until all of us are free, etc. You get the gist.

You want to see more doms? Meet someone who can indulge your "scary badwrong" sexy feelings? Then maybe don't actively promote a culture where you put ANY kind of attraction or kink under fire. It doesn't matter if it'd be unethical to act out in real life. Some of the most common kinks worldwide are unethical as fuck to act out irl, including rape. That's why we have cnc, come on, guys.

You know what? In fact, you SHOULD actively shun people who shame others for their sexual feelings. EVEN if you think it's gross. EVEN if it wouldn't be ethical to act on irl. Let these types know that their puritan ideals are NOT accepted here. Let them know that if they want to go to church they can do that but not in your space, not forcing other (non consenting!) people to listen to their hateful and repressive ideology.

Like, hey, I'm not into ABDL, for example. But I will defend to the death other people's right to be into that. To think and feel whatever they think and feel. You think diapers are sexy? Great! I don't personally see the appeal, but you do you boo. There is no Correct Way to be sex/kink negative. Either you believe in thought crime or you don't.

And yes, this post includes "harmful" paraphilias (I put it in quotes because they're only harmful if acted on), sadomasochism, mutilation fetishism, etc etc. Every "gross" or "evil" kink, fetish, para you can possibly imagine. The stuff that makes you horny is just stuff that makes you horny, and being horny is normal. Being "weird horny" is also normal. No one deserves to experience shame, let alone public harassment or hate over feelings they most of the time don't Choose to have. Be mindful of puritan rhetoric and strike it down when you see it.

#important #psa #hard kink #nsft topic #pro para #pro kink #the 'dom shortage'#obv there are other factors but this is just a connection I'm pointing out #purity culture #purity wank #puritans #sex and sexuality #tw r@pe mention #p3d0 panic/the trend of calling everyone you don't like a p43d0phi13 despite that that's as i said before #NOT the same thing as csa or ANYTHING like that and simply an experienced attraction #attraction is not r@pe; foot fetishists r not going to randomly hump ur foot and same w ever other kink #thought crime #puritanism #the purity culture wave #discourse #except if you disagree pls block me this is a pro kink blog forever and ever #thoughts are thoughts #anti para people scare me bc if u think someone cant help but have sex with someone/something theyre attracted to...#what EXACTLY are you going to do if someone romantically rejects you????????????#turning the argument around here. if this is your belief then i do not trust you around me and my loved ones #because if attraction is action then i am scared for the people you are attracted to #because it isn't. and the fact that you think it is says more about you than anyone you hate for their attractions

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smolvenger · 2 years

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Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed- Chapter Three: Red Roses

Chapter Word Count: 7K (Pretty Thick, prepare yourselves, get some water)

Paring: Some Stella/William (but focusing on the tragedy of his infidelity)and eventually Stella/Male OC

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: The Courtship, Betrothal, and Early Marriage of Miss Stella by her admirer, the Curate and later Vicar William Ransome. A sinister omen appears in her garden.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Mentions of sex but no actual smut. Slow Burn to the Drama (tm), Lots of very bittersweet with the foregone conclusion from the prologue fluff, and foreshadowing. Religion, victorian era attitudes, marriage. Eventually being Anti-W*lliam and Anti-C*ra so if you like them or that pairing I wouldn't recommend this fic.

A03 Link

Prologue//Chapter One//Chapter Two

Link to my Ko-Fi

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!!!!

Her, the most excellent of all, The best half of creation’s best, Its heart to feel, its eye to see, The crown and complex of the rest, Its aim and its epitome. Nay, might I utter my conceit, 'Twere after all a vulgar song, For she's so simply, subtly sweet, My deepest rapture does her wrong. Yet is it now my chosen task To sing her worth as Maid and Wife; Nor happier post than this I ask, To live her laureate all my life.

— Part I, Book I, Canto II: I.25–I.44 The Angel in The House by Coventry Patmore

"[The perfect wife] was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She sacrificed daily. [...] Above all, she was pure." — Virginia Woolf, "Professions for Women"

“Pinkerton:...Either in love or insane,

It may be just an infatuation,

She's enchanted me with her innocent charms,

Delicate and fragile as blown glass...

With a sudden movement,

she frees herself like a butterfly,

She flutters and settles

with such quiet grace

that a madness seizes me to pursue her,

even though I might tear off her wings"- Madama Butterfly, English Translation

As we returned home, life carried on as usual. My brothers- two elder, Elliott, Brian, and one younger, Dante- went out to work while my little sister- another light-haired Harris girl christened Edith, and I stayed home, doing chores. It never seemed to end. There was always laundry to do, things to cook, things to clean, and the occasional guest to attend to. Not that I minded that too much. It seemed a better option than laboring with scythes for hours under a brutal sun. I would much rather water the beanstalks and tend to my flowers under that same sun. I would also venture to say there is something oddly beautiful about seeing a dirty floor made shiny with soap and water or bread rising to fullness.

There was one evening when I was tasked with baking the bread for dinner. However, when I pulled it out of the oven and cut it to see the result, I saw that although it was baked thoroughly, part of it was burned black. Dinner was arriving soon with no extra time to bake another. My father insisted bread be served at every meal. I had no choice but to set it on the table.

Everyone piled into the dining room, and I took my usual seat next to my brother, Elliott. Dinner began with my father’s prayer for a blessing. Then silverware clicked as we began to eat. Dante began passing the bread plate across and each member took their slices, opting for the bread that was a lighter shade. It went through my parents, past Edith, and Brian, before it arrived to me.

The only sides left were one slice of the properly done and the other of the burnt side. As I reached a hand for the lighter half, my mother’s voice interjected. “Stella! Why are you reaching for that part?”

“Because that is the bread I would like to eat, Mama.”

“But look at your brother’s face, he clearly wants it…”

Glancing, I could see my brother’s small eyes flicker hungrily toward that half.

“He’s been working hard in the field all day, he’s so hungry! The farmers worked him for six hours without a bite! Shouldn’t you feel some pity for him? Why should he get the burnt half?”

“But I made this bread, and I don’t want to eat the burnt half…” I replied quietly.

I heard a deep exhale from my mother. Eyes were turning towards us in tension.

“Give the lighter half to your bother, Stella, please…”

I gave in and passed the plate to him. He took the lighter bread that I coveted.

“That is a good girl, how kind of you Stella…” my mother praised, her shoulders relaxing.

Elliott took the slice of bread and slathered it with butter before wolfing it down. He was sunburnt, his forehead still sweaty. Perhaps he did deserve it. Perhaps I made his life a little easier.

He passed the plate back to me. There was only black bread. And the little pink butter plate was completely empty. I ate it- though the charring felt bitter on my tongue.

“Stella, you did something very sweet for your brother…” my father began.

“Once you are a married woman, Stella, once you are a mother…Edith, you too- listen this is important,”

Edith took the last bite of pickled beef to listen.

“You must learn to leave behind anything you may want for yourself. You must sacrifice yourself for your children, and most especially for your husband.”

“How come?” my sister asked.

I washed down the aftertaste of the burnt bread with my water.

“There is something sweet about sacrifice, love, no matter how small. You must learn to put others before yourself- how else will they feel loved after everything they give you?”

“It’s the Christian thing to do, girls” my father pointed out.

“Your father works very, very hard at the mill to keep a roof over our head and bread on our table so we all may have a comfortable life and for that, I have always made sure I was an obedient, faithful, and devoted wife. I made sure that food was cooked, and the house was clean, and that all of you would be in line…and in turn, you both will have a happy marriage and a fulfilling life…”

Edith blinked and I saw a slight frown. My mother turned to me.

“Stella, as you are the elder sister, you must make sure your sister follows your example! Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“As women, we cannot be ungrateful for what our husbands provide us, so we must sacrifice ourselves daily for them. Or how else will we fulfill our duties as wives? How will they know we love them or show any gratitude? That is what love is for a woman to a man, sacrifice and devotion to his happiness above all else. That is the secret to a fulfilling marriage and to being a wife,” she said.

I nodded.

“I’ll make sure to do that mama,” I replied, quietly cutting my meat into slices before eating it.

Edith tilted her head in thought.

After dinner, we gathered around the fire to sew, drink tea, and hear a book. We even had a piano and Dante, the musician of the family would often play something. That night I began to press a dandelion I found that afternoon into my book as my father opened a collection of mythologies.

“A little pagan, I know, but the stories are most entertaining, dears…here…let me read of the myth of Theseus and the princess Ariadne…”

He began to read it in his sonorous voice. I felt a nudge on my elbow.

It was Elliott, he leaned close to me over his tea and whispered, “Thank you for the bread, Stella, I was actually very, very hungry and it was a hard day for me….”

“I’m glad I could help…” I voiced.

The next month, over breakfast, my parents made a startling announcement. The owner of the mill was so impressed with our father’s work, that he was being promoted. There was another, growing mill in Aldwinter. The very town Elizabeth and Fanny lived! The very place I visited earlier! The job there would pay far more than it did here, and there was already a house for us. The family was going to move to Aldwinter for good.

Packing was all in an excited and tearful rush. Wishing our neighbors goodbye and promises to write seemed to happen hourly. I had to go and have a last tea with Miss Greene, thanking her for teaching me so young about flower pressing. But despite such tears for the change and separation, my mother was joyful. She was going to be near Elizabeth with her grey-streaked hair, dark eyes, joyful laugh, and affinity for card games and picnics, as well as Fanny. We would not be strangers in a strange land.

When the day arrived, we gathered all our things in our boxes onto the first of two carriages. Then we hopped onto another one, squishing in seven people, and set off for a day’s ride to our new home. It was late nightfall by the time we arrived. Edith and I lay on our new bed in our new shared room and slept in until noon. I jumped at the time, dressed, and immediately set to unpacking as she followed my suit, albeit more leisurely in pace.

But my sister and I barely had our clothes out of our boxes and into our chests when there was a knock and then a creak at the door. There were some hearty male voices from downstairs- one sounded familiar, and another was my father's.

My mother rushed inside our room in excitement.

“Girls- we have guests! It’s the parish vicar and his curate! They’ve come to welcome us!”

My heart skipped a hundred beats despite the slowness I had as I walked down the stairs.

Was it? Was it him? I wondered.

It was. There stood the Vicar, and his curate was still Mister Ransome in their black with white collars to greet us. A cake was in the vicar’s hand, claiming his wife was the most excellent baker. Mister Ransome greeted the other five family members but there was a softening of familiarity with my mother. And at me as well.

This was the first of several visits. There was only one church in Aldwinter and only one parish. Now that we were new members, it was the Vicar’s duty to greet us and make us feel like old friends of the congregation. His wife herself would sometimes visit us as well. And as his apprentice, William had to be there every time. And what were we to do? Refuse them and turn them away?

There was one evening, where among our plates, heads turned away from the current vicar’s grey head to the handsome, reddish blonde head of William. Even my sister seemed charmed by him, batting her thick eyelashes when he looked her way.

Edith asked him “Where do you get ideas for sermons so much? I think it must be so hard!”

He gave a half laugh and a smile.

“Well, he’s not the one who has to speak most Sundays!” the current Vicar pointed out. His wife smiled and held his hand.

“You find ideas for sermons everywhere- in nature especially. I go on so many walks. I like metaphors I find in nature- such as the ocean tide by the stony beach on a cloudy day. The sun through the clouds after a storm. One sermon I hope to give someday is about a field of sunflowers I saw here…”

“Sunflowers?” I asked.

He looked at me with a smile that made my stomach drop.

“How they turn always to the sun no matter where it is.”

“Where did you find Sunflowers?” I questioned, batting my mouth with the napkin before returning it to my lap.

‘They grow in a field by Mr. Morrison’s pasture…” he explained. “It’s quite a sight.”

I turned around to my parents.

“Mama…sometimes soon, may you accompany us to the field soon? And Mister Ransome, where is this Mr. Morrison? I must ask his permission to collect one, please.”

“Collect? You collect flowers?” he repeated, eyebrows raised in interest.

“I…I like to press flowers into a book. I grow them and then press them inside, so they are preserved forever. It is my hobby.”

My mother reached over closer to Mr. Ransome, “our Stella has developed quite a collection of books full of her flowers and a gift for gardening too,” she boasted.

“I want to see the sunflowers too!” Edith protested.

“Then… then with your permission, Mrs. Harris, we will accompany your daughters to see the sunflowers next Friday…especially if it’s for Miss Harris’s book,” he offered.

My mother looked between him and me. There was a flash in her eye that made me drop my head back down to her napkin.

“Then we shall have to do that.”

We went on that trip. Notably, my mother looped her arm around Edith’s and walked her a further distance away giving me time to walk by Mister Ransome’s side and speak about the weather with him. And indeed, I was given permission to pluck a smaller sunflower to press into one of my beloved books.

Secretly, I was grateful for my mother. I found myself in private admiring Mister Ransome. I am sure I was far from the only one, being a handsome, charismatic, single man with a stable occupation. And especially since he was required to be at the church, he would not be single for long. Especially in that small Essex village with limited options for ladies.

But…who was I, I wondered? He was so intelligent and good. Was I really worthy of him?

The first time my sister and I went to the town hall for dances with all the other young people, I and William danced only one together. Then we partnered with others.

He wouldn’t like me like that, I convinced myself. I was counting myself lucky with the sunflower trip and one dance.

I would toss and turn at night, thinking of him as my sister snored next to me. There were other, more confident, bold, beautiful women, and then there was me. I had to content myself with the odd visit to that village, the church, the occasional event in the church, and only speaking with him there before he moved on to the next ambitious pair of mother and daughter.

Besides, as I recalled our first meeting and the conversations, I had with Elizabeth that day, I had to repeat it like a prayer in my head-Minsters. Aren’t. Romantic. Perhaps I could do better and would meet another man in the town.

Sometime later, there was a parish picnic. It was warm and sunny, a September giving its last farewell to summer before the slow wilt of Autumn. People gathered to sit on their blankets and bring baskets. Children played while laughing as their mothers yelled after them. Men laid down to smoke their pipes. Cakes slowly melted into the plates beneath the sunshine. Sighs accompanied breezes from overindulging in pies baked by the mothers and grandmothers.

I sat with my family on our red and white picnic blanket. The basket was empty of sweetmeats, and everyone was mingling. My brothers and sister were helping to participate in cricket. My parents only sat idly chatting with each other about the new mill.

I was only watching the sky from beneath my blue parasol. How dreamily the clouds shifted- they changed shapes, gathered, and divided from the wind. How eternal it looked and how beautiful. Thank goodness for the shade or else the blare of the sun, despite its warmth, would have blocked such a vision.

I was in such admiration of it I didn’t hear footsteps in the grass towards me.

“Miss Harris, I hoped you would be here.”

I blinked and jumped a little, but the sight of Mister Ransome was welcome.

“It is nice to see you too. It’s a pleasant day for a picnic...and look up! Look at the clouds in the sky. That one seems like an evergreen- and that one a whisp of wheat. I always found it beautiful…” I began.

“Picnic days should be beautiful.”

There was a pause. When I looked back down at him, I saw one hand behind his back.

“I am here because I have a gift for you…” he announced, leaning down on his knees so his eyes would meet mine.

“For me. Why?”

“Because I thought you would like it. I found it and saved it just for you.

From behind his back, he pulled out something long and thin, wrapped in brown tissue paper. He gave it to me. I opened it to be a beautiful white gardenia. It still even smelt fresh.

“It’s for your books, so you may press it.” He said it.

My parents halted in their conversations to watch as if we were a play and they were the audience.

��Mister Ransome…thank you. Thank you very much. It will…remind me of you and how…how good you have been to our family in your parish and how kind your gift was,” I thanked.

We spent that time talking about things other than the weather. Discussing what we thought of God as clouds moved by us in white, fluffy droves. I held the gardenia gently, never letting the flower go or letting it out of my sight. I pressed it once I got home.

We spoke every Sunday from then on and even on the street. And visit us at meals and tea far more frequently.

And the times when we danced increased to two per party.

It was late winter when the snow was melting. I was mending a stocking when my mother walked into the room. She was smiling.

“Stella…you have a letter…” she began.

“Oh, from home? I bet it’s Miss Greene.” I suggested.

She shook her pale head.

“It’s from Mister Ransome,” she explained.

Edith practically threw away her sewing in excitement.

“I knew it, oh I knew it!!” she cheered.

“What do you mean?” I asked sternly.

“Isn’t it obvious?!” she squealed, leaning closer.

I slowly opened the letter and read its contents silently. I heard the sharp exhale and giggles of Edith next to me. My own breath stopped in my body once the contents had registered. I had to reread it again to make sure I was not dreaming.

“Miss Harris, I must confess between the time of our first meeting and when you arrived in Aldwinter to now, I have grown fond of you. Very, very fond. And I confess these feelings have grown to where I can no longer deny it. I cannot deny why I walked with you to the sunflowers or gave you that gift. I cannot deny the real reason I gave you the flower. I love and admire you…”

“He certainly knows how to write a good letter! How romantic!!” my sister exclaimed.

I looked up at my mother’s face. She held out a hand and I gave her the letter for her to read as well.

Edith ran over to the end of the steps to yell out the news at Father and our brothers.

“Mister Ransome loves Stella! Mister Ransome loves Stella!” Edith cried.

I hushed her, practically dragging her back to the parlor.

“Why can’t that happen to me, yet Mama??” she complained.

“Edith, you’re only seventeen…you have so much time before you! I’m twenty-four…. just sixty years ago some would have called me a spinster,” I advised.

“I just want someone to love me, now!” she protested.

“Mama, papa, your brothers, and I love you…” I tried to reason.

“But Stella, it’s just not the same!”

“Well…you’re right, it’s not…but someday, you’ll have your turn,” I playfully pinched her cheek “you’re too pretty to be a spinster, anyway!”

She laughed and nursed the spot I pinched her.

“Oh, I must tell Fanny! This is too exciting!” She rushed out to happily gossip to anyone within her ear’s reach.

My mother handed back the letter. “It is a lovely letter. You should feel very, very fortunate a man like him has taken interest in you, my dear.”

I felt dizzy with joy. He loved me! He loved me!

“May I… may I please have the writing desk?” I asked. “I…I would like to write a response.”

“Of course,” my mother replied, beaming.

Immediately I wrote down my response, saying that I felt the same. Once the contents had my mother’s consent, we sent it. I could hardly wait the hours until Sunday morning in my giddiness. It was everything I could to distract myself from my excited impatience.

Once that Sunday morning arrived, I made sure my hair was done as neat as it could be and picked my nicest dress. Any stray strand of hair was tucked and pinned away. When I saw him, we made our glances all throughout the service. Our confirmations of love had to be accompanied by my family in the far corner of that church to give us the illusion of privacy.

“So, you do feel the same, Miss Harris?” he asked. "Truly?"

“You read my letter. I do…and I feel the same to you…would you join us for tea today?” I asked.

“Yes, I shall.”

Finally, the next afternoon as My mother and I were ironing an apron, Mister Ransome knocked on the door and announced himself. But the vicar was not with him for a typical tea.

“Mrs. Harris and Miss Harris, good day…”

“Good day…” we repeated.

His eyes were large and bright with urgency.

“Mrs. Harris, where is your husband? Is he working right now?”

We froze. Only the ticking of the clock in our parlor could be heard.

“He is home now. He’s upstairs in his study, I think,’ my mother answered.

“I would like to speak to him alone, with your permission.”

Another tick, tick, tick from the clock. I nearly dropped the iron in my hand.

My mother accompanied him upstairs as I stayed put. Then she returned to me.

“Come Stella …we need to check on the laundry drying.” She spoke. “And we need to make some tea for our guest…”

She placed a kettle on the stove as a welcome distraction from the voices upstairs. We walked outside to feel the rush of the cold air as we pulled shirts from the line out in our backyard.

I saw a glimpse of his curly head in the window. And he was speaking with my father. They were smiling. I forced my eyes away to the straw basket on the ground.

“What are they discussing?” I asked nervously.

I was no fool, I only wanted confirmation. To get out of my racing mind and feel the earth on my feet and the words from another person and not my imagination. That it all was real.

My mother neatly folded the bedsheet on top of the blanket. Then she approached me and cupped my face gently.

“Mister Ransome is a man of stability for the parish that picks him. And yes, he is handsome and charming but…. If this Is what I think it is…whatever happens, whoever he… decides on is lucky but…there will much responsibility. But you have always been a good, responsible girl. Stella. What matters most now is do you like him?” she asked.

I blinked, a few tears coming out of my eyes despite myself.

“If I didn’t, I’d reject his letter. I like him. More than I can say….” I found myself confessing.

She smiled and kissed my forehead. Saying no other word.

It wasn’t long until Mister Ransome walked out from the back door and approached us.

“Mrs. Harris…will you give me permission to speak in private to Miss Harris in the parlor? It won’t be very long.”

My heart leaped to my throat. I stayed still and yet the world was spinning.

“You may. The tea needs finishing,” She spoke. We were led inside. She briefly squeezed my arm and retreated to the kitchen.

He approached me. He opened his hand for mine. I trembled as I placed mine in his.

“Miss Harris… the current vicar is going to retire in a month. And it is his wish for me to take his place as Vicar for the Aldwinter parish. If I am going to do so…It will be expected of me to marry. Stella I…I would like you to be my wife.”

Before I could answer, he carried on.

“I think of all the women here, you would be the best suited to be a minister’s wife. You’re everything I could ever want my wife to be, what a wife should be. Your father agrees with this and has granted me permission, should you say yes. You will make the most incredible example of a good woman for Aldwinter and…and if that’s not enough, I love you too…”

“Did you forget? I love you too, Mister Ransome…” I was able to voice.

“Could you please call me William, from now on?”

“Alright, then William, I accept you!”

Two rings were pulled from his pocket, and one slipped onto my finger perfectly. He gave me our first kiss then and there. Albeit quickly and chastely- my mother was no doubt listening from the door. We held hands as we walked into the kitchen to confirm the news to my mother and each family member who would return.

Three afternoons later, the current vicar and his wife called. They brought earl grey tea, fresh walnut cake, and a lecture.

“Now, Miss Harris…you are about the become wife to the next vicar of the Aldwinter parish. Are there any ministers in your family at all?” the husband asked, hardly touching the drink.

“There aren’t, really” my father answered.

“Marriage to a head of the church is not to be taken lightly, Miss Harris…” the vicar said.

They went on to explain that marrying William meant marrying the church and the parish. The day he wrote that letter it had been in my mind constantly. He had even discussed this and the decision to make me his wife was not a choice given lightly.

“Miss Harris…” the current vicar’s wife voiced. She was tall and slender. Her brown hair had not greyed much. She held herself straight and looked down on me as a queen might from her throne.

“I shall make it easy for you…I shall give you a list of everything you will need to know as a vicar’s wife, and everything you must do in addition to any wife’s duties…here, I have written them down. And I must see you read each aloud and copy it down as well…”

She handed me a small journal bound in red. I opened it to read the list. Then I fetched my own pen and paper and in front of them, read them aloud and copied them down from her clear, beautiful handwriting.

1. No matter what, you must overall support your husband in his ministry, friendship, and partner with him for a loving home atmosphere.

2. You are to maintain daily prayer with God

(Which I already had since childhood)

3. Support him in his emotions without complaint

4. Encourage his advancements while maintaining the balance of his home and family.

It struck me and I paused, a small blot of ink spilling. Did they think I was unable to do so? Would they force the engagement off? Were they testing me? If I failed these, would they find another far more worthy? And would William replace me with another woman, worst of all?? Oh God, God help me! I would prove to them I was worthy to be his wife no matter what, I resolved!

5. Visit members of the congregation as able.

6. Build relationships with women in the church to support, encourage and model Godliness to them.

“That one is especially important, Miss Harris”, she warned “Every woman in Aldwinter will look to you as an example of a Godly woman. It is not that you aren’t Godly, but this will increase. Their eyes will all be watching you as to what to do with their own lives, homes, and marriages. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

7. Reach out to those on the outside and facilitate relationships with all women or men in the congregation or otherwise.

8. Pray intently for your husband’s strength to withstand opposition, temptation, and arrogance

“William is a good, Christian man- that will not be hard, you won’t suffer any grave sin from him” the vicar assured me.

I went down to carefully copy the last ones.

9. Attend Sunday services regularly and sit visibly so your husband always knows he has at least one ally in the congregation.

10. Stay after service to allow people to get to know you.

11. Be consistently humble; appreciating everything while demanding very little.

12. Be a blessing to the women in the church; encourage others to do the same.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

15. Stay married.

Once I wrote the “d” of married, I looked up to them, almost pleading, but staying as calm as I could.

“I will be happy to. For William, it will be my joy to do all these things!”

The vicar’s wife placed a hand under my chin and tipped it to face her in her large blue eyes.

“And still with that loving, sweet spirit of yours, Miss Harris?” she asked kindly.

“Yes, I promise.” And that list I always kept in the pocket of my reticule and read each night before I slept.

In a way her apprentice as her husband and William were. She showed me everywhere around the church and introduced me to the various married women of the congregation. I was now no longer a child or an actress for their private romantic melodramas of local courtship. She let me sit beside her at church in the front row and take note of everything she did.

It felt daunting, but I found comfort in prayer. At last, at long last, my prayer for love and romance was answered! And now that was what I had to do. It was longer than what I initially thought, but so be it. William would know every day that I loved him and would give my life for him, even if it meant staying a little longer in the church. And even after he performed the duties of a curate during the service, he would walk down to that row. We were permitted to hold hands during the service. It was a blissful five months. William alone, no Vicar at his tail, was present for tea and every meal and promenade after, leaving his final, and sweetest goodbye to me. By then the sun cracked the ice so that the rivers, lakes, and ocean would flow again. He was permitted to be in a rowboat with me on lakeside picnics. We would walk by the beach during visits to the sea.

Despite the gossip-hungry eyes of the parish noting our every breath, we were in our own world, smiling. Of course, we exchanged numerous letters. Each one he wrote me was more beautiful and romantic than the last. Of course, these were still checked by my mother for anything inappropriate and then returned to me. Of all the men in that town, he was expected the least to stray from anything improper. And of all the women, I was the one least allowed to be out of line now. Not that one word of his letters during our engagement implied anything at all. They didn’t need to. If he did become a writer, I was convinced, he would make the world fall in love with the power he held in his pen.

He gave me small gifts such as flowers, new books, new journals to press my blooms, gloves, and such. We exchanged our photographs and locks of our hair. I kept his photograph and that reddish-blonde curl on the same page with the gardenia. Now when there was a local dance, we could have three.

That is as well as usual wedding planning. Invitations. Shopping. Recipes and ribbons and the like.

The final two months before the wedding the current vicar retired. Now it was William who was weekly on the pulpit. He immediately won over the parish. His words could move the hardest of hearts and he was immediately beloved. And I was there, on the front row, smiling with his ring on my finger. Counting down until that day of all days. Four weeks. Three weeks.

“I must say, I’m so used to performing weddings I must restrain myself from the speech!” he would whisper with excitement to me at dinner.

Two weeks. One week. Five days. Two. One.

Finally, the wedding arrived. I recall my white dress had a high collar and long sleeves for modesty for the other women to take note of. Modest, but still pretty. My father seemed to glow as he walked me down the aisle of the stone church. I felt genuine that I was beautiful. Beautiful enough that William smiled ear to ear when he turned to see me.

The regional bishop cleared his throat before he began to recite the wedding ceremony, prayers, hymns, and all.

Finally, came the vows. We stood to face each other

I heard the bishop intone:

“William, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife to live in God’s ordinance of the Holy State of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, honor her, keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others keep only her if you both shall live?”

He inhaled deeply and replied, “I will.”

The bishop turned to me.

“Stella, wilt thou have this man to be they wedded husband to live in God’s ordinance of the Holy State of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, obey him, keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others keep only him as long as you both shall live?”

“I will” I said without a second’s hesitation.

More was said. It seemed that I blinked and then rings were exchanged, and he signaled to the congregation.

“I now present to you, under God and this congregation, man and wife, William, and Stella Ransome. William, you may kiss your bride.”

As simple as that. I was married.

There was much jaunty celebration in the town hall afterwards, fitting the marriage of a minster of a small town. Thankfully, there seemed to be no open ill will from the local female admirers of my husbands. In fact, I got more invitations to tea than I ever thought I would get in my lifetime. I must have shaken hands and been congratulated by every person in England on that day.

Dante cheerfully offered to be one of the musicians for my day for free. As William reached to hold my hand as we greeted his side of the family, Dante began to play one sweet tune with descending notes full of joy. They sparkled and giggled it seemed.

My mother walked over to him, and I overheard their conversation, “what is that song?”

“I got it from a music book in London- it’s an aria called Caro Nome by some Verdi chap, it’s from his opera about a hunchbacked jester, mother!”

She shot him a bemused look.

“The song’s about love! It seemed fitting for today!”

“Well, it is charming…” she said.

After the last line, a violin picked up. Dante played something even faster.

“Oh, we must at our wedding- Dance with me, Stella! Please!” William begged.

As I nodded, he pulled me onto the floor with the other couples.

I can tell you now that I was his most experienced of partners, he wasn’t the best of dancers, but a passionate one, pouring his all as he swayed and swirled me around. The music was the most beautiful I had ever heard. Smiles upon all of us watching how much he loved me despite his feet landing mere centimeters from my toes.

But I felt like I could fly. I never felt more loved from him than in that moment. We danced so much and talked and greeted and celebrated so much we even nearly forgot to eat our own cake.

Now I must recall this. Please do not think I am a certain kind of woman or forward or crude. You know how I began my story. The Marital act and my experience joining William Ransome’s bed must be recalled. But I will refrain from specifics out of politeness. You will understand why I even write at all about our bed later, I hope.

When it came to that evening, the guests were starting to leave. My mother walked up to me.

“Do you have…any last questions before…before tonight?” She asked.

I looked around. No one was listening in. William was splitting a congratulatory pipe with my brothers.

“I don’t mama…I know everything I need for now…” I confirmed.

The sky was black, and the last guest waved goodbye.

He led me to his house. I had never been inside, propriety forbidding of course. It was a tall white house in the middle of a field. Inside was cozy and brown- wooden floors, walls, and steps with not a bit of paint or wallpaper. A small, tight kitchen. A living room with two chairs. And stairs leading to the second floor.

He offered his hand to help me upstairs. Then placed his hand on the knob of a brown door.

“Here, this will be our room from now on.”

It was a bare room. There was a desk, windows, bookshelves, and Knick knacks like that. In the center was a large, blue bed.

I sat on the bed in my wedding gown, yet to undo a button as he knelt to start a kindle in the fireplace for warmth. My heart was starting to race with nerves.

Once he sat down next to me, he turned to me and offered his hand. I accepted it. Then he leaned forward, and I closed my eyes.

He began to kiss me but…differently. It was passionate. Forward. I was surprised a holy man could even kiss like that. He hands wandered down to my waist. He had never done that before and it shot me with electricity. He practically grabbing my dress to pull me onto him as he continued kissing. All my life, I was told to stay away from such desires. The risk of being alone with a man of bad character. The risk of ruin. Now it was no longer a sin, but a required ceremony between a husband and wife.

And that was one of many tests I had to pass for him to be happy. Every bit as much as the list saying to pray for him.

He stopped. His hands landed on my skirt.

He looked at me and said “we…we can wait, Stella, it doesn’t have to be tonight.” I could tell he wished for it to be tonight, but said nothing.

My heart was picking up. We turned away to watch the fire.

It struck me.

I wasn’t afraid of lovemaking. Not at all now. In fact, I wanted it. And I wanted it from him.

I raised my skirt and led his hand to be on my leg. I began to unbutton my dress quickly and his eyes grew into large, blue saucers.

“William, I’d like it to be tonight…” I spoke.

And that was all he needed.

I was delightfully surprised how much I loved it. We fell soundly asleep and the next night we did it again.

I recall that second night he gathered my hair as I laid in bed and played with it, propping the strands on top of my head in a kind of messy bun.

“You are a saint, an angel, Stella, and even your hair is a halo…” he said lovingly.

The following night after that we did it twice.

It was an odd contrast. In the mornings I would help to plan and run the events in the church. I followed the list to the letter. I would attend and even often lead the Bible study of the local women and visit their teas for well-behaved conversations. But once I returned, William and I were anything but well-behaved. But we were married now! How could that be sinful?

I understand many who might read this admire and lust for my husband. Especially for his handsomeness and good character. I will let you imagine privately what it was like in that bed if it pleases you- and I ask your sympathy, for you to understand how much I loved and desired him as a wife. Anything you might imagine was possibly done and correct.

By days, I had my own duties to fulfill. Meals had to be cooked (though legally it was his, he wasn't the cook-my own kitchen! With any recipe William or I wanted!), the house had to be kept tidy (yes it was his but it felt like my own house!), gardening (legally his, but my own garden!), laundry (only mine and Williams!) as well as daily attendance of prayer, scripture reading, as well as visiting and attending all events, ceremonies, and services of the church while keeping visits from the women of town- Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Rogers, Mrs. Finch. Mrs. Bennett, Mrs. Franklin, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Elliott, and so many other names that it made my head spin. However, nights were a different matter.

Anything that could be done in that bed in our marriage that could be done was done. Especially any act that pleased him. I wanted badly to please him. I did please him in any way he wanted. Then in turn, he wanted to please me. And his desire for me was not unwelcomed. He could not finish a sermon on that desk as soon as I was in that room undoing a button of my dress.

Before we slept each night, we did it. After I visited some of the local women and the afternoon was free, we did it. When we were returning home from visits and errands, we did it. We did it before dinner, after dinner, and rainy days, snowy days, sunny days, and even right before church in the early Sunday mornings. Often resulting in secret smiles during the service right after between us two. William had an appetite that could never be quenched.

I was convinced that was for me and me alone, especially as his wife.

One warm night, he kissed the top of my head after the bliss had spiraled down. He then put on his robe and gave me a blanket to cover myself. He walked to the window, gesturing me to follow. He opened the curtains to show the clear night sky. Not one cloud was in sight and there were stars in the thousands.

“Do you see that, all of those stars up there?” he asked, pointing up.

I gasped in awe. He leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“Those are for you, Stella. Your name is Star…they’re for you tonight.”

We embraced, watching the sky. He then turned to me.

“Tomorrow, since my meeting with the choir boys were canceled, there’s a spot I’d like to take you…” he offered.

“Take me there, Will, please!” I replied.

The next afternoon, he led me by his hand as we walked through the woods. We ducked under branches and leaves crunched beneath my shoes. He showed me a trail he had marked and then turned a corner. There was a pond, clear as a mirror right in front of us.

“This is my own spot…I’ve never shown it or discussed it to anyone…except now you,” he said.

“It’s beautiful!” I cried.

He began shedding off his shirt and pants. And he was not stopping at his undergarments.

“Wh…what are you doing?” I asked nervously.

“I’m going swimming…” he answered simply.

“Here!? Without any of your clothes?”

“You can’t swim with clothes on!” he protested.

“But…”

“No one will see us or find us, Stella!” he assured.

He disrobed until not a thing was on him. By then I was used to his attractive nakedness. But it was the sight of his bare torso among the leaves, unroofed sky, and the chatter of birds that shocked me.

“How long have you done this?” I asked.

“As long as I’ve been curate!” He walked down into the water.

“And no one caught you?” I asked.

“None!”

He began to glide through as effortlessly as a dolphin.

“Come Stella! Swim!”

“I…I just…”

I stared down at how the ground was wet with water beneath my shoes.

“Can you swim?”

“I can swim…only…I never have been…not like this!”

“Try it, Stella! Please! The water’s amazing!”

I sighed and nodded.

He got out of the pond and with wet hands helped me out of my dress, stockings, shoes, petticoats, and corset. God forbid a member of our parish pick the place to picnic now, I thought. But I insisted that at least I would be in my shift rather than completely bare, like him. So, help me, should someone see and recognize us, they would think at least I was decent.

He led me into the waters, at a certain depth I slipped and let him catch me as he laughed. We waded and swam joyfully. He was right, it felt amazing. He even placed his arms above my waist, wading up above the depths, he twirled me around. Our wet hair was clinging to our faces as we held each other and kissed as we waded. And no, no one caught us. It was much worth redressing with a wet shift beneath me. Such experiences were two of his many gifts.

Oh yes, He was generous and that expanded in our marriage. Since he knew through our letters and conversations that my favorite color was blue, our room was made to be blue. It was striking considering the rest of that plain house, but it was beautiful. It felt, in a way, like I had my own touch. That it was my room as much as his.

After his payment, he would spare some of it to buy me flower seeds. He gave me flower seeds to plant and water and tend to. Flowers that would bloom into those colorful blooms I adored so much and wished to press in my collection.

One unique flower seed he gave me was that for a Star Lily (“A star for the lady whose name is star!” he said). I planted it and in time it grew into one beautiful, full, white blossom. It was the pride and joy of my flower garden at the time.

One summer day, after watering the vegetables, I turned to my section with flowers to water them. Every rose, peony, and daisy were as normal. I looked everywhere for the Star Lily and could not find it.

Once my head ducked down, I realized why.

There was green Garden Snake right twisting around the Star Lily with its long body. Its weight bent down and broke the stem. It squeezed the flower, like one wringing a cloth. Then it was opening its mouth, eating, and tearing at the petals.

I gave a horrified shriek and retreated a few steps. The creature terrified me so much I could not even as much as find a stick and poke it away. Uselessly, I stood there and watched. William was away, unable to help or hear me.

It slithered further over the flower. The hearty stem grew weak and shriveled. It continued to bite and tear and squeeze the life out of the Star Lily. The tramped petals fell on the brown dirt. The petals beauty was now only memory.

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